Meredith Stout flatly refused the proposal to impersonate the President of the New United States.
There was no profound reason for it—
she simply could not afford the embarrassment.
Unfortunately for her, V made a call to Militech's corporate CEO.
And the corporate CEO, in turn, made a call to Meredith Stout, president of one of Militech's regional divisions.
Thus, "impersonating the President of the New United States" was immediately upgraded from a suggestion to an official work assignment.
Meredith Stout could refuse a friend.
She could not refuse her boss.
That was the tragedy of corporate life.
"You're ruthless," the blonde woman snarled, raising a middle finger at V.
"Let me make this clear first—I can't act. If I screw this up, don't blame me."
"Don't worry," V replied with a smile.
"I'll bring in professionals to package you from every possible angle."
"Who are you planning to hire?"
"No need to concern yourself. I already have someone in mind. I'll handle that part. Your job is to take care of the fake documentation."
"Fine, fine. You're the legendary V. You call the shots."
Meredith Stout left, clearly disgruntled.
V then summoned the pink-haired assistant from next door.
"Sascha, arrange an AV. We're heading to The Fourth Wall Studio."
"Understood."
Half an hour later, the AV descended slowly onto the rooftop landing pad of the Fourth Wall Studio.
The studio's obese owner hurried out to greet V, bowing and scraping as he ushered her into his office.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, V noticed a crowd of protesters holding signs at the studio entrance.
"Quite a fanbase you have," she remarked dryly.
Cold sweat instantly broke out across the owner's forehead.
"High art is often misunderstood by the masses. Our goal is to produce thought-provoking braindance works that—"
"No need to educate me," V cut him off. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I came because—"
Before she could finish, gunfire erupted outside.
A Chevalier Emperor 720—the NCPD's armored patrol vehicle—rolled slowly into view.
Suddenly, a man in the crowd drew a handgun and began firing wildly at the police vehicle.
The protesters scattered in panic.
A towering NCPD officer exited the vehicle, using the door as cover while shouting warnings.
"Cease fire immediately! Step back and drop the weapon! I repeat—cease fire, step back, and drop the weapon!"
The attacker ignored him entirely.
He was an ordinary-looking middle-aged man, short hair, dressed in a construction worker's uniform. He fired like a madman—but his weapon was a Constitution Arms Unity, a kinetic pistol infamous for being cheap.
Its primary function was winning arguments with coworkers during lunch breaks.
Using it against NCPD armor was pure fantasy.
Worse still, the man clearly lacked any real firearms training. Most of his shots flew harmlessly into the sky.
A civilian, V concluded.
As the officer raised his weapon to take the kill shot, V intervened.
Her eyes glowed blue.
She effortlessly breached both the officer's and the attacker's ICE and deployed a Weapon Glitch.
With a simultaneous hiss, both guns turned into useless scrap.
"Bring them all in," V said coldly.
"Gunfights in broad daylight—really doing wonders for my image."
The studio owner nearly wet himself at her expression and immediately ordered everyone involved to be brought inside.
In addition to the officer and the attacker, there was also a woman and a prisoner dressed in an orange detention uniform.
The owner gestured at the woman.
"This is our Fourth Wall's top braindance producer—Rachel Casich. Rachel, this is—"
"V! The legendary V!"
Rachel trembled with excitement.
"It's an absolute honor to meet you, President V! Your exploits are the talk of all Night City. Please—allow me to create a braindance tailored specifically for you. I guarantee the entire world will become your devoted fans!"
"Thank you, Rachel," V replied calmly.
"But not today. I have other business."
Rachel persisted.
"That's not just a polite refusal, is it?"
"Of course not. Send me your number. My secretary will contact you later."
Rachel was ecstatic and sent it immediately.
"I'll wait for your call forever—twenty-four hours a day, day or night!"
V nodded.
The entertainment industry had always been part of her broader plans, and braindance media was no exception. Since her name carried weight, she intended to use it. V was a pragmatic woman—she had no idol complex. She could save the President of the New United States for money, and she could just as easily license her own experiences for profit.
But that was for later.
She gestured for everyone to sit.
"Now," V said, "tell me exactly what just happened."
All four people started talking at once.
