Chapter Text
You had been a reporter for the past year and a half, a relatively short time in the world of journalism, but long enough to understand the weight of your responsibilities. Working for WNS News, one of the leading news stations in Night City, you had quickly gained a reputation for your fearless approach and unyielding dedication to uncovering the truth.
Your latest assignment, which had been provided by your dear friend Evelyn Parker, was a daunting one: investigating the allegations of an impending war between the Free States and the NUSA. The rumors had been circulating for weeks, causing growing unrest among the public. Evelyn had managed to infiltrate Washington by strategically meeting Michael "Mike" Harrison, a Senior Defense Analyst at the Department of Defense, at a bar frequented by government employees. She had been following him for a while, learning his routines and interests. Under the guise of a romantic relationship, she had been "dating" him to gain access to highly classified documents regarding potential military actions. Mike, responsible for analyzing military strategies, remained oblivious to Evelyn’s true intentions and the fact that she was using their relationship to spy on him. Evelyn then discreetly passed on this sensitive information to you. It was a significant story; she wanted you to run with it.
Nervousness gnawed at you as you prepared for the press conference. The prospect of questioning President Rosalind Myers, a figure known for her calculated demeanor, her unwavering attitude, and political prowess, was intimidating. How would you extract the truth from someone so skilled in deflecting scrutiny? The stakes were high, and the margin for error was quite slim.
Despite your apprehension, you were determined. You had heart, and you were not shy about speaking your mind. This tenacity for your other work had not gone unnoticed by your boss, who had assured you that your direct approach and unwavering resolve would serve you well as a reporter. For you, the goal was clear: expose President Myers as a corrupt leader who was hiding the truth about the brewing conflict.
The newsroom was a tempest of activity, a whirlwind of voices, beeping holo-communicators, and the hum of cybernetic enhancements blending into the cacophony that had become your daily soundtrack. Desks were cluttered with data shards, neon-lit screens projecting urgent newsfeeds, and the faint glow of virtual assistants hovering beside coffee-stained mugs. Augmented reality displays flickered with live updates, reflecting the faces of tired but relentless journalists whose eyes glowed with the faint luminescence of ocular implants. The overhead LED strips buzzed with a harsh, cold light, casting an unforgiving glare that illuminated every flaw in the chaotic, tech-infused space.
Your desk sat near an oversized window that offered a panoramic view of Night City's skyline. The buildings outside rose like jagged teeth against the sky, shrouded in a perpetual haze that softened their edges but did nothing to dim their imposing presence. The city itself seemed a living entity, pulsing with lights and movement — a constant reminder of the world you were trying to hold accountable.
You shuffled through your notes once more, spreading them across the small expanse of your desk. Each shard was filled with tidbits of information — scraps of conversations overheard in darkened bars, data leaks from anonymous sources, whispered secrets passed along by those who claimed to know more than they dared say aloud. A collage of half-truths and suspicions that needed to be sewn together into a coherent narrative.
The most damning piece rested at the top: an internal memo suggesting that President Myers had been engaged in covert negotiations with military contractors as well with Militech — negotiations aimed at preparing for an aggressive move against the Free States. If proven true, it would not only confirm the worst fears about Myers' intentions but also paint her as a warmonger willing to sacrifice countless lives to claim these States as part of the NUSA.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead. A glance at the clock, that your flight would leave soon, heading over to Washington for this long-awaited press conference. This would be your chance — perhaps your only chance — to confront her directly in front of everyone. You rehearsed the basis of your questions mentally.
Each question was designed to pierce through her practiced veneer and expose the reality beneath. But it wouldn’t be enough to merely ask; you needed to listen carefully, and probe deeper at every vague or evasive answer she provided. To not let her avoid answered by deflecting with a question of her own…
You grabbed your press credentials, making sure they were prominently displayed. As you did, you activated your neural implants with a simple thought, feeling a brief, familiar tingle as they powered up. You needed to make sure they worked, because these implants, embedded deep within your brain, allowed you to record audio and video directly through your eyes and ears. It was a seamless and unobtrusive way to gather information, ensuring that every word and image would be captured perfectly without the need for any physical device.
Checking over the questions once more, you felt the heavy weight of their importance. Each one was meticulously crafted to corner President Myers into revealing the truth.
Your pen hovered over the first question: Isn't it true that the preparations for war are well underway?
She would surely turn white at the directness of it, but you couldn’t care less. You had always been direct, why should it change now?
Your next question was just as important: How can you assure the citizens that war is not inevitable when so much effort has already been put into these plans?
You would leave this afternoon, arriving in Washington by tonight and staying at a hotel close to the White House, ready for her 9 a.m. speech. You’d need to be there early with the throngs of other reporters. The President would be addressing the nation from the grand East Room of the White House, a space that had witnessed countless announcements, both historic and mundane. The air was thick with a sense of impending revelation, the anticipation of a truth that could change everything.
***
Morning broke with an uneasy stillness, the kind that preludes a storm. The skies over Washington were ominously gray, heavy clouds hanging low enough to cast long shadows on the cold marble steps leading up to your hotel. You had hardly slept, your mind too restless with thoughts of what might happen when you stepped into that room.
Dressed in your most professional attire — a dark blazer and crisp white shirt — you ensured every detail was perfect. You glanced in the mirror one last time, straightening your lapel as if preparing for battle. In many ways, you were.
The streets were already bustling when you emerged from the hotel, a sea of people moving with purpose towards the press conference.
Cars honked impatiently, and the rhythmic clack of heels on pavement created a symphony of urgency. You joined in, making your way towards the White House.
Security was tight, as expected. Sentinels in dark suits and earpieces watched the crowd with hawk-like intensity, making sure no one would do anything stupid. Your press credentials afforded you passage through these human barricades and into the press pool waiting area. It was here that reality began to sink in — the magnitude of what you were about to undertake.
Other reporters milled around you, some familiar faces offering nods or terse smiles — professional courtesies masking lurking rivalries. Everyone was here for one reason: President Rosalind Myers.
Time seemed to slow as you entered the East Room. Rows of chairs faced a podium draped in presidential blue, flanked by flags standing tall like solemn sentries. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting a warm glow that belied the tension filling the space below.
You found your seat in the front — a strategic position giving you a clear view and ensuring President Myers would see you when she spoke. Your neural implants buzzed faintly as they adjusted to capture everything in perfect clarity.
Then she entered the room.
President Rosalind Myers walked with a measured, deliberate grace that commanded attention. Every step was purposeful, her posture impeccable. The tailored cut of her suit framed her figure with calculated precision — power dressed in elegance. Her hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, and her face, striking in its symmetry, carried the cool composure of someone used to standing in control of a room.
The air shifted subtly as she approached the podium, her heels clicking in sharp rhythm against the polished floor. Conversations stilled. Cameras refocused. You adjusted your recorder without taking your eyes off her.
You’d been following every thread you could pull over the past two weeks: the rumors, the troop movements, the gaps in official statements. Whispers of an unacknowledged war effort in the Free States. A push for unification that hadn’t yet been admitted aloud. No confirmations. No leaks. Not yet. But the patterns were there. You’d come to get the facts — not opinions, not speculation. You wanted the truth. And if she wouldn’t give it willingly, you intended to ask the kind of questions that made evasion impossible.
