286-290

Chapter 286: Soulkiller, Mikoshi, Cyberspace 

"Soulkiller," a revolutionary tech invented by the genius hacker Alt Cunningham, is a program that can instantly wipe out any target linked to cyberspace and digitize their mind. This tech is a total game-changer, and Alt Cunningham? Easily one of the most brilliant hackers of the century. 

Her original goal for Soulkiller was to create a weapon to take on megacorporations like Arasaka. With Soulkiller, she could stop these corporate giants from running rampant in cyberspace. But here’s the kicker: no matter how slick a hacker you are, if someone doxes you IRL, you’re done for. Arasaka didn’t play around—they went straight for the real-world takedown. Alt Cunningham, the legendary hacker, was taken out before she could even make her move. 

And so, Soulkiller fell into Arasaka’s hands, setting the stage for everything that followed. 

The "Secure Your Soul" project was built on Soulkiller’s source code, letting people communicate with digitized consciousnesses that had been uploaded. Then came the "Relic Chip" project, which took it further—enhancing those consciousnesses, storing them in biochips, and implanting them into human bodies. Once the host body dies, the chip activates a "body takeover."  

Alt Cunningham’s Soulkiller is the foundation of it all. 

At its core, Soulkiller is just a program, not some physical gadget. If you know the source code, you can use it. And what does that mean? It means Alt Cunningham could still use it today—and maybe she’s not the only one. 

Under Arasaka’s persecution, and with Johnny Silverhand’s chaotic "help," Alt was forced to use Soulkiller on herself, digitizing her consciousness to escape into cyberspace. Physically, her body died in the process. But out there in cyberspace, beyond the Blackwall, an electronic ghost named Alt Cunningham still exists. Influenced by the AI beyond the Blackwall, her consciousness has warped—she’s more AI than human now. 

So, who knows what this "Alt Cunningham" is thinking these days? Nobody can say whose side she’s on. 

If the AIs beyond the Blackwall have Soulkiller, and they break through, it’s game over. The net would become a total no-go zone for humans, a catastrophic disaster.  

"What a hell of a program," Riku muttered. 

The more Riku dug into Soulkiller, the more he worried about the situation beyond the Blackwall. This program is a precision weapon designed to shred human digital souls. It’s no wonder it was meant to take on corporate hackers—even the best of them, backed by servers, would get wrecked by this thing. 

The hackers of that era were straight-up monsters. Bartmoss’s "R.A.B.I.D.S." and Alt Cunningham’s Soulkiller are still jaw-dropping masterpieces today. 

"I can only hope Alt Cunningham still has a shred of humanity left," Riku thought. "Otherwise, humans don’t stand a chance against AI in cyberspace. It’s not even a fight." 

Riku’s conclusion? Humans alone can’t win—not unless Alt Cunningham stays out of the AI’s corner. There’s a chance she still holds onto some humanity. Unlike pure awakened AIs, she started with a massive dataset of memories and a distinct personality. That sets her apart from those combat AIs that just snap awake. 

Take Johnny Silverhand, for example. He’s different from other awakened constructs or AIs. Sometimes, you’ve got to admit, memories are what make a person them. An AI’s original purpose and programming heavily shape its personality and behavior after awakening. Some AIs, built to be workhorses, might even choose to keep grinding away post-awakening. 

Heck, there are even awakened AIs that hunt other AIs because that’s what they were made to do. They’ll team up with human netrunners, save people, maintain net order, and clean up rogue AIs. Believe it or not, some of these orderly AIs even helped build the Blackwall—a massive auto-defense system that, if you squint, could be called an AI itself. No need to write off every awakened AI as a threat. 

That’s why Riku doesn’t just blanket-hate all constructs or AIs. Sure, they can go bad, but so can humans—and plenty do. Good, evil, order, chaos—it all comes down to how they’re shaped, their experiences. The world isn’t black-and-white. 

The AIs beyond the Blackwall, though? Mostly awakened combat AIs, built for battle with memories of nothing but fighting and killing. No surprise they’re hyper-aggressive and hostile to humans—a real bunch of battle maniacs. 

In Riku’s mind, Alt Cunningham hasn’t gone full psycho like those combat AIs. But fifty years is a long time—enough to twist her perspective. Living in cyberspace, cut off from human society, she’s probably lost any connection to human memories. Hoping she’s still on humanity’s side is a stretch; at best, you can hope she’s still orderly. 

"If we could just pull the plug and start over, this would be so much simpler," Riku sighed. It’s the easiest fix in theory—scrap everything network-related and build a new architecture from scratch. But the AIs beyond the Blackwall don’t care about pulling plugs. They’d just keep going. 

Even if humans had the guts to ditch everything and rebuild, they couldn’t. The old net can’t be carved out. Places like the Middle East—Iran, Iraq, Libya, Chad, the UAE—are now radioactive wastelands from nuclear wars, unfit for human life. Those ruins caused an oil shortage and gave AIs a playground to grow unchecked. 

In those regions, abandoned factories keep humming along, controlled by no one but still running like someone’s at the wheel. The AIs are building their strength. Pulling the plug? Too idealistic. Those wastelands are the AIs’ home turf now, and they don’t care about human no-go zones. 

For now, the AIs can’t physically threaten humanity—their domain is the net, and the Blackwall is the only thing holding them back. A war between humans and AIs is coming, one that’ll decide the future. 

Shoving the AI threat aside for a moment, Riku turned his focus to Mikoshi, the "soul prison." He’d already moved it, along with its "souls," into the Shadow Realm. Over the years, as the "Secure Your Soul" project grew and speculation about the Relic Chip spread, more and more people—corporate execs included—backed up their consciousnesses in Mikoshi. Immortality might just be a theory, a pipe dream, but who wouldn’t take a shot at it? 

That’s why Arasaka could use the Relic Chip to control the world—it’s not a baseless claim. It’s also why Riku’s plan could work. People chasing immortality are never in short supply. 

Mikoshi’s hardware isn’t exactly portable. Riku tested it and found that fully converting it would take time, but he had high hopes for it, so he didn’t mind the wait. 

