The scorching sun hung high, and the air was dry and brittle.
The blazing afternoon light poured through the thin plateau air, spilling across the bustling, murky-colored streets of Santa Fe's old district.
Everywhere the eye could reach lay scattered remnants of ruins—some old, some new. The district's landmark, a dusty-yellow Catholic church, had also been ravaged by years of unrest, its walls pitted and scarred.
These were the footprints left behind by the iron hooves of war.
Since the collapse and disintegration of the old United States at the end of the last century, the people of Santa Fe had learned to endure.
Lacking the strength to fight back but sitting in a strategically vital location, they could resist no one. Whether it was the Free States' West Coast separatists, the Texan isolationists, or the New American unification forces from the East Coast—each had come to this place to "share the spoils."
In the hellish world of 2077, this was among the most wretched corners.
But life had to go on, didn't it?
If one couldn't change the world, one could at least change oneself—to adapt.
Sadly, the people here had long grown used to living side by side with chaos.
"Hey, hey, hey! Take a look, folks! Fresh batch of neural interfaces—black market exclusives! Plug one in, and your brain'll run faster than a damn hyperdream! Too pricey? Ha! Look at that scrap heap you call a cyberware—it's rusted to dust!"
"Mediation? Peace talks? Those useless clowns think they can smooth things over between Arasaka and Washington? Ha! I'll bet you this is just another endless loop—for fame, they'll sell their dignity. No different from the whores trying to raise their damn market price with fake virtue."
"Construction work? Dogs wouldn't take it! There's money, sure, but you won't live to spend it. Doing engineering around Santa Fe—you want to build bunkers for Barghest or those Lazarus idiots? Who knows when one of those desert-grown bombs will drop on your head?"
"Hey, sweetie, wanna unwind a bit? Discounts today~"
...
On the pedestrian street built from concrete and filth, holographic cacti, North American foxes, and flashing neon ads of naked women and burly men flickered above rusted storefronts. People dressed in desert-proof, sun-shielding gear strolled in pairs or groups. Along the sidewalks, hawkers shouted, bystanders argued over the news, and hustlers loudly discussed money-making schemes.
A hundred faces of life, all crammed into one street.
Until—bang-bang, boom-boom—BOOM!
Gunfire broke the noise.
An explosion followed, thunderous and sharp.
Someone screamed—and panic spread like fire.
"It's a corp-dog shootout!!"
In an instant, the crowded street erupted into chaos as people scattered in every direction.
At the same time, at the epicenter of the disturbance—
BOOM! Another deafening blast erupted. On the second floor of the Latin-Mexican restaurant named "Garcia's," the shutters and frames burst apart, and smoke filled the air.
Inside, the scent of scorched food and trash choked the room. A sharp crack! rang out—a headless body stumbled backward and crashed to the floor.
"Sniper!"
Amid the roar of gunfire, FIA agent Song So Mi dove into the corridor with a tactical roll, crouched low, her eyes flashing red with rapid data flickers. In the corner of her vision, she spotted Maman Brigitte and the White House special agent trailing behind her, calmly calculating the best window for escape.
It had been less than fifteen seconds since Arasaka struck—and already, the casualties were heavy. One of the White House special agents, unaugmented by cyberware, had been sniped dead during their brief interrogation of the Voodoo Boys.
That gave Song So Mi confidence—her "tribute" had been delivered in full.
Only one remained on the surface...
She thought silently.
Ra-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat—!!
The firefight raged on. Arasaka forces had breached the restaurant's first floor.
Bullets and shrapnel tore through the air. The cracked, flaking plaster walls filled the room like dry sand. A few unlucky souls—bystanders who'd come to gawk—now lay dead, their bodies tangled with fallen agents.
Others were blown apart—chunks of flesh and shattered polymer armor scattered across the hall. Beneath the peeled plating, the exposed ceramic composites still steamed faintly.
Like the dismembered remains of a steamed crustacean.
"We're pinned down! Those exo-suited Arasaka bastards have too much firepower! Fuck—just a bunch of cowards hiding behind gear! If it weren't for the ambush—on equal footing, I'd—"
BOOM! Pots and pans flew everywhere. Amidst a few coughs, the voice of an agent hiding behind the bar sounded filled with frustration and impatience.
"When are the Lazarus guys and the Santa Fe locals getting here?!"
This restaurant, receiving special subsidies from the Washington government, was a semi-official "tendril-type establishment" used for peripheral intelligence work. Though not quite a full-fledged FIA intelligence station or safehouse, its structure was built far sturdier than ordinary civilian homes.
After asking in a low voice, he received only labored breathing over the comms: "Don't... know..."
Before the last word fell—zzzt–bang!
A bullet carrying an electric charge tore through the air. The sound of shattering brick and ripping flesh mixed with a muffled grunt over the FIA channel.
Then—silence.
"Damn it!"
The agent gritted his teeth and growled.
