Solomon Reed was widely regarded as the finest intelligence operative the New United States had ever produced—and the most lethal agent the Federal Intelligence Agency had ever fielded.
At his peak, it was said he could stand shoulder to shoulder with legends like Morgan Blackhand.
If you wanted someone like that to bite,
you had to prepare the bait perfectly.
V's plan was disarmingly simple.
Complex schemes bred flaws. Against Solomon Reed, inscrutability was inferior to brutal clarity.
She would film a New President's inauguration ceremony—
and make sure Reed watched it.
To that end, V recruited Rachel Casich, Fourth Wall Studios' top-tier braindance planner, as chief director;
Gillean Jordan, N54 News' most recognizable anchor, as host;
and the formidable WNS News camera crews to handle filming.
One principle guided the entire operation:
Let professionals do professional work.
"You really went all out," Meredith Stout said sourly.
"Reed is someone who can be compared to Morgan Blackhand," V replied calmly. "I don't underestimate people like that."
The blonde executive snorted.
"Oh yeah—another 'on par with Morgan Blackhand.' Ever since Blackhand disappeared, everyone's suddenly his equal. V, when you die, I'm telling people I was evenly matched with you. Plenty will believe it."
V laughed.
"Want me to write you a certificate? Or since WNS is already here, should we film a little 'evenly matched' documentary?"
"Hard pass," Stout muttered. She dropped a shard on the table. "Your fake documents."
"Fast work. I thought those senators would stall," V said, slotting the shard into her neural port.
Stout shrugged.
"Militech's CEO spoke personally. They didn't dare drag their feet. Besides, they've hated Rosalind Myers for a long time. The moment they heard we were screwing that old witch, they were happier than I was."
That wasn't surprising.
After all, Myers had been perfectly willing to sell out someone like Solomon Reed—someone who rivaled Morgan Blackhand. Working under her offered zero sense of security.
V genuinely couldn't understand Myers' thinking.
If someone like Reed were under her command, she wouldn't care if he merely held some blackmail material—
even if Reed blew up the White House, she'd still protect him to the end.
One hero needs three allies.
How could Myers not understand something that basic?
Or did she truly believe she could solo the entire world?
Whatever.
If Myers had brain damage, V would simply learn from it.
She reviewed the shard carefully.
Congressional electronic authorization codes.
Government digital seals.
Even a congratulatory letter from the Pope.
Everything was flawless.
Except for one thing.
It wasn't real.
"Well, I'm done here—" Stout tried to leave.
V grabbed her wrist mid-sentence, smiling warmly.
"Not yet, Stout. Your job now is starring in the film. Everyone's waiting."
Stout's expression cycled through several colors.
She wanted to refuse—deeply—but couldn't find a valid reason.
Finally, she grit her teeth.
"You're not allowed to laugh."
"Of course not," V said solemnly. "I swear."
Only then did Stout resign herself and head downstairs to the set.
Half an hour later—
"Hahahahaha—HAHAHAHA!"
V laughed so hard she nearly fell over.
She wasn't alone.
Joanne Koch, Xu Ling, Kurt Hansen, Johnny Silverhand (Arasaka construct), Sascha, David, Lucy—everyone was howling.
"Her movements are stiff as hell!"
"She messed up the same line eight times!"
"There—she forgot again!"
"She's walking with both hands and feet together!"
It had to be said: Meredith Stout had zero acting talent.
She knew it too—and had mentally prepared herself to embarrass herself.
But preparation only went so far when a crowd openly mocked you.
After thirty minutes, the blonde executive snapped.
She drew a Militech M-211 Saratoga kinetic SMG from her lower back and opened fire upstairs.
Glass shattered.
Everyone ducked.
Xu Ling couldn't resist running her mouth.
"Jesus, we laugh a little and you lose it? That's some thin skin!"
A grenade arced through the air, clattering to a stop at her feet.
"FUCK—!"
Xu Ling yanked Kurt Hansen in front of her.
The aging Dogtown boss reacted too slowly.
A question mark practically popped over his head—
BOOM.
The explosion sent both of them flying.
Stout charged upstairs in the chaos, mowing people down.
Aside from David, Joanne Koch, Johnny, Sascha, and Lucy, the rest were combat-tier zeroes, screaming as they fled.
As for V—
She'd already jumped out the window.