V raised her hand for silence and pointed at the attacker.
"You. Start. Name, and why you attacked the NCPD."
"My name is Bill Jablonsky!"
The man was shaking with rage as he pointed at the prisoner.
"I wasn't trying to attack the NCPD! I was trying to kill Joshua Stephenson! That piece of shit brutally murdered my wife! I won't let him walk free!"
"Walk free?"
V narrowed her eyes.
Invisible pressure filled the room, making the tall NCPD officer break out in sweat.
"N-no, it's not what you think. Joshua Stephenson's crimes are undeniable. NCPD arrested him long ago. He's currently being held in a maximum-security cell."
"Your name," V said.
"Vasquez, ma'am."
"Very well, Officer Vasquez. Then explain to me why a murderer is riding around in your patrol car."
Vasquez hesitated, then spoke.
"Orders from the mayor."
"Lucius Rhyne?"
V's expression darkened.
"Interesting. This keeps expanding. Explain everything."
Vasquez dared not offend Night City's mayor—but he was even less willing to defy the city's true ruler. Once V pressed him, everything spilled out.
"Joshua Stephenson was arrested for armed robbery—along with numerous other crimes, including multiple brutal shootings. The verdict sentenced him to death. But recently, the mayor ordered the NCPD to cooperate with the Fourth Wall Studio on a braindance project. Supposedly to comfort the public and ease the pain of those who lost loved ones during the war."
"What the hell does that even mean?" V snapped.
"How does a murderer comfort the public? Did he heroically defend Night City during the war?"
"No. He was incarcerated the entire time."
"Then what exactly are you filming?"
Vasquez looked toward Rachel Casich.
She smiled calmly.
"Why don't we let Joshua explain for himself?"
V turned to Joshua Stephenson.
The tattoo-covered man in prison garb wore a serene, devout expression. He recited a passage from Revelation, then spoke.
"I confess to all my crimes. I did not care at the time—but now I truly understand my sins. After my arrest, I had ample time to reflect. I began to ask myself how I could atone."
"You can fix a typo," V sneered.
"How do you fix murder?"
"By making amends to the families."
"With money?"
"No. I will guide them away from darkness—help them forget hatred, escape suffering, and live with healthy hearts. Not trapped in the tragic cycle of violence, like Mr. Bill here."
A murderer lecturing a victim's family about forgiveness—
V found it absurd.
Bill Jablonsky exploded in raw fury. He lunged forward, pinning Joshua and hammering him with a construction worker's fists.
"Go to hell! You killed my wife, and now you want me to forgive you? Never! Not in this lifetime!"
Joshua's face was bloodied before Vasquez finally pulled Bill away—slowly.
It was obvious he didn't like Joshua either. He was only protecting him because of orders.
The obese studio owner mourned his blood-stained luxury furniture.
Rachel Casich continued smiling.
No one in the room liked Joshua Stephenson.
And yet, he was the thread binding them all together.
"May our Father show mercy," Joshua murmured, reciting scripture even as blood ran down his face.
V sighed.
"Is there a loose chip in his head? He needs psychiatric care."
"I agree," Rachel shrugged.
"But it's far too late for treatment."
"He's this unstable, and you still chose him as your braindance protagonist?"
"Because Joshua has something many people want—and very few can provide."
"And that is?"
"Faith," Rachel replied mockingly.
"In that waterlogged idiot brain of his, he truly believes every word he says. Completely."
"He's just insane."
"That's fine. The audience only needs the emotion. Braindance records emotion. My job is to scientifically structure and amplify it to its peak."
"For example?"
"I arrange for him to become pen pals with victims' families. He visits them one by one, asking for forgiveness. If they forgive him, his faith strengthens. If they don't, he sees it as God's trial—his faith strengthens anyway."
"And at the end, I arrange for him to be crucified like the Holy Father. At that moment, his faith will reach its apex—and so will the audience's emotional climax. The braindance will be immortal."
Twisted.
Brilliant.
And terrifyingly accurate about human nature.
People who cannot attain faith themselves crave experiencing it through others—just as those who cannot sleep with beautiful women buy braindances to simulate it.
V asked,
"You're saying all this in front of him. Aren't you afraid of shaking his faith?"
