The recovery of the SAT's newly reorganized units, rotated from the Santa Fe front, was progressing smoothly.
By the night after the treatnt's effects had worn off, several of the enhanced soldiers—including David Martinez, codena "Statue," and Jean Portman, codena "Whisperer"—couldn't resist beginning adaptation training with their new bodies.
Vela, as always, remained busy.
After visiting the injured and personally awarding dals and promotions to the four most outstanding soldiers, she shared dinner with attending Arasaka employees in the cafeteria. Once finished, she departed imdiately—returning to the Arasaka Tower in Oakland to preside over an online military conference.
Tomorrow morning, she was scheduled to head to Sacranto to et with Free States Alliance senators to discuss the deploynt of the newly organized Allied forces across the Northern, Central, and Southern war theaters—and the soon-to-erupt Central Campaign.
David, anwhile, after a brief encounter involving Song So Mi's "overly curious" inspection and a chance eting with Lucy, spent the entire night at the training facility.
By dawn, he and the other three soldiers received a notification: their powered armor pilot qualification review had been approved.
Simultaneously, their central control systems—temporarily shut down for recovery—ca back online after a night of neural calibration and full-body synchronization.
Beep-beep—
[Connecting to Arasaka Network restored // Updating contract data // Account access reinstated // System permissions elevated]
Then ca the barrage of alerts—ding-ding-dong-dong-beep-beep—!
All the delayed, queued, unread, and pending ssages, calls, and official mos ca flooding in at once.
Information overload—not quite, but close. David's UI interface filled with pop-up notifications, ssage tones chiming nonstop.
He was used to it—this always happened after a mission. Only this ti, the backlog was particularly long.
Pinned at the top were, of course, official administrative bulletins.
First ca the mass announcent declaring that Arasaka and Militech were officially at war, followed by notifications regarding Vela's new military authorization and appointnts.
Next were the internal updates from Arasaka Tower's Night City divisions.
As an SAT operative, David's main concern was the Security Division's reorganization:
"Ergency Militarization of Security Forces"
Sender: [Arasaka Board of Directors]
Supervisor: Vela Adelheid Arasaka Russell — [Director of the Security Division (Night City) / Chairwoman of the North Arican Executive Council / Executive Vice President, Intercontinental Division / Supre Commander, North Arican Theater / Board mber Candidate]
Date: 2077/4/23
Summary of the Board's directive regarding 'restructuring':
No.1 — During warti, Security Division forces will partially shift from private contracting, corporate security, and urban policing services to active military operations: field campaigns, urban sieges, interregional coordination, and mobile warfare.
No.2 — The Urban Excessive Firepower Convention is nullified; the Aerial Power and Heavy Armor Restriction Treaty is void; and the Powered Armor Prohibition Accord is abolished.
No.3 — Imdiate activation of reinforcent and expansion managent systems for high-intensity, attritional warfare.
No.4 — The reorganized North Arican Security Army's equipnt and structure are to match those of the highest-level strategic military groups.
...
"Phew..."
Exhaling deeply, David scrolled to the end of the docunt.
The order had been issued three days ago.
Fortunately, SAT hadn't been disbanded or rged—they'd simply been restructured into a heavy combined-arms combat brigade.
Internally, the SAT designation still held aning. Good—if they'd lost that elite unit status after all the hard work of "raising the flag," it would've been a real blow.
Still, what about Katsuo, Suneo, and Mark Wulai—the other survivors from their newly ford N-squad?
Now that he'd been promoted, he'd likely be leading his own tactical unit—and a powered armor combat group at that.
Katsuo and the others had probably received the sa news by now.
Scratching his head at the thought, he began checking his private contact list, particularly to reply to his mother's ssage.
"I heard you took on a Lazarus powered armor unit head-on to cover your squad's retreat? Lucky you ca back alive—what a miracle."
A familiar, clear voice spoke from behind him.
"So it's you, huh."
David turned and looked at the petite, pretty netrunner. "Morning."
Her pastel rainbow asymtrical bangs—no matter how many tis he saw them—were hard to forget.
Looking back, their eting and the way they'd beco familiar with each other really proved that old saying: life is unpredictable.
That night, she'd gone to fetch dicine for Maine—and he'd scared her half to death.
Back then, she was a street edgerunner. He was a corpo dog.
Through the Gloria–Maine connection, Maine bought the ds, Lucy fetched them, David delivered them. Their interactions were minimal—just acquaintances linked by circumstance.
Until that inexplicable ambush in the Badlands—where she'd scread once and turned overnight into an 'Arasaka second-gen.'
