Night City, Westbrook.
Corporate Housing, Unit 414, Russell Residence.
Just before dawn, Vela woke up from a deep sleep and slowly sat up in bed.
"Ugh... not even a day off. What a bunch of vampires."
A soundless murmur. Rubbing her drowsy head—groggy from shutting off her health monitor—Vela held her forehead and gave it a shake. Her indigo cybernetic pupils cleared in an instant.
She had only just returned from Rio de Janeiro the night before, been pulled into endless meetings at Arasaka Tower, and now, at the crack of dawn, she was getting up again for work. Vela was deeply annoyed.
Even a mule on a production team wouldn't be worked this hard. Damn parasites!
Of course, complaining was one thing—work still had to be done.
For the sake of bonuses and a bit of cash—life had to go on.
After finishing her daily grumble for mental wellness, Vela straightened her expression. Time to get ready for work!
She rolled out of bed, her dark sheer nightgown catching the soft glow of the bedroom's ambient lighting as she stepped into the washroom. The motion sensor lights activated automatically.
Shhh~
After rinsing off, Vela wiped the water from her face and carefully examined herself in the mirrored wall.
"Totally used to this now. Hm, not bad..."
A delicate face, combining the soft finesse of Eastern features with the depth and definition of Western ones.
Hair a mix of silver and gold. Eyes indigo like the depths of a mountain lake. Faint traces of cybernetic implants accentuated her features—the hidden metal beneath her temples, the sculpted lines near the upper lip—all together forming a unique cold beauty.
Yes, very cyberpunk.
A kind of practical luxury, understated yet refined—utterly elegant.
A perfect embodiment of the new militarist aesthetic Arasaka promoted.
If the so-called "legends" who bombed Arasaka Tower fifty years ago could see this face—especially the infamous "rocker boy"—they'd probably explode on the spot, grab their gear, and try to blow this artificial, pretentious look right off.
Though by 2074, cybernetic advancements had made it possible to adjust facial features, skin tone, eye color, body shape, even gender, Vela had never invested much thought into this face.
At most, when entering Arasaka Academy, she'd deliberately maintained this style to flatter the company and show loyalty... and then, it became habit.
Play the role long enough, and it becomes real.
You could also say that the parents of this body left behind quite the "inheritance."
In the soft light, Vela's gaze grew complicated as she looked toward a tile beside the sink, which held an embedded photo frame.
In the photo was a family of three—one man and two women. Two adults, one child.
The man appeared to be in his early thirties: blonde slicked-back hair, suit and tie, well-built. The woman nestled beside him had soft golden hair draped over her shoulders, wearing what now looked like an old-fashioned dress. Gentle features, with slight resemblance to Vela's own at the corners of the eyes and bridge of the nose.
These were her body's parents.
And the small girl between them—was her younger self.
Come to think of it, she had lived under the name Vela for over twenty years now.
Gently touching the frame, Vela whispered in her heart, "I may not be your daughter... or maybe I am. But as long as I'm alive, I'll fulfill my duty to honor you."
Even though her body's parents hadn't provided much care or company—career-focused types who were often gone for a year at a time—Vela still felt deeply grateful.
It's not like she was some naive child starving for affection.
Aside from that face—which was certainly a bonus in corporate circles—there was this composite apartment located in Westbrook's corporate housing district, close to Japantown and the city center. There were also generous savings, stocks, and mutual funds…
Most importantly, there were her biological parents' other, less visible "inheritances."
Without them, there was no way she could have climbed so quickly in a viper's nest like Arasaka.
It was an open industry fact that although Arasaka had globalized from its Japanese roots, the traditions of "lifetime employment," "hereditary succession," and hierarchical loyalty still deeply influenced every department.
In other words, lineage mattered. Being one of "their own" mattered.
There was even a running joke in some Arasaka branches: at Tokyo HQ, even janitor positions practically required a family legacy.
Perhaps an exaggeration, but it said enough about the internal culture.
Vela had no intention of judging its pros and cons—because she was a direct beneficiary.
Her biological father, Mr. Fred Russell, had been a senior executive in Arasaka's North America Security Division, with real power in departments like the Guard Bureau.
Her biological mother, Mrs. Mia Russell, had been a mid-level manager in the North American Administrative Division, overseeing events, banquets, and diplomatic occasions.