You’d spent some time gathering context — monitoring reports, noting inconsistencies, and tracking statements from both confirmed and unofficial sources. There were discussions, rumors even, surrounding a possible escalation in the Free States. The language used by officials had shifted lately, subtly but noticeably. Nothing verified. Nothing conclusive. Not yet.
This assignment hadn’t been born from curiosity; it came from trust. Evelyn Parker had passed you the lead, and with it, access to highly sensitive information.
She’d counted on your discretion, your ability to follow the facts. She wanted the truth out there, and she’d chosen you to bring it forward.
You weren’t here to draw conclusions, just to listen, observe, and ask for clarity where clarity was missing. Your focus was the truth, whatever form it took. The rest was noise.
Still, you couldn’t help but register her presence. President Rosalind Myers carried herself with poise, her movements practiced without seeming rehearsed. There was an ease to the way she stepped into the spotlight, a confidence that came with experience. She wore power comfortably, but not flamboyantly. If anything, she seemed precisely measured, down to the cut of her suit and the calm cadence of her stride.
Her gaze swept the audience. When it paused on you, however briefly, your breath caught. Not from fear. Not even from nerves, exactly. Just... awareness. You noted your physiological response — a quickened pulse, shallow breath, and let it pass, a normal reaction. Professional detachment reasserted itself within moments.
You were new to this, yes. A rookie, as some would call it. But you hadn’t come unprepared. Someone trusted you to be here. To listen carefully. To document accurately. To ask the questions others might overlook, not because they were provocative, but because they mattered.
The Capitol’s grand hall was filled with quiet anticipation. Rows of holo-screens displayed the presidential seal alongside her name. Security detail lined the perimeter, alert but unobtrusive. You made a mental note of their distribution, their body language. Standard formation.
When the older woman adjusted the microphone, the room quieted completely.
"Citizens of the New United States of America," she began, her voice clear and composed. "Thank you for gathering here today. I stand before you to address some updates on our ongoing infrastructure projects and the improvements we are making in our healthcare system.”
You took mental note.
"Firstly, I am pleased to announce the completion of several key infrastructure projects that will greatly benefit our nation. New highways and public transportation systems are now operational, making it easier for you to travel and connect with one another. These improvements will not only enhance our daily lives but also stimulate economic growth across various sectors.”
She took a moment before continuing, "Secondly, we have made significant strides in our healthcare system. Our administration has been working tirelessly to ensure that every citizen has access to top-tier healthcare. New clinics and medcenters equipped with cutting-edge cybernetic facilities have been established, and we have implemented advanced medical technologies, including nanobot treatments and AI-driven diagnostics, to enhance patient care. These efforts are part of our commitment to ensuring the well-being of all NUSA citizens in this ever-evolving, tech-driven world."
"In addition, we are launching a new initiative focused on environmental sustainability. This initiative will involve reducing carbon emissions through innovative tech solutions, promoting renewable energy sources like solar grids and biofuel, and utilizing drones for environmental monitoring and protection. It is our responsibility to preserve our environment for future generations in this rapidly advancing world, and I am confident that together, leveraging our technological prowess, we can make a significant difference."
"I urge you all to remain engaged and involved in these positive changes. Your support and participation are crucial to the success of our initiatives. We are committed to building a brighter, healthier, and more sustainable future for everyone. I thank you for your continued trust and support. Together, we will achieve the impossible."
The applause was polite but subdued. As the speech concluded, you rose from your seat, data-slate in hand, and lifted your arm. The room quieted as President Myers noted the gesture and gave a small nod.
"President Myers," you began, your voice steady and clear, "Y/N Y/L/N from WNS News. Your speech addresses various initiatives, but isn’t it true that preparations for war with the Free States are well underway? How can you assure the citizens that war is not inevitable when so much effort has already been put into these plans?"
The older woman’s expression shifted only slightly as she considered your question. No irritation — just focus. "Thank you for your question," she replied in an even tone. "It is true that we have made preparations, but these are precautionary measures. Our primary goal is to ensure the safety and security of our nation. The Free States have been increasingly hostile, and it would be irresponsible not to prepare for potential threats. However, preparation does not equate to inevitability."
You kept your gaze on her, voice still calm as you pressed. "President Myers, with respect, I have evidence that indicates these 'preparations,' as you state, are far more extensive than simple precautions. Isn’t it true that your administration has been actively escalating tensions with the Free States? How do you respond to accusations that these measures have escalated tensions rather than preventing them?"
Rosalind’s eyes remained steady on you, her composure unshaken. "Criticism is a vital part of our democratic society, and I welcome it," she said, her delivery measured. "Our actions have always been in response to increasing aggression from the Free States. We have pursued diplomatic solutions consistently, but there comes a point where we must ensure we are not caught unprepared. Our duty is to protect our nation and its people, and we must take all necessary precautions. Relations with the Free States are rarely simple, and I encourage looking at the full scope before drawing conclusions."
You maintained your tone, matching her professionalism. "Madam President, can you provide specific examples of these diplomatic efforts? And why do the preparations seem more like offensive strategies than defensive ones? Greater transparency might help citizens better understand your intentions."
Her reply was immediate, voice still calm. "We are working closely with local authorities and Free State leaders to maintain peace. Our efforts are comprehensive and multifaceted, aimed at ensuring stability within our borders. Your implications are noted, but they are not reflective of the facts as we see them."
You kept your tone steady. "One last question, Madam President. If conflict were to break out, what measures would be in place to protect civilians in Night City and other potentially affected areas, given they may be primary targets?"
President Myers’ expression remained calm, though her eyes narrowed slightly. "We are coordinating with local authorities to ensure readiness should such a situation arise," she said, the words still measured but clipped at the edges. "Evacuation protocols, designated shelter locations, and rapid-deployment humanitarian support are part of contingency plans. I should stress, however, that such measures are precautionary. Our objective remains avoiding conflict altogether."
You gave a small nod, data-slate still in hand, noting the details.
“Our priority is minimizing harm to civilians in any scenario,” she continued, her delivery precise but carrying a faint undertone of impatience now. “If conflict became unavoidable, operations would be conducted with the highest regard for the safety of noncombatants. That is not speculation — it is policy."
Satisfied you had the direct answer on record, you sat back. The floor moved on to other reporters.
The press conference resumed, the energy in the room shifting as more hands went up. Several journalists picked up on your question, voices carrying across the chamber.
"Madam President, can you provide more details about the preparations you mentioned? What exactly are the plans in place?" one asked.
"President Myers, how imminent is the threat from the Free States?" another followed, sparking a low current of conversation across the hall.
Myers straightened, posture tightening as the questions came faster. "Our plans are precautionary," she reiterated, voice still steady but with a sharper cadence now. "They are designed to ensure readiness and the safety of our citizens. Beyond that, I won’t speculate on operational details."
The questions kept coming, each one pushing her further. “Madam President, does this mean we should be expecting an announcement about military action soon?” one reporter asked, his voice tinged with urgency.
