Chunks of mangled flesh, muddy with bones and tendons, and cyberware shattered into unrecognizable sses were being forcibly dragged from the wreckage of the modified Basilisks by the Tyrant.
Every mass of it was stuck inside scorched, charred composite-material clothing and the severely deford, broken Centaur-type bipedal exoskeleton armor.
It looked like partially shredded ground beef—only packed with tech and lethality.
Bone fragnts, cartilage, additives, alloy parts, electronic components, carbon fiber, ceramic polyrs—all fused into a single heap of gore.
"Interesting. They were well-prepared."
Vela stored the "Black Abyss IV" back into her black-gold case. Not minding the filth, she crouched down and pried open the signature semi-transparent red shield of a damaged Centaur exosuit.
From the pile of ruined at, she pulled out what looked like a skull. The mastoid bone behind the ear still had fragnts of a subdermal implant that was sparking.
A self-ICE module—military-grade, and quite a good model at that. Clearly specialized to counter her combat-hacking abilities…
Based on the information gathered so far, the enemy's attack tactics weren't exactly wrong.
First, delay and exhaust. Sustained suppressive fire. Then, the Basilisks would charge in close, and finally, an elite squad equipped with Centaur exosuits would use cluster thermal cannons to finish it—decapitating Vela, who, despite being said to rival Adam Smasher in power, leaned heavily on gear and had co unprepared.
A solid strategy.
Compared to Adam Smasher, she certainly was high-offense, low-defense.
Unfortunately…
She glanced at the Tyrant standing like a gate guardian beside her, and at the one rampaging in the distance under the propulsion of its Cyber Kong vector thrusters, slaughtering the attackers at will. Vela gave a sneering chuckle and shook her head.
Baiting an opening doesn't an I'm gambling with my life.
Lowering her gaze, she looked at the humanoid—well, vaguely humanoid—figure within the exosuit. At least the head was still identifiable.
A scan from her cybernetic eye:
[Scanning… unable to identify precisely at this ti.]
As expected.
"Preserve it."
Rising to her feet, Vela gave the order.
"Understood," replied the Arasaka security team captain instantly.
Collecting brain matter and intact brain tissue—just like Night City's black braindance editors who sift through NCPD's daily murder scenes for the most stimulating material. Even if a cyberpsycho had their skull blown apart by a MaxTac gun muzzle, they could still extract fresh brain matter to make braindances for the black market.
Generally, the fresher and more intact the brain, the better the data and quality of the edited braindance.
Arasaka's Intelligence Division, naturally, had no shortage of top-tier BD editors.
As the security personnel hauled out scanning and refrigerated preservation equipnt from their hover-armored escort vehicles to begin collecting brain tissue from the final wave of attackers—clearly elite 'Sand Pirates' given their Basilisk mods and Centaur exosuits—Vela returned to her business-class hovercar.
At this mont, reinforcents from Arasaka's various western North Arican divisions had also arrived.
A new Octant squadron began circling the devastated battlefield, unleashing a hailstorm of fire on the remaining live 'Sand Pirates' who hadn't yet retreated.
In the night, the muzzle flash of their autocannons lit up the ground like laser tongues, and their rockets pulverized whatever vehicles could still move.
"Director! My apologies for arriving late—are you injured?!"
Seeing the scorched, blackened chunks of tal strewn across the sand, Special Assault Unit 4's captain, Kotarou—sent to intercept midway—imdiately turned grim.
Only one of the six Octants guarding the Austin conference delegation had survived. One Manticore was damaged, another crashed… But what shocked him the most was Vela—her entire body drenched in blood, her golden hair matted with it.
Unaware of the true nature of the 'attack incident,' he all but dove forward in a sliding kneel before Vela, pushing aside the foreign affairs officer from Night City who was trying to speak with her. Pale with guilt and panic, he crouched low before her.
"I'm fine. Just a bit disheveled—as if the hunted were finally caught. Who knows, maybe it pleased soone out there."
Vela sat in a reclining chair, speaking faintly.
She glanced at him, then issued her command: "Secure the scene, preserve the evidence, and rescue the wounded. As for those 'Sand Pirates'—capture them if you can. If not, extract their braindance data."
She cast a sidelong glance skyward. The roaring overhead was not just Arasaka reinforcents or the Trauma Team dics. The big news outlets had arrived as well.
Those who made a living from this were always well-inford—drawn by the scent of blood.
The distinctive beacon lights indicating the special broadcast frequencies tied to the 'rights and duties of journalists' flashed in the air. Under the blinding spotlights and flares, WNS and News 54's signature 'Atlus' armored hovercrafts hovered in place, recording frantically.
The reporters and their cara crews clearly noticed Vela sitting bloodied and battle-worn in the half-open door of the explorer vehicle.
She waited deliberately—three, maybe four seconds.
After giving them ti to take all the shots they wanted of her current state, Vela instructed the vehicle's AI, now fully rebooted, to resu travel.
