"Arasaka Corporation has formally declared bankruptcy and dissolution. The Arasaka Tower at Tokyo HQ has been purchased by Kang-Tao, and all regional branches across other nations have been divided up by local powers."
"Our separation from Arasaka isn't exactly legal, but thanks to President V's presence, the law is nothing more than a fairy tale someone wrote. All major corps have acknowledged our legitimacy, and Arasaka's former operations have been smoothly transferred to us."
"Overall, Arasaka's fall hasn't hurt us—in fact, we've absorbed a great deal of their talent. The Daifeng carrier battle group has surrendered and is now logged into our combat roster. Together with the Cetus, they've become the left and right arms protecting Night City."
"As a result, our overall strength has increased significantly—preliminary assessment puts us at 3.75 times our former capacity. That puts us close to Tokyo HQ's former level. And if we factor in President V's own combat power, then our combined strength already surpasses Arasaka's main branch."
V nodded, but she wasn't pleased with herself.
They had only surpassed the main branch—compared to Arasaka's global network, they were still far behind.
But a feast must be eaten one bite at a time. She believed that through everyone's hard work, Night City would see a bright future.
"International talk right now is that Arasaka in the East has fallen, and Arasaka in the West has risen. President V, have you decided on the new company name?"
"Of course," V said confidently. "We'll be called Arasaka 2077. It means we're starting over from 2077—cutting ourselves off entirely from the past!"
The conference room fell completely silent.
"…What? Is it bad?" V asked.
It wasn't about being good or bad—
This name was absolute dogshit.
Even the omnipotent President V had weaknesses. Everyone suddenly felt much better about themselves.
"Excellent! Truly excellent!" Carter loudly praised.
Everyone cursed him as a bootlicker inside their heads—before raising their thumbs in admiration just like him.
V was satisfied. After all, she'd gotten this name from an AI.
"Alright, settled. Now, let's talk about Night City's reconstruction. Report the damage."
The room instantly grew solemn.
"First—Pacifica. The Coastview area has been completely flattened. Dogtown was severely affected and suffered massive destruction. The stadium surroundings are ground zero."
"Next—Santo Domingo. Thanks to Shoukaku's railgun shot, the entire district was split in half. Numerous buildings destroyed; 70% without power or water."
"Then—Heywood. The Glen and Vista del Rey became the primary battleground between us and Arasaka's landing troops. Repeated clashes devastated both districts. Almost all low-rise buildings are total losses; high-rises have varying degrees of structural damage. Multiple expert teams are evaluating the area."
"Westbrook and Watson were far from the main warzone and largely intact. Displaced residents and casualties are mostly housed there."
"Report the casualties."
"We deployed a total of 27,000 fighters. Among them: 7,000 regular troops from Arasaka, Kang-Tao, and the Phantom Dogs; the rest—over 20,000—were temporary reservists, city mercs, and gang members. Even with numerical advantage, the equipment gap caused heavy casualties."
"Phantom Dogs: total annihilation. Colonel Kurt Hansen is still in critical condition."
"Arasaka: 2,157 killed, 842 severely wounded."
"Kang-Tao: 1,469 killed, 213 severely wounded."
"Reservists, city mercs, gang members: approx. 14,000 killed, 2,000 severely wounded. Sorry, many had no official registration, so numbers cannot be fully precise."
V nodded.
"Understood. Handle compensation carefully. Lower the threshold—pay even if it means excess, duplicate, or mistaken payments. What must never happen is leaving a single person out."
She paused.
"But let me make this clear: not a single eddy of this fund can be touched. If even the lowest temporary worker in your department commits fraud, the entire department takes the fall—including everyone sitting here. You all know Soul Prison. Death is not the end."
A cold shiver went through the room.
The CFO trembled. "Isn't… isn't that too strict…?"
"Then keep your people in line! Make them police each other!" V slammed the table.
The CFO nodded frantically.
Everyone now understood she wasn't joking. All thoughts of skimming vanished. They were already planning how to warn their subordinates—
If you want to die, fine, but don't drag us down with you.
"Civilian casualties?"
"Current numbers: 8,212 dead; 12,764 severely injured; 32,846 lightly injured."
"So many? Didn't we have underground shelters?"
"Those shelters are why the number is this low.
Arasaka's weapons were too advanced. Civilian infrastructure cannot survive sustained bombardment. Most casualties came from building collapses and entrapment. Manual excavation has finished; heavy machinery is being deployed. As more ruins are cleared, the death toll may rise further."
V felt the weight in her chest.
Someone tried to comfort her.
"President V, you did incredibly well. A modern war in a city of 7 million with fewer than ten thousand civilian deaths—this is a miracle."
V just shook her head.
"…Public sentiment?"
"Sadness is dominant, with some joy over the victory. Overall low but stable."
"Hopefully tonight's broadcast lifts their spirits." V looked at Jenkins. "Jenkins, make it flawless."
"Yes, President. With a number as astronomical as 40 billion eurodollars, even the hardest hearts will smile."
With further adjustments and instructions, the meeting finally ended.
V's next stop: Watson District, Temporary Shelter Site 212.
A personal matter.
To avoid disturbing the medical staff, she didn't use an AV. She kept her identity hidden and drove the Caliburn herself.
She activated the Crystal-Weave Carcoat; hexagonal waves rippled across the surface as the Caliburn shifted from red-and-white to matte black.
Low profile—leveled up.
Thanks to efficient cleanup crews, the roads were already cleared. Before V could finish pondering whether "more low-key" meant higher or lower, she'd already arrived.
Engine off. Sunglasses. Baseball cap. Brim lowered.