Rosalind’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the faint tension in her neck betraying the effort to remain composed. You caught it, despite her trying to maintain the calm, deliberate demeanor she projected. “We are committed to peace and will continue to work toward diplomatic solutions,” she said, her voice still measured but carrying a sharper edge. “Next question.”
Another reporter pressed on, “Madam President, if these are merely precautionary measures, why has there been such an extensive mobilization of military resources? Can you explain the necessity behind this?”
The older woman’s gaze shifted briefly in your direction before returning to the questioner. “I’ve already addressed this,” she replied evenly, though a faint tightness in her tone suggested the repeated line of questioning was wearing on her. “These measures are in place to ensure our nation’s security in light of increasing hostility from the Free States. I will not be taking further questions on this matter.”
When the press conference concluded nearly an hour later and she stepped down from the stage, her eyes met yours again in passing. There was no smile, no visible reaction — just a moment’s pause before she continued toward the exit. You noted the exchange without comment, filing it away alongside the rest of the day’s observations.
This felt less like an ending than a point of departure. Whatever followed, you suspected your questions had left an impression—and perhaps, a thread she wouldn’t ignore.
***
She made her way out of the press room, and her Chief of Staff, Thomas Wright, fell into step beside her. Thomas was a diligent and reliable man, always ready to assist with any task. He carried his digital pad, already typing notes from the press conference.
"Thomas," the older woman began, her voice low but sharp, "I need you to find out everything you can about that reporter. Y/N Y/L/N from WNS News. Who is she? How the fuck did she get that information about our plans?"
Thomas nodded, his fingers flying over the digital pad. "Of course, Madam President. I'll have a full report on your desk by the end of the day."
Her mind drifted back to the press room. You had been steady, precise, and unwilling to let a question go unanswered. It wasn’t just persistence—it was the focus in your eyes, the way you held her gaze without flinching. When she left the conference, you’d watched her go with the same calm attentiveness you’d carried throughout. She told herself it was nothing, yet the image lingered longer than she cared to admit.
"I don't understand how she knows so much," She muttered, more to herself than to Thomas. "Those details were meant to be classified. We have a leak somewhere, and it needs to be sealed. Find out who the fuck has this information."
Thomas looked up from his pad. "We'll get to the bottom of it, Madam President. In the meantime, should we proceed with the planned measures?"
"Yes," The older woman replied, her tone decisive. "But discreetly. We can't afford any more leaks. And keep an eye on Y/N. She's more resourceful than any reporter we’ve ever met. I want to know how she got that information Thomas," the older woman said, turning to him as they walked. “
They continued walking, the familiar halls of the building echoing with their footsteps. Rosalind's thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration and despite herself, curiosity. How did you know so much? And why did you seem to have such a personal vendetta against her?
"Madam President," Thomas began cautiously, "if I may — there's something about this reporter that seems... personal. Should we be concerned about any potential biases or ulterior motives?"
She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "What do you mean, exactly?"
Thomas hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Her questioning was aggressive, yes, but there was an intensity to it that felt driven by more than just professional duty. It's as if she has a personal stake in this. We need to understand if there's a specific reason she's so determined to expose this information — whether she's been influenced by someone, or if she has her own reasons for wanting to see your plans fail."
She considered his words, a frown creasing her brow. "Everyone has motives, Thomas. But I won't let hers interfere with what needs to be done. Just make sure I know everything that needs to be known about her."
As they reached the Oval Office, the older woman paused before entering, taking a moment to compose herself. She couldn't let you derail her plans. The stakes were too high, and the nation's future depended on her ability to navigate these treacherous waters. She needed the Free States under her banner, the banner of the NUSA, by any means necessary. The Unification War, which she had led, had already shown her determination to bring the Free States back under federal control. The conflict had left scars, yes, but it had also solidified her resolve. The memory of that war, and her role in it, drove her to ensure the NUSA's dominance, no matter the cost.
With a deep breath, she stepped into the Oval Office, closing the door behind her. She couldn't shake the image of your determined face from her mind, the way your questions had cut through the carefully crafted facade she had built. There was something different about you, something that made her heart race despite the annoyance.
She sat down at her desk, staring at the stack of reports in front of her. No one had ever dared challenge her the way you had, demanding she answer the questions you asked. Oh, this was far from over. If anything, it was just the beginning. She would find out who you were, how you knew so much, and why you seemed to have such a personal vendetta against her. But more than that, she would find a way to stay one step ahead, no matter the cost.
And perhaps, just perhaps, she would allow herself to acknowledge the strange, unwelcome pull you had over her thoughts — a curiosity that she couldn't quite quell, a fascination that made her want to know more about you, the rookie reporter who had dared to challenge her so openly.
She had spent hours in her office, and as the sun dipped lower behind, casting long shadows across the room, the President’s thoughts remained tethered to you, even as she turned her attention to the urgent data shards sprawled across her desk.
She picked up a file marked "Operation Resolute," leafing through its pages with practiced precision. Each line of text was a piece in an intricate puzzle, a grand design aimed at conquering the Free States. It was her brainchild, a testament to years of strategic planning and political acumen since the Unification War. Yet now, it seemed fragile, threatened by the tenacity of you, a fucking determined journalist.
Rosalind's phone rang — a sharp intrusion into her thoughts. She answered it briskly.
"Madam President, it's General Hayes," came the voice on the other end.
"General," The older woman acknowledged, "What’s the status of our preparations?"
"Everything is going according to plan, however," there was a pause, heavy with unspoken concerns, "there’s chatter from our intelligence that suggests more eyes are on this operation than we anticipated after your press conference. This woman, the reporter — she’s causing ripples."
She could hear the subtle caution in his voice — the unspoken question of whether to proceed under such scrutiny. Rosalind’s grip tightened her nails digging into the palm of her hand.
“Understood, General. Maintain readiness but keep a low profile. I’m handling the matter internally.”
Once off the call, the older woman leaned back in her chair, staring at the ornate ceiling of the Oval Office. It was adorned with symbols of power and unity — reminders of what she was fighting to protect. The stakes were colossal, and every decision bore weighty consequences.
A soft knock interrupted her reverie as Thomas re-entered, carrying a single shard. His face was grim but composed.
“Madam President,” he began without preamble, “I’ve gathered some preliminary information on your reporter.” He handed her the data shard.
The older woman opened it, scanning quickly through your bio — you had moved to Night City over 10 years ago, and you live in Megabuilding H09 in the City Center. The Corpo Plaza was the sub-district if she remembered correctly.
“She’s determined, new to journalism…” Her voice softened slightly as she read further. “And seems to want to make a difference ― isn’t that what I’m doing, a difference?”
Thomas nodded. “Yes well, it’s almost as if she’s hell-bent on exposing you, ma’am. It seems she has more than professional reasons to scrutinize your policies so closely.”
The older woman’s eyebrows frowned, wondering exactly why you wished to expose her so.
“Thank you, Thomas,” she said quietly. “This gives me context.”
