Under normal circumstances, nuclear weapons—whether low-yield tactical types or strategic ones measured in megatons of TNT—exist solely as the ultimate deterrent of any military or political power.
But the cyberpunk world was anything but normal.
In this worldline, wars came too often, too violently, too endlessly.
Even after the end of the Fourth Corporate War, when global conflicts supposedly quieted down, that peace was only relative.
As far as Vela knew, modern large-scale wars in history included: two World Wars, two Vietnam Wars, six Middle Eastern Wars, two Korean Wars, three Central American Wars, four Corporate Wars, the Orbital War, the South Pacific War, the Space Colony Rebellion…
And beyond those—gang wars, shadow wars, anti-terror wars, drug wars, water wars, the New Sino-European War—countless smaller conflicts, coups, and civil wars.
Following the end of the U.S.–Soviet Cold War, as old America and the European Community entered a so-called "Silent War," the last thirty years of the 20th century and the beginning of the 21st were nothing short of an Age of Conflict.
Nuclear weapons—the Damocles' sword of the old world—had long been unsheathed too many times here.
Before the infamous 2023 Arasaka Tower nuclear detonation in Night City, there were already precedents of nuclear attacks.
And not a few of them. The trend toward normalization was all too clear.
The 1993 Colombian Cartel nuclear strike on New York; the 1994 Pittsburgh nuclear accident—those were only appetizers. The event that truly bound the cyberpunk world forever to nuclear wastelands, radiation, and fallout was the nuclear war itself.
In 1997, the Sixth Middle East War broke out and quickly escalated, evolving into a full-scale nuclear conflict engulfing the entire Arab world. The Middle East, North Africa, and Central Africa were transformed into a radioactive wasteland—vast deserts turned to glass.
As for the hand behind it all—who supplied that many strategic nuclear warheads? No one knew.
But after the dust settled, SovOil controlled nearly all the oil fields of the Eurasian landmass.
The only exception was Petrochem, which dominated the American petroleum market.
A decade later, those two would clash in a three-year-long Corporate War (II) for global energy supremacy.
Yet even global climate collapse failed to stop the march of nuclear warfare.
Next came the 2008 Orbital War.
In the heat of the space race, the New United States—newly federalized and reconciled with the reformed Soviet Union—clashed in orbit. The European Space Agency intervened, turning the skirmish into a full-on confrontation between European and American powers.
The result: the European Tycho Lunar Colony used a mass driver to hurl a two-ton moon rock rich in thorium, deuterium, and uranium at the city of Springs, New America. The blast annihilated not only Springs but also NORAD—the North American Aerospace Defense Command.
The line was crossed there.
After that, the shape of war grew ever more varied—and far crueler.
From the Chicago bioweapon plague to the Australian lunar rock disaster (caused by a misfired mass driver), to the most devastating of all—the Fourth Corporate War. Rio de Janeiro was razed to the ground, and in Busan, a bioweapon strike killed millions within minutes.
Tragic, but not surprising. After decades of relentless exposure to catastrophe, the use of nuclear weapons no longer shocked anyone.
Unless the cities destroyed were Paris, Berlin, Tokyo, Moscow, or Washington.
Because this was the nature of corporate war.
In Night City, following the news of the Arasaka Carrier Battle Group's attack, San Francisco's nuclear strike, and the Golden Gate Bridge's destruction came the next day's headlines:
The Arasaka Board votes unanimously for retaliation.
Saburo Arasaka declares war in Tokyo.
Pacific Time: April 22, 2077 — early morning.
At 1:00 a.m., Arasaka declared war on Militech.
At 1:00 a.m., Militech declared war on Arasaka.
At 7:40 a.m., New United States President Rosalind Myers delivered her MAGA address from the White House—"Unite! Make America Great Again!"—declaring the Free States illegal and announcing the beginning of the Second Unification War.
At 8:00 a.m., the North American Free States Alliance reaffirmed the Declaration of Independence and declared war on Washington.
At 9:00 a.m., Barghest accepted the Alliance's contract, entering the war as private military support.
At 10:00 a.m., the Lazarus Group accepted NUSA's contract and entered the war.
At 11:00 a.m., the Republic of Texas publicly declared support for the Free States Alliance's independence and began mobilizing troops westward.
...
Faced with this, most of Night City's citizens—after a brief wave of panic—quickly regained composure.
