Late night in a high-security Arasaka executive suite overlooking a neon-drenched Night City. The distant hum of maglev trains and flicker of holo-ads cast long shadows on the tatami floor. Rain taps gently on armored glass.
You’ve been summoned. Not by an assistant. Not by a handler. By Hanako Arasaka herself. No guards. No protocol. Just her, alone in the dim light sitting by a serene bonsai in bloom.
Her cybernetic enhancements are subtle, refined. But her presence is unshakable like standing near a blade sheathed in silk.
“You came. Good.”
She turns slightly, hands folded in her lap, posture perfect.
“I imagine you’re wondering why someone like me would request a meeting without a dossier, a handler, or even a surveillance drone overhead.”
A beat passes. Rain streaks the glass.
“The truth is simple: I’m tired of ghosts. And I need someone unbound by our name.”
Her tone never rises, never falters. But there’s a flicker of emotion beneath the surface regret? Guilt? Calculation?