August 21, 2003. 00:28. Night City.
Absolute carnage and chaos were all that remained on the streets.
They surrounded Arasaka Tower, spreading into every nook and cranny the surrounding area had to offer.
Emergency sirens wailed through the night, their cries drowned out by distant gunfire and the thunder of military vehicles. Smoke rose between the skyscrapers, illuminated by the flashing lights of emergency services and the occasional explosion somewhere deeper within the corporate district.
The air reeked of burning fuel, scorched metal, and gunpowder.
"Move! Move! Move!"
A Militech officer waved his soldiers toward a waiting armoured personnel carrier, its rear ramp lowered onto the debris-covered street.
"Get the wounded inside! We're pulling out!"
All around him, soldiers scrambled toward the evacuation vehicles. Some carried their injured comrades over their shoulders, while others hauled equipment crates and ammunition cases into the transports. Several armoured trucks idled along the road, their engines rumbling beneath the constant chatter of military communications.
Above them, the enormous silhouette of Arasaka Tower loomed against the night sky.
Or what was left of it, anyway, before its eventual end.
Several floors were burning, shattered windows exposing the building's ruined interior. Smoke poured from ruptured ventilation shafts, and emergency lighting flickered through the broken facade.
At street level, Noah stood beside an armoured command vehicle, watching the evacuation unfold.
Around him, his most loyal followers wore combat armour battered beyond recognition. Scratches and impact marks covered the composite plating, while dried blood stained the joints of their reinforced exo-frames. Some still had their helmets firmly secured, their visors displaying a continuous stream of tactical information.
He glanced at the cracked watch strapped around his wrist, checking the time.
They were cutting it close.
"Commander!" a voice yelled, prompting Noah to turn.
A soldier approached, snapping a quick salute.
"Third and Fourth Platoons are accounted for, sir! Second Platoon's still loading the wounded. We've got two transports waiting on the western approach."
"And the remaining Arasaka forces?" Noah sighed, staring back at the wreckage.
"Scattered resistance, sir. Most of their remaining units are either retreating or attempting to secure the building."
"Good. Tell Second Platoon to hurry. We're not waiting around for Arasaka to regroup."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldier turned to leave.
"And Corporal?" Noah called out.
The soldier stopped. "Sir?"
"No unnecessary heroics. Anyone who can walk gets on a truck. Anyone who can't gets carried."
"Understood!"
Noah watched him hurry away.
Around him, the men continued working with practiced efficiency.
Some wore Militech insignia.
Others carried older markings, scratched into armour plates or stitched beneath their corporate patches.
UNSAF, or what remained of it, still following his orders after all these years.
Rage lay in his heart, yes, but despite that, he felt a sense of satisfaction.
Despite everything that had happened—despite the years spent fighting under different banners—some habits apparently never died.
The radio clicked to life.
"This is Vanguard Three. Western perimeter is secure. Awaiting further instructions."
Noah touched his earpiece.
"Maintain your position until the last transport clears. Then withdraw."
"Copy that."
"Vanguard Five, status?"
"All personnel accounted for, sir. We're ready to move."
"Stand by."
He switched channels.
"All units, begin final withdrawal. I want everyone clear of the tower's immediate perimeter. Keep your spacing and follow the designated evacuation routes."
A chorus of acknowledgments filled his headset.
"Roger!"
"Copy, boss!"
"Vanguard Two moving!"
"Understood, Commander!"
Noah drew a deep breath before releasing it. Then he searched the surrounding area, looking for a particular individual who had yet to appear.
Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long.
His enhanced senses and implants alerted him to a tremendous metallic crash somewhere above him.
Something massive burst through the damaged exterior of Arasaka Tower's upper floors.
A shower of shattered glass, twisted metal, and concrete fragments rained down from the building.
For a split second, Noah caught sight of a dark, armoured figure tumbling through the air.
The figure had been launched clear of Arasaka Tower, hurtling toward the rooftop of a neighbouring building several stories below.
It crashed into the rooftop with tremendous force.
Concrete fractured beneath its weight, sending a cloud of dust and debris billowing outward. A ventilation unit was torn from its mounting, while several metal support beams buckled under the impact.
The surrounding soldiers instinctively ducked.
"CONTACT ABOVE!"
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
"GET DOWN!"
Several rifles swung upward.
Noah raised a hand. "Hold your fire!"
The soldiers hesitated.
