Cyberpunk: Infinite Progress Begins with Arasaka

The desolate African wilderness…

Ptui!

Hot winds howled, whimpering as they swept over the bare, sparsely vegetated hills. Several figures dressed in heat-insulated bodysuits and desert-camouflage combat uniforms dusted off the sand clinging to their ear covers and scarves, peeking out from their hiding spot.

"How many ruins is this now?"

One of them lowered a multifunctional tactical scope—linked to his visual implants, capable of analyzing intelligence and zooming in on scenes—his pupils glinting with orange-red light.

"The sixth one. Since heading north from Cape Town, crossing the Northern Cape Province, passing through Johannesburg and Pretoria, she's only stopped briefly for rest. What's she after? Is this really a study tour? Taking it this seriously?"

Another spat out a mouthful of sand.

"Nguni, Sotho, Tsonga, and Venda tribes... who would've thought we'd pick up this useless crap on an external surveillance mission... ptui!"

Lying prone with an Ashura sniper rifle, using its scope as a long-range viewer, the sniper opened his mouth and immediately felt the gritty sting—sand grinding against reinforced steel teeth.

Five days. Did anyone know what kind of hell these five days had been?

Their target hadn't just flown an AV from Cape Town to Gauteng Province. Instead, she took a ground convoy across the harsh, desolate lands between South African cities, visiting ruin after damned ruin to take photos, compare data, and search for something.

While the target convoy could camp at those ruins, they had to endure the open elements—trailing behind at a safe distance, never too close, staying hidden.

What's more, the target was a corporate VIP-in-waiting. Even if this was a real vacation and her project was ultimately deemed immature, they—low-tier grunts—still had to ensure her safety.

"Boss, do those ruins from some primitive tribal kingdom even hold any value? I've only ever heard of South Asia or the Far East being popular for antiques and collectibles—those fetch real money. But Africa? The valuable stuff—Egyptian or Carthaginian relics—that's all in North Africa, in the hands of European bigwigs."

The Arasaka operative addressed as 'Boss' ignored his subordinate's complaints. A burly man, his twin pupils flickered with data streams as he operated a tactical terminal, pulling up a comms frequency monitoring chart while lifting a precision infrared rangefinder for calculations.

Suddenly—"Sixteen o'clock direction."

He narrowed his eyes. On the small intel-fusion display of the tactical terminal, he spotted a suspicious shadow lying low on the ground about a kilometer from the flat-topped hill ruins. Sneakier than they were.

Active comms signals, too. The figure was falling back westward.

No full decryption needed—just listening to the intercepted comms via their NETSEC agent revealed enough. A rap-like accent mixed with incomprehensible slang, but certain English words stood out: "fat," "tender," "big fish," "grab."

"Shit. Recon? Wandering native scavenger crew?"

Beep! He connected to internal comms. "West Team 3—see that Black guy? Follow him. If I'm right, some dumb bastards are trying to snatch a bite from the company. Handle them quietly."

A flash of cruelty passed through his eyes.

As the team lead of a security squad, he knew exactly how high the project was ranked. No way were they going to let local scum disrupt the target's research. One flash of genius inspiration could be everything.

After issuing orders, he no longer bothered watching that guy. The Arasaka operative returned to his calculations.

"After this 'Mapungubwe Cultural Landscape,' she'll probably leave South Africa and enter Zimbabwe…" he murmured, loosely comparing notes from her submitted project plan. It clearly stated she'd likely continue into Central Africa, toward Congo.

The Arasaka agent let out a quiet sigh.

"Notify all units. Prepare for another relocation."

...

"What a shame."

Vela had to admit she was quite the handful.

Completely unbothered by the surveillance, she crouched calmly, her gloved hand scooping up a clump of sticky, faintly fluorescent soil.

South Africa's pollution was far too severe.

She watched the liquid being pumped up with difficulty from the underground aquifer—floating with unknown chemicals, giving off an oily, nauseating stench—and shook her head.

At the first ruin, when she initially encountered the subterranean dead water, the stench had been so overpowering that it almost knocked her flat.

Having heightened senses wasn't always a blessing.

Unchecked industrial exploitation and pollution—various chemical toxins—were silently corroding the land and the life that once inhabited it.

She had scoured the underground, but saw no living creatures in the dark crevices—no small animals, no flowers. What remained were dried, fossilized remains of dead animals and decayed plant matter compacted beneath the soil and stone: rotting leaves, spores, bits of fungi.

After collecting some samples, Vela used a biotech portable analyzer to perform a rough scan. The result? A long string of lethal-level periodic elements and synthetic compounds.

Tap, tap.

Surrounded by Arasaka rapid-response soldiers, Vela held a datapad in one hand and ran her other along the rock wall as she ascended the steps back to the surface from the broken basement.

The quick-response squad leader from Cape Town's Security Division, stationed above, signaled his team to maintain the perimeter and personally stepped forward.

