As the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the adjustable one-way transparent glass onto the tatami mat floor of her Tokyo residence, Vela—having slept well and still unaware she'd officially become entangled in Arasaka's internal power struggle—was calmly preparing for the day in front of a full-length mirror.
After smoothing out the final crease on her collar, she inspected her attire in the reflection and nodded slightly.
This wasn't vanity.
It was necessity.
"Meeting start."
Only the lowest-tier employees were allowed to wear outfits with suggestive undertones—and even then, only within strict limits. Corporate executives, male or female, were expected to dress appropriately at all times.
Behind her, the automated partition in the room slid open with a mechanical hum, revealing a wide projection screen.
"Supervisor Vela, this is Jimmy."
On the secure comms line, set against the circular Arasaka trifoil logo background, was a brawny white man in heavy combat armor, helmet off, sporting a military buzzcut.
Jimmy—the captain of Special Assault Unit 6, Vela's adjutant back in Night City.
California was in the UTC-7 time zone; Tokyo was UTC+9. With a 16-hour difference, it was 8 a.m. in Tokyo—meaning 4 p.m. yesterday in Night City.
This was the daily report schedule Vela had set up with the Special Assault Unit before departing for Tokyo.
She wasn't out of a job—only temporarily inactive. Deputy Director Thomas was handling her duties, but he hadn't touched her core influence. She still held significant authority and could command remotely. Jimmy was her stand-in.
In return, Vela didn't micromanage.
She gave Jimmy the autonomy to make on-the-ground decisions, while also instructing him to keep her Uncle Thomas informed for final approvals. During this period, her role was more like a third-party supervisor and passive observer.
Ultimately, it was all about maintaining her presence—showing she was still around, to keep her influence alive.
"As of early this morning, our unit has completed three tactical support requests from the Counter-Intelligence Division. We successfully extracted one team of intel agents from Militech's Night City branch. Two teams were hit by Militech counter-intel—three dead, one wounded. One team wiped. The surviving operative was retrieved thanks to coordinated efforts between our agents and CI personnel, using a gang conflict setup as cover."
After Jimmy's report, whoosh—
The screen split, shifting to the bottom right, showing the captain of the Mobile Unit stationed at the West Wind Estate checkpoint in southern Night City.
"This is the 8th Mobile Unit. Regarding multiple attacks on corporate vehicles by the Animals gang on city center overpasses and ocean bridges, in compliance with our public order contract with the NCPD, we've issued warnings and launched retaliatory strikes. All confirmed attackers from the incidents have been eliminated."
"Special Assault Unit 3 here—we've completed the Argentina field defense op and are returning to base for R&R..."
...
"Dogtown's gone wild again. Clashes with NCPD, Voodoo Boys, and the Animals. Supposedly a new shipment of goods arrived—tons of it. Heavy weapons. Soviet Petrochem stock."
After finishing official mission logs, Jimmy remained to update Vela on the latest headlines from Night City.
Ever since the collapse of the global internet, the only way to stay informed on world events was through megamedia like News 54.
But news media were always delayed—often inaccurate, or filtered. To get the real picture, you needed boots on the ground. Trusted people. Real channels.
"Should we get involved?"
"Not yet. Let SovOil, Neo-CCCP[1], Militech, and the New USA duke it out. Cold War rivals, all of them. If they want to fight, let them."
Leaning back against the crimson velvet of her high-backed chair, Vela smiled faintly as her thoughts drifted to something amusing. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her right hand resting against her cheek while her left fingers tapped a rhythmic beat on the armrest.
"That NUSA[2] rebel faction holed up in Dogtown... tsk, they're the perfect thorn. The Arvin Accord pissed them off royally. When that powder keg blows, it'll catch them all by surprise."
The Arvin Accord—the so-called unification agreement of the New United States—was signed by Rosalind Myers, former Militech CEO and now NUSA President, and Arasaka.
Back in 2069, Myers led the Unification War to "Make America Great Again." But with Arasaka's aggressive interference and giants like SovOil subtly undermining her, the campaign failed.
NUSA troops withdrew from California. The dream of unifying the coasts and expanding territory vanished. Night City and Northern California remained Free States.
The Barghest gang occupying Dogtown were, in fact, elite NUSA forward units from the war's end. After the Arvin Accord, they felt betrayed and abandoned, and broke off on their own. They hated Rosalind Myers and Militech's leadership with a passion.
Even if they knew Arasaka would profit, they'd still jump at any chance to strike.
For now, Vela would focus on strengthening her own foundations.
"Let's talk internal affairs… Any progress on Tanaka's project?"
"No. But... ahem..."
Jimmy glanced around nervously. "There's a lot of heat between Jenkins from Counter-Intelligence and Director Abernathy of Special Operations. Looks like Jenkins gained the upper hand this round. One of his enforcers is making waves—just got fast-tracked for promotion."
Vela, who had been half-heartedly preparing to end the call and head to Tokyo U, sharpened her gaze.
"Who?"
"V. Codename V. Real name—I haven't checked yet. Should I...?"
"No need. Let Counter-Intel and Special Ops do their little turf war. We in Security Division won't meddle. Just pretend you never heard of it. Sure, they can't hurt us directly, but they're experts at pettiness and sabotage."
Special Operations handled special missions: counter-intel, corporate security, executive protection, high-level secrecy. They had a high internal clearance.
Security Division, despite its name, was Arasaka's de facto military wing. As the largest and most recognized department, they operated armed response teams, riot control, peacekeeping, personal security contracts, even national defense. They were on par with Arasaka's banking division in rank.
Their operations were public and commercial—contracting directly with foreign entities for profit. None of it fell under Special Ops' authority.