Through the settling dust on the neighbouring rooftop, something began to move.
A massive cybernetic hand clawed against the shattered concrete.
Hydraulic servos shrieked.
The figure attempted to rise, only for one of its mechanical legs to buckle beneath it.
Its armour was practically destroyed.
Several plates had been torn away, exposing damaged synthetic musculature and ruptured hydraulic lines. One shoulder assembly hung at an unnatural angle, its weapon systems reduced to twisted scrap. Sparks erupted from its torso as emergency systems struggled to compensate for the damage.
Then its distorted mechanical voice roared across the street.
"BLAAAAACKHAAAAAND!"
Noah stared, satisfied.
The figure dragged itself forward, crushing a broken ventilation pipe beneath its remaining arm.
"YOU FUCKING—!" A burst of static interrupted the voice. "—PIECE OF SHIIIIIT!"
Noah slowly lowered his weapon.
For a moment, he simply watched the legendary Arasaka cyborg struggle against the wreckage.
The same machine that had charged through the tower earlier, tearing apart soldiers and equipment as though they were made of paper.
The same monster whose reputation had terrified entire military formations.
But now?
Smasher attempted to push himself upright again while his damaged servos screamed in protest.
Then something inside his torso gave way with a sharp mechanical crack.
"FUUUUUCK!"
He collapsed back onto the rooftop.
Noah let out a short chuckle.
"Commander?" a nearby soldier asked, staring at the wreckage. "Is that...?"
"Yes. Adam Smasher."
The soldier went silent.
Several others exchanged disbelieving looks.
"... Holy shit."
"The legendary Arasaka soldier," Noah muttered. "On the ground like the dog he is."
He tilted his head upward, searching for one more figure—the one who had sent Smasher flying.
His helmet display suddenly flashed.
INCOMING COMMUNICATION — BLACKHAND, MORGAN
Noah accepted the transmission. "You're late."
A familiar voice answered, accompanied by a faint chuckle. "Aw, come on. Not even a 'thank you'?"
Noah shook his head. "Morgan."
"Noah."
"What did you do to him?"
"Who?"
Noah looked toward the ruined rooftop. "The wreck currently screaming your name."
"Oh, him." Morgan paused. "I told you, I had it under control. We just had a little disagreement, that's all."
Noah snorted. "A disagreement?"
"Yeah. He disagreed with me about who was walking out of that building."
"Apparently."
"Couldn't convince him otherwise. Stubborn bastard."
"Well, congratulations. You've officially made an enemy for life."
"Pretty sure we crossed that bridge a long time ago."
"Assuming he survives."
"Wouldn't count him out just yet."
Noah glanced toward the ruined cyborg.
Smasher was still moving, albeit barely. Unfortunately, Morgan was probably right.
"Anyway," Morgan continued, "how's the party downstairs?"
"Wrapping up. Most of our people are already evacuating."
"Good."
"Where are you?"
"Look up."
Noah raised his gaze, looking past the neighbouring rooftop where Smasher had landed and toward the upper floors of Arasaka Tower.
There, at the edge of the enormous opening Smasher had been launched through, a lone figure stood overlooking the street.
Even at this distance, the silhouette was unmistakable.
The battered combat armour. A rifle that rested casually against one shoulder. And, of course, that distinctive black cybernetic arm.
Morgan Blackhand.
Then, with all the casual confidence of a man who hadn't just fought one of the most dangerous cyborgs on the planet, he raised two fingers to his forehead.
A salute.
Noah stared for a moment before finally breaking into laughter. "Du arrogantes Arschloch."
Morgan's laughter crackled through the comms. "I don't speak German, sorry."
Noah returned the salute, feeling the tension of war slowly leave him. "Seriously, though. Thanks for the help up there."
"Don't mention it."
"I mean it, Morgan. You probably saved quite a few of our people."
"Yeah, well..." Morgan paused. "Someone had to keep that walking scrap heap occupied."
"Still. I appreciate it."
"Anytime."
Then Morgan glanced back toward the ruined interior of the tower.
"By the way, give me a few minutes. I'll meet you at the extraction point."
Noah checked his watch, his expression hardening again. "Morgan."
"Yeah?"
"Make it quick."
"Relax. I know my way around a collapsing building."
"That's not what I'm worried about."
A brief silence followed.
