Rosalind Myers received the news just as she had returned from convalescing at Camp David.
Age had caught up with her. Though her appearance remained youthful under the blessings of cybernetic technology, she knew that if she wished to live as long as Saburo Arasaka and face the fierce challenges of someone like Vela with composure, meticulous care of her body was essential.
Besides, the seat of the President of the New United States was anything but comfortable.
Especially in recent years—the mid-2070s—when the fruits of the Unification War (or as Washington preferred to call it, the "Metal War") had mostly been lost. Arasaka, under banners of revival and revenge, pressed forward step by step, while internal political rivals lambasted the White House as incompetent.
The atmosphere was one of a brewing storm.
And now, before the old troubles were even resolved, new ones arrived.
It was predictable—once news of the "Song So Mi Defection Incident" in Santa Fe spread, her enemies on Capitol Hill and within Militech would eagerly seize upon it as a new excuse for attack.
"So Mi..."
Her emotions felt like a roller coaster. Right after reading the first report of the "Arasaka Decapitation Strike," the second, marked "Songbird's Defection," left Myers standing silently for a long time, her face clouded with darkness.
"Songbird... a broken cage bird indeed. The hunter becomes the hunted. Fine, then... So Mi, I underestimated you. To risk it all—to enter the board itself, to seek life in death... my momentary carelessness gave you the chance to vanish." She chuckled softly. "But tell me—"
"Did you really think Arasaka would treat you kindly?"
Thud!Tap, tap.
Slamming her PDA onto the desk's leather mat, Myers's heavy steps carried her toward the Oval Office's tall window. Her sharp eyes stared out at the South Lawn of the White House, at the oaks, firs, spruces, ivies, and magnolias that adorned the landscape.
More precisely, at the bionic pigeons and lab-grown birds that circled, fluttered, and perched among them according to programmed routines—a scene of artificial peace.
Her pet bird had flown away...
Setting aside her resentment, Myers viewed Songbird as one of those small birds leaving the vast, manicured lawn—seemingly gaining freedom, choosing a better branch to roost upon.
But in truth, merely flying from one cage to another.
Arasaka's nature was no secret.
As for Vela—Myers knew her all too well. As the woman's greatest rival and one of the primary victims of her rise, Myers understood that Vela was a cold-blooded militarist who worshipped power and glory.
Song So Mi wanted to escape her past? Nonsense. Impossible.
Her identity was her weapon.
Judging by herself, Myers knew Vela would never discard something so valuable.
Whether Songbird's new life under Arasaka was better or worse, by how much or for how long, was irrelevant. What mattered was that Myers would make sure the traitor suffered.
"The freedom you seek," she murmured with bitter irony, "was never a word meant for weapons or tools."
"Has Lazarus arrived yet?"
Taking a deep breath, she steadied her tone. Without moving from the window, she slightly turned her head toward the man seated stiffly on the office sofa—the Assistant Deputy Director of the DIA's Intelligence Division, who had come to brief her.
"The vanguard has already engaged the enemy," he replied immediately. "Confirmed hostiles are Arasaka's Special Assault Team. Along the New Mexico–Arizona border, we've detected large-scale movement from the Barghest."
"Additionally, during urban combat, our troops spotted what appeared to be Arasaka ninjas."
"Madam President, retrieval will be extremely difficult. Even without external interference, Songbird was once one of the Bureau's top netrunners. Her infiltration ability and knowledge of our classified systems are severely hindering our operatives."
He hesitated, then added in a tense voice, "It's highly likely that Songbird has already been secretly extracted from Santa Fe by Arasaka."
"Tch."
Myers pressed her fingertips against the long desk before the three tall windows. The knuckles whitened.
It wasn't unexpected.
That was the danger of betrayal. The strongest fortress often collapses from within.
She couldn't blame the FIA for this—after all, she herself had spoken with the woman on the phone only hours before.
To be fair, Song So Mi's betrayal had shown no warning signs. She was intimately familiar with the FIA's internal structures, its weak points, and its intelligence systems. Combined with Arasaka's sudden strike and precise extraction, even if the FIA Director himself had been on the scene, he couldn't have changed Santa Fe's fate in time.
It was infuriating!