Thomas lingered a moment longer before asking, “Shall we take any specific actions against her?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not yet. I need to think. In the meantime, monitor her closely but don’t interfere unless absolutely necessary.”
After Thomas left, the older woman sat alone in thought. The portrait of Ronald Reagan on the wall seemed to watch her with quiet solemnity — a reminder of leadership under fire. Reagan, remembered for his strong anti-communist stance and efforts to reshape the U.S. economy, had navigated the complexities of his time with a resolute demeanor. In this neon-lit, corporate-dominated future, his legacy took on a new, almost ironic significance.
The dim glow of the holographic interface on her desk flickered, casting a soft blue hue across the room. Outside, the night was alive with protestors against the mention of war as well as NUSA activists wanting a unified New United States of America. This was a world where power was wielded in the shadows as much as in the spotlight, and Rosalind knew she had to play the game better than anyone.
The path ahead was fraught with complications — corporate espionage, political maneuvering, and the relentless scrutiny of the press. But the older woman’s resolve hardened anew. She would find a way to secure her plans while addressing your inquiries. The stakes were high, and the future of the NUSA hung in the balance, but she was no stranger to high-stakes gambits and having you with sensitive information, speaking out loud at press conferences would jeapordize everything she’s tried to build.
She stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the scene below. The White House's exterior was as imposing as ever, the gates standing tall and resolute against the throngs of protestors and activists gathered on the street in front. Their chants and banners demanding a unified and ununified NUSA filled the air, a constant reminder of the public's pressure. She would need to be as unyielding as the very gates that surrounded her.
"Y/N Y/L/N," she whispered to herself, her mind racing. “Who are you, really? And why do you seem to know so much?”
With a final glance at Reagan's portrait, the older woman turned back to her desk. She activated the secure communication line, ready to set her plans into motion. The game was afoot, and she intended to win, no matter the cost.
***
The morning following the press conference, you were still on the older woman’s mind. As she woke up, the first thing she did was take out her personal access terminal. The holographic display illuminated her dimly lit bedroom. She searched for your social media pages, hoping to glean more about you. To her frustration, your pages were blocked. It made sense; as a journalist, you likely wanted to protect yourself from harassment. Still, it annoyed her to no end. She couldn’t see pictures of you, couldn’t get a glimpse into your personal life.
She let out a deep sigh, setting the terminal aside with a heavy thud. The persistent question hung in the air like a thick fog: How had you acquired that top-secret information? It was a puzzle she needed to solve, not just for her own sanity, for her peace of mind, but for the safety and security of the entire nation.
As the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, the older woman rose from her bed and dressed quickly. Her mind was still consumed with thoughts of you as she made her way to her office, where Thomas, was already waiting for updates on various matters.
“Good morning, Madam President,” He greeted her respectfully, handing over a stack of shards.
“Morning, Thomas,” she replied absentmindedly, looking through the data shards without really absorbing the information. She paused, looking up at him. “Thomas, I want you to arrange a meeting with her.”
He raised an eyebrow questionably, “With who, ma’am?”
“The journalist, Y/N,”
“Oh, of course, madam President.”
Internally rolling her eyes at his forgetfulness from the previous day's events, Rosalind continued. "The information is concerning and we must handle it delicately. Arrange for the meeting to take place in a neutral location where she feels safe, away from the prying eyes of the media. I need to know how she got it.”
Thomas hesitated before speaking again. “Are you sure that’s wise, ma’am? It could be seen as an intimidation tactic, the press, not only the WNS News, but from all of them, will have a field day with this.”
The older woman’s gaze hardened. “I am aware, Thomas. But we need to handle this delicately and now. So arrange the meeting in a neutral location in Night City. Somewhere she would feel safe, understood?”
Thomas nodded apprehensively. “Understood, ma’am. I’ll set it up.” As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, making eye contact with Rosalind once more. "Just be cautious, Madam President. If she was able to obtain this information, she may be more than meets the eye."
As the door closed behind him, the older woman exhaled a long, measured breath. She knew the stakes: every move she made now was akin to a step on a tightrope stretched over a sea of sharks.
Still, as the day passed in a blur of important meetings and urgent briefings, her thoughts remained fixated on you.
When evening fell, Rosalind received word from Thomas that the meeting was set for the following day at an upscale but discreet café in the Corpo Plaza of Night City. The venue was private enough to avoid attracting too much attention while still being public enough for you to feel secure.
The anticipation was almost tangible as the older woman entered the café the next morning. She’d taken her plane, a direct flight to Night City, and the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rich scent of pastries, creating an air of comfort and familiarity. She was dressed in a casual attire, not wishing to be recognized.
However, beneath the surface, there was a tension that could almost be felt. Her security detail discreetly positioned themselves around the establishment, blending seamlessly into the background. They were trained professionals, ensuring every potential threat was covered without drawing undue attention.
The older woman spotted you immediately as she entered; you were seated at a corner table with a commanding view of both entrances. She smirked to herself, admiring your strategic choice — smart girl, you had covered your exits. Your expression was calm yet focused, your eyes betraying nothing as you watched her approach.
"Y/N," Rosalind greeted as she approached your table. You immediately stood up, and the older woman extended her hand with a practiced smile that did not reach her eyes.
"Madam President," you replied in a polite but firm tone, shaking her hand. “I’m surprised you remembered my name.”
Rosalind scoffed lightly at your jab. “Hard to forget someone who leaves such a lasting impression,” she retorted, her voice smooth and just a touch flirtatious. "Especially ones who manage to get under my skin."
You felt your cheeks flush at her comment, and Rosalind noticed, smirking internally. She found it quite interesting that she could fluster you so easily. Perhaps, she mused, you could be molded to her whims and all she’d need to do is compliment you from time to time…
The older woman took her seat, and so did you, her eyes narrowing still with a mix of irritation and newfound amusement. She signaled for a waiter, still eyeing you with thinly veiled interest. When the waiter arrived, she ordered herself a black coffee before gesturing towards you, silently asking if you wanted anything. You declined, shaking your head, not trusting yourself to not throw the hot beverage in her face if she angered you.
There was a momentary silence as the older woman waited for her order — a calm before the storm. But why prolong the inevitable?
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Rosalind began once they were alone again. “How did you come by that information?”
You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as if considering how much to reveal. “I’m sure you understand, Madam President, that as a journalist, I have my sources — people who trust me because I protect their identities.”
The older woman’s gaze hardened subtly. “This isn’t just any piece of information, Ms. Y/L/N. This concerns national security and could potentially destabilize our already fragile situation.”
You maintained eye contact. “And yet it’s information that the public has a right to know, Madam President.”
The President leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. “Do you realize what could happen if this gets into the wrong hands?”
Your lips curled into a faint smile. “You’re talking about a war with the Free States. Everyone has a right to know, and the only wrong hands it seems to be in right now are yours.”
Rosalind’s eyes blazed with fury, her composed facade cracking. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Y/N. This is not a game. The repercussions of your actions could be catastrophic.”
You held your ground, your voice steady. “I’m well aware of the risks, Madam President. But the truth must come out.”