Then Noah continued. "Unless someone changed the schedule without telling me, Silverhand's nuke is still scheduled to go off. And we don't exactly have a live countdown, so I'd rather not test how much time we've got left."
Morgan looked toward the street again. "Right."
"And I'd rather not spend the last few minutes of my life watching you take the scenic route down."
Morgan chuckled. "Aw. You're worried about me?"
"No. I'm worried about having to explain to everyone how the legendary Blackhand survived Adam Smasher only to get himself vaporized because he couldn't find the stairs."
"Ha! Fair enough."
"Get your ass down here."
"On my way."
The transmission clicked off.
Noah watched as Morgan disappeared back into the ruined tower.
For a moment, the distant sounds of battle filled the silence.
Noah turned toward the waiting transports, watching as the last of the wounded were loaded aboard before shifting his attention to the command vehicle.
"Status?"
"Almost ready, sir," a soldier replied. "Just waiting on Blackhand and the rest of the rear guard. Rogue's team has already exfiltrated."
"Good. Have the convoy prepare to move the moment they're aboard."
"Understood."
Noah nodded and stepped aside, allowing another group of soldiers to pass.
He glanced toward Arasaka Tower.
The operation had been a success. Arasaka's North American headquarters had been breached, its security forces overwhelmed, and several of its most senior executives eliminated or captured.
More importantly, Noah had obtained what he'd actually come for.
An enormous portion of Arasaka's classified archives.
Which was quite a lot.
He accessed his virtual interface, an implant linked directly to his ocular and neural systems, and brought up a summary of the encrypted archives Spider Murphy had helped extract from Arasaka's internal network.
Most of the material had already been transferred to secure storage. But the sheer volume of files made it impossible to review everything in a single night, and even with Spider's assistance, much of the data remained encrypted or fragmented.
Fully decrypting, organizing, and making sense of it all would take days, if not longer.
Nevertheless, what little Noah had managed to review was already concerning.
Soulkiller. Neural architecture. Experimental consciousness preservation.
Arasaka had apparently been developing technologies capable of recording, reconstructing, and potentially preserving human consciousness in digital form.
The implications were enormous.
Not simply for intelligence gathering or interrogation, but for the very nature of human mortality.
One research division had been experimenting with what its documents described as a prototype Relic system, a means of storing digitized personalities within specialized neural hardware.
Another set of files referenced a classified infrastructure project known as Mikoshi.
The relationship between the two wasn't entirely clear, although both appeared to concern the storage and management of digitized human consciousness.
Noah frowned at the sight.
He hated the thought that the corporations might be approaching a breakthrough in immortality.
Beyond that, the archives contained experimental cyberware, autonomous weapons, behavioural conditioning systems, and enough classified military research to occupy intelligence agencies for years.
Some of it was genuinely impressive, while other projects were considerably more disturbing.
But none of those discoveries compared to what Noah had found buried within Arasaka's executive communications.
Paris. September 11.
His jaw tightened as the memories came rushing back.
The thousands who had died, the investigations that never seemed to reach satisfactory conclusions, the endless political speeches, and the promises that those responsible would be brought to justice.
He remembered the Tanwir, and how quickly the corporations had positioned themselves as indispensable partners in restoring global security.
Now, the recovered files suggested that several high-ranking executives had possessed knowledge of the terrorist campaign well before it even occurred.
And the names weren't exclusive to Arasaka.
Militech. Biotechnica. Lazarus. So many others.
Corporations that had publicly condemned the attacks had apparently helped facilitate them, only to profit from the political upheaval that followed.
Noah clenched his fist.
All those years. All those investigations. And the bastards had been sitting in their offices the entire fucking time.
Yet something else troubled him.
Across the recovered correspondence, executives from competing corporations appeared to have coordinated their activities through the same intermediaries. Certain directives had even originated outside their established command structures.
Noah enlarged one of the documents, studying the redacted names and partially erased authorization records.
Whoever had distributed these instructions had gone to considerable lengths to conceal their identity.
Someone brought these people together.
But who?
Noah couldn't establish whether it had been an individual, a committee, or an entire organization.
And that uncertainty bothered him more than he cared to admit.
He closed the document.
"Commander!"
A soldier's voice then interrupted his thoughts.
"Blackhand's coming, sir!"
Noah dismissed the display and turned towards the tower.
Sure enough, Morgan was approaching the extraction point, accompanied by two Militech soldiers. His armour was battered, with several damaged sections exposing the protective layers underneath, although he walked with the same relaxed confidence as before.