Myers let out a bitter laugh through clenched teeth. "Then we'll cut off the claws Arasaka dares to stretch toward us—"
Before she could finish, knock knock.
"Come in."
The ornate Baroque-style door creaked open. The White House Chief of Staff entered, followed closely by another DIA Assistant Deputy Director.
Upon seeing the latter, the previously tense official in the room let out a breath of relief, like a condemned man spotting a companion. His expression seemed to say, 'Thank God, you're here too'.
The newcomer's face was pale as he spoke. "Madam President, it's over. The FIA's intelligence network along the West Coast has been nearly wiped out. Arasaka planned this well in advance. Our evacuation orders came too late."
"That oil-leaking slut Songbird already handed every piece of intel within her clearance—FIA secrets, Militech data, even White House channels—straight to Arasaka! The moment our people made a move, they were hit simultaneously by Arasaka and the western separatist rebels!"
The air in the Oval Office seemed to freeze solid.
Myers raised a hand to her forehead, her expression momentarily distant.
There was no hiding it anymore.
Her last hopes of containing the situation had collapsed. The very thing she feared most had come to pass.
In fact, when the first urgent message—"Song So Mi and the Voodoo Boys ambushed by Arasaka"—had arrived, her instincts had flared. She'd immediately ordered the Assistant Deputy Director of the NCS (the National Covert Service under the DIA, overseeing foreign intelligence and covert operations) to begin emergency restructuring of the intelligence network.
It was meant as a preventive measure in case Song So Mi were captured and her netdeck or brain implants compromised, leaking classified intel to Arasaka.
But all the precautions in the world can't stop a traitor within your walls. The second urgent message came: "Songbird Defected."
FIA agents dispatched from the Santa Fe branch to provide backup arrived only to see their comrades' biometric signals dropping offline in clusters. Those who managed to reach the scene were hacked by Songbird's [Blackwall] protocol data storm, while Arasaka's side remained untouched—if anything, their Daemon Virus attacks seemed to synchronize with it.
In that moment, Myers's composure nearly shattered.
Only years of disciplined restraint kept her from losing control entirely, reminding herself that decisive containment was still possible.
But self-deception crumbled beneath reality. The very thing she dreaded most had happened anyway.
Fuck!
The report was like fuel poured on a smoldering fire, igniting the full extent of Myers's wrath.
She could already foresee it—the coming impeachment hearing on Capitol Hill.
"Tell Lazarus—"
Myers's voice trembled with restrained fury. "They are no longer to observe any limits set by the 'Convention on Over-Force Restrictions.' The principles of the 'Second Alvin Accord' are to be disregarded as well! Strike. Hard. I want Arasaka's claws severed at the root!"
It was true—starting a war in anger was never wise. But Myers had already pursued a strategy of concession and restraint.
As Commander-in-Chief, she could not yield forever. There came a time when a leader had to act.
She was a soldier herself, a former Militech CEO, backed by staunch American nationalists. She could not afford to appear weak.
Her earlier humility and feigned vulnerability had served their strategic purpose—it wasn't wrong. But taken too far, pretense became reality. The public might start believing she truly was weak.
Now, with her "beloved protégé" Song So Mi's betrayal setting off a chain reaction that cornered her politically, Myers had to project strength—to restore confidence among her supporters, to offset the damage, and to extend her political survival.
Perhaps even to assume full wartime powers.
"Transmit the order immediately."
The DIA assistant hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, Madam President."
He saw in her face not rage, but cold, calculated resolve.
The Chief of Staff also bowed slightly. "Madam President, regarding the media's inquiries and speculation about the Santa Fe incident—shall you attend personally?"
"Let the Press Office handle it."
"Yes, ma'am."
Beep.
Turning back, Myers gently tapped the comms interface on the Resolute Desk.
"Summon all senior advisors, cabinet chiefs, the Secretary of Defense, the Joint Chiefs, and Mr. Lucas Harford of Militech. Meeting in thirty minutes. The New United States is facing an unprecedented challenge."
A short reply came through the line: "Yes, Madam President."
Beep.
"Hah..."
Myers exhaled a long, heavy breath and gestured dismissively. "Do everything you can to contain the damage."
She motioned for the two assistant deputy directors to leave.