Her hands clenched into fists on the table, her knuckles white with tension. “I will not have my administration undermined by a reckless journalist who doesn’t grasp the full picture.”
You leaned forward, matching her intensity. “And I won’t be intimidated into silence by a president who hides the truth from her people.”
The older woman’s anger flared visibly now. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, but her voice was edged with rage. “You are playing a very dangerous game, one that you most definitely will not win.”
You met her gaze unflinchingly. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take, Madam President. The public deserves to know what’s really happening.”
The older woman felt another flicker of irritation but reined it in quickly. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.
You seemed genuinely taken aback by her question but quickly masked it with a thoughtful expression. “What I want?” You said, your voice a little higher than intended. “What I was is transparency and accountability from our leaders,” you said finally.
“That’s not something I can give on demand,” She replied smoothly. “There are protocols — there are reasons that certain information is classified.”
“And there are reasons why people like me exist — to challenge those protocols when they serve only to protect those in power instead of the people, especially when a fucking war is on the table, ma’am.”
A tense silence settled between them as your words hung heavy in the air. Rosalind realized she’d underestimated you; this wasn’t going to be an easy negotiation, but she had this card in her back pocket.
“Alright,” she said at last, her voice measured and controlled. “I can't deny that you're good at what you do. You have a knack for getting to the bottom of things—”
“But I'm a liability, is that it? So what, you'll shut me up?” you interjected.
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed, confusion evident. She wasn’t even angry that you’d cut her off, but the implication you were suggesting caught her off guard. “What? What are you talking about?”
“With all due respect ma’am, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” You said, nervously, your breathing jarring, as your chest rose and fell rapidly.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Rosalind blurted out. “I want you to work for me,”
You blinked, caught off guard yourself by her unexpected offer. "Work for you?"
“Yes,” The older woman confirmed, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “With your skills and dedication, you could help ensure the transparency you seek from within the system. You'd have access to the information you so desperately crave and the opportunity to influence real change.”
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Why should I believe that you’re the good one in all of this?”
The older woman sighed softly, leaning forward with earnest intensity. “Because I am. I understand your skepticism, and I don’t blame you, the Unification War was done quickly and could have had more planning, but my goal has always been, back then and now, the betterment of the New United States of America. The Free States, including Night City, are falling into decay. Just in Night City, the crime rate has doubled in the past year alone. Muggings, murders, rapes — these aren't just statistics; they’re daily realities for the people living there.”
You raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue.
“Imagine a city where walking down the street at night doesn't mean risking your life. Where families can live without fear of violent crime. Night City is the number one Free State plagued by lawlessness, but the others are no better. They’re rife with corruption, unchecked power, and an utter disregard for the rule of law. If we don’t bring them back into the fold, if we don’t restore order and unity, it will only get worse.”
You remained silent, processing her words. She pulling up a holographic display on her personal terminal with visible statistics… they could be altered, obviously, but you let the older woman continue.
“Look at the data,” She uttered, the graphs and charts flickered into view, detailing the spike in crime rates. “Murders are up by 75%, muggings by 82%, and rapes by 60%. This isn’t just hyperbole. These are real people, real lives being destroyed every day. The influence of corporations like Arasaka only exacerbates the problem. Their security forces operate above the law, contributing to the chaos rather than helping to resolve it.”
You studied the data, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. You had seen the uprise of violence, but never with numbers. It wasn’t something the Mayor of Night City, or Arasaka gave willingly.
“Arasaka’s grip on the city is tightening,” The older woman continued. “They exploit the chaos for their gain, manipulating the situation to strengthen their control. Arasaka operates with impunity, often acting as judge, jury, and executioner. They undermine local law enforcement, ones your Mayor offers and they impose their own brand of justice, and prioritize their corporate interests over the well-being of the people. Their presence is a destabilizing force that fuels corruption and crime, rather than alleviating it.”
You looked up from the holographic display, meeting her gaze. “All this looks good on paper, but this is your information, it can be altered…”
Rosalind's expression didn't falter. "I understand your skepticism, but let me make one thing clear: the threat from Arasaka is very real. They have been making moves, threatening the stability of the New United States. What I told you during the press conference was true. These measures are to prevent an attack, but we need to be prepared. Arasaka is not just a corporation; they are a private army, and they have their eyes set on complete control."
She leaned closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. "They've been threatening us, the people of the NUS. Threatening me, and they will stop at nothing to achieve their goals.”
“Much like you.” You interject.
The older woman pursed her lips, “What I do is for the safety of this nation. Our intelligence has confirmed that they have been stockpiling weapons, recruiting mercenaries, and even developing new tech to assert their dominance. If we don't take action now, we risk losing everything."
You felt a chill run down your spine as you absorbed her words. The older woman's earnest intensity made it difficult to dismiss her claims outright. "So, you’re saying that all of this – the preparations, the secrecy ― it's all to defend against Arasaka?"
Rosalind nodded. "Yes. The Free States, including Night City, are falling apart, but as I’ve said, Night City is the worse among them, due in part to Arasaka’s influence. They thrive on the chaos, using it to tighten their grip. The measures we’re taking are necessary to protect our nation from a hostile takeover. We need people like you on the inside, people who can see the truth and help us fight back, who aren’t afraid to ask the hard question." She was buttering you up, you could tell, but if there was some truth behind her words, you wanted to help.
“If I agree, I want full transparency. No more secrets.”
The older woman nodded solemnly. “Agreed. I’ll give you access to everything you need, but understand this: some information is sensitive for a reason. It’s not about hiding the truth but protecting people from harm. We have to strike a balance between transparency and security. You will be forced to sign an NDA, and if any information is leaked, well… I don’t believe I need to explain myself?”
You leaned back, considering her offer. It was tempting. The chance to make a difference from the inside, to have real influence. But it was also risky. You’d be stepping into the lion’s den, surrounded by people who didn’t trust you… and you could not tell no one but the people involved, which means Evelyn would be tricky if she were to help you.
“Can I think about it?” you said finally.
Rosalind smiled a genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Of course,”
The the President finished her coffee quickly, the weight of the decision hanging between you. As Rosalind stood to leave, she extended her hand once more. “Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Y/L/N. I look forward to your decision.”
Before you shook the older woman’s hand, you spoke, “Do I have a deadline I need to respect to give you my answer?”
The older woman paused, her hand still extended, considering your question carefully. “Officially, no. But the sooner you decide, the better.” She glanced at the clock on the wall and then back at you. “Let’s say seventy-two hours. After that, I’ll assume you’ve declined.”
You nodded, taking her hand in yours. The firm grip lingered just a moment longer, and as her thumb lightly brushed your skin, the touch was so faint you wondered if it had really happened. You didn't comment on it, but the sensation made you nervous, though not in a bad way. As the President walked away, her heels clicking against the floor, you felt a tremor of uncertainty ripple through you.
You were left to contemplate the offer, nervous about what was expected ― what could be expected of you. You were new at all this, the cutthroat part was something you needed to get accustomed to.
That night, sleep eluded you. Thoughts churned in your mind like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Rosalind’s words echoed in your ears — her promise of transparency, her vision of a safer Night City, of all the Free States. But was it all just an elaborate game? Another level of deceit in this labyrinthine world of corporate politics?
