The new chapter release schedule is every OTHER day now, so expect their to be no new chapter tomorrow, but one should be up two days from now.
Jugemu Jun was a President of the Arasaka Corporation, acting on behalf of Arasaka Saburo to manage one of its various branch offices. He was responsible for the maintenance and development of Arasaka influence in Night City, and for no less than forty-four years he had been successful. He was proud of his duty and his abilities, who wouldn't be?
In front of him were the various projects that were brought before him. Their success or failure was now up to him, and if he chose to fund one over the others. They had been assembled by the various departments under him, and then forwarded for him to pass judgment upon. The information was more raw than he was used to, but the recent attack on Arasaka Tower has rendered his secretary a fine red mass of biological matter, so he had no one trustworthy to sort through his data for the next few years. It was annoying, but he was prepared to deal with it, it was a small price to pay.
The first project was to provide additional funding for the Arasaka development in Pacifica. If given enough wealth then in a mere few years it could grow to be more influential than the existing Arasaka holdings in NC, and thus an excellent staging HQ for future operations. He dismissed it immediately, making note of who proposed it and adding them to his list. It would not do to give the gaijin any more power than he already has.
The second project proposal was to reallocate wealth now freed up from supplying their now freed-up field operatives to increase reconstruction and repair of the tower. The operatives who seemed more loyal and trustworthy would be assigned to fill in the gaps in their security and train up the next batch while the less useful or less dedicated would be assigned to act as security for the Pacifica development.
He considered this for a moment. It would be granting more power to another party within NC, but it would be to a provisional ally and the power provided would be risky at best. He approved the proposal. It would take no particular budget to perform, the more loyal operatives can be used to fill ranks and repair security, and the more risky operatives can be discarded. It was a good proposal. He memorized the name of the executive who proposed it, and made a note to give them a minor pay raise.
The third proposal came from the private military research branch underneath the tower. They took minimal damage during the attack, which was excellent and exactly what he was hoping for. Attached to the proposal was the current results of project YOKAI. He scanned through it as he thought back to the meeting in which it was originally proposed by Mr. Hijikata. A shame that he was also rendered non-functional during the attack, he was a smart man, very useful in projects related to his specialty.
He didn't know anything about his replacement yet. He made a note to check his profile during his lunch break.
The scientists working on YOKAI have managed to reduce the test subject expiration rate by another 0.5 percent, if this trend continued they would reduce it by about 2 percent per year. In a mere five years the subject survival rate would already double. That was very good progress, he immediately approved for the additional funding for acquiring test subjects. They would have to be armed with stealth technology this time.
Project YOKAI required high neuroplasticity for success, and it was vital that it was kept a secret from as many as possible until it was ready to be used on a large scale. Currently only he himself, the scientists involved, and Arasaka Saburo himself knew of it, and he was determined to keep it that way.
Hmm, perhaps they can negotiate with local maternity wards? The disappearances can be concealed by having the medical professionals claim SIDS. Ah, but then they would have to be silenced as well. He attached a file to be sent to the stealth team that they were to simply be cautious and quick. He did not need to explain the price for failure, they already knew it well.
It was rather expensive to budget for this, but it was absolutely nothing compared to the monstrous amount of wealth flowing into the Pacifica development or the CS2. He grit his teeth at the sheer waste caused seemingly by Arasaka Saburo's flight of fancy. There was nothing in Pacifica besides trash and filth, a money sink of colossal scale if he had ever seen one. To say nothing of the CS2, the first model was absolute garbage and it was good. He had been hoping by indulging Hijikata's disdain for the affair by letting that abomination to warfare be made would cause interest in the idea to die out.
Then subject Martinez had to show up, and the CS1 proved enormously effective even with its nonsensical design features. The CS2 was even worse, taking up more funding to develop by an order of magnitude. War was meant to be fought if no deal could be made, if no advantage was to be had in any other recourse. War was expensive and damaged many resources, it was for that reason that Jun described himself a pacifist. War was only useful for conveniently dealing with excess war-stock that held over from conflicts decades ago. It was meant to be fought between men with guns in tanks and planes and boats, where all factors that determined victory were solely in the hands of the respective industries of each participant.
It was not meant to be decided by the actions of singular individuals, that would lead to a disastrously chaotic world. The attack on the France meeting proved that beyond a shadow of doubt. Lives cannot be held in the hands of singular brutes who knew nothing but violence, that was beyond question.
If he had any say in the whole affair, both such projects would be shut down and their funding allocated to more profitable ventures. Unfortunately, they were both being handled by the Main branch of Arasaka Corporation in Japan. He had no say in the projects that were handled there, all he could do was watch as millions poured down two sinkholes caused by his city. He almost popped a vein from guilt, it was downright shameful.
It was fortunate that the support levers and attachments to Arasaka Tower proper held by assault-asset Smasher were rendered non-functional in the attack, even if that took a little uncharacteristic interference on his part. With his primary hooks cut off, Jun could begin making sure that Arasaka Tower NC could function without his influence and occasional destruction of company property. The bodies were always annoying to dispose of, and the rendering of company employees non-functional for reasons as nebulous as 'he pissed me off' was unacceptable.