Soulkiller paired with Mikoshi? That’s a soul-harvesting combo, usable only in cyberspace but still insanely cool and practical. With this, taking down human hackers is a breeze—grab their digital soul, lock it in Mikoshi, and their body’s left empty, dead. Soulkiller has two modes: copy and seize. Copy makes a backup in Mikoshi without harming the body, while seize rips the soul out, frying the brain in the process. 

And Mikoshi? It can hold human digital souls, so locking up AI "electronic ghosts" is no issue either. They’re all data streams at the end of the day. You just need extra restraints for AIs to keep them from breaking out. Human souls can’t crack Mikoshi’s defenses—they’re stuck "facing the wall." But a combat AI? Without restrictions, it’s like letting a wolf loose in a sheep pen. 

Take Alt Cunningham. She’s itching to get into Mikoshi. For her, it’s a buffet of souls to absorb, making her stronger.  

"Could I pull that off?" Riku wondered. "Absorb digital souls to get stronger? It’s just bulking up your data stream, right? But wouldn’t that mess with your head, getting flooded with other people’s memories?" 

Curious, and never one to hesitate, Riku hopped into his hacker pod and jacked into cyberspace. A hacker pod is pro-grade deep-dive gear, way beyond what a portable cyberdeck can do. The two are built for different purposes. 

Hacker tech has come a long way. From clunky handheld cyberdecks to modern personal link cables, it’s been a massive upgrade. Personal link cables let hackers plug directly into the net, no external device needed—just brain-to-net action. They’re still in use, but they can’t handle cyberspace. The data throughput’s too low. 

Then came ports wired straight to the brain’s cortex, boosting performance and data speed big time. But they’re risky—your body takes a beating, your nervous system overheats, and your temp spikes to dangerous levels. External cooling, like ice baths or cranking the AC, became standard. 

Next up: built-in cooling systems, high-capacity neural interfaces wired to the occipital lobe, and cooling suits to match. Without cooling, your blood would boil in minutes. To use gear like that, you need a hacker pod—or, more accurately, a netrunner base station. It’s a specialized chair for long sessions, packed with monitoring and medical systems. 

Riku’s setup? Even crazier. Backed by an entire server, it’s got full monitoring, life support, cryonic systems, and blood cooling—safety maxed out. There’s even wilder tech out there, stuff even Arasaka and Militech don’t have. NetWatch agents can pull off the same tricks without a base station, going full mobile. That’s straight-up black tech for the 2070s. 

Riku checked his flesh puppet, made sure the neural plug was secure, and confirmed all systems were green. Then he flipped the hacker pod’s switch. 

In an instant, static flooded his senses. "ONLINE" flashed before his eyes. A nauseating weightlessness hit, and he plunged into a maze of flickering neon shapes and spinning grids, a world of endless 0s and 1s. 

"This is cyberspace." 

Riku adjusted fast. The chaotic visuals snapped into place, and the world stabilized. 

Chapter 287: Time Amber 

What’s in cyberspace? 

Malware that can kill you in a few nanoseconds, rogue AIs that slink through network connections right into your brain, and data vortexes that can turn a sane person into a lunatic in an instant. 

Who’s in cyberspace? 

Corporate hackers in cryosuits, decked out with cyberware, armed to the teeth, and hogging half the grid’s power. They’re out to get every netrunner. Then you’ve got cyberpsychos lying in ice baths with cables plugged into their skulls, ready to attack anyone for profit. Long story short, there’s no such thing as a “normal” person here. 

Entering cyberspace? It’s less like you’re entering and more like it’s entering you. 

To put it bluntly, it’s a data stream that dives straight into your brain, bypassing all your usual senses. Sight, touch, hearing—none of that works here. Only your brain can help you make sense of what cyberspace really is. 

Without specialized gear, you wouldn’t even get to the brain-frying part. In the face of that massive data stream, your brain would just implode. The internal pressure would spike several times over, way more than any human could handle. 

So, if you survive the brain pressure surge, can you just roam freely in cyberspace? 

Nope. It’s not some vivid, tangible world where you open your eyes and see a clear landscape. Cyberspace is a chaotic mess of falling pixels, a rain of 0s and 1s. Without the right skills, you’re stuck, unable to move. If you manage to stumble forward, you might crash headfirst into a data fortress and get shredded into digital scraps by its defense systems. 

A netrunner needs the ability to visualize cyberspace’s chaos. Those clumps of data streams? You’ve got to figure out what they really are. A data stream could be a heavily guarded fortress, a raging data storm, a dangerous AI, or a malicious hacker. Everything’s just raw data, and it’s up to you to interpret and visualize it. 

In short, cyberspace isn’t for amateurs. Gear is secondary—first, you need the skills and knowledge. Without those, even the best equipment is useless. It’s like holding a nuke but not knowing how to use it, or having a jacked-up body but no idea how to throw a punch. 

For Riku, making sense of it all was no big deal. With his sharp intellect, vast knowledge, and insane data-processing skills, the chaotic streams of cyberspace became clear, vivid images in his mind. 

Riku stood atop the walls of a war fortress, the core of the “Shadow Realm Cyberspace,” built from scratch by Song Zhaomei and her team. This data fortress held all of the “Shadow Realm’s” research data. Looking out from the walls, he could see two smaller fortresses nearby, but the rest of the space was relatively uncluttered. 

The “Shadow Realm” cyberspace was still fresh, so it wasn’t too chaotic yet. The most noticeable features were the data fortresses built by “Arasaka” and “Militech,” each storing their respective research. Sure, all results eventually got reported to HQ, but there was still competition. Where there are people, there are factions and rivalries—especially between two groups that already didn’t get along. Naturally, they kept their guard up against each other. 

Of course, “war fortress,” “walls,” and “fortresses” were just how Riku visualized things. Different people might see something else entirely. Some data fortresses even cloaked themselves to scare off intruders—big corporations loved that trick. 

Personal data streams could also be disguised, like putting on a digital mask or cosplaying. People went wild with it: spaceships, apocalyptic knights, superheroes, anime characters, fantasy creatures—you name it. 

Riku didn’t bother with any of that flair. In cyberspace, he just looked like himself. Real-name surfing, baby! 