Normally, that drop would've been dangerous without cyberware—but she landed cleanly.
Probably thanks to Sascha's and Michiko's… training.
Gunfire echoed above.
Below? Peaceful.
The crew took the opportunity to tidy props and rest—
a terrible actor inflicted real damage on staff morale.
Rachel Casich approached V, serious.
"President V, this isn't working. There's a problem."
"I know. Be patient—Stout's acting will improve."
"No. That's not it. Or rather—her imperfect acting is actually ideal."
V immediately understood.
"Because she isn't an actress?"
"Exactly." Rachel smiled—she loved working with smart investors.
"To fool the agent you mentioned, she doesn't need to be brilliant. This slightly awkward performance feels authentic."
"I get it. Stout will love hearing that," V nodded.
"So what's the real problem?"
"The location," Rachel spread her arms dramatically.
"This cramped set can't support my vision. I need real exteriors—the National Mall, Pennsylvania Avenue, St. John's Church! Massive crowds! Supporters, protesters, security forces—everything!"
She took a breath.
"This tiny studio can't contain my thick, veiny creativity—front or back! I need space. Scale. People and objects fully in part—only then can we blur fiction into reality!"
V pinched the bridge of her nose.
The metaphor was awful.
And Rachel had said "in part."
But the meaning was clear.
"Fine," V said. "You'll get what you want."
Rachel beamed.
"When can I see the new studio?"
"Hold on. Let me make a call."
V contacted Militech's CEO, then Kang Tao. Ten minutes later, she returned.
"Done," V said. "Pack up. I've arranged a flight."
Rachel blinked.
"The studio isn't in Night City?"
"Nope."
"…Where, then?"
V smiled.
"Washington."
Rachel froze—then her mouth fell open.
"You don't mean—"
"Exactly what you're thinking. I borrowed their offices for a few days."
"So we're not making it look real—
it is real."
Rachel nearly split in half from excitement.
In the end, all she could say was:
"President V… you're fucking insane."
The crew flew to Washington.
V went for her routine checkup at Joanne Koch's lab.
"Stout's making such a spectacle at the White House—Myers isn't reacting?" Joanne asked while drawing blood.
"Arasaka fell. Japan's looking for a new protector. Kang Tao sent envoys—Myers followed," V replied.
"She wants Japan? Impossible. Other corps won't allow it."
"Of course not. She's stalling. Using 'state visits' to dodge impeachment."
Joanne nodded.
"So Kang Tao will take Japan?"
"Eventually. It'll take time. Xu Shiming just sped things up to give me face—and bait Myers."
"You still read people frighteningly well."
"Thanks. Gather enough data, compute outcomes—it's not that hard."
"You think like an AI."
V paused.
"…You know, you might be right. But efficiency's improved."
Joanne's expression was grave.
V frowned. "Something wrong?"
"No," Joanne smiled. "Everything's normal. Third-generation nano-neural repair fluid will be ready soon."
"Good. I'll wait."
After V left, Joanne recorded softly:
"Log—77th examination. Nanites have replaced red blood cells. They're replicating rapidly, integrating with neural tissue. New hybrid neurons—half machine, half flesh—are forming."
"Good news: V's neural atrophy is healing without medication.
Bad news: I don't know whether the healed V will still be… V."
"…If it comes to it—what should I do?"
One week later, filming wrapped.
Rachel returned with what she called a perfect film.
Everyone gathered to watch.
[LIVE FEED: U.S. Capitol West Front, red carpet unfurled.]
Gillean Jordan's voice, solemn and deep.
"Viewers, it is now 10:30 a.m. Eastern Time. Ninety minutes remain before Ms. Meredith Stout takes the oath of office…"
The broadcast continued—
the White House, the Capitol rotunda, the oath on the Book of Revelation,
21-gun salutes, fighter flyovers, executive orders—
Perfect.
Flawless.
"Wow," Xu Ling breathed. "Looks real."
"Because it is," Rachel said lightly. "Everything was real."
Except one thing.
V looked at Stout.
"How does it feel, Madam President?"
"Exhausting," Stout growled. "Worse than war. One time only. If I ever do this again, I'm a dog."
Everyone laughed.
"Alright," V said. "Send the footage to River."
"The chum's in the water."
"Now we wait for the fish to bite."