Arasaka Counterintelligence Director Jenkins stood in his high-floor office in Arasaka Tower, gazing down at Night City through massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city sprawled beneath him—neon flickering, traffic flowing like rivers—resembling a giant machine that never stopped running.
He'd just finished an encrypted comms briefing with headquarters, naturally covering recent conflicts with that mysterious faction plus aftermath handling.
The instant the comms screen darkened, the office returned to deathly silence.
Jenkins didn't move immediately—he needed these few seconds completely digesting the recent exchange.
Though both North American division and Japanese headquarters had clearly expressed dissatisfaction with counterintelligence's so-called unauthorized actions causing trouble, when Jenkins displayed specific terms of the ceasefire agreement Valerie negotiated, those cold questioning voices on the other end noticeably softened.
The corporation only valued results and profits—an iron law Jenkins had engraved in his heart during his Arasaka climb.
Since the crisis had been quelled at the currently-achievable lowest cost—no core secrets leaked, no board members affected, no broader armed conflicts triggered—pursuing some specific department's responsibility seemed less urgent and cost-effective.
Headquarters cared more about potential technology acquisition possibilities plus avoiding re-angering that mysterious entity hidden deep in the Badlands.
Jenkins slowly walked behind his wide, cold metal desk, settling into his spacious office chair.
Though comfortable to sit in, staying seated wasn't so easy.
He exhaled lightly, feeling nerves taut for days finally beginning to relax.
Knuckles unconsciously tapped the smooth desktop, making rhythmic soft sounds.
For him, this incident's outcome was virtually perfect.
Professionally, he'd successfully twisted a disaster that could've plunged Arasaka into deeper, costlier conflict into crisis management that—though face-damaging—substantially cut losses.
Personally, leveraging Abernathy's reckless actions, he'd precisely seized opportunities, completely kicking this long-time rival out of counterintelligence's power core.
Though he couldn't make her physically disappear completely—making a former corporate executive "suicide" or "accidentally" die in Night City wasn't difficult—that would leave unnecessary complications and ammunition.
A former director with failure records transferred to insignificant positions was like a snake with fangs pulled—could no longer pose any substantive threats to him.
This outcome might actually be better—her very existence was a living warning to other potential challengers.
Thinking this, Jenkins' usually expressionless face—mouth corners unconsciously curling slightly upward—formed a cold, brief arc.
He reached for the internal communicator, pressing Valerie's number.
Time to give this meritorious contributor some sweetener while deploying next-stage assignments.
He pressed the internal comms key, connecting to Deputy Director Valerie's office.
"Valerie, you did well this time." Jenkins' voice recovered its usual steadiness. "Good work. I'm approving two days' leave—relax properly."
From the communicator came Valerie's calm response: "Thank you, Director. Just doing my job."
"Mm," Jenkins paused, tone becoming slightly more serious. "Vacation aside, don't let that 'line' with Maine's crew go cold. Maintain contact. See if there's opportunities—like Militech—establishing some... trade channels.
Since hard approaches don't work, we'll try soft. Put more effort into this."
"Understood, Director. I'll follow up." Valerie's answer carried zero hesitation—as if she'd long anticipated such arrangements.
Hanging up comms, Valerie watched the disappeared call interface on screen, face expressionless.
She'd long grown accustomed to this practice of being assigned work during leave.
At Arasaka—especially counterintelligence—genuine rest was a luxury.
She stood, walking to the wardrobe mirror, beginning efficiently removing that well-tailored Arasaka uniform symbolizing status and constraints.
Changed into attire more suited to street styles—a dark motorcycle jacket over a simple cotton tee, fitted jeans, and sturdy ankle boots.
She let down her pinned-up long hair, messing it slightly, making herself look less "corpo."
Looking at her drastically different reflection, Valerie took deep breaths, attempting expelling that office's tense atmosphere from her body.
——
Half an hour later, Valerie's sedan stopped outside a place in Heywood called "El Coyote Cojo."
The bar's exterior wasn't eye-catching—red brick walls somewhat mottled—but wooden sign frames outlined by constantly-flickering pink neon tubes made that age-worn coyote head design especially prominent against night.
This was a frequent spot for many Heywood locals and street mercs, filled with interwoven old-new street vibes.
Pushing open the somewhat-heavy wooden door, familiar smells mixed with tequila, tortillas, engine oil, and overheated circuit boards hit her face.
Inside lighting was complex—hanging colorful Mexican lanterns plus blue neon tubes wrapped around rafters provided illumination, casting interwoven shadows on walls.
Besides huge Mexican sombreros and brightly-colored serapes hanging on walls, several faintly-glowing holographic ads were posted, promoting latest synthetic tequilas.
The corner's old jukebox had been modified—pulse-flickering LED strips added to casings—currently playing upbeat Mexican folk songs. Though somewhat noisy, together with AV roaring sounds from outside, it filled the entire space with unique vitality.
Currently mid-afternoon—not too many people in the bar.
Several former Valentino members wearing loose shirts yet showing data ports at neck areas played poker. Smart weapons and chilled bottled beers sat on tables beside them.
Air permeated with relaxed, even somewhat lazy atmospheres—as if this was a deliberately-preserved old corner within cyber cities.
Valerie's gaze quickly locked onto the solid figure seated in an interior booth.
Jackie Welles also saw her, immediately flashing brilliant smiles, vigorously waving.
"Hey! Valerie! Over here!" Jackie's voice was booming, carrying Heywood's characteristic warmth.
Valerie walked over, sitting in the booth opposite Jackie.
Jackie already had two empty beer bottles before him, holding a third. Seeing Valerie, he immediately pushed another unopened bottle on the table toward her.