Cyberpunk: Infinite Progress Begins with Arasaka

Outskirts of Tokyo, Arasaka Family Compound.

Tick-tock...

Footsteps echoed softly against the waxed hardwood floor, reflecting a gentle sheen. Arasaka Security Director Shintaro Takayama moved quietly around the corridor's corner, arriving at the observation deck overlooking a natural hilltop pond. He bowed deeply behind a solitary figure.

It was Saburo Arasaka.

Beneath the eaves, a wind chime tinkled gently in the breeze.

Saburo reclined in a state-of-the-art wheelchair packed with cutting-edge longevity tech, basking in the morning sunlight. The rays caught his thinning, yellowed temples—now sparser than ever.

Nearby, medical staff cautiously calibrated the basic cybernetic limbs and artificial neural lines running through his aging body. It was the daily routine: health diagnostics and a micro-dose injection of 'longevity serum'—a drug whose effects had long plateaued.

He was too old.

Physiologically, Saburo was nearing the conceptual edge of 'natural death.' His body could no longer endure further cybernetic augmentation or biological organ replacement. Even the longevity serum required precisely calculated doses—one misstep could bring trauma.

After a long while, once the day's check-up and maintenance were complete, the aged Saburo finally croaked out, "I've grown old, Shintaro... so fragile, so hideous."

"You must not despair, Lord Saburo. Lord Yorinobu, Lady Hanako, and Lady Michiko—they are not yet ready to lead Arasaka!"

Without hesitation, Shintaro Takayama knelt in the manner of a loyal retainer, speaking with unwavering conviction: "Arasaka still needs your wise leadership!"

"Hmm..."

A sigh. Saburo didn't pursue the topic.

"A cursed household."

He muttered coldly, then added, "So... what has that unfilial son of mine done this time? Suddenly requesting Vela Adelheid's personnel file? His people have no direct contact or stake in her—so why recommend her? Stirring the pot behind the scenes to raise doubts—planning to recall her to Night City for Security Division duties?"

"His intel network is thorough. Can't wait for me to die, it seems..."

"..."

Shintaro Takayama understood all too well what Saburo meant.

The young talent Saburo had personally taken interest in—Vela—seemed to be successfully pushing through her 'Sonnentreppe Project,' and that naturally drew the attention of Yorinobu, who was desperate to take over after his father's death.

But since it involved Arasaka family affairs, Takayama dared not comment.

Even if he disapproved of Yorinobu's past recklessness, or looked down on him for abandoning Arasaka only to crawl back later, he knew he couldn't overstep. He was still Saburo's son.

The only son.

"Shintaro, what do you think of Vela Adelheid's 'Sonnentreppe Project'—this Progenitor Virus and its potential to evolve human DNA?"

As if venting all his frustration with his unworthy son, Saburo changed the subject.

Takayama considered his words carefully.

"At present, she appears to be making real progress. She's indeed recovered what the ancient Bantu tribal chiefs once called the 'sacred flower' for healing and longevity, from deep within the ruins. She's been fortunate enough to extract the active compound she sought. I believe her lab reports and hypotheses are not without merit..."

Truthfully, Shintaro was amazed.

He and Saburo had noticed Vela for different reasons.

Shintaro had selected her based on her exceptional field performance, company evaluations, personal background, and North American strategic considerations—as a potential rising pillar in the Security Division.

Saburo, however… likely had more personal motivations.

Ever since Vela returned from Central Africa with the so-called Sonnentreppe Flower, Saburo's interest in her had visibly increased.

"According to Vela Adelheid's preliminary lab report from Johannesburg, she has successfully extracted and cultivated specimens from the preserved Sonnentreppe Flowers. The virus's degradation issue when removed from soil has been temporarily stabilized... She is scheduled to return to Tokyo no later than June 9."

As Shintaro Takayama delivered his briefing, the holoprojector beneath the eaves buzzed softly.

Images and documents from Johannesburg were projected into the air—zoomed-in visuals made it easy even for Saburo Arasaka to see clearly.

There it was: successful lab cultivation of the Sonnentreppe Flower, the discovery and extraction of the Progenitor Virus, multiple high-dose mouse injection tests, evidence of the infected rodents' extreme vitality, and Vela's targeted experiments to stabilize and refine the virus—presented in chronological order on the display.

"Excellent."