"Supervisor Russell, any findings?"

"Severe groundwater depletion. The pollution's far too heavy. No surviving vegetation. Based on the dead remnants I've sampled, it doesn't match the traits of the special flower species I'm looking for. No point staying in South Africa. We're heading to Zimbabwe." Vela turned to him. "Thank you for your cooperation."

"Yes, ma'am!"

No questions, just execution. The squad leader nodded and turned to begin organizing the team for departure.

As they moved, Vela cast one final glance at the so-called Mapungubwe Palace Ruins.

It was just a collection of crude, sand-dusted structures made of earth and stone—riddled with pits from wind erosion. Long neglected, most of the buildings had already collapsed.

Inside, there were signs of squatters—dried feces—and the crumbling walls bore both old and new bullet holes and blast marks. Clearly, more than one firefight had taken place here.

Vrrrmmm…

The convoy's engines roared to life once again.

Roughly ten minutes into their journey across the boundless wasteland—

"Supervisor Russell, we've exited the South African border and entered Zimbabwe. Based on the Bantu tribal ruins map you provided, the next site should be about 35 minutes from here."

Inside the Behemoth armored transport, Vela brushed sand from her sleeve and secured a sample of mutated fungi before settling down to write in her log.

Or at least, she appeared to be writing in earnest.

A serious researcher always logs data.

2075/5/31

[Mapungubwe Ruins] | ✗

No qualifying flower species found.

Presumed extinct due to half a century of environmental degradation. The rare flower species once discovered by this mining and transport company may no longer exist. Lower expectations. Project feasibility rating decreased…

"Increase alert level!"

"Hmm?" Vela looked up.

Outside her compartment, the security soldiers stood up instantly, syncing with onboard weapons. Gunports opened simultaneously, aiming out both flanks. A moment later, the squad leader's voice came through the internal comms channel.

"Supervisor Russell, we've got a situation—looks like a local blood feud."

Shhk. A detachable display wall synced to the drone's camera feed and projected the footage directly in front of Vela's eyes.

Just beyond a hill, roughly a hundred meters from the road, a trashed campsite lay strewn with blood and brain matter sprayed across a few heavily modified junkers. The mangled corpses—uncensored horrors that no official broadcast would ever air—lay in grotesque disarray.

"Ho…"

Vela's expression shifted to one of vague contemplation. Then, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She operated the vehicle's external camera and aimed it toward the distant stone ridge.

Arasaka agents…

Back at the ruins, she'd already pinpointed roughly where her watchers had hidden.

They'd been tailing her the entire way.

"Request another squad from the Cape Town branch. Also, adjust the route, expand drone reconnaissance coverage, and raise alertness. Continue moving." Let's raise the difficulty for them a bit.

"...Yes, ma'am!"

Once she felt the convoy pick up speed, Vela set the datapad aside and closed her eyes to rest.

"It's about time."

She whispered silently in her heart.

Once she left South Africa, she'd need to find a logical, believable opportunity to bring out the Sonnentreppe Flower.

Leaving South Africa meant leaving Arasaka's sphere of dominance. North and West Africa were EU-controlled, Central Africa remained a buffer zone with no dominant power—where warlords reigned.

She had to stay at her peak.

Though she was confident that Arasaka's rapid-response teams far outclassed any roving bands of local militants, and despite the surveillance by Arasaka's security agents—whose priority included ensuring her safety so long as she wasn't negotiating with Militech or ESA1—caution was still necessary until everything concluded.

Vela knew one thing: they couldn't be trusted.

She had no idea what kind of move Yorinobu Arasaka, that buried landmine within the company—the ever-devoted son of Saburo—would make against a so-called 'loyalist' like herself. Would he embed his own people among her guards? Or leak information to draw in hostile fire?

And if Yorinobu chickened out and backed down, that would be disappointing too—because she needed his opposition to stage her own "victim narrative."

If the acquisition came too easily—without any hardship—how could she prove her dedication and worth? Her loyalty to Arasaka, to the great Lord Saburo?

...

Well, no hardship came—just endless jolting. The road was uneventful.

Having left the Great Zimbabwe Ruins behind, Vela now rested her forehead in her palm as the convoy made its way toward the dried-up source of the Congo River.

Three days had passed.

The second rapid-response squad she had requested from Cape Town had finally arrived after a nonstop journey.

According to the Sonnentreppe Project, she had already surveyed Zimbabwe's Khami ruins, explored the Matobo Hills, and kept sending back logs—sometimes raising expectations, sometimes lowering them. She'd even had a few bloody encounters with local warlord factions.

Yet still, no 'competitor' corp had shown up to interfere.

Fine! If there's no chaos, I'll still make my move!

Watch me update this log.

2075/6/3

[Great Zimbabwe Ruins] | ✔

Although no qualifying flower species found, a major discovery was made.