No, now Jun could begin to slowly liberate his city from the tyrant jaws of Arasaka Saburo's favorite rabid dog. Thereafter, he could finally focus on Night City's development properly.
—
Brutus Cunningham, Elite ACPA pilot of Militech's finest, took a long drink of the shit-water coffee they had in the office. He was in the room with two of his least favorite people, his CO and his fellow Elite.
He didn't like all the strict 'regulations' shit that his CO tried to push on him. He got the job done, and he got it done with more than enough time to spare, each and every time. No, why the fuck would he care about property damage or civilian casualties, he had killed the target, didn't he? Brutus was more of a 'do your own thing' kinda man, and it fucking worked. He was the best damn Infantry unit Militech had, no matter what the prettyboy bastard to his right's records said.
Regulus Law (god damn what a horrid name) was a shit-talking dumbass who was high on his own shits. Twink probably though the sun shined out his ass too, it would be right up his fucking alley. He took another drink of the coffee, fuck, he wished it was a beer.
"I trust the both of you have seen the attached footage by now." His CO said, uselessly. Of course they've seen it, they were here weren't they? Seeing that borg tear through that many goons got his blood pumping, that was what being a man was all about!
Had they figured out his armor trick? Was he gonna get that? He sure as fuck hoped.
"Yes Sir."
"Eyup."
Fucking bastard, stop trying to show him up. Get that cock out of your ass, this wasn't a fucking formal meeting.
"The military development board has been working on developing a counter to such opponents…" Ah, he wasn't going to be invincible then. Boring. Well, he might get a fancy new suit out of this, if they were talking to the best ACPA pilot in Militech and the twink. "...and after a three-day designworks phase, have settled on an ACPA design roughly according to the following specifications. The design consists entirely of existing technologies, so the only requirement of the development team is to make them fit together. All in all, we're looking at a six month development cycle and a two-month manufacturing cycle until it's ready for mass production."
He started looking at the proposed schematics. This was to counter more borgs in the future, huh? He looked at it with that in mind.
A 1350 frame was fucking lightweight, more than he wanted, but it made sense he supposed. That giant set of thrusters and wingpack on its back meant that this was an aerial design. They couldn't do those 'destroy you with a tap' tricks if they couldn't reach you. The armor was also lighter than he wanted, but oh well, don't get hit, easy enough to do.
The carried gun was a model he didn't recognize. He asked about it.
"Heyya, what's this gun? I don't recognize the model."
"A prototype Microwaver, upscaled to ACPA sizes. Raw damage has been increased by about fourfold and the range has been increased ten times over."
Ah, yeah that would mess up a borg real fucking quick. How many shots? Only twenty, not great but better than it could be. These would be nasty in a group. He made a note to carry two. He moved onto the arms and noticed something.
"What the fuck are the arms? Why the hell do they have shotguns with phosphorus pellets?"
"The board decided it would be a strong option in case a target managed to close the gap on the pilot."
"That's fucking retarded. If your target has moved 200 meters faster than you can fly away, you are not surviving with two fucking shotgun blasts. Also, the phosphorus would blind the pilot as well. Good job, you are now doubly fucked mr. pilot. ALSO! It only encourages the pilot to get in close and use the fucking things instead of staying at safe range, and with the piddly fucking armor they're only going to get killed trying that."
"Similar concerns were brought up and dismissed."
He grunted, so this was upper-management meddling, fucking figures. Dumbasses didn't know the first thing about fighting. He moved onto the legs and noticed another issue.
"Why the fuck did they mount thermite grenades in an enclosed space in the legs? That's just lowering the structure of the things that you use to land and lift off, that's shit-brained. And If an enemy hits one of those things with a lucky shot then all the thermite is gonna burn through your lower torso faster than you could hope to respond."
"They were concerned with the aerodynamics of the design if mounted externally."
"They realize this is a fucking ACPA, not a jet, right?"
"I assume so."
So they don't then. Fucking hell he hated upper management sometimes. At least the twink had kept nice and quiet as he pointed out all the shit-garbage design in this thing. He took another drink of his coffee as he waited for CO to continue.
"Your assignments, should you choose to accept, will be to act as test pilots and doctrine-makers for the design. You will be given a test-type model of the design and missions that have been judged specifically to be suitable for the modeled parameters of the design."
"Fuck no."
His CO turned to look at him at that, raising a tired eyebrow at his rejection. Brutus explained.
"You heard me earlier, right? This thing is a fucking mess of a design more liable to get the pilot killed than actually help on a job. Send it back to the fucking think-tank and tell them to try again."
"I accept." The fucking Twink proved that he lived to spite him, and agreed. You shitfucker, you're not gonna one-up him ever again.
"Changed my mind, when do I start?" He growled out.
He was Brutus Cunningham, the best damn ACPA pilot in Militech. They wanted him to turn a shit design into gold? Fuck that, he'd turn it into fucking platinum before he was done. He would kill more borgs than the twink could ever hope to. The twink just used his shit-dainty hand to brush his annoying long blond hair out of his eyes. Cut it short, retard.