Thanks to connections—and Commander Vela's personal intervention—she was saved, officially registered, and enrolled into Arasaka Academy for supplentary training. Now she laughed and chatted with big nas in Counter-Intelligence, climbing ranks fast enough to make his head spin.
Damn. Didn't know it worked like that.
"Uh… morning," Lucy said with a small shake of her head. "I was gonna make a joke, say sothing dumb."
Then—click—she lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and continued, "Anyway, it's good to see you recovered—and promoted."
Her gaze flicked toward the brass Arasaka pin on his left lapel.
Didn't matter how many people he commanded—it still made him an officer now.
Even a minor rank was still a rank. For a pure civilian with no family background or corporate lineage, getting promoted just a year after graduation was impressive.
As for Vela—well, she was a league of her own.
"Maine and Gloria would've been proud of you."
"Thanks," David replied awkwardly, never good at small talk.
"So, how've you been…"
Before he could finish, V—who had been accompanying and monitoring Song So Mi during her neurological checkup at the recovery center—turned around.
"Since your last neural sync, you seem rather interested in him," she said coolly. "Because he's the first successful case of full neural recovery and enhancent?"
"In part," Song So Mi nodded, then shook her head.
"In that kind of extre situation—facing an entire ch unit—he could've retreated without consequence. But he didn't. He traded his life for his squad's. That kind of person… is rare anywhere."
"Solomon Reed could've done the sa," V comnted casually.
The Korean netrunner's eyes lingered on David's broad, tallic fra. "I'm just curious about his future."
"His future will be decided by the Board," V replied evenly, dismissing the subject. "Anyway, it's almost ti for your lecture."
With that, she turned and began walking away.
"Lucy."
"Director."
"Director V."
David bowed slightly.
After nodding to Lucy, V turned her gaze to David. Her pupils flickered with orange light.
[V: Do you know Jackie Welles?]
"Director?"
David blinked, then quickly realized it was a direct neural link.
[David: I've heard of him. Middleman around Watson's Little Chinatown. Maine said he's a decent guy.]
[V: Maine and Jackie were both my offline contacts.]
Leaving the implication hanging, V patted David's solid, cybernetic arm. "If you ever need help, co to ."
Then, motioning for Lucy to follow, she departed with her entourage.
David waved politely.
Before they were even out of sight—whirr... whirr...
The low hum of heavy hover-transport carriers grew louder.
Tap, tap—
"David!"
It was Katsuo's voice.
His prosthetics had been replaced and recalibrated, the bandages removed, his subdermal armor and synthetic skin fully restored—no trace of injury left. He jogged over energetically.
"Your hair?"
David blinked, noticing the difference.
Katsuo's usual bob cut was gone—now styled into his father's signature slicked-back look.
"That's not the point."
Katsuo grinned and punched David hard in the chest. "Nice one, man. Powered armor pilot? Your clearance got approved faster than mine."
Blessing and curse, perhaps. His own wounds had been light enough that, while Vela had praised him and awarded a battle dal, he didn't qualify for her full surgical reconstruction.
Too healthy for that.
"My dad just got the ssage—your non-scale powered armor unit's arrived."
Standing beside David, Katsuo crossed his arms, looking toward the training field's landing pads, where several massive hover transports were descending.
"Can I see it?"
"Of course. That one's yours."
Katsuo led him forward.
Hearing the commotion, the other three decorated soldiers and the recovering SAT operatives followed, curious.
Thud! Thud!
Each massive cargo module touched down.
Katsuo guided David through the guards, stopping before a scanning station.
AI: [Authorization confird. Welco, pilot—David Martinez.]
Clank—!
The safety locks disengaged, the hatch opened.
Lifting his gaze, David silently took in the sight of his cha.
Next ti, he would ride it into battle.
Maybe it was so long-buried instinct, but he couldn't help raising a hand to gently touch its unpainted steel hull.
"Hello, my friend."
...
At that sa mont, Vela arrived in Sacranto—a city she served but did not trust.
The Allied Forces' closed-door conference was already underway.
"...In summary, the central states are vast and sparsely populated—mostly agricultural. My proposal: the southern front will advance under the pretext of securing a land corridor with the Republic of Texas via New xico."
"The central front will proceed as planned—our main territorial objective—but the real breakthrough, where we'll deploy our mobile heavy forces, will be the northern line."
The holographic map shifted, the glowing lines on the North Arican tactical projection sliding northeast—finally halting over the Great Lakes region: northeastern Illinois, southern Lake Michigan.
One city.
"Chicago."
—
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