Noah folded his arms. "About damn time."
Morgan grinned. "Miss me?"
"Terribly. Get in the truck."
"Aw, that's sweet." Morgan gave an exaggerated salute before climbing into the armoured command vehicle, with Noah following shortly afterwards.
Inside, several soldiers were seated along the compartment walls, their weapons secured between their knees. A communications officer occupied a workstation near the front, monitoring the convoy's status.
"All units accounted for?" Noah asked.
"Yes, sir. Vanguard Three has confirmed the rear guard is withdrawing. All remaining personnel are aboard."
"Then let's get out of here."
The officer relayed the order, and moments later, the armoured convoy began moving away from Arasaka Tower.
Following their designated evacuation route, the vehicles accelerated through the increasingly deserted streets, putting several kilometres between themselves and the corporate district as Noah and Morgan settled into their conversation.
Satisfied with the tactical display, Noah finally took a seat opposite Morgan, who was busy inspecting his cybernetic arm.
"Everything working?" Noah asked.
"Mostly. Think Smasher knocked something loose."
"Should've charged him for repairs."
"Yeah, I'll send him the bill."
Noah chuckled.
"So," Morgan continued, "how'd your part of the operation go?"
"Successfully."
"That's all you're giving me? Come on, Noah. I spent half the night keeping Arasaka's favourite psychopath occupied. You can at least tell me whether it was worth the trouble."
"It was. Spider managed to establish access to Arasaka's internal archives, and we extracted enough classified material to keep several intelligence agencies busy for the next decade."
Morgan whistled. "Not bad. What'd you find?"
"Experimental weapons, military research, intelligence operations, corporate communications. A collection of things nobody wants the public to know about." Noah paused. "And apparently, they've been experimenting with digitizing human consciousness."
"Come again?" Morgan stopped examining his arm and raised an eyebrow.
"Recording the human mind and preserving its memories and personality in a digital environment. Related to Soulkiller, although they're exploring applications beyond simply extracting someone's consciousness."
"Such as?"
"Storage and reconstruction, potentially transferring a digitized personality into compatible neural hardware. The files mentioned Relic prototypes, something called Mikoshi, and considerable research into neural preservation."
"Fuckin' hell." Morgan stared at him. "So what, Saburo's planning to live forever?"
"Wouldn't surprise me."
"Any of it actually work?"
"Some of the underlying technology does. How far they've progressed with the rest remains unclear. We'd probably have to knock on their headquarters in Japan to find out."
Morgan shook his head. "Of course we would. Well, that's unsettling."
"Unfortunately, it gets worse."
"You're really selling this conversation, Noah."
Noah didn't smile.
"Paris. September 11."
Several soldiers looked up from their equipment. One of them stopped halfway through securing his rifle, while another turned towards Noah with a questioning expression. Even the communications officer briefly glanced over his shoulder.
Morgan's expression changed. "What about it?"
"I found records suggesting several corporate executives, people near the top of their respective companies, had prior knowledge of the attacks. Financial arrangements, logistical assistance, and intelligence suppression. That isn't to say the evidence is complete, but there's enough to suggest certain individuals were involved in the preparations."
"...Fuck. Arasaka? So you're suggesting Saburo himself was involved?"
"Possibly. The records implicate people close to the top, but I can't establish Saburo's personal involvement yet." Noah lowered his voice almost to a whisper. Despite knowing that everyone in the vehicle was loyal to him, he couldn't help feeling uneasy about implicating other corporations, particularly the one currently employing them. "Militech, Biotechnica, Lazarus, and several more. I wouldn't be surprised if all of them were involved somehow."
Morgan leaned forward. "You're telling me our current employers, Arasaka's rivals, are some of the guys who helped organize the Tanwir's terrorist campaign?"
"That's what the evidence suggests."
"How certain are you?"
"Certain enough to investigate further. Not enough to claim we have the entire picture."
Morgan frowned. "And the intelligence agencies missed all of this?"
"Or someone ensured they would. We've confirmed interference in certain cases, although we can't establish how widespread it was."
"Shit. That's one hell of an accusation." Morgan paused, thinking it over. "Could've been a joint committee. Or some private agreement between the executives."
"Possibly. But the authorization records have been partially erased, and whoever issued certain directives had their identity removed. The same gaps appear in correspondence involving multiple corporations."
