"Do you really believe the people who sold you those cyber-eyes can resist the temptation to spy?"
"Cameras surround us—outside and even inside our bodies. Your joy and sorrow, your worries, your daily life… to them, it's nothing but a show!"
Early the next morning, Prophet Garry was once again sparing no effort in spreading his doctrine.
V showed up as usual to "attend the lecture" and couldn't help asking,
"Even if what you say is true—so what? Want me to dig my optics out? Yeah, thanks, I'll pass."
Garry shook his head vigorously.
"We're already beyond saving—but the children of the future still have hope! Those lives not yet tainted by blasphemous surgery can still be saved! May mothers protect their children's bodies, may fathers teach them to hate cold cyberware!"
"You ask me—who are the ones watching us?"
"Of course, the necromancers of Alpha Centauri!"
"They live day after day in unbearable monotony. Our joys and sorrows are used to soothe and numb their hollow hearts!"
Originally, V had come here with data extraction in mind—but after listening for two days straight, she had to admit: it was kind of addictive.
Following yesterday's logic—necromancers = rogue AIs—what Garry was really saying was:
"Rogue AIs are observing humanity through cyberware and sensors."
Garry claimed it was to soothe their emptiness, but AIs weren't that sentimental. In V's view, rogue AIs were more likely recording and analyzing human behavior to build large-scale behavioral models.
As for what those models were for—maybe enriching databases, maybe destroying humanity, or maybe both at the same time.
V was just about to dig deeper with Garry when two young, attractive female tourists walked by.
"Look! A real conspiracy nut, just like on the shows."
"Quick, stand next to him! I'll take a pic—call it 'Arresting a criminal who leaked state secrets'!"
One girl took photos while the other posed beside Garry, forming finger guns like a secret agent.
Instead of getting angry, Garry cooperated enthusiastically, making the girls laugh. Before leaving, they even tossed him five eurodollars.
Only after the tourists left did V step out of the shadows.
She teased him,
"Pretty smooth. Guess this isn't your first time."
Garry didn't deny it.
"People think I'm crazy—but I'm not. I know what's right. And I still have to eat. Everyone's life has gotten better thanks to tourists—I can't fall behind."
"Then why not find a legitimate job?" V asked. "You said it yourself—tourism's lifting everyone. You could benefit too."
Garry froze—completely blank, eyes unfocused.
A few seconds later, he snapped back as if nothing had happened, extending his hand.
"President V, you're here again. Your eyes tell me you're ready to hear the truth. Would you be willing to donate a small sum to help me continue my mission?"
Well, damn.
He'd just been forcibly pulled back onto the rails.
It seemed Garry himself wanted a new life—but CN-07's modifications forced him to stand here. Once he showed signs of wavering, a preset program rebooted him in place, resetting him to his original loop.
Delamain had already told V: when Garry asked for donations, it meant the end of a phase. Making the "correct choice" here would unlock the next stage.
And the correct choice?
Obviously—pay up.
V transferred another 1,000 eurodollars.
"You're helping the public. Use this money to awaken Night City."
Event complete.
V turned and headed for Viktor's Ripperdoc Clinic.
When she arrived, Old Vic was sitting at his workbench, yawning.
"What's wrong, Vic? Stayed up too late watching boxing last night?"
"Not that," Viktor rubbed his eyes. "Someone banged on my door early yesterday morning. V—you got any idea who that was?"
V broke into a cold sweat under his plain gaze.
"I—I don't know anything… okay, fine, it was me. Sorry, Vic."
"No problem," Viktor chuckled. "Just don't do it again. I'm glad to see you still have a bit of childishness left."
V pouted.
"Hey—what do you think I am, exactly?"
"A kid who hasn't grown up yet."
V bristled.
"I stopped being a kid a long time ago."
"Right, right," Viktor smiled. "You're the legendary V. President V."
"I'm serious!"
Viktor didn't argue—just smiled.
V felt oddly deflated… and more relaxed than she'd been in ages.
Why?
Because the whole world only cared how high V flew.
Only Viktor cared whether she was tired from flying.
Only here did V remember she was just twenty-four.
A knock sounded at the door. Angie and Aaron Waynes arrived together.
Originally, V had planned to bring Viktor straight to the boxing club—but the two insisted on coming in person, saying it showed sincerity.
V was happy to see others respect Old Vic. She introduced them, and conversation flowed easily.
Aaron Waynes was enthusiastic to the point of reverence—pure fanboy energy.