Inside the “Shadow Realm” data fortress, Riku found “Mikoshi,” the cyber-soul prison tucked deep in the fortress’s core, like a dungeon beneath a castle. In his eyes, “Mikoshi” was a series of isolated cells, each holding a captured electronic soul, cut off from the outside world and each other, locked in solitary confinement. 

Johnny Silverhand had been locked up in one of these before. But unlike the wild, drifting souls beyond the “Blackwall,” the ones in “Mikoshi” seemed… subdued. They were in an “inert” state, almost dormant. This confinement didn’t seem to mess with them too much—at least not compared to Alt Cunningham, who’d been floating outside the “Blackwall” and was way worse off. These souls seemed calm, almost resigned, like they’d adapted to their fate. 

Think about Johnny Silverhand’s personality. If this imprisonment felt too real, he’d have gone crazier than Alt Cunningham. But Johnny only described it as uncomfortable, something he didn’t want to relive. When pressed for details, he couldn’t quite pin down what it felt like. 

Makes sense. These electronic souls stored in “Mikoshi” might sit there for who-knows-how-long before being used. If they were just left locked up without special handling, they’d probably go insane by the time they were needed. That’d be unacceptable. 

“Not bad at all,” Riku muttered. 

He started deconstructing “Mikoshi’s” source code, zeroing in on the ability to make electronic souls “inert.” That was the real gem. Without it, “Mikoshi” would just be a fancy digital jail—anyone could build that. But one with this effect? That’s something else. 

“Let’s call you Time Amber,” Riku decided. 

It didn’t take long to isolate the “Time Amber” ability from the source code. With top-level access to “Mikoshi,” it was a breeze. Sure, he could’ve just grabbed the data from “Arasaka” HQ, but hands-on work always beats reading off a screen. 

This “Time Amber” could put electronic souls into an inert state, and Riku wondered if it might even work on rogue AIs. But it had flaws. The structure was complex, making it clunky for combat. Unless your target was a total rookie, landing a hit with it was tough. In cyberspace, you needed agility. If your “Time Amber” missed and didn’t encase the target, it was useless. It only worked if it could wrap them up, like actual amber trapping an insect. 

Cyberspace battles were a bit abstract. Most netrunners relied on “daemons” for attacks, each with its own virtual form. The Voodoo Boys, for example, loved styling theirs as vampires or witches. When a fight broke out, these daemons would swarm in for the attack. 

Picture it: a chaotic clash of vampires, paladins, spaceships, magic, and gunfire—all just fancy data packets. Netrunners raised “shields” like ICE or firewalls to block attacks. The really OP ones, like corporate dogs backed by company servers, could just bulldoze through with raw processing power. That’s what they call “overwhelming force breaks all tricks.” 

It sounds wild, but that’s cyberspace through a netrunner’s eyes. 

“This Time Amber could use some optimization,” Riku noted. “Such a powerful effect shouldn’t go to waste just because it’s not combat-ready.” 

He added “optimize Time Amber” to his to-do list, but it wasn’t urgent. There was no immediate threat of an AI army, and even without “Time Amber,” Riku wasn’t scared of cyberspace battles. With everyone using top-tier gear and no tech gap, his raw skill made him untouchable. Add in his mental resilience, fearlessness of brain-burn, and his trump card—“Soulkiller”—and he was basically invincible. 

Heck, he was half-tempted to stand in the middle of cyberspace and shout, “Who dares take me on?” 

In the “Shadow Realm” cyberspace, no one would dare mess with him. Outside? Anyone who tried was done for. One hit from “Soulkiller,” and they’d be locked up in “Mikoshi’s” digital black box. 

Riku tested it out, and the original version of “Soulkiller” felt the smoothest—perfect for combat. Later versions leaned more experimental, since Anderson Hermann didn’t need it for fighting. 

After tinkering with “Soulkiller” and “Time Amber,” Riku turned his attention to the captured electronic souls. Honestly, since everyone was just data here, swallowing them up didn’t seem that hard—especially these inert souls that barely put up a fight. 

Netrunners could already pull an Inception-style move, jacking into someone’s brainware to steal secrets. In cyberspace, you skipped the physical connection and went face-to-face. Break through their defenses, and you could do whatever you wanted—though most just grabbed secrets. Nobody seemed to fully consume a defeated opponent’s data. 

Why? Swallowing a lifetime’s worth of data was too much. The sheer volume could overwhelm you, and even if your brain survived, who would you be afterward? Whose identity would win out? 

“That’s why consuming other electronic souls could make you stronger,” Riku mused. “But the cost is too high for most people—it’s basically suicide. Alt Cunningham didn’t care, though. It didn’t even mind losing its original memories. Adding more wouldn’t faze it.” 

This realization lit a spark in Riku’s eyes. Alt Cunningham could handle consuming other souls without losing itself, and so could he! His [Limit System] protected his mind like an iron fortress—no amount of foreign memories could shake him. He was confident he could process those massive data streams. 

“Worth a shot,” he thought. “If it goes wrong, I’ll just spit it out. Quick cut, no problem.” 

Riku picked a random “lucky” soul from “Mikoshi.” The nameplate said it was a regional exec from “Biotechnica.” “Mikoshi” was a who’s-who of corporate players—clearly, “Arasaka’s” tech leaps owed a lot to these folks. 

He yanked the exec’s soul out of its cell. The “Time Amber” effect started fading, so Riku tossed another one on, locking it back down. With the soul pacified, he didn’t hesitate—he swallowed the entire data stream into his own. 

To his surprise, “Time Amber” kept working. The massive data clump stayed docile, barely resisting as Riku’s [Limit System] crushed it into submission. The chaotic memories? Straight to the digital trash bin. The pressure on his brain dropped, and only the useful bits—knowledge and skills—were neatly sorted and stored. 

“Talk about a bonus effect,” Riku said, stunned. The process was smoother than he’d expected. 

Funnily enough, this “Biotechnica” exec’s brain didn’t have much practical stuff. Like most suits, he pulled data from chips, networks, or databases as needed. Still, for a corporate exec, he had more going on upstairs than most of “Mikoshi’s” inmates. “Biotechnica” valued ability, with a bit of a “tech rules” vibe, but this guy was probably just a career manager, not a tech genius. 

