V was scolded by Joanne Koch for a full half hour. Only after she solemnly promised never to repeat her mistakes was she finally allowed to leave.
She fled the examination room like she was escaping for her life, cursing under her breath that it was all Michiko Arasaka's fault. She had already decided that once she recovered, she'd make that little brat pay properly.
But when she returned to the ward, Michiko was already gone.
Damn that woman!
V ground her teeth in fury, vowing that once her body recovered, she would absolutely punish her.
Some time later, Sasha returned with news.
"The head of NetWatch just swallowed a gun and committed suicide."
That was precisely why Sasha had left the ward earlier.
Everything unfolded exactly as V had planned.
Night Corp's "Short Life" program shocked the entire world. V proved she had no connection with rogue AIs—and at the same time proved that Jefferson Peralez was the one colluding with them.
NetWatch had fired the wrong shot, targeted the wrong person—and naturally, had to pay the price.
Thus, the NetWatch director who had once loudly proclaimed the need to "restore NetWatch's former dignity" was voluntarily forced to resign.
Under normal circumstances, things wouldn't have escalated this far.
But V had already reached a consensus with the megacorporations. The moment Jefferson Peralez was taken down and irrefutable evidence secured, the corporations applied collective pressure.
While V was saving Night City from catastrophe, NetWatch was being harassed, obstructed, and sidelined by the megacorps for every imaginable reason—ground into the dirt.
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Internal conflict erupted within NetWatch itself.
The rising Moderate Faction and the old Hardliner Faction had long been at odds. The former NetWatch director was the Hardliners' figurehead.
Seeing the moment arrive, the Moderates showed no moderation at all. They struck decisively—trapping the Hardliner leadership inside cyberspace and demanding they open the core management ring and allow Moderate members into leadership positions.
The Hardliners immediately dropped their hardline stance.
They spoke gently, played the sentiment card—NetWatch is one family, let's talk this out, violence hurts relationships—spinning line after line of empty platitudes.
The Moderates believed not a single word.
When persuasion failed, the Hardliners finally turned cruel—but not toward their enemies.
They turned on their own.
To gain the Moderates' trust—and to save their own lives—the Hardliners sacrificed their own leader.
The former director "took responsibility and resigned," and in return, the Moderates released some of the Hardliner hostages. The rest would be freed after the Moderates formally assumed leadership.
Everything after that followed naturally.
J, the preselected candidate, became NetWatch's new director.
The former director, having "taken responsibility," chose to swallow a gun at home.
For the Hardliners, forcing him out had only been to appease the Moderates. But such a catastrophic defeat demanded a reckoning.
Under combined external pressure and internal bloodletting, NetWatch underwent a massive purge.
External forces accounted for maybe thirty percent of it—the remaining seventy percent was NetWatch tearing itself apart.
Human infighting never ends. It's everywhere.
V dismissed the thought. After all, she was the one who orchestrated this entire farce—she wasn't in any position to wax philosophical.
That afternoon, Director J came to visit, accompanied by Director K, carrying a fruit basket.
In 2077, fruit was anything but cheap. It was obvious how seriously they took this meeting.
In the ward, V sat in a wheelchair wearing a loose hospital gown. Her face was pale, her spirits low—but neither NetWatch official dared underestimate her.
Crushing Night Corp.
Uncovering the Short Life program.
Eliminating CN-07.
Forcing a complete overhaul of NetWatch.
And finally—tearing open the sky with her own body.
Any one of these would take an ordinary person a lifetime.
V accomplished them all in just a few days.
With achievements like that, who in the world would dare look down on her?
Yet V was surprisingly approachable.
She thanked them for visiting, congratulated J on her promotion, and promised that Arasaka 2077 would fully cooperate with NetWatch's operations and contribute to protecting all of humanity.
Director J was caught off guard. She'd expected V to be domineering, issuing commands—but seeing her so gentle instantly eased her tension.
"Please, have a seat," V smiled.
Director J sat down immediately—then noticed Director K was still standing and awkwardly stood back up.
Director K nearly lost his composure.
I told you to sit, and you actually sat—but if you sit, then stay seated.
This disciple still needs training…
"President V," he said earnestly, cutting straight to the point. "We came in good faith. We simply want to know—what exactly are your plans for NetWatch?"
"Very simple." V folded her fingers over her abdomen. "Maintain the Blackwall. Protect humanity."
"And after that?"
"There is no after that. That's all."
Director K was startled. "You don't intend to gain anything from NetWatch?"
"For example—technology from beyond the Blackwall?" V asked with a smile.
Since V had spoken plainly, Director K stopped dancing around the issue.
