The only constant is change.
As the saying goes, plans never keep up with changes; disappointments are far more common than satisfaction.
When tensions between Arasaka and Washington continued to build over the long term, and the standoff between the East and West coasts of North America reemerged—with both sides watching each other's every move, holding their breath and waiting for the other to make the first mistake—while maintaining a strange and fragile balance through open rivalry and covert struggle…
History has proven that in such moments, the deadlock is often broken by something seemingly trivial and unrelated—a small, accidental spark.
Washington.
Langley, on the banks of the Potomac River, home to the Federal Intelligence Agency (FIA) headquarters.
Deep within the fortress-like compound, inside a dimly lit room filled with state-of-the-art deep-dive network equipment—
Beep... beep...
"Deep-dive operation complete."
Detecting the change in biometric readings from the deep-dive capsule's occupant, the terminal's onboard weak-AI announced in a synthetic voice.
Click—whoosh.
The capsule door opened. The ionized liquid coolant within automatically drained away, revealing a naked Asian woman whose steaming body glistened as the built-in seat lifted her upright.
An FIA clerical agent, tablet in hand, immediately stepped forward.
In the next instant, the health monitor emitted a shrill alarm, and the female netrunner began to tremble violently.
The agents, however, remained calm. Efficiently, they removed her breathing mask, checked her vitals, then gently propped her up. One detached the neural plug from the back of her head, unlocked the torso's connector clamps, and let her lean forward, head down, a vomit bag ready before her—utterly professional.
Urgh—
The aftereffects of deep-diving were vicious—dizziness, nausea, disorientation. Song So Mi turned her head and vomited hard.
Once she had mostly emptied her stomach, one of the agents handed her a towel and an inhalable MaxDoc Type-5 mist.
As though this were routine, Song So Mi accepted them without lifting her head. She wiped her mouth, inhaled once—whoosh—and instantly felt much better.
Moments later, she stood up, her back covered in layered cooling components that steamed as the lingering moisture evaporated. Her rose-red, shoulder-length hair clung wetly to her face, yet she showed no concern for her exposed body—after all, what little flesh remained was hardly worth modesty.
Or rather—did she even still have flesh?
Perhaps less than Vela's own so-called "meat content," as mocked by New American propaganda.
Now, aside from parts of her face, nearly all her body had been cybernetically reconstructed. Beneath the reinforced dermal layer, her "skin" was mostly made of specialized composite material optimized for thermal dissipation—including her chest and lower body.
"Agent Songbird, have the Voodoo Boys agreed to cooperate?"
Sitting behind the monitoring desk, the suit-clad FIA officer folded his hands calmly, a shadowy gleam flickering in his eyes.
"For now, yes."
Wiping her face with the towel, Song So Mi replied hoarsely, "But their price is high. Aside from funding, they demand the latest deep-dive rigs and netrunner-grade cyberware. On top of that, they want us to hand over our Night City safehouses and our detailed infiltration data on Arasaka Tower's data center..."
"Arrogant Haitian bastards."
The officer sneered. "All the better—we'll let those overconfident fools do our dirty work."
The so-called Voodoo Boys—Night City's Pacifica-based gang—were among the few groups specializing in netrunning infiltration. Primarily composed of Haitian immigrants, they dabbled in mysticism and worshipped a cyberneticized version of Voodoo: replacing the concepts of heaven and divine power with the eternal existence of sentient AIs.
Naturally, they were obsessed with hacking operations and exploring the ruins of the Old Net.
For instance—clashing with NetWatch, digging holes into the [Blackwall], attempting to contact rogue AIs beyond it, or searching for traces left by Alt Cunningham, the legendary netrunner who created the "Soulkiller" program and was later slain by Arasaka.
Because of this, their desire to strike back at Arasaka—to rob the rich and "redistribute" the spoils—was stronger than most.
After all, Alt died at Arasaka's hands. Her lover, Johnny Silverhand, died in Arasaka Tower and was made into a Relic. The Relic was in Arasaka's possession, and it was rumored that Alt's "soul imprint," after her physical death, had also been captured by Arasaka—at least for a time.
So long as the Voodoo Boys sought chaos and the realization of their cybernetic version of immortality, they were destined to clash with Arasaka.
Song So Mi had contacted the Voodoo Boys' leader—a top-tier netrunner known as Maman Brigitte—through a [Blackwall] protocol while the gang was wandering near the digital barrier's edge.
That alone was reason enough for the FIA to extend an olive branch.
Casting a wide net was unavoidable.
After all, Solomon Reed's entire Night City FIA branch had been nearly wiped out, and before rebuilding their intelligence network, someone had to play the scapegoat.
In short—anyone who could cause trouble for Arasaka, New America would support!
The officer pressed on, "Anything else?"
"[Blackwall]."
Song So Mi accepted the clothes handed to her by an agent. "The Voodoo Boys want us to instruct Militech's Night City branch to help them evade NetWatch's pursuit. Lastly, they demand access to our research data concerning the [Blackwall]."
Instantly, the atmosphere in the room tightened.
"Those damn pig-headed bastards really have guts."
The officer let out a cold laugh. "The [Blackwall]? They think they're qualified to play with that? Crawl near it long enough and you start thinking you can dig a hole through?"
He asked again, "How many of their conditions did you agree to?"
"All except the [Blackwall] request," Song replied.
"Good. Leave it at that."
After a brief pause, the officer nodded. "Write a detailed report—two copies. One to the White House, one to headquarters."
Then, standing up, he added with a flattering tone, "Excellent work, Agent Songbird. As expected of the President's favored operative. You're the only one capable of using that [Blackwall] protocol for communication so smoothly."
After a brief handshake, he departed.
"Your biometrics are off," said the doctor as Song So Mi dressed in silence. "Elevated heart rate, increased cortisol levels…"
"My recommendation: increase neural booster dosage by fifteen milliliters. Eat a bit more and eat well tonight. Don't skip your neuromotor relaxation exercises before sleep. If possible, visit the medical center for a full examination and take some time to rest."
"Thank you. I'll file the request."
As she inhaled the MaxDoc mist, a fleeting trace of bitterness crossed Song So Mi's face.
The medical center? Another round of cybernetic implants and neural upgrades, no doubt.
As for rest—hah. That was just something people said. The situation was only growing worse. By tomorrow morning, she'd surely be back here, deep-diving again—either digging through Old Net data or using the [Blackwall] protocol for her official missions. Or maybe she'd sit through another one of Myers' motivational speeches.
Pushed past her limits again and again—how much longer could she hold out?
...
After finishing her report, she clocked out.
Before long, she drove home—to an apartment in a quiet, mid-range neighborhood on the outskirts of Washington, D.C.
Heading straight to the bedroom, Song So Mi collapsed onto her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. After a long moment, she turned her head.
Her gaze fell upon the bedside table—atop it lay her PDA, stacks of detached memory chips, and a reader.
More precisely, her eyes fixed on a brand-new chip case labeled: [Rahm Hessman].
Rahm Hessman—the former SAT commander of Arasaka Night City, now the First Deputy Director of the Security Bureau under Arasaka's Security Division. Officially, he had been forcibly retired years ago due to cyberpsychosis and severe neural erosion, yet somehow, he'd miraculously recovered and returned to active duty.
A faint glimmer flickered in Song So Mi's eyes.
A light called curiosity—and desire.
How did he do it?