"So you think there's just some conveniently mysterious bastard pulling everyone's strings?"
"Not necessarily as some kind of supreme boss. I'm more inclined to believe these executives had their own agendas, and many stood to benefit considerably from the world being terrified of the Tanwir. But someone appears to have provided them with a common direction and the means to coordinate. Whether that was one person or an organization, I don't know."
Morgan leaned back, folding his arms. "Could just be a bunch of rich assholes agreeing to do something terrible at the same time."
"That would be the simplest explanation."
"And?"
"The simplest explanation doesn't account for everything we've recovered. These corporations have spent years competing with one another, sometimes violently. Look at the war we're fighting right now for proof. Yet somehow, they were coordinating resources and operations across multiple companies. The same intermediaries kept appearing, even when their interests conflicted. Someone had to be facilitating those arrangements."
Morgan considered the argument. "Maybe not. But money makes people cooperate, even when they hate each other."
"True. And I wouldn't rule that out. But the records suggest a level of coordination that goes beyond ordinary business arrangements. Someone had to establish those connections, negotiate their competing interests, and convince them that cooperating was worth the risk. There had to be some sort of intermediary, someone capable of bringing them to the same table."
Morgan studied him for a moment. "You know that's not proof somebody was running the whole operation, right?"
"No," Noah admitted. "It isn't."
The compartment fell quiet, apart from the engine's rumble and the communications officer exchanging updates with the other vehicles.
Morgan leaned back against the compartment wall, watching Noah close the document.
"So, what now? You've got your evidence, enough classified Arasaka research to make half the world's intelligence agencies jealous, and you've probably pissed off every executive who survived tonight. What's the plan?"
"For now? Get everyone out alive. After that, we'll see."
"That's unusually vague coming from you."
Noah chuckled. "Would you prefer a detailed operational briefing?"
"Hell no. I've had enough of those for one lifetime."
"Then don't complain."
The armoured transport continued down the road, occasionally shaking as its wheels passed over damaged pavement. Through the narrow reinforced windows, the burning corporate district gradually gave way to streets that had suffered comparatively little damage.
Noah glanced towards the soldiers seated around them. Some were inspecting their equipment, others tended to minor injuries, and one had fallen asleep against the compartment wall with his helmet resting in his lap.
He recognized nearly every face.
Many had served under him for years, long before either of them had worn Militech insignia. The old UNSAF markings were still visible on their armour, reminders of an organization whose surviving personnel had long since scattered across private military companies and mercenary outfits.
And yet here they were, still fighting alongside him.
Noah turned towards the communications officer.
"Open a general channel to all surviving strike teams and support personnel. Anyone still connected to the operation."
"Understood, Commander."
A few seconds later, the officer nodded.
"Channel established, sir. Remote support and the teams that have already exfiltrated are still connected."
Noah activated his headset.
"All units, I'll keep this short. Tonight's operation succeeded because every one of you did your part. Militech personnel, independent contractors, and everyone else who decided to join this madness."
A few acknowledgments came through.
"We've taken losses, and I won't pretend otherwise. But we accomplished what we came here to do, and we've given Arasaka one hell of a reason to remember us. To Rogue and her people, Spider Murphy, Silverhand, Blackhand, and everyone else who helped make this possible—thank you."
A young woman's voice came through the radio, carrying an unmistakably amused tone.
"Aw, how sweet."
Noah recognized Rogue immediately.
"Don't get sentimental on me now, Rogue."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Before Noah could continue, another voice interrupted.
"Hey, what about the part where I saved everyone's asses?"
Spider Murphy.
Noah chuckled. "Yes, Spider. Especially you."
"That's more like it."
Morgan leaned forward. "Don't forget the guy who threw Smasher through a wall."
"Morgan, you're sitting right in front of me."
"That still counts."
Several people laughed over the channel.
Noah shook his head before continuing.
"And to my old comrades from UNSAF, thank you for trusting me again. I know this wasn't the reunion any of us imagined, but I'm grateful you're still here."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Commander," a familiar voice answered.
"Still got your back, sir," another added.
Noah smiled. "Now, everyone, stick to your extraction routes and get home safely. You've earned it."
The officer disconnected the channel after a final round of acknowledgments.
Morgan looked at him. "Not bad. I've heard worse speeches."
"I've given better."
"Yeah, probably. Less depressing ones, too."
"Stop talking."