He knew staying on the first floor meant certain death. His only option was to make a desperate move. Any longer, and even that chance would vanish.
At least, he thought, I'll take one of them down with me!
He shut his eyes, steeled himself, and activated [Kerenzikov]—supercharge mode!
Time seemed to slow. Like a bullet tearing through space, he kicked off the counter and lunged from cover, his cybernetic arms raising two heavily modified Militech Crushers. He squeezed the triggers to the limit.
Bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang!
Full-auto, dual 12-round bursts.
Steel slugs streaked through the air like red-hot tracer lines, hammering against Arasaka soldiers' exoskeleton armor, sparking like a blacksmith's anvil.
Arasaka's response lived up to its reputation as the world's premier security force—swift and precise. The two front-line soldiers ducked low, raising the shields integrated into their assault exosuits, while the second row swung their rifles forward, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets toward the FIA agent.
His cybernetic eyes widened to their limits. His neural system was running at maximum speed, every component of his cyberware linked in full sync. [Reinforced Tendons] engaged—biomechanical linkage activated—double jump!
Like an arrow leaving the string, his body shot upward, twisting midair to narrowly avoid the incoming barrage.
Letting go, he dropped the empty Crushers.
With his right hand, he reached behind his back and drew a DB-2 Satara electromagnetic shotgun—the same weapon beloved by MaxTac operatives.
Die! he roared inwardly, aiming at the nearest Arasaka soldier.
I can punch through! he swore silently.
But—
"Suneo, take him down!"
In a split second, a shorter but stocky Arasaka soldier—smaller in frame than the FIA agent but compact with muscle—lunged forward like a battering ram, slamming into him full-force.
BAM! The wall cracked and dust fell.
The shot went wide.
"You—!"
"[Kerenzikov] isn't something only you can use, Yankee."
Suneo's taunting voice dripped with mockery. The next instant, the cold barrel of a gun pressed into the agent's chest.
"Good thing—I like the DB-2 Satara too."
BANG! A wet explosion of blood and metal splattered across the room.
The subdermal armor shattered. His guts burst open. The FIA agent coughed blood and screamed as his body was thrown backward, stiffening midair before crashing onto the floor.
As Suneo landed, follow-up rounds tore into the body, shredding what was left.
The near-unrecognizable corpse slammed against the bar, splattering crimson blood that steamed in the heat.
"Move up."
Tanaka Katsuo lowered his Militech M-179 Achilles electromagnetic precision rifle after killing another FIA operative and waved his hand. "We've got the gear advantage—push forward!"
He saw nothing dishonorable about fighting in exoskeleton armor.
On the second floor—
Bullets pinged and rattled through the open stairwell, punching into the walls.
The FIA squad leader, crouched cat-like behind cover, tossed thermal smoke grenades, fragmentation grenades, and incendiaries toward the opening before retreating toward the rear of the restaurant, shouting over comms:
"Agent Songbird, our people are pinned down! We need hacking support, now!"
Damn it—without a high-level netrunner, they couldn't even breach Arasaka's ICE systems. Their tech levels were evenly matched.
Thankfully, they had one top-tier hacker on their side.
Unfortunately, the next words from that "ace" chilled him to the bone.
"If I could, I'd already be doing it!"
"There's an Arasaka Golem virus inside the chip!"
As the sound of explosions rumbled upward, Song So Mi, crouched at the corner of the stairwell wall, drew her [M-76e Omaha] from the holster under her arm. The round was chambered, but she didn't immediately take the shot. Instead, she enabled [Position Sharing], hacking into nearby surveillance cameras and relaying the locations of Arasaka attackers to the FIA agents.
After all, such basic netrunning support could easily be provided by the Voodoo Boys' Ranyon (Haitian Creole: "rag") as well.
"I need time to purge the malware—it just got activated..."
Leaning against the wall, Song So Mi's netdeck sparked violently, releasing several small bursts of crackling lightning.
"You fucking Haitian bastards!"
The FIA squad leader, out of patience, aimed and fired a round toward Maman Brigitte, who was crouched behind a load-bearing wall.
Bang! The plaster burst apart, and a splash of vivid red followed. The bullet tore through the Black woman's right ear, and her gold earring, still attached to a strip of skin, fell down the stairs, clinking loudly as it rolled.
"Useless! Always in the way!"
He cursed furiously. "Are you blind?! Start fighting back already!"
The reason he hadn't blown Brigitte's head off was simple—he'd just received a report over comms that the Voodoo Boys had also taken heavy losses at Arasaka's hands, including her closest confidant.
That netrunner with the codename Ti Neptune—a dreadlocked punk—had been torn to pieces by one of Arasaka's combat beasts who went berserk mid-attack.
After the gunfire, all that was left was a cloud of blood mist and shredded flesh.
A miserable death.
It was clear now that the Arasaka troops had deliberately prioritized eliminating the netrunners, ignoring nearby FIA agents to strike at the hackers first.