Chapter 288: "War" 

Hiss~ 

After fully devouring the "digital soul," Riku carefully assessed the changes. He definitely felt stronger—mainly because his data stream had ballooned significantly. 

Let’s be real here: if anyone tried to hack him now, they’d have to wade through a flood of junk data first. All that info from the "biotech" execs? It’s been shoved to the surface, acting like a buffer zone.  

But to say he’d powered up massively? Nah, Riku wasn’t feeling that. This buffer layer could confuse intruders, making it hard for them to pinpoint the real target, but it didn’t boost his processing power. It was just a straight-up defense buff. 

That said, after gobbling up enough of these digital souls, any enemy trying to invade him would get drowned in a sea of garbage info. Memories and experiences from all sorts of people would overwhelm them, leaving them lost with no way out. 

"Whoa, hold up," Riku thought, grinning. "This is starting to sound like a low-key version of Muryōkūsho!" 

His mind raced as he connected the dots. This pile of junk data could be weaponized. If he could dump it straight into an enemy’s brain, it’d be like Muryōkūsho—the signature domain technique of the legendary "circus performer" Gojō Satoru-sensei. That move floods the target’s mind with a torrent of info, useful or not, overloading their brain until they’re paralyzed, unable to act, just standing there waiting to get wrecked. 

Riku was confident his stockpile of garbage data was more than enough to pull off something similar. It might not be Muryōkūsho levels of OP, but it was close. Imagine tossing someone’s entire life story at a target—bam, instant hard control for a while. Maybe it’d even mess with their head, causing mental chaos, like throwing a tsukumogami puppet into their soul. 

"Man, when you stack up enough of anything, even trash becomes a problem," Riku mused.  

No hesitation—he dove back in, devouring more digital souls. His data stream swelled, the junk info piling up like layered castle walls in a sengoku jidai fortress.  

And just as he’d suspected, most of these digital souls were duds. Mediocre at best. Their professional skills and knowledge? Totally heibon. Probably just a bunch of scheming, political types who maxed out their seiji and conspiracy stats.  

In this era, a lot of specialized knowledge could be accessed via "plug-ins." Skill chips were basically the ultimate nōma weapon—tools for the worker drones. To many corporations, the skill chip was the real employee, and the nōma were just disposable vessels. Low pay, garbage treatment? Totally normal. They didn’t see you as an employee, just a consumable. 

The means of production were firmly in corporate hands, leaving the nōma with zero say. That’s the twisted reality of this world. 

Of course, truly gifted individuals could still rise above. Companies needed researchers alongside their nōma, but most people were stuck at the bottom. Climbing the social ladder through raw talent? That was rare—sugoi rare. 

After nearly cleaning out the digital souls in the Mikoshi system, Riku stopped, satisfied. The remaining souls were high-ranking execs, mostly from Arasaka. He’d keep them as a backup plan. If anyone got out of line, he could swap them with fakes later. 

Plus, he needed some for research. There was still a lot to figure out—like whether he could tweak these digital souls’ memories without breaking them. They were fragile; one wrong move, and you’d end up with gaps or scrambled memories, like Johnny Silverhand’s messed-up case. 

Phew~ 

Riku let out a long breath, though there was no real need for it in cyberspace. 

His data stream was now massive. He’d devoured hundreds of digital souls—Arasaka’s stash accumulated over years. The Soulkeeper and RELIC chip projects were either closed off or exclusive to the elite, so the number of preserved souls wasn’t huge. Most were from global bigshots, which probably explained why he hadn’t gained any sugoi abilities. 

"Time to change up the look," Riku decided. 

With such a massive data stream, he needed to tweak his appearance. A giant like this was way too conspicuous, even in cyberspace. 

Without much thought, he disguised the outer layer of junk data as a fully armed uchūsen—a spaceship straight out of a mecha anime. He tucked himself into the cockpit, safe and sound. It was a common disguise for netrunners, but Riku’s uchūsen was next-level. A colossal uchū senkan—a space battleship—its menacing, domineering design screamed power from a distance. 

After sorting out the Mikoshi prison, Riku logged out of cyberspace and returned to reality. Climbing out of the hacker pod, he stretched, loosening up his body. 

The digital soul buffs didn’t just apply in cyberspace. If some seishin kōgeki—mental attack—type enemy came at him now, they’d hit a wall of junk data first. His core consciousness was buried behind layers of it, untouchable unless they broke through the trash heap. 

"Too bad I don’t have any seishin kōgeki moves," Riku sighed. Against regular folks without cybernetic implants, he could probably use this info overload, but he had no way to weaponize it. 

Physically, he was a beast—recovery and endurance were hentai-level OP, and his speed and strength were boosted by transformations and tech, with tactical nukes for extra umph. But mentally? That was his weak spot. The closest thing he had was some basic saimin-jutsu—hypnosis techniques. 

With all this Muryōkūsho-worthy junk data, he had the ammo but no gun to fire it.  

"Guess it’s time to explore a few more worlds," he thought. Different worlds, different power systems, different loot. Some might say he’s biting off more than he can chew, but Riku? He believed in waza ōi wa osaerarenai—more skills never weigh you down. He had all the time in the world to master them. 

Before jumping into new worlds, though, there was a small issue to handle. 

Leaving the Kagekai—Shadow Realm—Riku tracked down Arasaka Yorinobu. Freshly in control of Arasaka, Yorinobu was brimming with confidence, ready to flex his power. 

Thanks to clean cover-ups, suspicions about Arasaka Saburo’s death lingered, with some pointing fingers at Yorinobu. But no proof, no problem. Just speculation.  

Arasaka Hanako, caught between conservative faction schemes and her brother’s assurances, chose to trust Yorinobu. Past memories helped—despite his rebellion against Arasaka, Yorinobu had never crossed the line into assassination. He had principles. 

With Hanako’s support, the conservative faction lost their leverage. Yorinobu, Hanako, and Arasaka Michiko banded together, shutting down any opposition. Yorinobu took full control of Arasaka in no time. 

“How’s the prep going?” Riku asked, lounging on a plush sofa in Yorinobu’s lavish office. 

“All set,” Yorinobu replied from behind his desk, practically glowing with energy. After years of waiting, it was finally his time to shine. 