Based on wall carvings and remaining bronze, wood sculptures, and tribal masks, it is inferred that the site matches the recorded location where the mining and transport company first discovered the rare flower species…

"Supervisor Russell! Approaching Congo River site!"

Vela paused her logging. Her pupils glinted orange-red as her ocular implants synced with the vehicle's exterior camera. The screen showed yellowish hues—the Congo River. Or rather, what used to be the Congo River.

A vast, exposed riverbed stretched out. Once among the world's greatest rivers by volume, now only fissures and gullies remained.

After a brief pause, Vela spoke with apparent excitement: "Deploy all drones. I'll take control."

Buzz, buzz—the connectors gave off a faint hum.

In that moment, Vela demonstrated the terrifying computational power befitting a powerhouse of Night City's Arasaka Security Division. With control privileges transferred, her wall of displays filled with feeds from scattered drones—comparing and sliding through data at a furious pace.

Barren hills, dried-up wells, piles of scrap—the ruins of once-developed towns lay scattered across the wastelands, most now buried under sand. And among them, ancient, tent-like tribal remains of long-abandoned villages…

"Ancient Bantu-speaking tribes. The Congo River basin was once their primary habitat," Vela nodded, then stood up. "Stop the vehicle."

Screech.

Tap tap!

With the crisp impact of hard heels on solid earth, Vela jumped from the vehicle. She walked past the on-guard soldiers, scanning the surroundings, and finally headed toward one of the village ruins.

She could feel it—gazes from all directions intensified the moment she stepped down.

Tch. The third rapid-response team that had arrived—she was sure at least two were moles.

No need for talk—search!

After thoroughly tearing apart the village, it was clear its underground storage and water systems weren't enough for her plan. Move on.

Back in the vehicle, she followed the dry Congo riverbed until she found another village site. Search. Still no viable garden remains. Move again.

This process of boarding and disembarking repeated, and by the time night fell, visible irritation had crept onto Vela's face. Even the watchers' intensity had waned. The convoy pressed on, passing through one desolate ghost town after another.

"Let's camp here tonight. Set up the perimeter."

At a village site nestled between two desolate ridges, ruined stone sculptures and decayed wooden carvings leaned by the gate. Vela stepped off with a perfunctory attitude, strolling slowly inside with a few soldiers in tow.

Search.

Boom!

Inside the best-preserved and largest stone house, dust erupted—debris and smoke scattering everywhere.

Clang.

A light shone through.

A black, cavernous opening.

Finally, a village large enough.

Vela exhaled deeply.

Such primitive villages still existed even today. Built between two flat-topped ridges, their stone structures usually made use of natural caves.

This one would do.

Donning a protective mask and ignoring the guards behind her, Vela stepped inside.

Tap, tap.

The deeper she walked, the rougher the rock walls became. She noticed more signs of artificial excavation merging with the natural cave structure, along with rotting wooden support frames and hanging ritual masks.

The ground was littered with decayed grain—unidentifiable to Vela—and even human remains, as well as animal bones.

Even in the 20th century, tribal disputes over water and food were common. This likely had been a storage site, later abandoned.

Possibly due to corporate expansion into Africa—extreme environmental collapse, locals either forcibly relocated or killed by chaos…

Drip…

She pressed deeper. The cave narrowed to a two-person width. She heard faint trickling water.

Water?

In the corner—scarce, maybe toxic—springs slowly seeped out. Human skeletons, animal carcasses, animal hides, shamanic painted masks, heaps of rotting food hardened into black fertilizer-like fungal clumps, and scattered moldy seeds…

A faint smile touched Vela's lips.

"Don't move!!"

Shhk! Shhk!

Several guards flanking Vela instinctively raised their guns, cybernetic implants activating. "Supervisor Russell?" But Vela ignored them. She crouched in the corner, red light flickering in her eyes.

"I found it."

Thud!

Her gloved hand plunged into the gray-black fungal soil. In a dimension invisible to others, an alternate 'her' picked up a handful of Sonnentreppe Flowers. Illusion turned to reality.

With gentle precision, Vela made a pulling motion. A splash of vibrant color bloomed in the cave's dimness—catching the stunned eyes of the guards.

"What is that?"

"Look—it's the Sonnentreppe Flower."

Her voice trembled with apparent excitement. She raised a dark red, round-centered blossom high, her smile radiant—like a certain famous corn lover.

"Go get my flower culture dish! Secure the area!"

She exhaled sharply, eyes gleaming, issuing orders to the soldiers.

Even before she finished speaking, she was crouched again, digging through the fungal soil—tossing aside shaman masks and bones—uncovering flower after flower, some wilted, some proud and tall, each a dark crimson bloom erupting from the earth.

Dun dun!

A few soldiers rushed out to follow orders, while two remained.

One of them, almost absentmindedly, trained his gaze on the Sonnentreppe Flower Vela had carefully placed behind her.

The covert high-resolution recording device on his body glowed faintly.