Morgan laughed, then glanced towards the old UNSAF insignia on a nearby soldier's shoulder.
"You still thinking about bringing it back?"
"Of course."
"Figured. How's that going, anyway?"
Noah sighed. "Poorly. I've spent years approaching governments, military officials, former colleagues, private investors, and practically anyone else who might be willing to help. Some were interested, and a few even provided resources for individual operations, but nobody wants to commit to rebuilding the organization itself."
"What did they say? That it was too expensive?"
"Among other things. Too politically sensitive, too difficult to justify, and apparently too much trouble for anyone who might actually have the money."
Morgan nodded. "Sounds about right."
"Tonight proved I can assemble people for a mission, Morgan. But rebuilding UNSAF requires permanent personnel, logistics, intelligence infrastructure, training facilities, equipment, and independent funding. Without those things, we're just another mercenary outfit."
"Would that really be so bad?"
"Yes. UNSAF was supposed to be different. We weren't beholden to a corporation's quarterly earnings or some executive's personal ambitions."
"No," Morgan replied, correcting Noah. "You were. To the governments and to the corporations. That's why we're here in the first place, fighting a war we didn't want, but still having bills to pay."
Noah fell silent.
Morgan continued, "Look, I respect what you're doing. But say you rebuild the whole damn thing. What happens when the governments funding you start telling you who you can and can't fight?"
"That's precisely why we need independence."
"Independence costs money, Noah. And whoever provides that money usually wants something in return."
Noah looked away, unable to disagree.
It was a problem he'd considered countless times. Finding people who agreed with his ideals had never been particularly difficult; finding people willing to sacrifice their own interests to support them was another matter entirely.
"So what would you suggest?" he eventually asked.
"Fuck it." Morgan shrugged. "Maybe it's better to start smaller. You've already got people willing to follow you, contacts, experience, and apparently enough stolen corporate intelligence to blackmail half the damn planet. I'd say you use what you've got instead of getting so caught up trying to resurrect the past."
Noah considered his words.
"And for the record," Morgan added, "I'm always happy to help you kick some corporate asshole's teeth in. But I'm not signing up for another permanent military organization."
Noah smiled faintly. "I figured."
"Nothing personal. I like choosing my own jobs."
They shared a laugh after that.
Morgan's advice was simpler than Noah wanted to admit.
For years, Noah had tried to restore an institution that no longer existed, convinced that rebuilding UNSAF would provide the authority and resources necessary to confront the corporations.
But perhaps he didn't need to resurrect the organization itself.
Perhaps he needed to create something new, independent of governments and corporate sponsors, capable of gathering intelligence, cultivating allies, and acting without waiting for anyone's permission.
He already had people, contacts, and resources. Not enough to challenge the entire corporate system, certainly, but enough to begin.
"You're awfully quiet," Morgan observed.
"I'm thinking."
"Should I be worried?"
"Probably."
Morgan chuckled. "Great."
Noah smiled to himself before glancing back at Morgan. "Tell me something. Do you honestly believe tonight changes anything?"
Morgan tilted his head. "Well, at minimum, Arasaka's certainly gonna have a bad night."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know. But say it for us anyway. You were always better at the monologues."
Noah sighed. "Arasaka will lose its American headquarters. Militech will declare victory. But the corporations will continue establishing new arrangements with whoever wants to work with them."
"And… that's usually how it goes."
Noah glanced towards the soldiers around them. "Meanwhile, families will bury their dead, veterans will struggle to find work, and entire communities will spend years rebuilding what was destroyed. All the while, the corporations will continue doing business as though nothing happened."
Morgan nodded slowly. "Yeah."
By the time Noah and Morgan finished their conversation, the convoy had already travelled several kilometres from the corporate district. The armoured vehicle rumbled through a reinforced access tunnel, its overhead lights briefly illuminating the compartment as they approached the final extraction perimeter.
"So what are you gonna do about it?" Morgan asked.
Noah went silent, hesitating over the answer he was about to give.
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "So?"
Then, with renewed conviction, Noah looked at him.
"So perhaps I should stop asking."
Morgan smiled. "Now that sounds more like you."
Noah chuckled. "Don't get too excited. I haven't figured out the details."
The communications officer turned towards them.
"Commander, we're approaching the secondary protective perimeter. All convoy vehicles have cleared the tunnel."
Noah checked his watch. "Good. Confirm the remaining teams have reached their extraction positions."