“Nice. Myers is ready too. You make the first move,” Riku said with a nod. 

This “prep” was for war. Yorinobu and Rosalind Myers had a plan: use this conflict to crush the opposition, ideally wiping them out in one go. Converting them one by one? Too much hassle. War was the cleanest solution. 

With the leaders in sync, the opposition didn’t stand a chance. And who’d suspect Arasaka and Militech teaming up? If the opposition’s forces got obliterated by “leaked” intel, they’d have no proof to pin it on their own leaders. In this messed-up world, it wasn’t impossible, but without evidence, they’d just sound paranoid—making them easier to deal with. 

“Let’s do this,” Yorinobu said, nodding. 

Arasaka’s stubborn opposition, especially the conservative faction, had to go. Yorinobu’s reforms threatened their interests, and they weren’t about to give up their power willingly. For him, sending them to the slaughter was the simplest fix, especially in this tense climate. They couldn’t dodge the fight. 

Yorinobu was waving the flag of “avenging Arasaka Saburo.” The conservatives, Saburo’s loyal dogs, had no choice but to join in. If they slacked on avenging their figurehead, their entire faction’s legitimacy would crumble. 

“Keep the intensity in check,” Riku warned. A full-blown war would be a mess. 

“Don’t worry. We’ve got it planned. We let her win, take out a chunk of the conservatives, and pull out of the Free States entirely,” Yorinobu said calmly. 

Victory or defeat didn’t matter much to him. The conservatives would take a hit, and with Hanako and Michiko’s support, his position in Arasaka was rock-solid.  

Myers, on the other hand, couldn’t afford to lose. New America wasn’t her personal playground—she faced elections. A big loss could tank her chances, which wouldn’t serve the Kagekai’s interests. They needed her to win, tweak re-election rules, and hold power long-term for their plans. 

Yorinobu’s real challenge was the resistance to his reforms. Giving power back to the nōma, making the world less twisted, letting the masses be more than exploited drones—that was a fight against the entire ruling class. Revolution always comes with blood. 

Yorinobu moved fast. Within days, Arasaka kicked things off. Tensions had been simmering since the Konpeki Plaza incident, and the war of words had reached a boiling point. When the fighting finally started, it sent a chill through everyone. 

The last war between Arasaka and Militech had scarred the world. Nobody wanted a repeat of that sekai taisen—world war. 

Night City felt it first. The fighting broke out close to its southern border, right on the line between North and South California. As a key player in the anti-America movement, North California had solid economic and military strength. During the Unification War, it was a cornerstone of the Free States. Without it, the Free States would’ve been steamrolled. 

North California’s ability to stand against New America? That was thanks to Arasaka’s backing—weapons, supplies, even troops. This time, Arasaka’s revenge campaign pulled North California in, leaving the other Free States on the sidelines. 

After the last war, many Free States were being slowly absorbed by New America. Few were bold enough to raise the rebel flag again. Arasaka didn’t bother rallying them—those fence-sitters would pick a side based on who was winning. If Arasaka gained the upper hand, the Free States would reform their Jiyūshū Rengō—Free State Alliance. If New America dominated, they’d turtle up. 

Chapter 289: Everything Will Be Alright 

Back in the day, the Northern California Republic was a force to be reckoned with—a nation officially recognized by the American government at one point. Its economic might was undeniable, and it boasted a formidable national military that left the fractured American government during the civil war with no choice but to grudgingly accept its independence. 

But once the American government regained its strength, entities like the Western Free States Alliance, the Northern California Republic, and the Texas Republic started to look like thorns in their side. As the saying goes: when you're weak, you let disputes slide; when you're strong, you claim what's yours since ancient times. The rulers of New America never stopped dreaming of reunifying the entire country. 

As Rosalind Myers once put it, whoever pulls off that feat would practically ascend to sainthood. 

This ambition pushed the independent states to seek foreign allies to counter the looming threat of New America and Militech. Among the Free States, the Texas Republic and the Northern California Republic stood out as the toughest nuts to crack, thanks to their powerful local corporations: Petrochem in Texas and ZetaTech in Northern California. 

The Texas Republic was practically a puppet of Petrochem, a corporate giant whose influence rivaled Militech’s. Any move against Texas required careful consideration, as Petrochem’s clout was no joke. Over the years, skirmishes flared along the borders, but neither side dared escalate into full-blown conflict. Texas remained a persistent headache for New America, a bone stuck in their throat. 

As for ZetaTech, they didn’t match Militech or Petrochem in sheer size. They didn’t maintain a massive private private army, focusing instead on design and manufacturing. Compared to other megacorporations, ZetaTech’s employee count was relatively modest. But as a diversified powerhouse and a titan in the transportation industry, ZetaTech supplied Northern California with a wide array of weaponry, particularly their renowned armed helicopters and drones. 

Since ZetaTech came into prominence later, their influence in the Northern California Republic wasn’t as deeply entrenched. Northern California was already home to a slew of thriving corporations, and ZetaTech didn’t meddle in military affairs or challenge the local government. Their relationship with Northern California was more of a mutually beneficial partnership, with the government retaining significant authority. 

Always at the forefront of the “anti-America” movement, Northern California made a bold move this time, teaming up with Arasaka’s forces to launch an assault on the Southern California border. The attack caught the Southern California defenders off guard. 

Northern and Southern California had a long history. They started as allies, fighting side by side for independence. But things soured, they split, and later, some in Southern California betrayed the revolution, becoming lapdogs for New America. 

Positioned at the rear of the Western Free States Alliance, Southern California stood out like a sore thumb—a lone loyalist in the southwest. The Free States had tried multiple times to root them out, but New America and Militech weren’t about to let that happen. 

This time was no different. Before the war even kicked off, New America and Militech had already deployed massive forces to defend Southern California—mostly troops loyal to factions opposing Rosalind Myers. These opponents didn’t resist the deployment; they figured it was better to stick together than be scattered and picked off one by one. 

If Rosalind Myers spread them out and mixed them with her loyalist troops, her opponents would’ve been in real trouble. It’d be all too easy for her to sacrifice them. So, they concentrated in Southern California, believing Myers wouldn’t risk losing the region entirely. After all, she couldn’t afford to lose face if she wanted to win another term as president. Maintaining her image and her past victories was crucial. 