Morning spilled into your apartment in shades of pale gold, illuminating your cluttered appartment. You reached for your comm device with hesitance before pulling up your contact list.
“Ev, we need to talk…”
***
Evelyn’s office at Lizzie's Bar was as nondescript as ever — a hidden gem amidst the chaos of Night City. The neon lights and the hum of electronic music greeted you as you stepped inside, a stark contrast to the dangerous streets outside.
“You look like hell,” She remarked without preamble, leaning back in her chair. Her eyes were sharp, peering at you.
“Thanks,” you replied dryly, taking a seat across from her. “I need your opinion on something.”
“Shoot.”
You recounted the events with President Myers, the press conference and the meeting you’d had at the café in meticulous detail, watching your friend’s expression closely for any sign of reaction.
When you finally finished, she looked at you attentively, “Rosalind’s not someone who extends offers lightly,” she mused. “If she wants you on her team, it means she sees potential in you… or she sees something she can use.”
“I know that,” you said with a sigh. “But if she's telling the truth about those numbers — about Arasaka — if it could help and be my chance to make a difference why shouldn’t I take it?”
“And if she’s lying?”
You stared at the small neon-lit advertisements behind Evelyn. “Then I’ll be another pawn in a game I never wanted to play.”
She leaned forward, her gaze intense. “Whatever numbers she gave you, they might be altered. Sure Night City isn’t a paradise, it’s filled with crime, but I still don’t think a war is the solution. You’ve always been good at reading people. Trust your instincts. If something feels off, walk away.”
You nodded slowly rolling your eyes at the situation you found yourself in, “Ha, walking away from the most powerful woman in the NUS, won’t be that simple Ev. If I accept this, I don’t think I can back away…”
She smiled then, a rare expression that softened her features immensely. “I’ll always have your back, whatever happens,” she began, “Look, before you do anything rash, I gave you this information to run with because I trust you, I know you’re a good person, and you want what’s best for everyone. I don’t trust Rosalind Myers, and I don’t think you should either, but I can’t deny that this might be a good way for us to infiltrate and get whatever form of information we can.”
"Information is power," you whispered, almost to yourself.
"Exactly," Your friend said, her eyes gleaming in the dim light of her office. "And it’s a dangerous game you’re thinking of playing."
You leaned back, fingers tapping restlessly on the armrest of the chair. "It’s just... If she is right, if she can be trusted—"
Evelyn interrupted you with a sharp laugh. "That’s a big ‘if ,’ my friend. Trusting someone like Rosalind Myers is like dancing with a viper. She’s always going to have her fangs ready."
“I know,” you admitted softly. “But what choice do I have? Doing nothing isn’t an option either. I want to prevent this war… and I don’t know if the Mayor would do anything about it, Arasaka’s surely saw the news, doing everything they can on their end to defend themselves. Did I make a huge mistake by going public with this?”
Evelyn leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “You didn’t make a mistake. You did what needed to be done. No one else would have been so blunt with Myers as you were. The truth needed to come out, and you were the one to bring it to light. Arasaka will undoubtedly react—they’ll tighten their grip, ramp up their security, and maybe even take more aggressive actions to protect their interests. But that’s exactly why you needed to expose this. The public deserves to know what’s really going on.”
You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “But what if I’ve just made things worse? What if this escalates everything?”
Your friend shook her head. “You didn’t make things worse. You shone a light on the truth. Myers and Arasaka both thrives in the shadows, manipulating and controlling without anyone knowing. By bringing this to the public’s attention, you’ve forced them into the open. They can’t hide as easily now. It’s a dangerous game, yes, but it’s one that needed to be played.”
You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I guess you’re right. It’s just… it’s a lot to take in.”
Ev sighed and immediately stood up, crossing over to a small cabinet and pulling out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “Here,” she said, pouring the amber liquid into each glass, “you’ll need this.”
As you both drank in silence, the low thrum of music from the bar just outside the door seemed to pulse in time with your thoughts.
“When do you have to decide?” Evelyn asked finally.
“Seventy-two hours,” you replied, swirling the whiskey before taking another sip. “Well, it’s less now, maybe 63,”
“Less than three days.” She frowned. “She isn’t giving you much time to figure all this out.”
“No,” you said quietly. “She isn’t.”
Evelyn placed her glass down and leaned forward on her desk, her eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intensity. “Listen. If you go through with this — and I’m not saying you should — but if you do, make sure you know all of your exits.”
You took a slow breath, letting her words sink in. The weight of the decision loomed over you like a dark cloud. Evelyn's advice was sound and practical, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside your mind. You already knew your answer, but you needed as she said, to figure out all your exits.
"I'll need more information," you murmured, more to yourself than to Evelyn.
She nodded as if she'd already anticipated your next move. "I can hook you up with someone who’s got their ears to the ground. Goes by the name of Razor. He’s got connections, hears things before they even hit the rumor mill in Washington."
"Razor?" You raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Yeah," she replied with a wry grin. "Don't let the name fool you — he’s sharp as a tack and discreet, he knows a lot of people in the military and the White House."
You glanced around Evelyn’s office once more, it was a sanctuary amidst Night City's chaos, just like your cluttered apartment.
“As I said, I’ll always be there, but you’ll need more than just me. This is bigger than any of us.” Her expression turned serious once more. “If you’re stepping into the viper's nest, you’ll need to know how to get out. Plan for every possible scenario — dead ends, double-crosses, everything. Razor’s the guy for that.”
You nodded, absorbing the gravity of her words. The whisky burned your throat but also seemed to ignite a flicker of determination within you. “Alright,” you said after a moment, “why is he called Razor?”
She leaned back, a shadow of a smile playing on her lips. “They call him Razor because he spent a lot of time in the military. He also served in the Unification War, and hates Myers. He’s known for his precision and efficiency in combat. The nickname comes from his ability to cut through enemy lines like a blade. He’s a good guy, you can trust him.”
“Alright, can you contact him for me, please?”
“I’ll arrange it before your time’s up to answer her,” She responded, already tapping away on her holo-device. “And whatever happens, keep your wits about you.”
***
You were lucky that Ev could get you this meeting soon, and two hours later, you found yourself in an alleyway on the outskirts of Night City, waiting for Razor. The air was thick with the scent of oil and damp concrete, mingling with the distant hum of machinery. You glanced around nervously but remained focused on the task at hand.
A subtle rustle alerted you to an approaching figure, a lean man clad in urban camo gear, his eyes sharp and calculating beneath a hood. He moved with a predator’s grace as he stepped into the faint glow of a flickering neon sign. This was like what you saw in movies, did people truly dress like this to be incognito?
“You must be Razor,” you said, your voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension.
"You're punctual," he said instead of answering your question.
"I prefer to be early," you replied, trying to gauge him from his stance and demeanor.
"Evelyn speaks highly of you."
"Likewise," you offered cautiously.
Razor straightened up, moving closer to you. "So, you want information on Rosalind Myers — dangerous lady to be poking around."