"Yes, ma'am!" ×2.
The two men quickly exited the Oval Office.
Myers sank into her chair, rubbing her temples. After a long pause, her brow eased just slightly.
Damn it. Song So Mi's defection at a time like this had left her utterly cornered.
She had no room left to retreat.
"This time... there will be no backing down."
Muttering to herself, she grabbed her coffee cup and drank deeply. Then, as if remembering something, she slid her fingers across the Resolute Desk's holographic interface, switching the display to live television.
She flipped channels—from Network 54 to WNS.
A live exclusive interview with Vela was airing.
"Hmph..."
Upon seeing the woman's elegant figure on-screen, Myers gave a cold laugh. "Quick to act, aren't you?"
"Of course," came Vela's cool, confident voice, echoing from the television.
"Choosing the right side—does that not already say enough? As for the recent incident in Santa Fe, if we're talking responsibility, I think the answer is obvious."
"Poaching talent? Ridiculous. I'll admit, competition within Arasaka can be harsh. But perhaps certain forces should reflect on themselves first—have they changed? Have they treated their employees properly? In North America, Arasaka has been voted Best Corporate Employer of 2077 for a reason."
"All we want is to offer loyal employees—and exceptional talents willing to serve Arasaka—a proper platform. That's the source of our enduring strength."
...
On the screen, the WNS anchor bowed nervously, while Vela, graceful and articulate, spoke against a backdrop of footage showing the Santa Fe riots and urban combat. It was today's headline feature.
There was, of course, no mention of the ongoing "joint pacification" campaign on the West Coast. That, apparently, was "irrelevant to the Santa Fe incident."
Arasaka's internal affairs, after all, didn't qualify as "international news."
WNS—heavily sponsored by Arasaka—knew exactly where its loyalties lay.
Watching the broadcast, seeing Vela's self-assured composure, Myers couldn't tell whether her rival truly had the upper hand or was simply playing a calculated provocation.
Either way, her mind was made up. The citizens could curse her—she would bear that burden.
Swish. The large executive chair turned slowly. The setting sun painted the room in crimson light. The first rays of twilight filtered through the bulletproof glass, casting cold shadows across Myers's face.
She sat there in silence.
Until—ding... bzzz...
A secure line flared to life. A holographic projection lit up, outlining a man's figure.
Incoming call: Lucas Harford [Militech CEO]
"So, Rosalind," came the calm voice of her long-time ally, "are you... preparing to go to war?"
Harford—her handpicked successor at Militech—knew her too well. He understood her temperament, her preparations, and the simple truth.
She could not afford to lose.
Myers remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly turned her gaze toward the oak-framed portraits on the wall—George Washington and Elizabeth Kress. Her eyes hardened with resolve.
"Yes. It's war."
If she were to be removed from office—or if impeachment stripped her of power—then all those years of military preparation would have been for nothing.
Sometimes, she envied Arasaka's internal unity—no squabbling senators, no endless politics.
She loved the New United States, but not necessarily the one she governed.
Let impeachment and the opposition rot in hell.
"Lucas," she said firmly, "I'm authorizing Lazarus to launch a full-scale offensive against the Barghest. Diplomatically, we'll issue an official ultimatum to Arasaka—demanding the return of the defected agent Songbird and their withdrawal from New Mexico."
She looked directly at him. "I'll need your support."
...
At the same time, in Night City.
Arasaka Tower.
After completing her WNS interview, Vela walked through the glass corridor of the central atrium, surrounded by aides and secretaries, inquiring about the situation in Santa Fe.
"The West Coast cleanup is going smoothly. Has Songbird been extracted?"
"The Barghest main force secured her at the Arizona border."
"And the SAT detachment?"
"They've linked up with the Barghest's forward unit west of Santa Fe. With heavy reinforcements, they're now engaged in fierce combat with Lazarus. The enemy's fighting like mad, with no regard for civilian zones—they must be under strict orders. Barghest reinforcements are en route. Shall we send additional troops, ma'am?"
"Deploy the Adam Smasher unit—"
Vela began, but just then—
Tap, tap, tap. A Foreign Affairs officer rushed over at a jog.
"Director Vela, a communiqué from Washington—it's an official ultimatum."