Even if she couldn’t fully “make America whole again” or take down the Free States and Texas Republic, she couldn’t let her nominal unification of the Free States crumble. That would be a catastrophic blow to her reputation, possibly even forcing her to resign. 

Besides, if war broke out, Southern California was unlikely to be the main battlefield. The real decisive clashes would happen elsewhere. All they had to do was hold the line here, not launch an offensive. 

But things didn’t go as planned. Arasaka’s forces, alongside Northern California’s, went berserk, launching a ferocious assault solely on Southern California with no intention of opening other fronts. Caught off guard, Southern California’s frontline troops collapsed quickly. Only when Militech’s forces stepped in did they manage to halt Arasaka and Northern California’s advance. 

Arasaka deployed their “conservative” factions—battle-hardened, well-equipped veterans who weren’t pushovers. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have steamrolled Southern California’s defenses so easily. Despite their reliance on Militech’s support, Southern California wasn’t that weak; otherwise, it wouldn’t have stood firm in the Free States’ backyard for so long. 

“Fuck! What’s gotten into Arasaka?!” one of Myers’ opponents shouted. “Why are they hitting us here?!” 

The shift in the war’s focus baffled Rosalind Myers’ opposition. It made no sense. The Western Free States were full of fence-sitters who’d likely fold the moment Arasaka and Northern California’s forces rolled in. It was practically free real estate. Why bother gnawing on a tough bone like Southern California when you could gobble up easy gains elsewhere? 

“What’s Rosalind doing?!” they demanded, gathering to exchange intel. They hadn’t left themselves blind in the capital; they had people feeding them information. 

“The president’s preparing for war,” came the grim reply from their White House source. “She thinks Arasaka’s attack here is a feint. The real battle will be in the Free States.” 

“Fuck!” The room erupted in curses. Deep down, though, they agreed with Myers’ assessment. This couldn’t be the main battlefield. Arasaka’s focus here was likely a diversion to disrupt New America’s military plans, drawing attention before launching a surprise attack elsewhere. 

“That’s too idealistic! There’s no way Rosalind falls for it!” someone grumbled. Unless she was an idiot, Myers wouldn’t let this mess up her strategy. 

“This screws us over,” another said. “Arasaka will keep up this feint for a while. We have to hold out until they realize it’s not working and shift to the real battlefield.” 

“Right. If Rosalind launches an attack first and seizes the Free States, Arasaka will panic. They’ll have to pull back.” 

“It’s like, ‘you fight your fight, I’ll fight mine.’ Southern California’s value doesn’t compare to the entire Western Free States. Arasaka will lose it, and we’ll be in the clear.” 

After hashing it out, they felt a bit more at ease. Just hold the line for a while, they thought. Once Rosalind Myers makes her move, everything will be alright. 

But two weeks later, the situation had deteriorated. The defensive line kept getting pushed back, territory was lost, soldiers were dying, and equipment was being destroyed. Yet Rosalind Myers showed no sign of launching her offensive. 

Bang! The meeting room table shook as fists slammed against it. The Militech leaders, who’d been so confident two weeks ago, were now frazzled. Their losses were mounting. 

“That damn bitch Rosalind! What the hell is she doing?! She’s doing this on purpose! Absolutely on purpose!” they roared. 

It was clear now. Rosalind Myers was stalling, refusing to send troops for any number of excuses. She wanted to watch them squirm, letting Arasaka and Northern California wipe them out. 

“Scum! How can someone like her be president?! New America’s doomed!” Her blatant scheming made them sick, furious—but it didn’t change their situation. 

They couldn’t understand why Myers was targeting them so ruthlessly. Was she willing to tank her own re-election just to eliminate them? 

“Wait! New intel! Rosalind’s finally moving! She’s sent troops!” A sudden update cut through the cursing. Myers had finally deployed forces into the Free States. 

“Great! As soon as Rosalind moves, the pressure here will ease. Hold on, everyone!” The news reinvigorated them. Finally, a glimmer of hope. 

Early on, they could’ve fled if they’d wanted to. The Free States probably wouldn’t have stopped them. But back then, they never imagined things would spiral this far. Now, escape was nearly impossible. Arasaka and Northern California had them boxed in, ready to wrap them up like dumplings. Their only hope was Rosalind Myers. 

As Militech clung to that hope, Arasaka’s side grew tense. Their “conservative” factions had been fighting hard. Their orders were clear: take Southern California alongside Northern California. They didn’t know why Militech was holding back on the main front or sending reinforcements, but they weren’t about to let this opportunity slip. 

Despite Southern California’s desperate resistance, Arasaka’s losses were still manageable. But now, with New America launching a counteroffensive on the main front, the pressure was mounting. Arasaka Yorimichi was already demanding to know why they hadn’t taken Southern California yet, accusing them of slacking. 

“Fuck Arasaka Yorimichi! Does he think we can’t see he’s using us as cannon fodder?” the conservatives griped. 

The Southern California battlefield was a strange one. Both attackers and defenders seemed reluctant. Arasaka’s troops cursed Yorimichi constantly, while only Northern California and Southern California’s local forces fought with any real zeal. 

Arasaka’s conservatives were in a tougher spot. They had to pull their weight, or Yorimichi would have an excuse to purge them. They were duty-bound to avenge Arasaka Saburo and charge at the front. 

They grumbled, but they were okay with Yorimichi’s setup. Southern California’s fighting wasn’t as intense as the main front. Better this than being sent to the meat grinder elsewhere. “Once the main front heats up, Yorimichi won’t have time to micromanage us,” they figured. Their plan was to encircle Southern California without fully engaging, wearing them down. If they finished too quickly, Yorimichi might ship them to the main front next—something they knew he was capable of. 

As Yorimichi mobilized, things seemed to be heading toward the worst-case scenario. Arasaka and Militech couldn’t keep the conflict “localized.” But just as fears of a “Fourth Corporate War” loomed, something unexpected happened: trouble erupted in Neon’s homeland. 