Intel and Counter-Intel had no access to legitimate business operations.
So Vela rarely engaged with Abernathy—and had no desire to.
Now that the intel had been mentally filed away, Vela rose gracefully, adjusting her tailored uniform.
"Meeting adjourned."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Beep.
The video call ended. The wall partition closed automatically.
Vela turned her gaze inward, silently musing: "Valerie... a perfect tool."
She had no interest in meddling with Special Ops' drama.
But V—that person—was intriguing.
They would meet. Eventually.
With that thought, Vela glanced at the time and paused the dark ideas brewing in her mind. From the lab's refrigerated storage, she selected several of the leech DNA sample vials she had purified the night before, placed them in a metal carrying case, tucked it into her tote bag, and headed downstairs. Shoes on, door shut—off to school.
8:40 a.m.—she arrived at the University of Tokyo's Bunkyo campus via hovercar. Vela strode through crowds of carefree, youthful students still enjoying campus life, making her way to a green path beside the medical department's laboratory building.
In the cyberpunk world, education had become extreme: the strong became stronger, and the weak, weaker. At elite institutions like the University of Tokyo, facilities were state-of-the-art.
With ID authorization, Vela easily secured a lab room. Resources here were abundant—there was no need for long queues or waiting lists.
Since her goal was simply to leave behind experimental records and compare leech DNA samples, she didn't need to conduct live synthesis using the Progenitor Virus yet. Wearing her standard black-and-red school uniform, Vela got to work—no lab coat or full-body protective gear.
She began parsing the leech DNA sequences.
Unnoticed, time passed. Ding-ling-ling! The noon chime rang.
Vela didn't move.
Her eyes glowed orange-red with high concentration, still connected to the analysis device as it processed the DNA map.
"It might... actually work?"
A murmur slipped from her lips, her expression thoughtful.
Recalling the DNA profiles of Umbrella's specially cultivated leeches, Vela found that the ones surviving and selectively bred in the harsh environmental conditions of 2075's cyberpunk world seemed—by all metrics—to be more resilient.
The biggest problem with the Progenitor Virus was its stability. Environmental resilience and malleability were the key to making it viable for applications.
Leeches had been Marcus and Birkin's choice after scanning global animal genomes—they were the optimal carriers.
Umbrella had used leech DNA to improve the virus's environmental adaptability, stabilizing the Progenitor Virus and making T-Virus extraction possible.
Now, using cyberpunk-era leech DNA—with superior resilience and stability—the same cultivation method would likely yield a more stable T-Virus. Not harmless, of course, but definitely more viable.
"So... the key is controlled integration."
She massaged her temple and disconnected from the analyzer.
This world didn't lack gene-programming technology. What it lacked were new inputs—exotic anomalies like the Progenitor Virus. With enough samples, it wasn't impossible that Saburo Arasaka could literally rejuvenate, extending his life indefinitely.
She had to get to Africa, fast!
Inspired, Vela grabbed her datapad and began drafting a proposal.
To Michiko Arasaka's Danger Gal division, of course. This was the kind of high-concept cannon fodder you never sent to Saburo himself. Keep it routine, keep it plausible.
Sure, she didn't care about the Progenitor Virus personally. But her subordinates—the aging, injured, cyber-atrophied ones—needed it.
"Got it."
After a moment of thought, she had her title:
Project: [Sonnentreppe]
Objective: [Extend human cell lifespan, rejuvenate organic tissue, enhance physical endurance]
"This concept originated when I defeated a rogue AI during Old Net computational training beyond the Blackwall. I unexpectedly recovered corrupted fragments revealing a 2023-era pre-collapse document archived by a defunct African mining firm.
"The document referenced ruins of an extinct Bantu-language tribe. Their underground ruins contained a flower—extremely toxic, yet, among locals, it was considered medicinal. Reportedly, it caused aging cells to shed and rejuvenated human tissues.
"Preliminary speculation suggests the flower may contain a yet-undiscovered compound. If extractable, it could have great potential for therapeutic use in your company's wellness division."
Beep.
[Send]
Message clear: I, Vela, want to study this. Sponsor me. Pay up.
After syncing with Danger Gal's business division, she kept going—tapping into her tablet again:
[University of Tokyo – Summer Study Trip Application]
Destination: [Cape Town, South Africa]
Research Topic: Investigate the feasibility of Project Sonnentreppe in collaboration with Danger Gal. Explore Bantu ruins. Discover unknown flora and fauna of ancient Africa.
Request: Join the first wave of approved summer research expeditions.
Beep.
Sent.
With her tasks done, Vela packed up her tote. She activated the lab's auto-clean and sterilization system and stepped out.
Time for lunch. She had law classes in the afternoon.
No need to rush. Her identity within Arasaka was squeaky clean, nothing to hide. Progress in measured steps.
"After this week's Law Phase One exam, I'll book my flight to South Africa."
Tap, tap, tap...
...
In a dimly lit room, massive data cables fed into a circular black net-dive pod etched with the Arasaka trifoil logo. Flickering across split-screens were surveillance feeds.
Suddenly—ping!—two intercepted data logs popped up on the side display.
A hacker, clad in a thermally adaptive black stealth suit, watched through glowing visor lenses.
"Target information intercepted—no anomalies. Lord Takayama Shintaro... but there's an unexpected development: Lord Yorinobu Arasaka... appears to be monitoring this target as well."
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[1] The Union of Sovereign Soviet Republics (USSR) (Russian: Союз Суверенных Советских Республик, СССР (Soyuz Suverennykh Sovetskikh Respublik, SSSR); also known as Neo-Sov or Neo-Soviets)
[2] New United States of America