Rachel laughed.
"If a mental patient were that easy to cure, I'd be the world's greatest psychiatrist."
As expected, Joshua shouted,
"I'm not insane! I've recognized my past mistakes and want to atone!"
Vasquez snorted.
"The best atonement you could make is getting your head blown off, then ground into feed for protein farms."
"Exactly!" Bill echoed.
"Death alone is meaningless," Joshua cried.
"My death should awaken the world!"
Rachel turned to V.
"President V, you gave Night City new life. But the war left countless people broken. Survivors without attachments, burning with rage—they are destabilizing forces. This braindance could help them forget hatred, forget pain, stabilize society—and solidify your rule."
V raised an eyebrow.
"You sold this pitch to Lucius Rhyne too, didn't you?"
"Yes. And the mayor approved," Rachel countered.
"Are you going to oppose it?"
"I'm not opposing it," V said calmly.
"I'm stopping it."
Rachel stiffened.
"I would like to hear your reasons."
"I have many lofty ones," V replied, crossing her legs.
"Night City doesn't need docile sheep. In chaotic times, hatred can be a driving force. Love and hate are not opposites. Justice cannot be compromised. Joshua may die in an electric chair—but not in a mass-conditioning spectacle."
Rachel shook her head.
"That's just your personal opinion. You're imposing your will on the public."
"You're right," V said coldly.
"I am imposing my will. Do you know why I can?"
"I shattered Arasaka. I saved Night City. Numbing the masses with braindances is a form of rule—but I don't like it. My rule is built on strength, not sedation. Night City will move as I decide. Anyone who tries to change that—I will erase."
The weight of authority filled the room.
Rachel Casich was drenched in sweat.
"I—I understand."
"Now," V asked, "do you still oppose stopping the project?"
"N-no! I fully support your decision!"
But someone did object.
"I disagree!" Joshua shouted.
"This braindance must be made! It is God's mission for me!"
V sneered.
"Think carefully before you speak again."
"I have!" Joshua trembled but persisted.
"This project is important. A murderer repenting and willingly being crucified will awaken love in people's hearts!"
"Love?" V asked.
"Then tell me—what is love?"
Joshua answered devoutly,
"Love is mutual understanding. Treating others sincerely. Even evil men will repent if shown true love."
V nodded.
"Would you like to hear my definition?"
"Yes."
"Love is working hard. Love is kindness. Love is soldiers of the Hellhounds dying to the last man. Love is the NCPD protecting civilians. Love is gangs and mercs risking their lives. Love is citizens going hungry so supplies reach the front. Love is prison guards doing their duty so you can sit here safely and spout nonsense."
"Love is not rare. Those who possess it are not saints—they are ordinary people. And it is precisely these ordinary people who created this vibrant world."
"Joshua Stephenson, you think crucifixion will make you holy? You'll still be a murderer. The Holy Father was revered not because he was crucified—but because of the countless good deeds he performed before it. What did you do?"
"You robbed. You killed. You sought attention. You're not a savior—you're just a braindance actor who died on debut."
Joshua broke down.
"I truly regret my sins!"
"Then walk to the execution platform," V said coldly.
"Blood debts are paid in blood."
"You are defying God!" Joshua screamed.
"Then let God punish me!" V thundered.
"But God only watches. When Night City suffers, God watches. When I blaspheme, God watches. Since God only watches, then we mortals will build the future ourselves. Night City will not kneel and pray—it will trust its industry, its military, and its people. Even if the stars fall, humanity will forge its spine from steel and rise again!"
The words were not divine—
But they carried human defiance.
Spoken by anyone else, they might have been dismissed.
Spoken by V, they carried absolute credibility.
Joshua collapsed, sobbing.
V turned.
"Officer Vasquez."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Return the prisoner to his cell. And tell your chief—if this happens again, I'll personally nail him to a cross."
"Yes!"
Joshua was dragged away.
No one stopped it.
Because someone closer than a god stood before them.
"I'm looking forward to the braindance based on you," Rachel said quietly, full of awe.
"One day," V replied.
"But first—I need another film."
"What kind?"
"The inauguration of the President of the New United States."