To be cautious, the Arasaka security officer piloting one of the newly arrived hover gunships suggested rerouting from Night City to the nearer destination—San Diego.
Vela had no objections.
While she appeared cold and detached—perhaps still reeling from the ambush—her eyes were closed in what seed like restful silence. Then, ring ring, an incoming video call ca through.
[Caller: Shintaro Takayama]
Vela opened her eyes.
Beep.
"Lord Shintaro, everything went smoothly."
The painful ruse—the fabricated narrative of Arasaka being ambushed—was complete.
Vmmm… vmmm…
Amidst the roar, Vela's business-class convoy vehicle, flanked by multiple Octants, Arasaka Manticores, and gunships, slowly lifted into the air. A sonic boom erupted as the formation accelerated westward in cruise mode.
Back on the Gobi, cleanup and battlefield recovery continued.
As Arasaka forces and tactical equipnt increasingly flooded the site, the border state police from New xico and Arizona finally arrived—trotting in on next-gen cyber horses—followed by bewildered personnel from the New United States Border Patrol and Militech.
What happened?
The Arasaka delegation's hovercar convoy was attacked?
What the hell was going on?
...
March 31, 2076. Dawn.
Extre southwest of Southern California—San Diego.
Splash—
After a brief bout of turbulence, at a temporary hotel provided by Arasaka's San Diego branch, cool water splashed across Vela's face. The droplets trailed down her smooth cheeks.
She turned on the faucet, her eyes lowered as she patiently scrubbed her hands—stained with dried blood, dirt, and sand.
Whoosh whoosh, as water flushed over her palms and between her fingers, the mud and blood stread away. The dark red stains on her pale hands slowly faded, until the water pooling in the sink turned clear once again.
Still, Vela continued washing.
Her indigo eyes stared icily into the mirror.
A city-chic woman returned from battle.
Dusty. Blood-soaked. Torn clothing. A shadowed, ominous expression…
A vivid portrayal of a polished, always-composed corporate enforcer in the aftermath of an ambush. Ideally so.
Clap clap.
She splashed her face with cool water, rinsing off the last of the bloodstains. Picking up a towel, she wiped the droplets dry. The previously grim expression disappeared in an instant. She exhaled gently—and her face returned to sothing more mundane, contemplative.
"Tsk... Interesting. So it really was because of . An unexpected harvest."
Her lips curled in a playful smirk as she recalled that cyberpsycho nad ndoza.
After a night of battlefield cleanup—and just before Militech personnel could intercept the scene—Arasaka's Intelligence Division had successfully smuggled out the preserved brain matter. With the best braindance editors working overti, they had finally identified the attackers.
The earlier waves—gang junkies and Militech's black-glove operatives in Juárez—weren't even worth ntioning.
The real concern was the final group: those 'Sand Pirates' riding heavily modified Basilisks, equipped with full military-grade cyberware and Centaur exosuits—
They were agents of the New United States Federal Intelligence Agency!
Although the data recovered was incomplete and the mory fragnts were disjointed, one thing was crystal clear: that FIA senior operative nad ndoza harbored an undeniable hatred toward Vela and Arasaka.
ntors, blood-sworn brothers, colleagues, students—too many people close to him had died because of Vela, or were directly killed by her in the past.
The problem was, Vela no longer rembered them.
Just like no one rembers how many slices of bread they've eaten.
That man had already descended into cyberpsychosis, yet even in his deteriorated state he could suppress his burning fury and retain tactical composure—opting first for attrition, then deploying Basilisk transport vehicles, and finally fully arming himself in a Centaur exosuit inside the APC.
That thermal cannon of his had been nearly overcharged to the brink. If Vela had dared to charge in, he would've absolutely fired without hesitation.
Had it not been for her last-minute caution in bringing two Tyrants as insurance for the self-directed 'ruse operation', she might have actually suffered so real injuries.
Looking back, Vela had to admit—she'd acted too recklessly, not rationally enough. It had been a gamble.
Still, "It played right into my hands."
She turned her gaze to the docunt displayed on her corneal HUD.
[Arasaka Intelligence Division – Night City]
[Analysis Report: …Preliminary conclusion. The 3.30 US-xico Border Attack Incident is deed an act of insubordination and personal revenge carried out by frontline FIA senior agents, triggered by cyberpsychosis and other ntal instabilities, abusing official power for private vengeance.]
A very diplomatic way of downplaying Vela's own role in the incident.
After reading it, even Vela couldn't help but let out a silent laugh.
Insubordination? Acting alone? Even before fully understanding the scope of events, Arasaka Intelligence had already settled on such conclusions.
She wondered whether Militech had finished its own internal report. Licking her plush lips, her eyes narrowed sharply.
[The above determination may be selectively leaked to bait potential corporate spies. Partial disclosure authorized.]
Beep.
With her directive issued, she shook off her hands and peeled off the bloodied coat.
Curtain call.
Yes, it was ti to update Saburo.
Just then—knock knock…
"Speak."
She pulled off her tie without looking back.
"Director, the private jet to Night City is ready."
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