Cyberpunk: Infinite Progress Begins with Arasaka Chapter 13: Vela Needs to Vent, Because—

Bang!

A gunshot.

A seductive silhouette collapsed onto the filthy ground.

A large-caliber round blasted through her ticulously sculpted, beautiful features, exiting through the back of her head. tal bone fragnts and a fan-shaped spray of red and white blood mist scattered across the air. All that remained was half a jaw pulling her body backward with inertia, crashing heavily onto the floor.

The corpse lay limply on the ground, exposed and protruding damaged cybernetic components sparking in clusters. Occasionally, her limbs twitched erratically.

Scarlet human blood and milky maintenance fluid seeped from the gaping wound on her head, already staining the ground, slowly spreading within a pair of indigo eyes.

Tap tap...

Clad in a black Arasaka combat uniform with red underlining, Vela stepped out from the shadows.

Lowering her RT-46 Burya electromagnetic revolver, she glanced sidelong at a man nearby who had collapsed in terror, mouth agape, stunned into silence and unable even to scream. Her indifferent face clearly showed she was not in a good mood.

"Aaaahhhh—!"

Only then did the man—his face splattered with blood, flesh, and brain matter—finally let out a terrified, hoarse howl.

Then—smack! smack smack!

Vela's heavy-armored soldiers stepped up and delivered several hard slaps, silencing him.

Bang bang bang—!

All around, the mont Vela's shot rang out as a signal, a series of gunshots erupted in response to the resisting suspects and the screams of pedestrians. Within monts, the noise subsided. Several Arasaka plainclothes agents and armored soldiers restraining the targets landed steadily from the rooftop.

"Commander, how should we handle this one?"

Vela's trusted subordinate, Jimmy—acting captain of Special Assault Unit 6—stepped forward. After handing off the target—whose limbs were twisted, face swollen, ICE defense module forcibly torn out, cybernetics paralyzed by a Daemon virus, and beaten beyond recognition—to the plainclothes agents, he spoke.

The Daemon virus, simply put, is malware—a type of protocol hackers upload during intrusions. It contains scripted commands that let the hacker influence users within the network: quick hacks, causing malfunctions in cyberware, frying brains—it all depends on how it's used.

ICE refers to special defensive programs designed specifically to counter Daemon attacks.

"Standard procedure," Vela said flatly, turning to leave.

"Yes, ma'am..."

Jimmy nodded, then looked at the man who seed to finally realize the situation and was now even more frightened. He shrugged.

"Idiot. You didn't even realize you were being targeted by corporate spies? You think a pleasure doll equipped with a high-end sexbot chip would take a liking to you? Get real. Even the crumbs from a rich idiot's fingers at Clouds would be worth more than your monthly salary."

Wiping the blood from his face, Jimmy, dressed in a small suit, actually looked pretty respectable—had the exact flavor of a company dog.

Well, he was a company dog—but not for much longer.

This case, cracked by the Counter-Intelligence Division, was simple. A newly hired admin clerk from the Security Division had been targeted. Soone exploited his frequent visits to sexbot parlors, using a fabricated encounter with a pleasure doll as a point of entry to establish rapport, create intimacy, and slowly plant a sleeper agent.

Arasaka didn't know when they intended to activate the asset—maybe after he got promoted. But Arasaka caught on early and neutralized the threat.

The target's personnel file was currently with the Security Division. The Counter-Intelligence Division had inford senior security staff, and operatives were dispatched in ti to catch the act in progress. In nearby buildings, hackers had indeed been recording and secretly uploading Daemon malware—perhaps as future blackmail material.

Vela had witnessed the entire process firsthand: from the two eting, exchanging sentints, to groping each other in a corner, and finally making out so hard they were practically drooling.

"He's all yours," Jimmy told the plainclothes agent from the Counter-Intelligence Division.

"Masato Yamauchi, you are suspected of violating corporate regulations. Co with us."

The Arasaka agents from Counter-Intelligence took away the dazed Masato Yamauchi, the suspect they'd apprehended, and of course—the now-dead sexbot corpse.

Arasaka Security Division armored AV.

"Jimmy, any backlog of Night City field missions that need clearing? Also, support requests from other departnts—go ahead and take them, as long as they're not unreasonable."

"Uh... Commander, you don't actually have to handle these in person."

As soon as they boarded the armored AV, Jimmy groaned internally at the sight of his fully ard superior.

That custom-fitted, high-strength polycarbonate tactical suit, the nanofiber armored coat, the external electro-muscle enhancers wrapped around her arms, and the structurally reinforced monomolecular fingertip sleeves...

"Is there a problem?"

Vela, who had been carefully maintaining her Nekomata electromagnetic sniper rifle, glanced up at him.

"No problem at all."

Sitting directly across from her, Jimmy imdiately straightened up.

As one of Vela's trusted subordinates, Jimmy had been personally discovered and promoted from the front lines by her. He was a direct loyalist—if she rose, he rose; if she fell, he'd be purged along with her.

Jimmy was well aware of where Vela stood in terms of strength.

That exquisitely maintained body of hers, which cost millions of eurodollars a year in upkeep, contained terrifying destructive potential. Most of the ti, she commanded from the tactical operations center, but that was due to her position and practicality. When she did hit the field...

Calling her a cyberpsycho would be an understatent.

Pair that with the lab-grade, custom gear Vela had commissioned out of her own pocket because she "valued her life" too much to skimp—even a riot control squad would seem ta in comparison. As Arasaka's top enforcer, Adam Smasher, once said: Vela was a "at grinder," too.

Jimmy had no doubt that if you could quantify Vela's physical ability, intelligence, reflexes, and composure, they'd all rank at legendary level.

After sparring with her for a few months—as had other mbers of Unit 6—they all believed this firmly.

"Supervisor, the Intelligence Division is requesting security assistance. A few shipnts ant for their informants got intercepted by a group of Maelstrom fanatics holed up in the Northern Industrial Zone."

One of Unit 6's security specialists reported while operating the intel terminal.

"Accept it."

Grabbing her finely crafted thermal katana and the freshly tuned Nekomata electromagnetic sniper rifle, Vela stood up.

"Jimmy, you're in charge of handling the rest of the Counter-Intelligence Division handoff here with Unit 6-1. Dispatch Unit 2—head straight to the Northern Industrial Zone."

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but Jimmy could've sworn he saw Vela smile just then.

A bloodthirsty curve at the corner of her lips—as if sothing inside her was aching to be let loose.

With that, Vela jumped off the current AV and boarded another.

Vrrrr... vrrrr...

The armored AV sped toward the northern districts of Night City.

"...."

"Tch... Boss, is it just , or is Supervisor Vela super pissed off lately? Maybe it's that ti of the m—ow!"

Bang!

A pot-sized fist silenced the overly talkative machine gunner with a solid punch. Jimmy swept his gaze across the squad.

"Don't ask what you shouldn't."

"As far as you're concerned, you're deaf and mute. Commander Vela is just demonstrating hands-on leadership as part of her new post. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" ×N

...

Vela had no idea what her subordinates were thinking—nor did she care.

She only knew one thing:

She was furious.

Utterly.

The kind of rage that demanded release.

"A bunch of parasites... How can any of you fix the economy like this? How the hell is Arica supposed to be 'great' again?!"