Chapter 183: Arasaka's "Loyalty"
The massive hull of the "White Whale," like a moving mountain of steel, hovered silently on the cold ocean surface west of Night City.
Lead-grey clouds hung low, merging with the polluted smog permeating the city's skies, adding a layer of oppression to the already traumatized metropolis.
Inside the bridge, the lighting was soft. Only the faint glow of various instruments and the flowing light of holographic star charts illuminated the solemn faces present.
Yorinobu Arasaka stood before the massive viewport, his gaze piercing through the reinforced glass to land on the distant, familiar yet strange city skyline.
Countless times he had wanted to destroy the foundation it relied upon for survival. Now, he held the power and stood on the precipice of achieving his goal, yet his heart was a cold, dead silence, devoid of any pleasure.
"Yorinobu-sama," Shintaro Takayama's steady voice sounded from behind him. "The landing forces are ready. Powered armor units have completed final calibrations and are ready for combat deployment at any time."
Yorinobu didn't turn around, merely giving a faint "Hmm" in response.
Takayama stepped forward to stand beside him, also looking toward Night City. "According to feedback from our remaining intelligence network, the target 'Badlands Manufactorum' area is already prepared. The NUSA has reactivated Hansen's 'Barghest' unit, deploying them on the perimeter.
"Furthermore, the squad that destroyed Arasaka Tower has also shown signs of activity in that area."
"A rabble, plus a rebel army, and... a few somewhat special street rats." Yorinobu's tone carried a trace of imperceptible mockery, unsure if he was evaluating the enemy or mocking his current status.
"Do not underestimate the enemy, Yorinobu-sama," Takayama reminded, his tone respectful but carrying the admonition of an elder. "For the opposition to destroy Arasaka Tower, they must have something to rely on.
"Committing our main force directly for a frontal assault would certainly demonstrate Arasaka's thunderous might, but it could also cause unnecessary losses, and... might make the outside world perceive us as overly hasty and lacking in method."
Yorinobu slowly turned around, his face devoid of expression, as if wearing a carefully sculpted mask. "Uncle Takayama, what do you think we should do?"
"We need a probe." Takayama's gaze was sharp. "A probe resolute enough to test the reality of the opponent's defenses, reaction speed, and firepower configuration. Simultaneously, this is also an opportunity... to clean house internally and boost morale."
"Oh?" Yorinobu seemed slightly interested, signaling him to continue.
"With the Night City branch fallen, the surviving security personnel, especially the mid-to-low-level commanders, cannot escape blame." Takayama's voice lowered slightly, carrying a cold logic. "According to tradition, they need to prove their loyalty and wash away the shame.
"Rather than letting them mix into the main force with their stains and unease, it is better to give them a chance. A chance to be loyal to Arasaka, and to Saburo-sama."
A glint of cold understanding flashed deep in Yorinobu's eyes. He knew this logic all too well. Sacrifice packaged as "honor" and "responsibility" was essentially nothing more than ruthless resource utilization and internal purging.
And this was exactly what his plan needed—chaos, attrition, and a prelude catchy enough to draw attention.
He nodded slightly, picking up the thread Takayama hadn't fully articulated, and spoke in a tone befitting his current identity as the "Avenging Crown Prince," filled with suppressed anger and resolve: "Uncle Takayama is right. Arasaka's dignity allows no desecration. Every Arasaka employee should possess the resolve to sacrifice themselves to maintain this dignity. Especially those... who failed in their duties."
He paused, as if weighing his words, while internally calculating calmly the chain reaction this step would bring.
"Pass my order," Yorinobu's voice rang clearly in the bridge, carrying unquestionable authority. "Consolidate all remaining, organized Arasaka security forces within the Night City region. Tell them the time for atonement has come.
"I need them to organize a suicide squad and launch an assault at any cost against the perimeter of the Badlands manufactorum, specifically the Barghest defense line."
He looked at Shintaro Takayama, his eyes cold. "This is not harassment; it is an offensive. The goal is to tear open the opponent's defenses, create as much chaos as possible, deplete enemy manpower, and bring back valuable battlefield data for us.
"Tell them Arasaka will remember their loyalty, and their families will receive the most generous pensions."
Shintaro Takayama gave Yorinobu a deep look, a complex emotion flashing through his eyes. There was relief that the "Crown Prince" finally displayed the iron-fisted resolve befitting his status, and perhaps a trace of indifference toward the lives about to be sacrificed.
He bowed his head. "Hai! I understand. This will be a perfect reconnaissance in force, and it will give those who failed in their duties a chance to practice their Bushido. I will arrange it immediately."
The order was like a cold iron hammer, smashing the last shred of luck in the hearts of the survivors.
In the communication channel, the directive from the "White Whale" was clear and ruthless, devoid of any emotional color, yet it triggered a silent thunderclap within every remaining Arasaka stronghold.
After a brief dead silence came small-scale emotional breakdowns.
Someone ripped off their headset and smashed it on the ground, sending fragments flying; someone held their head in their hands, curling up in a corner, shoulders trembling uncontrollably; younger members lost color in their faces, eyes filled with unacceptable fear, muttering "this is impossible."
The shame of failure had not yet dissipated, and a new, heavier despair had descended—they had not only lost the tower, but now even their value as soldiers was reduced to disposable consumables.
However, this breakdown did not last long.
Years of immersed corporate culture, like a spiritual shackle, began to take effect.
Indoctrination rooted in hierarchy and "sacrificing one's life for righteousness" began to suppress personal fear like a conditioned reflex.
Superior commanders, middle-aged men with equally pale faces but gradually emptying eyes, began pre-battle mobilization in hoarse voices.
Their speech was filled with words like "glory," "loyalty," "being loyal to Saburo-sama," and "washing away stigma." These words, usually just slogans on the wall, became the only life-saving straw at this moment.
"This is an order personally issued by Yorinobu-sama..." A squad leader repeated this sentence, his voice gradually firming from its initial tremble, as if the name itself held magic. "This is our responsibility, and also... our destination."
A twisted logic began to spread through the crowd.
Rather than bearing the stigma of defeat and lingering on in future reckonings or self-condemnation, it was better to pay this remaining life as a final "blood tax."
At least, this could exchange for the family's "generous pension" for their kin.
At least, on Arasaka's internal records, their names would be marked with "Honorable Death" (Gyokusai), not "Deserter" or "Coward."
Fear did not disappear; it was forcibly twisted and alienated.
It transformed into a near-pathological excitement.
Movements to check weapons became rough and hurried. They strapped bundles of plastic explosives to their bodies or stuffed them into vehicles designated as charge carriers.
Some began to scrawl phrases like "Seven Lives for the Country" on their tattered uniforms with red paint. The strokes were crooked but carried a chilling solemnity.
Their eyes no longer focused on reality but looked toward some void, promised shore of "loyalty." Their faces were a mix of undried tear stains, rigid resolve, and a fanatical light detached from reality.
They were no longer soldiers forced to die, but "righteous warriors" actively embracing death through self-persuasion.
breakdown and despair were rapidly catalyzed into a deformed, efficient desire for offense.
This hastily assembled "suicide squad" completed the transformation from routed soldiers to fanatical sacrifices in an extremely short time. Like explosives ignited by a fuse, they awaited only the final order to charge toward the target, executing a self-destruction destined for no return.
(End of Chapter)