Cyberpunk: The Ultimate Saga

Leon Black wasn't the first to question Dexter Deshawn. Ever since the Konpeki Plaza incident, corporate operatives had been swarming like flies. Internal inquiries were rampant—people from different divisions of the same company were probing each other. Even among fixers, there was a growing sense of paranoia. Each was subtly testing the waters, trying to determine who had orchestrated the attack.

This kind of high-profile disruption hadn't occurred in years. Arasaka had sent in armed AVs to sweep through the hotel without regard for civilian lives, sparking an uproar across Night City. Social media exploded with public outrage. The PR teams were overrun, trying to patch up the image of a company that had only recently secured a foothold in the North and South American markets. Withdrawal now would mean losing everything.

In situations like this, the locals were always the first to feel the heat. Rumors spread quickly: the heist had to have been enabled by a fixer. Who else would those low-level mercs have turned to?

Dexter knew the truth but couldn't afford to admit it. A fixer, at the end of the day, was nothing more than a glorified middleman—finding jobs, arranging contacts, and taking a cut. If he disappeared tomorrow, there would be a dozen more to fill his shoes. That was the brutal logic of Night City.

That was also why Dexter kept his distance from corporate types like Leon Black. He was smart enough not to get tangled too deep. One wrong secret could get you killed. Survival in Night City wasn't about being the best—it was about knowing when to duck.

Leon exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift lazily from his lips. "Since you claim you haven't heard anything useful," he said, reaching into a sleek black briefcase, "let me offer you something more direct."

He slid a photo across the table.

"Find this woman. Dead or alive."

Dexter's eyes narrowed. He didn't need long to recognize her.

Sky-blue hair, bold makeup, flawless skin, and a body dressed to kill—Evelyn Parker. A former client. The one who had commissioned the Konpeki Plaza job in the first place.

Leon continued, "Surveillance caught her on the top floor of the hotel. Whether or not she was truly involved, it doesn't matter now. She's the perfect scapegoat."

Dexter's jaw tightened.

This bastard. Just because Evelyn showed up on camera, Leon was ready to toss her to the wolves? There was no way he knew Evelyn had been behind the job—this was pure opportunism. Typical corporate ruthlessness.

"I'm not giving you exclusive rights," Leon added, matter-of-factly. "I've contacted others as well. First one to deliver gets paid. Twenty thousand if she's dead. Fifty if she's alive."

He stood and extended his hand. "So? Do we have a deal, Mr. Dexter?"

Did Dexter have a choice?

Not really. He was already tangled in this mess. He just had to make sure he found Evelyn before anyone else did.

He stood and shook Leon's hand. "Pleasure working with you."

"Likewise."

As they exited Cloudtop, the receptionist bid them farewell with an overly sweet smile.

Leon lit another cigarette, exhaled, and clapped a hand on Lena Fox's shoulder. "All done. Let's roll."

Lena closed her book and stood up, flashing a grin. "That was fast."

"Heh. You shouldn't call a man 'fast,'" Leon replied with a smirk. Then he glanced at the green-haired boy slumped over the table nearby. "What happened to him?"

"Ran his mouth," Lena said with a pout. "So I put him to sleep."

"Probably because you're too damn pretty."

"Hehe. Thanks."

They shared a laugh and walked off together. As for the warning message flashing "no vital signs" in their eye cyberware? They simply deleted it.

---

Meanwhile, far from the neon chaos of Night City, Arasaka You Dou walked through a quiet estate. A servant led him along a narrow stone path framed by swaying bamboo. A clear stream flowed down from the mountains, babbling beneath a small arching bridge. The tranquility was suffocating.

The villa was quintessentially Japanese—simple, elegant, and cold. A tea pavilion sat near the center, surrounded by a low stone wall. Cushions rested inside, inviting quiet meditation or afternoon tea. Everything was meticulously arranged.

To outsiders, this was paradise.

To You Dou, it felt like a prison.

He had never been fond of these places. The corporate towers, the endless meetings, the suffocating formality—it all felt lifeless. He missed being out in the field with his team, where danger was real and adrenaline made everything sharp and vivid.