God he hated his coworkers.
—
At one-hundred and twenty six years old, Valentin Domanevka was a very old man in a world full of very young men. He had been acting director of the SovOil secret police since the year two-thousand and two. Seventy-two years of managing one of the most dangerous and influential jobs in the entire world, Seventy-two years of serving SovOil to the best of his ability, ensuring that the dream of the Soviet Union does not ever fade. Longer than that he has spent serving the Union more broadly, first serving as deputy-director of the KGB seemingly so long ago.
His friends of youth have all died at this point. His rivals of adulthood have all died at this point. His enemies within SovOil's boundaries have all died at this point. The old Soviet Union may have long since fallen, but its dream shall not die until long after he does, and he had no intention of dying anytime soon.
He adjusted his spectacles a bit and looked at the forms in his hands. All twenty-seven forms required for legal resignation from the SovOil secret police, and the letters of confirmation indicating that the memories involving the individual's service have been successfully bound and extracted. This was in all regards a proper and legal exit from his services.
He looked up at former agent Arnold Armstrong, a massive, burly man who sat in a suit one-size too small for him in a chair that was many sizes too small for him. He was across the desk and patiently waiting for Domanevka's judgment. He liked Armstrong, he was dutiful and loyal. Unfortunately he was more loyal to his family than anything else, else he would not be in his office right now.
"Your father is not joining you?" Valentin asked, eyes searching.
"Ah, father is too old, he wishes to be a proper enemy next time we meet." Armstrong responded, observing the proper courtesy and respect for his elders that his sister never did. Still, it was good that he would not be losing two respectable agents today. Armstrong senior had served him for decades at this point, and his performance was exemplary. They occasionally played chess, as Valentin had few opponents that were trustworthy and good enough to actually challenge him.
Valentin knew how to spot liars, and for all the faults the family had, the Armstrongs were not liars. There was a reason he trusted them well enough to let them live for so long, they didn't have a dishonest bone in their bodies. Which made them strangely suited for secret police work, but that was simply the nature of things.
He also knew that Arnold Armstrong couldn't betray the secrets of SovOil at this point. His neuralware had been thoroughly searched and mind had been scrubbed of any sensitive information. It was the reason why he would never have anything with software interact with his body, horrible idea all around. Armstrong knew nothing of importance at this point. Still, it was a shame to let such a valuable asset leave…
As a favor to his father, he'd allow it this once he supposed.
Valentin began the process of checking the forms again. This was merely a show, he already memorized them. He began making small talk with Armstrong.
"Going to join your sister in America, I suppose?"
"Indeed, families must remain together if possible. I fear her boldness might get her into trouble, even ignoring her defection."
"You were always more level headed than she."
"Ah, such is life. She is my sister, and I must help her as best I am able."
Such is life indeed.
"Your unemployment request has been accepted. You will find that the planes in section V will be delayed by half an hour, and the squad assigned to eliminate you will suffer an unfortunate traffic accident beforehand."
"Ah, thank you very much, Mr. Valentin. I shall remember your kindness, not only for this but for my family through the years."
"How can I look your father in the eyes when we play chess otherwise? Now go, I have more work that doesn't involve you."
With that Arnold Armstrong got up, moved over to the window, and opened it. After a few careful seconds of crawling his bulk through, he was outside, whereupon he gently closed the window again and waved goodbye. Dashing away to jump many meters over the compound walls and into the proper streets of the city.
Valentin nodded at him.
He was a very old man in a world full of very young men. He need not kill every one of them. Besides, his father was far more valuable to risk losing over one combat asset leaving his service.
With that business taken care of he got back to what he had been doing before, formulating a strategy for what his agents should do if they met another threat like that found in France. An individual of immense cybernetic prowess, and a dedicated combat-AI, that was immune to kinetic attacks…
He pondered the puzzle for a bit. In his mind, a board formed and a knight advanced in a direction he wasn't expecting.
He wrote down that the agents were to move in groups of two, and carry at least one high-grade thermal explosive at all times. One agent was to ensure the explosive was used on the target, the other agent was to flee and report the sighting. The best solutions were the simplest in some cases.
After all, if he could take out a knight for a measly pawn, then that was a very good trade indeed.
Valentin liked chess, he looked forward to his next match with Armstrong senior. He wondered how that great metal behemoth was doing.
—
Everywhere across the world, the corporations and countries reviewed the footage that was distributed of the France attack.
Everywhere across the world, the military planners began to tackle the new problem with enthusiasm. New plans were drafted, new factories built, new strategies devised. Warmachines that corporations and countries ever-longed to test in live combat.
The military engines of the world began to rev again, only briefly slumbering after the Fourth-Corporate War and half-awake through the Reunification War. Now they were awake in full, and focused squarely at the thing that awoke them.
Across the world, great beasts of war began to shake off the rust of a mere few decades of dreamwalking.
When they started shaking off this torpor, their vision cleared enough to see their rivals doing the same.