"Yes. Corporations always think this way. No offense—but Arasaka has been secretly probing beyond the Blackwall for years. You know that better than anyone."
"I won't deny it," V replied calmly. "But Arasaka is Arasaka. Arasaka 2077 is Arasaka 2077. I have no interest in technology beyond the Blackwall."
"Why?" Director K didn't believe her.
V shrugged. "Because the Blackwall already existed when I was born. Humanity lives just fine with current technology. I'm used to this world—and I believe humanity can recreate its former glory without dredging up old tech."
She paused, then added dryly, "Crossing the Blackwall is too dangerous. I've killed two rogue AIs recently. I'm tired. I don't want to kill a third or fourth."
"But if you don't retrieve lost tech, other corporations will—and they'll gain greater power. Can you accept that?"
"Why not?" V replied calmly.
"Everyone wants to be the boss—but there can only ever be one boss. If failing to become the boss meant death, humanity would've gone extinct long ago."
She spoke with quiet sincerity.
"Most of the time, we're just insignificant pawns. Livestock under tyrants. Decorative footnotes in heroes' legends. What we need to do is simply live our own lives well."
"Others want to be the boss—I won't stop them. Others want to hurt Night City—I won't stand by either. In the end, victory is decided by fists."
She smiled faintly.
"At the end of the day, I just promised a friend to build a better Night City. You should be able to tell—I'm not an ambitious person."
Director K: ...
Director J: ...
No ambition?
Ha.
Ha.
V was telling the truth.
First, she fought to survive.
Then, she fought to heal herself.
Now, with no Relic threatening her life and her atrophied nerves slowly recovering, her only remaining wish was to help Xu Zhong fulfill his dream.
Without that attachment, she'd already be partying every night, enjoying life. Whoever wanted to be Night City's exhausted leader could have the job.
But others didn't believe her—and there was nothing she could do about that.
"Fine," V sighed, rubbing her temples. "Assume I have some grand hidden conspiracy if that makes you feel better."
"Here's my requirement: maintain the Blackwall. Protect humanity."
The two NetWatch officials exchanged looks.
Now that sounds right.
This was V—how could she possibly have no contingency plans? Planning ten steps ahead was baseline behavior.
They nodded together. "Please rest assured—NetWatch has always done exactly that."
"But not with enough dedication," V said, shaking her head. "From what I know, NetWatch is chronically understaffed."
Director J nodded. "That's true. Skilled hackers with a sense of responsibility are extremely rare."
"Then you should be putting good steel to the blade," V snapped. "Use limited manpower to protect humanity—not to install broadband or reinstall operating systems!"
Director J blushed. "Strictly speaking, that's called cybersecurity services…"
V waved it off. "Same thing!"
Director K coughed awkwardly. "President V, Blackwall maintenance is extremely expensive. Tools, hardware, software—it all costs money. NetWatch has to maintain operations, so we… take on some side jobs."
"I'm not blaming you," V said calmly. "I understand your situation. What I'm saying is—"
She leaned forward.
"If NetWatch lacks funds, why don't you ask the corporations for money?"
Director J: "Eh?"
Director K: "What?"
"Why would corporations pay us?"
Two INT 14 super-hackers asked in unison.
"Because you're protecting all of humanity," V replied. "Are corporations made of humans?"
Of course they were.
This wasn't the Terminator era. Androids were banned on ethical grounds. Even Night Corp, under CN-07's control, still had to employ humans and use Mr. Blue Eyes as a puppet.
"Then there you go." V spread her hands. "You protect humans. You protect corporations. Isn't it reasonable for corporations to pay protection fees?"
Both NetWatch officials broke out in cold sweat.
Protection fees? From corporations? Who do we think we are?
Director K stammered, "President V, your idea is… excellent. But corporations have deep prejudice against NetWatch. They probably won't pay—"
"Why do corporations hate NetWatch?" V cut in.
Director J answered cautiously, "Because we stop them from crossing the Blackwall to retrieve lost technology?"
"Because you steal and sell corporate intelligence!"
V slammed her palm onto the wheelchair's armrest.
Both officials shrank back, scrambling to explain.
"We had no choice! Blackwall maintenance costs too much. Without funding, NetWatch employees earn very little. To support their families, some people resorted to desperate measures."
"You've analyzed it perfectly yourselves," V said sharply.
"It all comes down to money. No funding leads to corruption, ruined reputation, and neglected Blackwall maintenance."
"So long as corporations pay, everything gets solved."
"But the problem is—we can't make corporations pay," Director J said hopelessly.
She couldn't.
But V could.