Saburo Arasaka's eyes snapped open. A spark of brilliance flashed through his otherwise cloudy gaze.

His hunched frame leaned forward slightly as he focused intently on the hologram. In one clip, the pale-blonde woman in full protective gear manipulated equipment, zooming in on the mutated mouse inside a glass test chamber.

The mouse's fur had completely sloughed off and it was bleeding profusely. It had endured dozens of lethal trials—and was still alive, albeit sluggish.

Saburo watched every second, afraid to miss even the smallest detail.

Only when the video showed Vela extracting a blood sample from the mouse, injecting it with a final, higher dose of virus, and completely sterilizing the chamber afterward, did he reluctantly look away.

He exhaled lightly, then turned to Shintaro Takayama, his eyes burning with the desperation of a drowning man clutching at a lifeline.

With an authoritative tone that brooked no dissent, Saburo ordered, "Shintaro, raise her security level. Deploy a new special operations team from Tokyo to protect her and her research. Dispatch a private aircraft for transport—no mistakes will be tolerated."

"As for that unfilial son of mine—he's trying to muddy the waters again. Maybe he never gave up on his childish ambitions. Warn his subordinates—this is not the time for political games. Some lines must not be crossed. I'm not dead yet. Arasaka doesn't answer to him."

"What I give him is his. What I withhold, he cannot take."

Saburo's voice was icy, but filled with arrogant finality.

"Tell Yorinobu: I gave him life. I can take it back. I gave him everything—so I can take it all away."

"Yes, Lord Saburo!" Shintaro bowed deeply, accepting the command before taking his leave.

Tick-tock...

As the sound of footsteps faded, Saburo leaned back in his wheelchair. His sharp, hawk-like gaze dimmed once again into a milky haze.

He sluggishly pulled up a city-wide satellite view of Johannesburg. Arasaka buildings glowed in the darkness; armed personnel stood vigilant across the grid. It was late night in South Africa. Vela Adelheid was already asleep.

"Relic... I hope we won't need it… Vela Adelheid. No signs of treason. Loyal background. Then she shall be trusted with responsibility. Ambitious… then I'll give her a platform to fulfill that ambition."

He muttered this under his breath.

The morning sun warmed him as he savored a rare moment of optimism—looking forward to Vela's return to Tokyo with the Progenitor Virus and the Sonnentreppe Flower.

Zzzzt—

"!!"

Saburo's slowly closing eyes snapped open in alarm.

Everything was bathed in dark red.

The explosion's firelight flickered across his wrinkled, sunken face, casting alternating shades of crimson.

No, the explosion wasn't in the family estate.

It was Johannesburg!

Saburo's expression darkened in an instant.

On the holographic screen, a power substation in a Johannesburg neighborhood suddenly burst into a raging inferno. Thick smoke billowed into the sky, electrical arcs flashed wildly, and flames dyed half the city red in an instant.

The projection made it clear: this substation didn't just serve the local district—it powered the entire Arasaka Industrial Park in Johannesburg!

In the wake of the explosions, the once-illuminated factory complex was plunged into darkness.

And then, amidst the blacked-out zone—flashes of gunfire, thunderous blasts. Arasaka's covert security squads, stationed in secret per Saburo's orders, had already begun to suffer casualties.

"Enemy assault! Johannesburg Industrial Park is under a coordinated attack by unidentified armed forces! All units are equipped with military-grade cyberware and restricted high-power firearms! They're targeting our backup power systems—repeat…"

Voices roared through the secure line from Johannesburg's command channel.

In that moment, Saburo Arasaka understood perfectly: the Sonnentreppe Project had been leaked.

Someone was trying to steal it. And they had sent elite forces to do so.

"Baka!!"

So fast?!

The timing was too perfect.

Arasaka's border outposts in South Africa weren't just for show—amassing such a force couldn't have been done overnight.

Vela had only extracted the Progenitor Virus less than a day ago. The stability protocols had barely been submitted to Tokyo University. How had they known the project would bear fruit? To bet everything on it...

Beep-beep.

Incoming file alert. A high-priority update from the northern South African border: multiple Central African warlords were making large-scale moves!

...

Johannesburg, Arasaka Industrial Park.

Inside the bioresearch sector.

BOOM!

Firelight flickered in the darkness, revealing faces obscured by full tactical gear, each equipped with various external optical augmentation systems. The air was thick with the stench of burning circuits.

