"On the battlefield, who is your most reliable comrade?"
Northern border of Night City, Arasaka New District No. 2 Garrison. At the training grounds of the Security Bureau's Special Assault Team (SAT), recently expanded under the "March Expansion Plan," new recruits were undergoing inspection. The field facility was sturdy, well-equipped, and fully supported for live training operations.
An old soldier stood before them—hands clasped behind his back, posture straight as steel.
From the small podium at the head of the formation, he surveyed the gathered recruits with sharp, unflinching eyes. His voice was deep and commanding as he posed the question.
Among the newly selected "elite picks" of SAT-6—recruited through rigorous testing—stood David Martinez, front and center of the formation. His cyber-augmented frame was as solid as bedrock.
As the old veteran inspected the new blood, David too studied the man before him.
Rahm Hessman…
He stood a little over 1.8 meters tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. His sparse, balding hair had been cleanly shaved into a smooth scalp. Though the rough lines on his face bore the marks of age, his complexion was healthy, his spirit fierce. The embedded ridges of implants visible along his jaw, throat, temples, and hands spoke clearly of the danger he embodied.
David recalled what he'd learned about Rahm from Katsuo Tanaka.
Before retirement, the man had served on the front lines for over twenty years. Starting his career as a first-generation "corporate dog" with no background or family connections, he had risen with Arasaka's resurgence in North America to eventually become the commander of SAT.
He'd fought through the dark aftermath of the Fourth Corporate War, through covert missions during Arasaka's shadow campaigns, from the chaos of post-war security contracts to the brutal Metal Wars, and finally to the fierce battles of rebuilding Arasaka Tower in Night City. He had fought more wars than most recruits had simulated flights.
A true hardened veteran.
But such things came at a cost.
The more his "flesh content" dropped, the closer he came to the edge—until neural decay led to severe psychological and personality disorders, rendering him unfit for sustained combat.
After a near-catastrophe during an external mission triggered by mental instability and self-destructive behavior, he was saved only by the experimental suppressants that Supervisor Vela, then a young SAT-6 squad leader, had unearthed from her "hobbyist" explorations of the Old Net. It was a lucky break.
Afterward, he was forcibly "lightened"—his combat-grade augmentations removed—and retired. Before leaving service, he personally recommended Vela as his successor.
That incident, they said, was what first ignited Vela Russell's spark of ambition. Beyond simply inheriting her parents' roles within the Security Division, it deepened her resolve to pursue research in biotechnological advancement.
Rahm's recommendation became a favor that Vela would never forget.
Years later, when her techniques had matured, she personally performed rejuvenation surgery on the aging veteran, restoring his vitality. Despite the high costs and technical challenges, she saw to it that he received a new generation of combat augmentations, and after a successful calibration period, approved his reinstatement and promotion.
The polite term for this was "loyalty repaid." The cynical term—"personal favoritism."
Whatever one called it, few saw reason to complain. In David's eyes—and in many others'—it was hardly worth fussing over.
In a world as rotten and unstable as theirs, finding a superior who didn't discard their subordinates like broken tools was a blessing. No point overthinking it.
Simple truth: between loyalty and cold pragmatism, who would you rather serve?
For David, the answer was clear.
He'd take loyalty—any day.
Realistic enough, wasn't it?
As Rahm paced slowly along the line, David caught a glimpse of Katsuo standing nearby, face stern and focused, and felt a quiet surge of relief.
His luck wasn't bad at all.
After all, it had been sheer coincidence—being bullied at the Academy had caught Vela's attention during her inspection. The sycophantic school administrators, eager to please, had arranged for him to be noticed. From there, he'd befriended Katsuo, Suneo, and the others, found a new circle, graduated smoothly, joined Arasaka Tower, moved into a new apartment, and began climbing the corporate ladder in the "promotion and pay-raise game."
Life was good.
David stood tall, chest out.
To a man raised on the simple virtues of small-town discipline, soldierly duty, and hard-earned reward, this kind of hopeful, purposeful life was the best one could ask for.
As for dying in battle? If you ate from the Security Bureau's bowl, you accepted the cost that came with it.
Under the morning sun, Rahm's harsh, drill-sergeant tone thundered across the training field:
"...Your gear? What happens when the ammo runs out, when the batteries die? You surrender? Only cowards live off their damn equipment!"
"Your teammates? Hell no! Your comrades have their own missions to fulfill! Your superior? He's there to lead the charge and oversee the whole field, not to stand there holding your hand!"
"Counting on support that may or may not arrive on time? That's for idiots!"
"On the battlefield, the only person you can rely on is yourself!"
Old words, but never outdated.
It wasn't just the adrenaline of command—it was the rush of restored strength, the thrill of rediscovering the violent instinct buried within. As he spoke, Rahm's voice grew more impassioned, his gestures sharper—an old-school soldier to the core.
In short, he was here to crush SAT's growing culture of overreliance on advanced weaponry, the belief that firepower alone could win wars.
Not that he opposed modernization—far from it. He was simply pouring cold water where it was needed. With his long experience, he wanted to remind SAT that weapons were tools, not masters. Wars were still won by people—at least for now. Becoming little more than "logistics captains" would be disgraceful.