A quick check in the mirror—unrecognizable enough.
She stepped out.
Shelter 212 — Temporary Casualty Center
A former factory workshop converted into an improvised shelter. Conditions were bad, but there were walls, a roof, and enough insulation to keep the wind and rain out.
The bigger problem was lack of medical staff, so many civilians volunteered as caretakers.
V spotted Misty—though she barely recognized her.
The fluffy curls were gone, replaced by neat short hair.
"Hey. Nice haircut."
Misty's eyes widened. She nearly called out, but V shushed her.
"I don't want attention."
Misty nodded, touching her hair.
"A fire scorched the old style—turned it into this black, crispy lump. So I chopped it off."
"I'm guessing it was dangerous." V's voice carried guilt. "I'm sorry, Misty… because of me—"
"Don't say that, President V. You've already done more than enough." Misty smiled.
"Many people died because of you—but many more survived because of you."
"…Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"Not at all. Just facts. Do you need comforting?"
They both laughed.
V didn't need comfort. She didn't regret what she'd done. Even if time rewound, she'd make the same choice.
She wasn't a saint. She had chosen the path with the least overall cost.
"Jackie is inside—second bed by the wall," Misty said, waving goodbye before returning to her volunteer duties.
V walked deeper in.
Passing a small room, she heard someone crying:
"Please don't cut off my leg! I took a 24-installment loan for it—I've only paid six! Doctor, please don't cut it!"
The foreman's office had been turned into an emergency OR.
V peeked inside—and saw a familiar face.
Viktor Vektor.
Night City's most reliable ripperdoc. The best, bar none.
His forehead and chest were wrapped in blood-stained bandages, yet even injured, he was helping others.
On the table lay a young man; his friend stood anxiously beside him.
"Doc, can't you think of something? My friend's called the 'Pacifica Whirlwind.' His dream is to be a world-class sprinter—his legs mean everything!"
Vik looked troubled.
"His injuries are severe. The cyberlegs are leaking logic viruses. If this continues, it'll spread to other implants. Even his… 'big cannon' may not be salvageable."
"What?!"
The Whirlwind screamed. "Doc! Cut the legs! Cut BOTH if you need to—hurry!"
Friend: "…"
Vik: "…"
V: "…"
The surgery went smoothly. When the Whirlwind learned his "big cannon" had been saved, he gave Vik a five-star rating.
As for the dream of being a champion—
Before primal human instinct, that meant nothing.
Vik finally noticed her.
"President V?"
"Just call me V."
"Alright, V. What brings you here?"
"Checking on Jackie." Then she narrowed her eyes. "But you—injured yourself. Why are you still working?"
Vik chuckled. "Guess I'm just a soft-hearted old man."
V smiled.
"An old softie who once took down pro boxers with his bare hands?"
"Those were the days." Vik shrugged. "Now I'm just a ripperdoc."
"Thank you, Vik. You've done so much for me—for the whole city. Please rest."
"And thank you, V. You're the one who saved this city. Stay healthy."
For a doctor, "eternal health" was both the worst curse—
and the highest blessing.
V accepted it.
She moved on—to the second bed against the wall.
Jackie lay there, half his body replaced with steel. That was the only reason he'd survived. Sweat drenched his face.
"Regret it?" V asked, sitting beside him.
Jackie looked surprised she came—but smiled.
"To be honest? Yeah. If I were stronger, I could've taken down more Arasaka dogs—saved more brothers."
"You idiot!" V scolded. "You didn't have to take point!"
Jackie laughed.
"But you were always the one taking point, weren't you?"
Even in another worldline, the people who understood each other still did.
That's what friendship meant.
V asked about his injuries—Jackie immediately began bragging.
How heroic he'd been, how many enemies he'd crushed, how many he'd saved—like a god descending.
But gods don't get half their bodies blown off.
He didn't tell V about the agony or the close brushes with death. He didn't want her to worry.
She listened quietly, praising him now and then.
That was all he wanted.
For a moment, Jackie felt like this was how it should be—like this was their daily life.
But how could it be? He was just a Heywood punk, a small-time foreman.
President V visiting him was just a formality—checking on the wounded—and maybe saying hi to an old acquaintance.
He felt a small ache inside.
Then he gathered the courage.
"President V… Misty and I plan to get married. After I heal. Would you… come?"
V stood up.
Jackie panicked.
"Forget it! You're busy—pretend I said nothing."
"Coyote Cojo?" V asked.
"…Huh?"
"Your wedding. It's at the Coyote Cojo, right?"
"…Yes."
"Save me a drink." V patted his shoulder. "I'll be there."
"Thank you! President V—thank you! I'll save you the best drink! Don't you dare ghost me!"
[Jackie, wait in the car. I'll talk to Dexter DeShawn real quick—we'll go home together.]
She had ghosted him once.
She wouldn't again.
Her choomba had found happiness—and V was happier than Jackie himself.
Even if Jackie no longer remembered her.
V cared about many people—Jackie, Mama Welles, Vik, Misty…
But she could not sacrifice the city for her personal wishes.
She had to think of the bigger picture.
A disgusting phrase.
She had become what she once hated—another Saburo Arasaka.
Tens of thousands dead or wounded, reduced to numbers.
A necessary price.
But she didn't regret it.
As long as her fall ensured others' happiness—it was enough.
A merc couldn't do what needed to be done.
So she, the person she had become, would.
This time, there would be a perfect ending—for everyone.
Her holo buzzed. Sasha.
V answered.
"V… can you come to the hospital? Colonel Hansen… he's not going to make it."