In 2023, after Arasaka lost the Fourth Corporate War and its grip on Night City, the company had spent decades regrouping, seeking to reclaim its North American dominance.
Leveraging the late-2060s Unification War between New America and the Free States, Arasaka supported Night City and the Free States, regaining favor with the city. In 2070, Arasaka returned to Night City—and Vela's parents were among the credited heroes of that operation.
They died in service.
The current Arasaka U.S. Division Night City HQ was restructured from the departments her parents once served.
Especially in the Security and Administrative Divisions, many senior staff were former subordinates, political allies, colleagues, or even superiors of her parents.
Everyone knew how cold-blooded Arasaka and megacorps were, but corporations were always eager to play both roles: ruthless and respectable.
Vela's parents hadn't been disgraced. They weren't from infamously dirty departments like Counter-Intelligence or Intelligence. And upon returning to Night City, Arasaka needed role models to inspire new hires and sell dreams.
So Vela's parents were held up as model employees.
And Vela inherited everything.
There were those who coveted it, of course—but Vela wasn't an ordinary child. She wasn't the "original model"—at least, not in soul.
Without her protectors, she understood clearly just how precarious her situation was: like a child carrying gold through a crowded market.
Backed into a corner, with no other option and not yet awakened to her own "gifts," Vela turned to her only viable support—Arasaka.
She expressed her intent to enroll in the newly founded Arasaka Academy, and with the help of one of her late father's friends—a man who had visited their home, brought her birthday presents, and now saw an opportunity—she went through official channels and entrusted her assets to the company.
Until she could be fully independent, she would live on the interest.
That uncle, naturally, took his cut in euros.
Later, Vela chose to follow in her father's footsteps and joined Arasaka's Security Division.
The decision caused no stir. In Arasaka, a child inheriting a parent's career path was as normal as breathing.
It was all about bloodlines.
Once enrolled, Vela immediately began to display extraordinary talent:
Her learning ability was exceptional. She inherited her parents' quick grasp of security and administration, showed remarkable aptitude and interest in biotechnology, scored near-perfect marks across all assessments, and was selected as an elite student—added to the Arasaka reserve officer list for further evaluation…
Arasaka's Night City division immediately recognized that Vela wasn't some useless ornament. She was very likely to inherit her father's full political legacy—and rise.
Had she been incompetent, or just a fragile pretty face unable to recover from loss...
Well, corporate people wouldn't have hesitated to wring her dry. Those smiling, flattering company dogs—any warmth they showed would have swiftly turned into the cold, metallic indifference of reality and cybernetics.
Clearly, Vela was not that.
She proved her worth.
With a clean background, solid connections, and a reputation as a reliable insider, she was highly trainable, cost-effective, and the only daughter of former bosses, old colleagues, or capable subordinates—of course she'd get support.
Time to switch masks: this wasn't about fighting. It was about relationships.
No more debate. Bring her in.
"She's got her father's spirit."
That was the most common evaluation Vela received at the academy.
So when Vela returned from advanced studies at Arasaka's Tokyo HQ and graduated as the valedictorian of the Class of 2073, internship? What internship?
She reported for duty in the morning—formally employed by noon!
The heads of the Security Division waved her in with gusto: her starting post was a minor but real position in the Guard Bureau. One of her late father's old subordinates was assigned to mentor her, passing on tips and cautionary advice.
One promotion per year. Smooth sailing.
Until she reached the position her father once held, Vela didn't need to worry about bottlenecks—as long as she didn't mess up.
If there was a ceiling, it would be somewhere above Jenkins of Counter-Intelligence, but below Abernathy of Special Operations.
That was one of Arasaka's unwritten rules: generational decline.
After all, those political assets were inherited. To reach her father's level, Vela would need real capabilities—which she wasn't lacking. But to go beyond that, she'd have to network, rack up achievements, and manufacture opportunities.
Which is why Vela felt particularly grateful to her biological parents.
In this screwed-up world, in this garbage heap of a city called Night City, they left her such rich "assets."
Had she been born a regular citizen of Night City, with no corporate background, she would've been stuck.
Even assuming the same ability and an Arasaka internship, she'd likely still be in a probation period.
At best, enrolled in the general academy instead of the elite one, missing out on secret courses and key information. Graduation would mean screwing bolts at an Arasaka automation plant—or vanishing into some obscure department.