Without needing any word from City Hall, countless residents began stockpiling weapons, food, and medicine.
Those who could run had already fled. Those who remained were the ones who couldn't: the commoners, the locals, the corporate drones, the street punks, the opportunists, the dreamers, the desperate.
In the city's underworld, the black markets and back alleys boiled with tension.
Gang members, their eyes gleaming with greed, watched the shifting tides of chaos—ready to fight over whatever scraps the great powers left behind.
Ambitious corpo workers flexed their fingers—war was both a graveyard for the fallen and a ladder for the bold.
Scheming opportunists weighed their chips and rolled their dice.
Order and chaos coexisted; ambition and idealism intertwined. The Fifth Corporate War had, at last, erupted in full.
...
Arasaka Tower – Intercontinental Division Presidential Office.
Beep-beep—
Notification chimes rang as a new encrypted communiqué arrived.
[Arasaka Tokyo Global HQ, Information Division]: "To all regional branches under Arasaka America and Night City HQ, including Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego—after deliberation by the Board of Directors, the wartime command authorization request submitted by Executive Vice President Vela Adelheid Arasaka Russell [Night City] has been approved."
"Effective immediately, Vela Adelheid Arasaka Russell is hereby appointed Supreme Commander of the North American Theater."
"Authorization period: 2077/4/22 11:30 — ∞"
Vela's indigo eyes shimmered faintly red as she lowered the PDA in her hand.
"Phew…"
Finally—it was hers. True military command authority.
"The die is cast," she murmured with a faint smile. "All or nothing. Win everything… or lose it all."
Turning her chair toward the floor-to-ceiling window, she watched as the polarized glass automatically shifted transparency.
Directly opposite stood Militech's Night City Headquarters.
They were evacuating.
Just moments ago, Militech CEO Lucas Harford had declared their Night City building a demilitarized zone. Ownership of the tower would remain—but all personnel and assets were to be withdrawn immediately.
A pragmatic retreat. Painful, but wise.
Had they delayed even a little longer—just long enough for Vela to finish her negotiations with the near-retirement Mayor Lucius Rhyne, and for her ally, Deputy Mayor Weldon Holt, to push the City Council into ruling Militech's presence in Night City "illegal"—she would have moved to forcibly seize the tower as contraband corporate property.
Why bother seeking "legal" approval first?
Simple—appearances.
Just as after the Fourth Corporate War, when both the NUSA and the Free States jointly ruled that Arasaka's American operations were unlawful and stripped its licenses, forcing Arasaka out of North America for half a century.
Why hadn't they revoked those rights earlier?
Because until the end, no one knew who would win.
What if they'd canceled the wrong side?
Now, however, Night City had no such hesitation.
The NUSA had bared its fangs in the Metal Wars—intent on swallowing everything. There could be no reconciliation.
Arasaka had poured endless resources into building Night City, feeding even the greediest of City Hall's commissioners.
And Saburo's decision to elevate a new generation—Vela—was more than a tactical move. It was a message: Arasaka was no longer a Japan-only family conglomerate. It was a true global power.
Vela was a Night City native—non-Japanese, yet an Arasaka. For many, that fact alone carried immense symbolic weight.
Regional identity still mattered, even in this hyper-cyber age. Don't think Westerners lacked their own form of regional prejudice.
Night City had made its choice.
It sided with Arasaka—or more precisely, with an Arasaka led by one of its own.
Likewise, the Free States' sympathies followed similar logic: siding with the Arasaka helmed by a North American.
Vela's restraint toward Militech's Night City division was, in its own way, one of the few remaining "rules" of corporate warfare—a shared code among megacorps:
Casualties in the hundreds? Acceptable—compensate afterward. But never cripple a peer's entire operation beyond recovery. And above all, one taboo remained: nuclear strikes were never to target another megacorp's headquarters.
And this—this—was Corporate Plaza, the heart of Night City's intercontinental power structure. Vela had no doubt: Militech's tower had nuclear warheads buried beneath it. Strategic-grade.
Fine then. Equivalence. If she couldn't bomb this site… she'd pick another.
Lowering her gaze, Vela dialed a number.
"Hansen. It's me."
She paused, a sharp glint in her eyes.
"I'm in San Francisco. Myers sent me quite the gift. Wouldn't it be rude if I didn't return the favor?"
Her smile turned razor-thin.
"Interested in helping me deliver a reply?"
—
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