This made things painfully obvious—Arasaka hadn't been secretly collaborating with the Voodoo Boys to betray them. The gang had simply been too naive, unaware they were targeted, and even the chip they brought for trade had been tampered with.
Brigitte, unable to argue, clenched her jaw, her dark face twitching with rage as she fought to suppress her fury.
"I understand."
The words came out from deep in her throat.
She endured.
Under another's roof, one must bow the head.
Given Arasaka's ruthless slaughter, her only remaining choice was to side with the FIA—for now.
"Atak!" (Haitian Creole: "Attack!")
The surviving Voodoo Boys veterans responded instantly, activating their cyberware. Their optical implants lit up in unison, even though they knew full well that the Arasaka elite soldiers carried military-grade anti-intrusion units.
The FIA squad leader frowned, pulling the group closer and taking a defensive formation as they retreated.
As he passed by the White House special agent, their eyes met for a brief second—his body shielding Song So Mi from view.
No words were exchanged, but the meaning was clear to those who understood field orders: if capture was inevitable, and Song So Mi risked falling into Arasaka hands, she was to be terminated immediately.
"Fall back! Return fire and retreat!"
Leaving a small team behind to delay pursuit, he grabbed Song So Mi and began withdrawing through the rear exit.
...
A few hundred meters away, inside a mixed-use commercial tower.
"What's the situation now?"
A ninja dropped his optical camo, revealing himself as he peered through a high-magnification scope.
"No change."
Another Arasaka operative lay prone on the table, his electromagnetic Nekomata sniper rifle aimed at the Garcia restaurant below.
"These SAT rookies are doing well—not just all show."
"Especially that kid, David Martinez. He took down that Voodoo Boy netrunner 'Ti Neptune' in the first seconds of contact, used the terrain to his advantage, and coordinated to block FIA reinforcements..."
"His [Sandevistan] use is impressive. No wonder the Lady ordered us to cover him if things go south."
"But in about five minutes, the SFPD will be here—if they decide to intervene. FIA reinforcements are also en route, though their piecemeal tactics aren't much of a threat. The real concern is the Lazarus mercenaries—they'll arrive from the eastern outskirts in roughly twelve minutes."
"We can't wait any longer."
He paused briefly, then switched to a secure internal channel. "Team A, hold your position for now. Wait for my command. Your location is still good—the target is moving in your direction under the SAT's forward pressure."
...
As the FIA squad leader led Song So Mi and Maman Brigitte out of the Garcia restaurant, the rearguard team triggered the explosives.
BOOOOM—!!
Flames roared, and a rolling heatwave surged outward. The second floor of Garcia's was blown apart, black smoke billowing into the sky.
That meant the rearguard was completely wiped out.
"We're far enough. Detonate the EMP charge," the FIA leader ordered grimly.
"Yes, sir."
The FIA netrunner's cybernetic eyes flashed red as he prepared to remotely detonate the electromagnetic pulse bomb placed near the restaurant's side door—but in that instant, his cyberware malfunctioned. His neural port burst in a spray of sparks.
At the same time, every operative—including the FIA leader and Brigitte—had their cybernetic systems crash simultaneously. Error messages flooded their retinal HUDs, flashing black and red code streams. Their bodies convulsed uncontrollably.
Black and red...? That was the [Blackwall] protocol!
"You—!" The FIA leader's face twisted in sudden realization, terror dawning as he turned toward Song So Mi.
"Trai...tor... kill... her..."
The only unaffected agent—the White House special operative—raised his gun, but thwack!—a katana blade burst through his chest from behind.
"Aras...aka...nin—"
He tried to turn, but a soft pfft cut him off—an implosive silenced round blew through his skull, scattering brain matter and blood.
A voice came from behind the flickering optical camo.
"So, there was even a Special Service agent with only bio-implants. Miss Song So Mi, it seems President Rosalind Myers didn't trust her beloved officer very much after all."
Tap... tap... Another Arasaka ninja emerged, stepping forward with faintly flickering camo. In his hand, he carried a severed head—one without a single trace of cybernetic augmentation.
"Ah, President Myers has no virtue. That's why I've chosen to defect to Lady Vela Adelheid Russell."
Song So Mi walked forward, extending her hand to accept the mimicry mask and the Arasaka-branded optical camo cloak offered by the ninja.
"Song So Mi! Traitor..."
Seeing his final fallback cut down, the FIA leader's voice trembled with despair. "President Myers treated you well..."
"Yes, she did," Song So Mi replied softly, almost wistful. She stripped off her clothes, revealing a body like a humanoid Transformer beneath. "And I've repaid her kindness, haven't I?"
She pressed the mimic mask to her face and draped the camo cloak over her shoulders. Her crimson eyes glowed as red data streams danced within them.
The FIA leader saw only darkness before his consciousness faded into nothingness.
...
At the same time—inside the White House.
President Myers received the grim news from Santa Fe.