Two maids slid open the wooden doors of the inner house.

A woman in a red floral kimono sat with her back to the door.

"Come in," she said.

Her voice was soft, but it brooked no resistance.

You Dou sighed, stepped inside, and knelt behind her.

The doors closed.

The woman turned slowly.

Her silver-white hair shimmered in the low light, making her look almost ethereal. Her pale skin contrasted beautifully against the crimson kimono. Her eyes, large and piercing, seemed to carry the weight of generations.

"You're back," she said, smiling gently.

Her expression was both innocent and wise—an old soul in a youthful body.

"Miss Michiko," You Dou muttered. "Why did you call me back?"

"You Dou, there's something you need to know." Her tone turned serious. "Grandfather is in trouble."

"What?" You Dou's eyes widened. "What happened to Arasaka Saburo?"

"The Konpeki incident wasn't just about a stolen chip," Michiko said solemnly. "He was attacked. He's undergoing emergency surgery now. But the doctors say… the chances of survival aren't high."

You Dou sat there in stunned silence.

Even if he hadn't known the old man well, Arasaka Saburo was more than family—he was a symbol. A legend. A war-hardened pilot from World War II, the embodiment of the Bushido code. He had once believed Japan would rise again through conquest.

But when war failed him, he pivoted.

He saw salvation not in swords or guns—but in money.

With wealth, Saburo believed he could rebuild the nation. Control the world. That realization had come to him in a moment of despair, watching cherry blossoms fall.

After his father's death, Saburo took over the family business and turned it into a weapon. Bribes, blackmail, assassinations, cyberwarfare—nothing was off the table. With his cunning and absolute ruthlessness, he grew Arasaka from a small-time manufacturer into a global titan.

Saburo's empire reached so far that it became hard to tell where Arasaka ended and the Japanese government began.

And now… it was all at risk.

"Can I go see him?" You Dou asked softly.

Michiko shook her head. "No. The sanatorium is sealed. No visitors until the operation is over."

"Not even you?"

"Not even me."

Michiko had grown up in America. Her ties to the traditional family members—Hanako and Yorinobu—were weak. She wasn't close to her uncles or aunts and had little political pull. She was just a granddaughter, waiting for scraps of information.

"Aunt Hanako is on her way," Michiko added. "Once she arrives, maybe we'll be allowed in."

Arasaka Saburo had three wives in his lifetime. He fathered two sons—Kei and Yorinobu—and one daughter, Hanako. Michiko, his granddaughter, was Kei's daughter.

Hanako had always lived in seclusion in Tokyo. But this crisis was enough to pull her out of hiding.

"We'll just have to wait," You Dou sighed. His thoughts drifted back to his squad—those simpler days spent sparring with Mike Taylor, teasing Ethan Cross, arguing with Lena Fox, asking Lily Cross for tactical reports, or following Leon Black's orders into mission after mission.

Those days were over.

Soon, everything would change.

Once news of Saburo's condition broke, the entire company would descend into chaos. Rival corporations would circle like sharks. Internally, the power struggle would begin.

He could only hope Leon and the others were ready.

He'd only seen Hanako once—through a computer screen. A delicate woman, graceful and refined, the epitome of traditional Japanese elegance.

She and Yorinobu were born to Saburo's third and final wife—also named Michiko. A gentle woman who had died during childbirth. Her death had nearly broken Saburo. It was said he adored her more than anyone else.

After her passing, Saburo became obsessed with preserving her memory—sheltering Hanako, keeping her away from the brutal world he ruled. She lived like a princess in a gilded cage.

Michiko's death also triggered Saburo's descent into madness.

At some point, wealth and power weren't enough.

He became obsessed with immortality.

He believed that if he lived long enough, he could turn Arasaka into the foundation of a new global empire—a neo-Japanese dynasty built on cybernetic bodies, AI warfare, and megacorporate control.

Now, with him lying on an operating table, bleeding out…

That dream hung in the balance.

pàtreøn (Gk31)