Climbing the ladder? Almost impossible.
Hoo...
Finishing her mouth rinse, Vela undressed and slipped into a pristine, stylish bathtub.
After a quick and efficient soak, she moved into her dressing room and, with the familiarity of habit, slipped into undergarments she no longer found interesting.
Covering her fair skin from abdomen to collarbone, she tapped her wardrobe and selected one of many nearly identical tailored suits.
Due to her work environment, most of her wardrobe consisted of uniforms, while the rest were formal dresses or tailored suits—not out of modesty, but because her job demanded it. Still, she wasn't averse to showing off her legs when the occasion suited it.
She chose a black shirt with dark red maple-leaf patterns, matching suit trousers, a tie, a Kevlar ballistic vest, and finally slung on a shoulder holster.
Stretching slightly, she opened a nearby drawer.
Inside: rows of sidearms—Arasaka JKE-X2 Kenshin, Arasaka HJKE-11 Yukimura, Militech M-76e Omaha, Kang Tao A-22B Chao, Tsunami Nue...
She also had submachine guns, assault rifles, and shotguns stored at home, but they were too large and kept in a designated weapons room.
She selected her usual: the Militech M-76E Omaha. After checking it over, she slotted it into the underarm holster.
It was compact enough.
Precision-crafted, loaded with tungsten alloy armor-piercing rounds—its lethality rivaled that of a machine gun.
Then again, if she ever really came face-to-face with a cyberpsycho, this probably wouldn't do much more than buy a few seconds. But... better to have it than not. Just in case.
Vela never saw anything wrong with using Militech gear despite being Arasaka. She wasn't superstitious—just pragmatic. Without a second thought, she grabbed her dark-colored ballistic shoulder-padded blazer and headed out.
Barefoot on the soft carpet, she crossed the corridor, picked up her business briefcase from the living room, and caught sight of the digital clock glowing from one of the apartment displays:
2074/5/27, 7:29 AM.
Perfect timing.
Slipping on cotton slippers, she descended the second-floor staircase, passed through the main hall to the foyer, pulled out a pair of dark, minimalistic office heels from the cabinet, and slipped them on, pressing down to adjust the fit.
Clock ticked over: 7:30.
Beep beep—
Knock knock.
The door chime and a knock rang out simultaneously.
"Come in."
As she picked up the silver Arasaka clover pin from the foyer table and attached it to the left lapel of her blazer, Vela, already aware of the visitors' identity, transmitted a signal through her cyber-eye to unlock the smart anti-explosive reinforced door of the apartment.
"Commander Vela."
Signal recognized. With the soft click of bearings and metal, the door opened.
Two towering men, both heavily cybernetically enhanced, stepped inside—one black, one white. The Black man in the lead picked up Vela's briefcase and said, "Commander Vela, your vehicle is ready."
"Mm."
Flanked by the two bodyguards, Vela exited. Just outside the mini-garden at the apartment entrance, a heavily modified Thrax 388 Jefferson luxury limo, bearing the Arasaka logo, was parked by the curb.
Seated inside the armored, neo-militarist business vehicle, Vela rested her chin on her hand and gazed out the window at the corporate community around her.
A high-end area, beautiful views, reliable security, and NCPD surveillance on standby—a true middle-class corporate zone. This property, too, was inherited from her body's parents.
Vrrr...
Before long, the car started. The white bodyguard drove, the black one sat up front. With careful formality, he congratulated her: "Commander Vela, I heard about Rio. Congratulations. I believe you'll soon be riding in a 'Rayfield Excalibur.'"
"Thank you." Vela gave a faint smile.
The Rayfield Excalibur—a luxury aerial official vehicle. His comment was a polite nod to her likely upcoming promotion.
She was looking forward to it—her first personal AV.
Security mission AVs didn't count.
After that brief moment of pleasure, Vela refocused on the virtual grid display embedded in her cyber-eye. She opened a virtual spreadsheet and began reviewing her upcoming tasks at Arasaka Tower, prioritizing as needed.
"Security Division work is mostly wrapped up. If nothing goes wrong, I'll have a few quiet days... Executive Michiko, hm? Seems particularly invested—'Danger Gal' recovery and therapy services, huh."
"Looks like it's time to milk Umbrella for a bit more..."