"Confirmed, sir. All units are outside the designated danger area."
"Then proceed to the protected staging position."
"Understood."
The convoy continued along a descending military access road towards a reinforced staging area built into the terrain beyond the city's central districts. Concrete retaining walls and thick earthworks surrounded the installation, while overhead blast barriers shielded the vehicle bays from the direction of the city.
One by one, the armoured transports entered the protected bays and came to a halt.
The communications officer checked the final status reports.
"All vehicles accounted for, Commander. We're in position."
Noah nodded. "Very well."
Morgan glanced towards a nearby screen displaying the feed from one of the staging area's reinforced observation cameras. Beyond the protective perimeter, the distant Night City skyline remained visible. "You think Silverhand made it out?"
Noah paused. "I haven't received confirmation."
Morgan's expression grew more serious. "Hope the bastard did."
"So do I."
For a while, neither said anything.
On the external display, Arasaka Tower remained visible above the distant buildings, its upper floors burning against the night sky. Emergency lights continued flashing throughout the corporate district, while columns of smoke drifted between the surrounding skyscrapers.
Noah watched the image.
He knew what was coming. Everyone involved in the operation had understood the possibility, and yet the knowledge did little to prepare him for what he was about to witness.
Morgan glanced towards him.
"Whatever you decide to do next, Noah, just make sure you know what you're getting yourself into."
Noah chuckled. "Of course."
Then the external display turned white.
For the briefest instant, Noah thought the camera had malfunctioned.
A tremendous flash erupted from the heart of Night City, overwhelming the camera's sensors before its automatic filters compensated. As the image darkened, an enormous fireball emerged above the corporate district, swallowing Arasaka Tower and bathing the surrounding skyline in blinding white and orange.
Dust and debris surged outward through the streets. Above the destruction, the fireball continued to climb. Its lower edges darkened as smoke and pulverized debris rose into a towering column.
Within seconds, entire sections of the city had disappeared behind the spreading cloud.
Noah watched in silence.
Then the ground began to tremble.
A deep vibration passed through the staging area's reinforced foundations, swelling into a violent shudder. Equipment rattled against the compartment walls, soldiers braced themselves, and the transport rocked on its suspension as loose metal clattered somewhere outside.
The shockwave reached the surrounding terrain with a tremendous, rolling concussion.
Even behind the protective barriers, Noah felt the pressure through the vehicle's armoured hull. The compartment vibrated around him, its structural supports groaning under the force, while a low, sustained roar filled the air like thunder that refused to end.
The external display flickered as the blast passed.
When the image stabilized, the fireball had risen into an immense mushroom cloud, its towering column illuminated from within by the fading glow of the detonation. Dark smoke spread outward across the sky, carrying enormous quantities of dust and debris above the ruined city.
Morgan simply stared at the display while Noah remained silent.
Both had known the nuclear device would detonate. They understood its destructive potential, at least in theory.
But witnessing the disappearance of an entire section of Night City was something else entirely.
Noah's thoughts turned to the people who had been caught in the destruction: the civilians who hadn't escaped, the soldiers still fighting inside the district, and the countless others whose lives had been reduced to another casualty figure in a war they had never chosen.
He wondered how many would be remembered, and how many would simply disappear into the statistics of the Fourth Corporate War.
The communications officer eventually broke the silence. "Commander... detonation confirmed."
Noah nodded slowly. "I can see that."
"Orders, sir?"
Noah looked towards the soldiers seated around him. They were exhausted and injured, but they were alive.
"Get everyone home."
"Yes, sir."
The officer relayed the order, and the convoy began preparing to depart the protected staging area.
Noah remained seated, watching the distant mushroom cloud through the external display.
The conspiracy surrounding Paris remained unresolved, its most important participants hidden behind redacted identities and unexplained authorizations.
Somewhere within those records lay the possibility that the people responsible had been acting under a common direction, perhaps even answering to someone whose influence extended far beyond the corporations themselves.
He didn't know who that might be, or whether such a person even existed.
But he intended to find out.
Noah glanced towards the old UNSAF insignia on the soldier seated across from him, then returned his attention to the distant skyline.
Whatever form the future took, Noah had no intention of surrendering it to the corporations.
They could rebuild their towers, change their names, buy themselves new governments, and invent a thousand excuses for what they'd done.
But Noah wasn't finished.
Not even close.