Chapter 7: Encounter
"Viktor! What are you doing here?!" V stared, surprised to see Viktor pull up in a blue Thorton Galena beside the car.
"Save the questions. I'm seeing if I can keep Jack alive," Viktor replied coolly, wearing his usual shades. He pulled out a transparent injector filled with a green nutrient solution and plunged it into Jack's neck.
Jack's pale face, drained from blood loss, slowly regained some color.
"Jack! Jack!" V cried out, relief washing over her.
"Stop yelling. He can't hear you," Viktor said, patting her shoulder. "This will keep him stable—for now."
"That's enough," V murmured, wiping tears from her eyes. At least there was hope. She had felt utterly helpless when Delamain said he couldn't override the navigation.
Then, as if by fate, Delamain had been force-hacked, bringing the car to a halt—and Viktor appeared.
"Let's get somewhere quiet," Viktor said grimly. "Arasaka's got the entire city hunting you two down. You've stirred up a real hornet's nest."
"We really have, Viktor," V replied, helping him lift Jack into the car. "Because we saw something we weren't supposed to."
"We saw Yorinobu Arasaka kill his father—Saburo Arasaka."
"What?!"
---
"Good morning, Night City! Did you hear the blast at Konpeki Plaza last night? Boom! Absolute chaos! Aerial AVs, spec-ops, NCPD, private security... all that just to catch two thieves. What did they steal? Next-gen tech? Blackmail material? I'm dying to know!"
"And whoever they are—I gotta say: mad respect. Brother, you've got guts!"
"This is Akin Kars, bringing you the fire on Spontaneous News."
---
Listening to the car radio, Ash sat in the driver's seat of his Avenger, lost in thought.
So... Arasaka Saburo's death was still being covered up.
But that wouldn't last. Too many eyes were watching. In this era of hyper-connectivity and digital exposure, there was no way Yorinobu could keep it under wraps forever.
To understand the rift between father and son, you had to look at the very nature of the Arasaka Corporation. Saburo ruled like a corporate tyrant—ruthless, methodical, and profit-obsessed. He treated people as assets—tools to manipulate or discard.
His son, Yorinobu, had always resented that. He despised being controlled, especially after seeing how Saburo puppeteered his older brother, Kei. Kei had lost all autonomy—every decision seemingly his own, yet always orchestrated by Saburo behind the curtain.
Yorinobu, a brilliant graduate from Tokyo University, once tried to reform Arasaka from within. After Kei's mysterious death, he thought his time had come.
But then Saburo unveiled Soulkiller—a tech that could back up a mind into cyberspace, effectively making him immortal by digitizing his consciousness. That gave rise to the Relic project.
When Yorinobu learned of this, it shattered him. After years of waiting, scheming, surviving… Saburo declared he could never die?
"Control me forever? Hell no."
As Ash brooded over what to do next, he felt a sudden jolt.
Thud.
What the—?
A self-driving taxi had just rear-ended him.
In a city governed by smart traffic and predictive AI systems, accidents like this were almost nonexistent—unless it involved a rogue driver or a cyberpsycho.
He pulled the key, stepped out of his car, and locked eyes with the passenger getting out of the taxi. The guy looked groggy, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded—he must've been sleeping through the ride.
Totally normal. Most overworked residents of Santo Domingo—Night City's industrial and power hub—crash in cabs after grueling shifts. Compared to the gang-infested north side dominated by Maelstrom, Santo Domingo's 6th Street Gang was relatively tame.
Pay your monthly "property protection" fee on time, and life was manageable.
Still, missing the morning bus meant trouble. Gang-run transport lines didn't wait.
"Ah! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please forgive me!" the passenger stammered, panic in his eyes.
Ash remembered something his father once told him after nearly crashing into a rare Hypercar:
"Son, stay away from vehicles with custom logos and elite plates."
But that had been a long time ago—in another life.
Twenty years had passed since Ash transmigrated to this world. His parents' faces were fading memories. Maybe that's why so many people in his shoes ended up as "orphans"—no attachments made it easier to start over.
Still, in the dead of night, he'd sometimes cry silently, missing the family he'd lost.
Were they still searching for him? Had they adopted another child? Or had time erased his place in their hearts?
He didn't know—and didn't dare to find out.
Now, this middle-aged man had rear-ended something far beyond his paygrade: an Avenger, worth over a million euros.
"It's fine, relax," Ash said gently, offering a cigarette from a sleek Military Tech pack.
"Ah? Oh... thank you," the man replied, taking it. The sight of the brand calmed him—definitely someone important.
Ash lit his own, smiling.
This man—his name tag read Biersen—was in a Military Tech uniform. Just as Ash hoped.
"Sorry, I need to call in to work," Biersen said, stepping aside to phone his supervisor.
Ash watched the man walk off. He could relate.
When Biersen returned, he looked defeated.
"Lost your perfect attendance?" Ash smirked.
"Yeah. And they docked a whole day's pay too," Biersen muttered bitterly.
Thinking about his pregnant wife and sick mother at home, the loss hit hard.
"If they didn't cut wages, how would HR pretend to work? How would the accountants juggle the numbers? How would the execs get richer?" Ash chuckled, patting him on the back.
"Bastards!" Biersen cursed under his breath, the stress finally boiling over.
"Every man for himself in Night City," Ash replied, blowing a smoke ring. "But... what if you stood in their shoes?"
Biersen scoffed. Easy for this euro-rich leech to say.
"You don't believe me?" Ash grinned. "Wanna try?"
"Try what?" Biersen frowned.
"I'm from the security division. What do you do?" Ash asked.
"IT," Biersen replied. He was surprised this young guy had landed in security—Military Tech's most elite department.
Security staff weren't just muscle. Entry required war points. Survival in combat was mandatory. Unlike other corps, Military Tech didn't hire rookies for protection detail. It hired killers.
"Information tech, huh..." Ash's smile widened. He didn't need the exact department. IT folks always had access to interesting data.
"You know, besides ops, we don't get many chances to make money. So sometimes... we find side gigs. Gangs are always causing trouble, and any extra info can help us, uh... 'contain' them."
He paused, watching Biersen's reaction.
"If someone like you can tip us off—locations, meeting times, anything—we handle the rest. You get a cut. Fair and quiet. What do you think?"
This was the under-the-table cooperation method between intelligence personnel and corporate security—black ops, basically.
It was against company policy, of course. But as long as everyone got their share and nothing blew up... well, no one complained.
Still, it was dangerous. A single wrong move and the whole operation could go nuclear.