When Rahm finally concluded his fiery lecture about "tempering indomitable spirit," David quietly activated his internal comm-link with Katsuo and Suneo.
[Suneo: Damn, that talk reminds me of what my old man used to rant about—'Showa men of steel.']
[Katsuo: Not that deep. He's just telling you to quit visiting Jig-Jig Street and Kabuki.]
[Suneo: Hey, come on, Katsuo—don't call me out like that.]
[David: 'Showa men'... you mean the pre-Showa bushido kind, or the post-Showa corporate warriors?]
[Katsuo: Maybe both. My guess? Commander Rahm's preparing us for war. Only when we face opponents on equal footing does our equipment advantage stop mattering. Petty thugs don't count.]
[David: Agreed. If we can't avoid it, best to face it head-on.]
[Suneo: That's why I keep saying—enjoy life while we can... but seriously, why aren't we dismissed yet? The inspection's over.]
The three cut the private channel and turned their attention to the podium.
Rahm, who was supposed to move on to the next base inspection, now stood still—alongside the garrison officers, posture rigid, eyes glowing faint orange with synced comm signals.
A command from higher up.
What's happening?
David's heart skipped a beat.
"Formation! Emergency deployment order!"
The base commander's voice boomed: "Special Assault Team, assemble!"
Even the senior SAT veterans who had been watching from behind the barriers straightened instantly.
The parade ground erupted with activity. The shrill of whistles cut through the air as soldiers scrambled into action. Those equipped with the [EX0-2 Modified Combat Exoskeleton] and [AST Heavy Armor] rushed from the barracks, forming up in perfect synchronization.
Beep—beep—
Moments later, a retinal notification popped up. David glanced at it—an urgent encrypted dispatch, stamped in red with the [Arasaka Tower Security Division – General Affairs Bureau (Night City)] seal.
Execution Unit: SAT
Mission Type: Counter-Terror Field Operation
Location: New Mexico / Colorado / Wyoming / Montana
Mission Brief: Assist the Barghest mercenary group and the Free States Alliance military forces in suppressing ongoing terrorist activity, neutralizing hostile sabotage organizations operating within client territories.
Date: 2077 / 4 / 12
Status: Pending Execution
Vrrr... vrrr...
As the orders came through, the base's landing pad roared to life. Armored hovercraft, heavy Octant-class drones, Hive carrier ships, and autonomous transport craft powered up simultaneously, their engines tearing the air with thunderous vibration.
"Move it! Let's go!"
Sergeants barked over the din.
Engines whined. The vector-thrust roar of lifting vehicles mingled with the clatter of heavily armored troops boarding in formation. The air was thick with kinetic tension.
David, Katsuo, and Suneo stood at attention, exchanging uncertain looks.
Then, from above, the shriek of turbines drew near—squadrons of aircraft passed low over the training field in tight formation, their downdraft stirring up a storm of dust. Within seconds, a fine layer of sand coated their armor and faces.
Wait—what about us?
We're not on the transport list!
"Recruits, dismissed!"
A garrison officer shouted across the field: "Level Four combat readiness! Continue standard training! Maintain emergency response preparedness!"
"Yes, sir!" × N.
Though disappointed, the new SAT recruits made no complaints. They dispersed quickly, regrouping by squad to resume short-term drills and address tactical weaknesses.
Hours passed, and by noon, mealtime arrived.
"What a shame," Suneo muttered, shaking his head as they filed out of the training field toward the mess hall.
Seniority was cruel. He'd just clawed his way up to "veteran" status in the Mobile Division—only to be demoted back to rookie once transferred to SAT.
"Something's off."
Katsuo Tanaka, ever sensitive to Arasaka's internal currents, frowned slightly.
"Barghest shouldn't be losing any ground. The Free States Alliance in Sacramento may have requested aid, but would that really justify deploying SAT? If this were a regular counter-insurgency, they'd just send us rookies for practice."
Arasaka's 'counterterrorism' in North America—what else could it mean but countering Washington's 'terror'? Everyone knew the score, though none dared say it aloud.
"What are you implying?"
David nodded slowly. "Is this a show of force... or another one of Arasaka's traps for Washington—"
He was cut off by a sudden ding.
"Katsuo. Suneo."
All three men looked up.
Around them, several others froze mid-step. David narrowed his eyes.
Every single one of those who'd reacted was either an Arasaka Academy graduate—or second-generation corporate offspring from Arasaka families.
Then came another ping—a synchronized incoming message.
[Operation Codename: Break the Cage]
Details: [Encrypted]
Mission Location: Santa Fe, New Mexico
Mission Summary: Extraction and reception of a defecting Washington high official.
...
Feigning one move to mask another?
Looking back on SAT's earlier deployment patterns, David recalled something Katsuo had once lent him—what was it called again? Romance of the Three Kingdoms? Or was it that more cryptic one... Records of the Grand Historian?
...
The next day.
Having received contact and a formal directive to negotiate with the Voodoo Boys, FIA Agent "Songbird"—bearing critical intelligence on the [Blackwall] and the AI beyond—was escorted by White House special agents as she departed Washington in secret.
Heading west.