Arasaka had long dominated Neon’s native scene, with Arasaka Saburo treating the entire country like his personal playground. Neon corporations never got any mercy. Night City’s Watson District was a prime example of Arasaka’s havoc. Once a hub for Neon investors, Watson was poised to become a second city center until Arasaka swooped in, crushed those companies, and left behind a graveyard of unfinished buildings. 

Now, with Arasaka’s forces abroad fighting Militech in a “battle for national destiny,” Neon’s local factions stirred. Backed by Rosalind Myers’ promises, they rose against Arasaka’s rule. It wasn’t just Neon—anti-Arasaka sentiment swept through East Asia and Southeast Asia. People had had enough of Arasaka’s tyranny. 

Saburo’s death, the Arasaka-Militech war, and Myers’ encouragement fueled a massive uprising. Everyone wanted to test Arasaka Yorimichi’s mettle. He swiftly withdrew most of his forces, leaving only a few to hold the line—including the “conservative” factions deep in Southern California. 

The conservatives were stunned. They couldn’t argue with Yorimichi’s decision—Neon and Asia were Arasaka’s core, and they couldn’t ignore the uprising. But now, they were abandoned. 

It wasn’t just Arasaka’s “castaways” panicking. The Free States, Northern California, and Night City were thrown into chaos. Arasaka’s withdrawal was too abrupt, and New America was coming in hot. Who would hold them back? 

“Goddamn it! We’re really going back to New America now,” Jack Welles muttered, though he wasn’t too stressed. Kerry had already warned them this might happen. 

“Not much difference, honestly. Life goes on the same,” V said, skeptical that rejoining New America would change much in Night City. The world was already a mess. 

“Didn’t Devil say Rosalind and Arasaka Yorimichi were both pushing for reforms?” Sasha asked, sipping a soda, curious. Lucy sat nearby, all of them gathered at Afterlife, surrounded by familiar faces, watching the big news unfold. 

Chapter 290: A Reunion After Over Fifty Years 

“No way it’s that easy, right?” 

Rogue kicked off the conversation. She was hanging out with the crew at Afterlife, and it wasn’t just her—Johnny Silverhand, Vincent, Tran Buckle’s crew, Mann’s squad, a whole bunch of folks had gathered at the bar. 

“Yeah, even if you talk about reform, it’s not like it’s gonna happen overnight,” one of the street kids chimed in. For people like them, scraping by at the bottom of Night City’s food chain, they knew better than anyone how rotten this world was. They’d seen it all in their line of work. 

But no matter how much they griped or dreamed, it didn’t matter. Big changes like that? Way above their pay grade. 

“Let’s just see how it plays out,” Johnny Silverhand said, kicking back on the sofa with his legs propped up. He didn’t have much else to add. The world had changed a ton since fifty years ago. Maybe, like Riku suggested, he should just stick to music. He wasn’t much help with the heavy stuff anyway. 

Speaking of music, Johnny’s gaze drifted to Taz Santiago and Lilaya, who was sitting next to him. Both were getting up there in age—not far behind Johnny himself, probably around fifty now. But for a rokku kid? Fifty’s nothing. You keep rocking, no matter what. Look at Kerry—that old geezer’s pushing eighty or ninety and still the God of Rock! 

Still, with the war brewing, any concert plans were on hold. Plus, Johnny was wrestling with a big decision: should he reach out to his old bandmates? It was a tough call. 

“Yo, Silverhand, what’s with the long face? That ain’t like you,” Jack Welles said, clapping a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. After hanging out for a while, Johnny could tell Jack had some serious shakōsei—social skills, at least. They’d gotten pretty tight. 

Johnny gave him the short version, which earned a scoff from Jack. The guy clearly didn’t get why Johnny was hesitating. 

“Come on, man! You’re back from the dead! This is your chance to scream to the world that Johnny Silverhand’s back in action! And you’re worried about bugging your old crew? No way! If I were Kerry, I’d be losing my mind with excitement!” 

Jack was all in, laying it out straight. He couldn’t wrap his head around Johnny’s doubts. If it were him, he’d be calling up his nakama in a heartbeat. 

“…” 

Johnny went quiet. The Samurai band was… complicated, to say the least. His relationship with the founder, Kerry Eurodyne, was a rollercoaster of breakups and beefs. The other members? All kinds of issues. Honestly, there wasn’t a single normal person in the whole group. 

But maybe that’s what made them work? Their messed-up quirks brought them together. When they were tight, things were sugoi—pretty damn good. 

“You’re right, Jack. I should reach out to them,” Johnny decided. Deep down, he wanted to reunite the band, even if just for one more concert. Asking Jack was just him fishing for a little backup, someone to give him the push he needed. 

“That’s the spirit!” Jack grinned, throwing up a thumbs-up. Need support? Jack Welles was your guy—he never let anyone down. 

Tracking down the old Samurai crew wasn’t too hard, especially Kerry Eurodyne. The American Idol, the King of Rock? His contact info was easy to find. Well, his public company number was. Getting his private line took some netrunner skills. 

Johnny had the connections, though. With Riku as his ultimate backer, this was small fry. He didn’t even need to bug Riku—Sasha and Lucy could handle it. 

Sure enough, they got Kerry Eurodyne’s private number in no time. Sasha and Lucy weren’t exactly Johnny’s fangirls, but they didn’t mind helping out with something like this. 

Jack Welles and V, on the other hand, were hyped. For street kids like them, Johnny Silverhand was a cultural icon. A Samurai reunion? That was pure hype material. 

Riku was all for it too. He wasn’t about to chain Johnny down—this was Johnny’s idea in the first place. As long as Johnny didn’t stir up trouble, Riku wasn’t gonna cramp his style. With plenty of combat puppets and shadow guards, Riku didn’t need Johnny for fighting. 

As for the Samurai reunion and Johnny’s Resurrection Concert? Riku was kinda stoked. It was gonna be one hell of a meibamen—an epic moment. Plus, it’d make up for some regrets from the game. In the game, the “reunion” was half-baked—Johnny was just a bystander, not really part of it. 

This time? It wasn’t some memorial for Johnny Silverhand. This was a real Fukkatsu-sai—Resurrection Festival. Picture Kerry Eurodyne yelling, “Come back to life, my love!” as Johnny makes a dazzling entrance. 