"If I can secure stable annual funding from corporations," V asked calmly,
"Can NetWatch guarantee it will stop stealing data and focus fully on maintaining the Blackwall?"
"Of course! That's what NetWatch exists for!"
"Good. Leave the rest to me."
Director J asked curiously, "What are you going to do?"
V only smiled.
What else? Time to activate Face Card Fruit.
She made call after call—Meredith Stout, Joanne Koch, Xu Ling. Through them, she convinced Militech, Biotechnica, and Kang Tao, then leveraged their influence to pressure other megacorps.
Half an hour of silver-tongued negotiations later, a preliminary verbal agreement was reached among the corporate elites.
The agreement stated:
Megacorporations would pay NetWatch substantial annual cybersecurity service fees.
NetWatch would maintain the Blackwall and safeguard humanity's digital freedom and security.
Corporations could request additional services and fees when justified.
NetWatch would actively reduce cybercrime and strictly prohibit data theft and information trafficking.
Fees must be paid on time. NetWatch would keep transparent accounts to ensure full auditability.
When the digital copy was sent to J and K, both were stunned.
The corporations actually paid.
And not small sums.
Director J's gaze toward V completely changed.
Before, V was "President V" after receiving a hundred million eurodollars.
Now?
V had evolved into something closer to reborn parents—no, her real parents hadn't even treated her this well.
"President V, I—I don't know what to say. Is this real? Will this agreement actually take effect?"
"The law can't bind everyone," V replied. "But corporations can. This document bears their digital seals. There's nothing more official."
She added, "Details may change later—but only minor things like exact amounts. The framework won't."
"That's wonderful!" Director J beamed.
Service fees were trivial to V—but life-changing to her.
NetWatch wasn't exactly poor—but Blackwall maintenance burned money like fuel. Add corporate exploitation, and aside from top leadership, most netrunners lived hand-to-mouth.
Some quit to become mercs. Some joined corporate security. Some opened cyberware shops in Watson.
Others—less disciplined—sold data, or even followed the Voodoo Boys' example, hacking cyber-organs and extorting victims.
NetWatch turned a blind eye—not out of ignorance, but because they refused to raise wages.
Why?
Because they were a corporation.
The elites would rather let NetWatch's reputation rot than sacrifice profit.
Director J, from the bottom rung, understood how rotten it truly was.
Entrusting such an institution with humanity's safety? Even she didn't believe it.
Now, with this agreement, people might not become saints—but at least they wouldn't sell their conscience for pocket change.
That was V's goal.
It wasn't a perfect solution—but right now, it was the best possible one.
NetWatch shouldn't be a corporation at all. Any organization driven by profit inevitably decays.
Now, NetWatch had funding. Corporations gained security and transparency. Humanity gained a focused guardian of the Blackwall.
Three wins.
"President V is truly incredible," Director J said sincerely as they waited for the elevator.
Director K scoffed. "Don't you see? Making NetWatch handle the accounting means we'll take the blame when corporations skim money."
Director J smiled. "I see it. I just don't care. NetWatch finally has money—and our people won't suffer anymore."
"You really don't get it!" K snapped.
"With this move, NetWatch becomes a publicly funded charity. We're kicked out of the corporate circle forever. We'll never regain our former glory!"
"Was NetWatch ever supposed to be a corporation?" J asked quietly.
K opened his mouth—then fell silent.
"NetWatch was glorious because it protected humanity selflessly. We're just returning to the right path."
K was stunned.
He'd always thought his disciple naïve—yet she saw more clearly than anyone.
Perhaps that was why V chose her as NetWatch's new leader.
That had to be it.
As they reached that realization, Director J suddenly slapped her forehead and ran back toward V's ward.
"What are you doing?" K asked.
"I have one more question for President V!"
She poked her head through the door.
"President V, punching a hole through the sky was insanely cool. But—doesn't the Exostructure have a remote-control mode? Why risk yourself?"
V: "…Huh?"
"Oh! I get it!" J said brightly. "Altitude too high—signal couldn't reach, right?"
V: "…Right."
Satisfied, J wished her a speedy recovery and ran off.
After she left, V's face darkened.
Yeah… why didn't I use remote mode?
After careful consideration, V decided to dock Director J's pay.
Hmph. Talk too much.
The next day, Xu Ling and Song So Mi arrived together.
Songbird said, "V, the AI uprising at the Moon Cloudsea Base is resolved. Another CN-07 instance has been consumed by the Blackwall."
Xu Ling continued, "Kang Tao has good ties with New Africa. I had the old man investigate—it was indeed that group who sent CN-07 up there. The goal was to support Orbital Air's pioneering research in the Alpha Centauri system."