Shattered glass, ruptured concrete, the roar of gunfire, and explosions devoured both sides in waves.

Intense. Brutal.

"Goddamn Arasaka—why the hell are there more squads inside?! Where are the netrunners?! Mark their locations now!"

Amidst the incoming storm of kinetic rifles and tech-shotguns, the attackers cursed while unleashing a dense web of suppressing fire through a narrow corridor.

A few Arasaka guards wearing light Kevlar vests fell with SMGs in hand, collapsing like rag dolls, blood gushing in bursts.

"Shit—they've got too many people. Reboot the auto-turrets, now!"

"Can't! They've got at least a dozen netrunners working in tandem. After blowing the substation, they've flooded the control center with daemon viruses. They're not even trying to hijack it—they're jamming us with brute-force packet floods. I'm barely holding the intrusion. Cleanup takes time."

Bang!

A scream. A body hitting the floor.

"F*ck! Kill that bastard!" roared a defender.

Another electric-crack echo rang through the lab.

BOOM!

The lead gunner, dressed in unmarked tactical gear and firing while crouched, suddenly jolted backward. His head exploded—blood and brain matter splattering against a nearby glass panel.

"It's a Tsunami Nekomata! Damn it—Arasaka's sneaky bastards didn't just leave basic guards behind—they've got snipers of that caliber? F*ck!"

The Nekomata electromagnetic sniper rifle—top-of-the-line from Japan's Tsunami Defense Systems. Its tungsten spike rounds could punch through personal armor and reinforced structures alike. Even the thickest subdermal plating and titanium skeletons would be pulverized.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

It all happened in an instant. The attackers clearly knew how to deal with Nekomata snipers—blow them up. A volley of micro-rockets screamed toward the sniper's position, detonating with surgical precision. The security room was obliterated.

A figure cloaked in flickering optical camouflage leaped from the ruined structure. But while still airborne, a barrage of heavy armor-piercing rounds smashed into his chest, launching him backward mid-air.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Sparks burst upon impact.

This was military-grade, strictly restricted weaponry—non-civilian.

Zooming in would reveal the sniper's lightweight external armor shattering first. Beneath, the alloy-plated subdermal armor crumpled under the kinetic onslaught. The worst damage was dead center—repeated shots hammered the same spot with brutal precision, punching clean through.

"Goddammit, sons of bitches—it's you! F*cking Militech scum!"

No one knows you better than your enemy.

Arasaka and Militech had fought for years. Though peace had reigned recently, covert ops and infiltration skirmishes never stopped. These special forces agents knew each other better than family—Arasaka's defenders could tell what Militech would do from the way they crouched.

"You're full of shit! That bitch Russell made too many enemies! Somebody paid us to ruin her gig! We're a legit operation! Feel free to hire us next time, Arasaka dogs!"

Of course, Militech's infiltration units denied everything.

All their identities had been scrubbed. Even if caught, they'd be listed as retired or independent—no ties to Militech. Contract terminated. Pure freelance.

RATATATATATATA—!

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—!

Mutual carnage erupted.

"We're outnumbered. They planned this. They waited until Supervisor Russell was away... Where the hell's backup?!"

Blood sprayed as another Arasaka heavy guard was blasted in half by a rocket. Crouched behind a crumbling column near the rear barricade, the Arasaka security team leader glanced toward the distant bio-research lab entrance—where the Sonnentreppe Flowers were stored.

"We're under siege. They didn't just send one team. They've got anti-air emplacements. Reinforcement AVs from the branch were shot down. Latest intel says northern border outposts are overwhelmed—African warlord armies are making moves, tying down our mobile units."

"Damn it! Tell them to forget the warlords—the lab is their real target!"

With a furious roar, the squad leader slammed his fist into the floor—cracks spiderwebbed across the tiles.

"We can't count on the local division right now." He gritted his teeth. "Where's Supervisor Russell?!"

"She's at the Johannesburg Grand Hotel..."

"Contact her. Now! The hotel's only fifteen minutes away. If we're lucky—tell the boys, hold for ten more minutes. Just ten. Once Supervisor Russell gets here, it's over..."

...

Johannesburg Grand Hotel.

Zzzzz...

Beep!

Vela was jarred awake by the alert tone of new emails. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced toward the window.

"...Why is the sky red?"