"I'm aware," you said evenly. "But it’s necessary."
"Hmmm." He tilted his head slightly, examining you like a puzzle piece he wasn’t sure fit. "Alright then. Let’s talk brass tacks. Rosalind's got her fingers in every pie around here — political, corporate, underground — it’s all connected through a labyrinth of power plays and backdoor deals."
You pulled out your holo-tab. "I need specifics — associates, who I can trust, weak points, secret agendas — everything."
He smirked at your directness and didn't seem offended. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small data chip. "This will give you a start — it’s a map of her known connections and some dossiers on key players."
You took the chip; data streamed into your vision, revealing an intricate web of connections that made your head spin.
"Guess it's true what they say," Razor mused as he watched you absorb the info.
"What’s that?" you asked distractedly.
"The more you know about this woman, the less safe you are."
You looked up sharply at him then, understanding dawning in your eyes. Rosalind Myers was complicated; but this war, this whole situation needed to be fixed.
"Then safety is something I’ll have to sacrifice," you said grimly.
Razor nodded approvingly before stepping closer and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I've also included some exit routes for different scenarios and locations in Washington that are under less surveillance — if things do go south.”
“Thanks,” you said earnestly.
“Remember,” He continued with a stern look in his eye, “when dealing with someone like Rosalind Myers... you have to anticipate not just her moves, but the moves of the people she controls. Trust me, she's got layers of defenses that would make an onion cry."
You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in your gut. The screen on your holo-tab pulsed softly with data, each line a potential lead or trap. You couldn’t afford to overlook anything.
Razor leaned against the alley wall, eyes never staying in one place for long. "The people you need to worry about are located in Washington, she has them surveilling Night City as well as the other Free States to get any type of information. Her chief lieutenants are a mix of corporate sharks and streetwise operatives. People like Randall Jax— he’s ex-military, now run a security firm fronting for her more... unsavory operations. Then there's Marielle 'The Ghost' Alvarez, an info broker who’s so good even I don’t know where she gets her intel.”
He paused, letting the names sink in. "But here's the kicker — Myers doesn’t just surround herself with muscle and brains; she weaves loyalty through fear and promises. You can't trust anyone too closely linked to her, and whatever she promised you, because I know she did, she won’t deliver. She’ll give you part of what she promised, on certain conditions."
"Why are you telling me this?" you asked, eyes narrowing as you looked back at Razor. "What’s in it for you?"
Razor laughed softly, a dark sound that echoed off the alley walls. "Let's just say Rosalind Myers has made her fair share of enemies, and some of us like to see her plans disrupted.
You nodded slowly, piecing together the unspoken alliances and vendettas swirling around you.
He pushed himself off the wall and stood tall before you. "You need to understand something crucial — Rosalind Myers doesn’t want peace or stability. She revels in chaos because it keeps her in control. Whatever she has promised you or anyone else is nothing but a stepping stone for her ultimate plan. She wants to control everything.” Razor said simply. "The Free States under NUSA's thumb, ruled by her whims. She’s playing a long game and every move counts."
"I get that," you replied, your voice tinged with determination. "But knowing her intentions and stopping them are two very different beasts."
Razor’s eyes glinted in the dim light of the alley, a mix of challenge and respect. "True. And you'll have to navigate a minefield to even get close."
“Well, maybe not a minefield, she wants me to work for her―”
His laugh cut you off, “You really think she wants you for your skills? She'll chew you up and spit you out before you even realize what hit you. You’re a pawn in her game, kid.”
He paced back and forth, the faint light casting long shadows on the alley wall. "Listen," he said, stopping in his tracks and fixing you with a hard stare. "You want to play this game, fine. But don't delude yourself into thinking you're anything more than a disposable asset to her."
“Then why help me at all?” you snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface.
He paused, the amusement fading from his eyes as he looked at you seriously. "Because sometimes pawns can become queens if they play their cards right. And maybe, just maybe, you'll be the one who can do something about her."
***
Your 72 hours were up, you found yourself once again at the upscale but discreet café in Georgetown.
Rosalind was already there, seated at the same corner table as before. Her security detail was less conspicuous this time, blending into the background as ordinary patrons. You knew who they were, as they all eyed you when you entered. You ignored them as you approached the older woman with a determined stride, but your heart still pounded like a drum in your chest.
“Ms. Y/L/N,” Rosalind greeted you, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation.
“Madam President,” you replied, taking a seat across from her. The noise of the café seemed to fade into the background as you focused on this powerful woman in front of you. “I’ve made my decision,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ll take the job.”
The older woman’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “I’m glad to hear that. You’ve made a wise choice, one that will allow you to make a real difference.”
She took a sleek datapad from the table, its screen glowing softly. “Here’s your resignation. You’ll need to sign it digitally and transmit it to your boss at WNS News immediately.”
You took the datapad, feeling the smooth, cool surface in your hands. “And the NDA?”
Rosalind handed you another datapad, this one with a thicker, more secure build. “This is the non-disclosure agreement. It’s standard procedure. You’ll have access to sensitive information, and we need to ensure that it stays protected.”
You glanced over the digital document, noting the legal jargon and clauses designed to bind you to secrecy. “I understand,” you said, picking up the stylus Rosalind offered.
You were about to sign when the older woman cleared her throat. You looked up at her, your brows furrowed.
“Don’t you want to read that before you sign?” She gave a slight, playful smile. “It’s important to understand what you’re agreeing to, after all.”
You hesitated, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks at her subtle smile. “That’s not necessary,” you replied, your tone more defensive than you intended. “I trust that everything is in order.”
The older woman's smile widened just a fraction, a hint of amusement in her gaze. “Very well, but if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Your stylus hovered over the document for a moment longer as you met Rosalind's gaze, searching for any hint of treachery behind her poised demeanor. Finding none, you scrawled your signature at the bottom of the NDA, and then on the resignation letter, feeling the weight of commitment settle over you like an invisible shackle.
“Excellent,” She said, her voice smooth as silk. She leaned back, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table. “Now that we’re on the same page, let me brief you on what I’d like you to do for me.”
She slid another datapad across the table. You opened it to find a dossier with two names, dates, and locations.
“I need you to find information, any that could be used against Arasaka―”
“Wait, you said,”
The older woman raised an eyebrow, “You work for me, honey, not the other way around. Do this job without incident and I might consider giving you the files you so desperately want.”
You were frozen in place, Razor was right… as you stared at the older woman, the implications of everything you needed to do swirled in your mind. A tension built around the table, palpable and sticky.
You continued to scroll the documents, eyes darting over the information inside.
“These two individuals pose a threat to our country.” The older woman began, “They’ve infiltrated Washington, posing as high-ranking officials within the NUSA administration.”
You looked up, shocked. “Who are they?”
Her gaze hardened. “One is embedded within the Department of Defense as a senior analyst. The other is working in the Treasury Department as a strategic financial advisor. Both positions give them access to critical information and the ability to influence key decisions.”
You scanned the dossier, noting the names and their backgrounds. “How long have they been operating and how do you know they’re spying?”