…Okay, maybe that’s a bit too gay. 

“Who’s this?” Kerry Eurodyne’s voice came through the phone, laced with suspicion. It was his private number—nobody got through to that unless he was expecting them. When he wasn’t out performing, he kept a low profile. 

“It’s me, Kerry,” Johnny said, trying to sound calm, but V and Jack could tell he was nervous as hell. 

Riku had to stifle a laugh. Johnny Silverhand, the guy who acted like he didn’t care about anything, was clearly sweating this. This reunion meant something big to him—same with reconnecting with Rogue. These interactions were like touching memories from a bygone era, rebuilding his sense of self. After fifty years, it was a way to feel like Johnny Silverhand again. 

“…” 

Kerry went silent, no response. 

“Yo, you there?” Johnny asked, thinking the call dropped. 

“Idiot,” Kerry finally said, then hung up. 

“…” 

Johnny’s eyes went wide, totally floored. He knew he heard that right. 

“What’d he say?” V and Jack asked, leaning in, curious as hell. This wasn’t how they pictured it. Shouldn’t Kerry be the one freaking out? 

“He called me an idiot,” Johnny muttered, rubbing his temples. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and tried to chill. “Probably thinks it’s a prank.” 

“Makes sense,” V said, thinking it over. “Some guy who’s been gone for fifty years, basically declared dead, suddenly calls you? Who’d believe that? Plus, it’s just a voice. Faking a voice in this day and age is cho yasui—super easy.” 

Kerry Eurodyne had seen it all. No way he’d buy some random call claiming to be Johnny. 

“So, what now?” Jack asked, stumped. They made contact, but Kerry wasn’t biting. 

“Just go to his place,” Riku said with a grin. “No way Kerry stays cool when he sees the real deal.” Among the Samurai crew, Kerry’s feelings for Johnny were the most complex—deep stuff, not for outsiders to get. 

“Hell yeah! Storm his house!” Jack clapped his hands. With Riku around, what couldn’t they pull off? 

“I—” Johnny started to protest, but a wave of shadows swept over them. Next thing he knew, they were standing in a lavish mansion. No question—this was Kerry Eurodyne’s place. 

“Damn, not bad for a rock star. This guy’s living the gōka life,” Jack said, eyeing the decor. It was a far cry from his own dingy pad. 

“It’s Kerry Eurodyne. If he can’t live large, who can?” V rolled her eyes. Jack was stating the obvious. As a top-tier celeb, Kerry was swimming in zeni. 

Johnny stayed quiet, his eyes scanning the room. It was full of “old” stuff—old by this era’s standards, anyway. To him, they weren’t strange at all. Instruments, trinkets, mementos from Samurai’s glory days, brimming with shared memories. 

“Kerry Eurodyne! Where the hell are you?!” Jack bellowed. 

“What the—why’re you yelling?!” V snapped, startled. “People are gonna think we’re here to start trouble!” Which, to be fair, showing up uninvited was already trouble enough. 

“Who’s there?!” Kerry’s voice came from somewhere in the house. He wasn’t deaf—he’d already grabbed a gun and was ready to teach these intruders a lesson. He’d also called NCPD and the local private security firm. 

This high-end mansion came with top-notch corporate security, way stricter than NCPD. Regular folks couldn’t even loiter nearby without risking a bullet. That’s why Kerry’s home didn’t need heavy defenses—if corporate security couldn’t stop someone, his own measures wouldn’t do much better. 

“Chill, Kerry. It’s me, Johnny Silverhand,” Johnny called out, unfazed by the idea of Kerry shooting. His body was built tough now. 

“Goddamn it, you again?! What’s next, you gonna say you’re Arasaka Saburo, here to take back Arasaka from Yorinobu?!” Kerry was pissed, letting loose a tirade. He wasn’t usually quick to anger, but this was the second fake Johnny today. He’d had enough. 

“Motherfucker, I’m serious! I escaped Arasaka!” Johnny shouted back, fed up with being doubted. Proving himself over and over was getting old. 

V and Jack watched, jaws dropped, as Johnny and Kerry started trading insults like it was a shonen showdown. Then, Kerry stormed out, rifle in hand, dressed in casual pajamas. His face was a mix of shock and disbelief. 

Kerry Eurodyne didn’t look like some eighty-year-old grandpa. He had the vibe of a seasoned, rugged guy. But right now, his expression was pure shokku—like he’d seen a ghost. 

Cussing Johnny out felt… familiar. Too familiar. Like he was really facing that bastard again. The way this guy hit every sore spot, things only Johnny would know—nobody else could dig into him like that. Not even the other bandmates, who didn’t bicker with him as much. 

“Who the hell are you?! Speak, or I shoot!” Kerry roared, staring at the man who looked exactly like the Johnny Silverhand from his memories. 

“Who do you think I am?” Johnny lit another cigarette, blew a smoke ring, and leaned back, calming down. 

“Y’all’s reunion style is something else. Most people don’t greet old friends like this,” Riku quipped from the sidelines. Leave it to Samurai—the rarest thing in that band was a normal brain. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Kerry was completely thrown. This “Johnny” knew secrets nobody else did—private stuff about their past. But was this guy really Johnny? 

“I got locked up by Arasaka. Now they’ve got a new boss, so I’m out,” Johnny said, keeping it short. The details could wait. 

“…” 

Kerry’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t process it. Fifty years, man. He’d long accepted Johnny was gone, even if he never said it out loud. Now this? Of course he was skeptical, shocked, confused. 

But some things you can’t fake. Like those shared memories nobody else knew. 

“Goddamn it, this is insane!” Kerry tossed his gun aside and marched over, throwing a punch at Johnny. 

Johnny blocked it easily—his enhanced body wasn’t what it used to be. 

“You crazy bastard!” Johnny growled, grabbing Kerry’s fist. 

“You’re the crazy one! Storming Arasaka Tower?! You didn’t die, but getting locked up for fifty years must’ve felt great, huh?!” Kerry shot back, leaving Johnny speechless. 

V, Jack, and Riku watched, stunned, as the two went at it. Their bond was something else entirely. 

(Chapter End)