“Long enough to gather sensitive intelligence and potentially sabotage our efforts. We discovered that they’ve been subtly communicating with known Arasaka agents in Night City. Our security team noticed patterns that raised red flags — subtle discrepancies in their reports, and minor deviations from standard protocols that only someone looking closely would catch. We also have reports from reliable sources confirming they’re passing information to Arasaka through encrypted channels. As you know, Arasaka has always had a keen interest in undermining our national security to expand their influence. These operatives are their means to do so within Washington.”
Your mind raced as you processed everything. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to gather any information that can confirm their activities and expose their connections to Arasaka. We need concrete evidence to act against them. What we have now isn’t enough, and since this is a matter of national security, we can’t afford any missteps.” Rosalind leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "This is crucial, whatever they’re doing cannot continue."
"How do you expect me to gather this information? I mean I’m a nobody.”
She smiled knowingly. "Leverage your contacts or pretend to be a traitor yourself. Use your skills from WNS News. You’ve been trained to dig deep, and you’re not one to shy from speaking your mind. Utilize that expertise."
Your mind raced, considering possibilities and strategies. "And if they find out I'm investigating them?"
The older woman’s eyes darkened, a shadow passing over her otherwise composed features. "You’ll have cyberware to change your face and voice. You are everywhere on the news these days. But if they find out, you must be prepared for the worst. Arasaka does not take kindly to those who pry into their affairs. And let me be clear: the NUSA will not back you in this. If you get caught, you’re on your own."
You swallowed hard, feeling the enormity of the task ahead. Rosalind's voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “You think I’m cruel, but you have no idea how dark and evil they can be. But you’re smart, attractive, and resourceful. I’m confident you’ll figure it out.”
Your cheeks burned crimson at Rosalind's compliment, and you quickly looked down, hoping she wouldn’t notice. The words hung in the air, their weight heavier than you anticipated. Why would she even mention the word attractive if you were to change your face and voice…
“They’re much worse than I am,” She continued, her tone now laced with an edge of warning. “Arasaka will stop at nothing to protect their interests. You’ll have to be swift and meticulous.”
You took a deep breath, gathering your resolve. “I understand,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt inside.
The President stood up, signaling the end of your meeting. “Good. Then there’s no time to waste. I expect updates regularly.”
As you rose from your seat, clutching the folder tightly, Rosalind’s eyes softened for a split second. “And remember, despite everything, if you’re not caught, you won’t be completely alone in this.” As you were about to turn, the older woman held you in place, taking hold of your forearm. “I ask two things: information regarding these two individuals who have infiltrated our ranks, and absolute discretion. No one else must know about this.”
You nodded, feeling the intensity of her grip. “Understood.”
“I mean it, no one.” Her eyes held yours for a second longer before she continued, “If you need anything, you can come to my office. But if I’m not available, and only if necessary, my chief of staff will assist in any way he can―”
“I thought you wanted discretion―” You had cut the older woman off again, and quickly corrected yourself, realizing that she was not just anyone, she was still the President of the NUSA… “Uhh… I mean, am― am I allowed to talk about this to your chief of staff?” you interjected softly, hoping you’d not offended her.
Rosalind’s lips curved into a subtle, almost teasing smile. “Well, as I said, Only if absolutely necessary. I prefer you come to me directly. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d rather have you reporting to me. There’s something about your tenacity that I find quite... intriguing.”
Your heart skipped a beat at her words. The hint of flirtation in her tone was unmistakable, yet veiled enough to maintain professionalism. You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to maintain composure. “I’ll keep that in mind, Madam President.”
The older woman’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she released your forearm. “Good. I have high expectations for you. Don’t disappoint me.”
With that, she turned and left the café, her security detail in toe.
The gentle hum of the café grew louder as Rosalind’s presence faded into the distance, leaving you alone with your thoughts. She would be back in Washington, within the hour you suspected, given that Space Force One was the fastest way to travel. You sank back into your seat, the chair creaking softly under your weight. The folder in your lap felt like a leaden burden, its contents still a mystery, yet already so heavy with consequence.
What had just happened? You were no stranger to high-stakes journalism and the thrill of uncovering buried truths, but this — this was altogether different. Changing your appearance, going undercover. The President of the New United States had just conscripted you into a dangerous game of espionage against one of the most powerful corporations in the world.
As you sat there, the reality of it all began to settle in. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a storm of agitation and dread. You could feel the gravity of Rosalind’s words pressing down on you like an impending storm. They’re much worse than I am.
You imagined shadowy figures slipping through dark alleys, always watching, waiting for a wrong move. Death could be swift and silent, a cold kiss from Arasaka's unseen hand. And was that worse, if you were careful and subtle, you could get away with it… But could you trust Rosalind Myers? She was in her own way a puppet master pulling strings.
You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to untangle the web of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm you. The café's ambient noise grew louder, yet it felt distant as if you were submerged underwater, hearing the world through a distorted filter.
The older woman’s words echoed in your mind, the implications of her cryptic warnings playing on a loop. Smart, resourceful, and attractive. Intriguing. Her compliments seemed genuine, yet they could be just another layer to her manipulation? Did she genuinely see potential in you? Or was Razor correct, she didn’t care, she wanted pawns. Did she really want to help this nation, or was she truly the viper Evelyn said she was… what most people from the Free States saw? Did she want the betterment for her people, or did she simply want to rule?
The datapad on your lap felt like Pandora's box. You knew that looking further would set things in motion that could not be undone. Yet curiosity — and perhaps a touch of vanity — pushed you forward.
You glanced around the café, ensuring no one was observing you too closely. The patrons seemed engrossed in their worlds. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. You opened the datapad with trembling hands, revealing a series of photographs and documents.
Two faces stared back at you from the glossy prints: a stern-looking man with piercing eyes and a woman whose smile didn’t reach her eyes. Their names and brief bios were listed below their photos: Hiroshi Sato, Senior Cybernetic Engineer; Elizabeth "Liza" Kwon, Corporate Strategist.
You scanned through their histories: prestigious universities, rapid ascents within the corporate ladder, whispers of underhanded dealings, and covert operations. These weren’t just corporate climbers; they were architects of Arasaka’s most clandestine projects. They were the ones you feared while working with for a Corpo.
Your stomach churned at the thought of confronting them — or worse, being discovered by them. But Rosalind had been clear: uncover their secrets and report back.
Desperation clawed at you as you realized the magnitude of what lay ahead. You had stepped into a world where one wrong move would mean your life.
Could you do this, and could you trust Rosalind to give you what she had promised afterward? She was enigmatic, powerful, and undeniably manipulative. Her flirtatious demeanor which you’d spotted twice now was quite perplexing — a weaponized charm that kept you off balance. Yet there was something sincere in her final words… or was it still all part of the game?
You sighed heavily and closed the folder, deciding to leave the café before paranoia crippled you entirely. Stepping out into the bustling street, you felt a momentary relief as cool air brushed against your skin. You’d return home, pack your bags, and head over to Washington. Your resignation letter would be sent to your boss, and tomorrow morning you’d board a train and start your new job under Rosalind Myers, President of the fucking NUSA.