Thanks to their chat, V finally learned that Viktor had been Night City's boxing champion more than a decade ago—a real professional fighter who'd won an actual championship belt.
"Holy shit, Vic—you've been hiding this deep?" V exclaimed.
"I knew you could box, but I didn't know you were a champion."
"I wasn't hiding anything," Viktor said calmly. "The trophies and certificates are hanging right there."
"I thought they were fake props for flexing."
Viktor: "..."
Sensing danger from the most dangerous ripperdoc in Night City, V quickly changed the subject and hustled everyone into the car. They sped to the boxing club, where V immediately sparred with Aaron.
The result was unsurprising.
In the second round, Aaron Waynes was knocked out by a single punch.
V went to drink water and wipe sweat while Viktor stepped in, pointing out Aaron's flaws and suggesting improvements.
After a 20-minute break, V and Aaron went again. With Viktor's guidance, Aaron improved noticeably—managing to…
…last until the third round before getting knocked out by one punch.
Clang!
Aaron lay spread-eagle on the canvas.
Even with mental preparation, repeated defeats hit hard.
"Don't get discouraged," Viktor said, tossing him a towel.
"V's strength lies in her vast combat experience. Many of her techniques go beyond boxing. Lasting three rounds against her is already impressive. Focus on your own strengths."
Aaron pulled the towel from his face.
"And my strengths are…?"
"Durability—uh, I mean stamina. You're young and strong, but you fought underground matches before, not real competitions. What you need is defense first, counterattack second. When your opponent's power fades, finish it in one push."
Aaron had an epiphany. He sprang up with a kip-up and challenged V again.
V declined. Her body hadn't fully recovered—long fights weren't suitable yet. But Aaron still needed a sparring partner.
After a moment's thought, V made a call.
"Got a punching bag. Get over here—now."
Aaron Waynes: "…Punching bag? Where?"
Moments later, Kurt Hansen arrived in full combat gear.
Angie formally hired Viktor as Aaron's technical coach. Contracts were signed—and the poor boxing kid was promptly knocked flat by the Dogtown boss.
"Hahaha! Kid's got a solid punch. Why be a boxer? Join the Hounds—I'll start you as a squad leader!"
The moment Kurt finished speaking, he felt a chill down his spine. Turning around, he met V's glare.
Cold sweat poured down his back.
"I—I just appreciate talent."
"Appreciate it somewhere else. Night City's waiting for him to win Olympic gold!"
"Olympic gold?!" Kurt stared at Aaron in shock.
"Didn't expect you to have big dreams, kid. Fine—I'm all in. You win gold, and I'll let you party in Emerald City for a month—girls of your choice, orgies included!"
Aaron's eyes lit up.
"Really?!"
"Damn right! Everyone knows Colonel Hansen keeps his word!" Kurt said, then turned deadly serious.
"But before that—keep your damn pants zipped. If you turn into a limp noodle in the ring because of bed shit, I'll send you to Jig-Jig Street and have Fingers chop that thing off before sewing you a new hole!"
Aaron shuddered violently. He wanted orgies—but as the active party, not the passive one. He immediately swore to remain celibate before competitions, preserving his vital essence.
Satisfied, Kurt proceeded to beat him up again.
Even past his prime, the Dogtown boss wasn't someone a street boxer could touch. Half his moves would've been fouls in the ring—the other half serious fouls. Groin grabs, eye gouges—zero sportsmanship.
While Viktor reviewed footage with Aaron, Kurt chatted with V.
"Good kid," Kurt said, wiping sweat.
"Green as hell—like a rookie on their first day at Clouds—but solid foundation, quick mind, and most importantly, he's got that killer edge. Even if he doesn't take gold this time, he will next time. Don't ditch him after one loss."
V had no intention of ditching him. She wanted a better Night City—not just materially, but spiritually.
The short, intense day ended quickly. Aaron got beaten all day—and yet he was the happiest person there.
Why?
Because he could feel himself improving. As long as there was progress, he could endure any hardship.
Pursuing higher ground with single-minded focus—that was a true athlete.
Angie was right.
Aaron Waynes was born for this.
On the third morning, V went to Prophet Garry as usual.
"The so-called cyberspace's true name is… the Den of Demons!!!"
That was the first thing she heard.
Garry continued:
"Without a body, how can life exist? The beings on the Net—aren't they our souls beyond the cosmos?"
"I've heard their voices! May the living never cross that barrier, or their souls will become one with those ghosts!"
V shrugged.
"I've actually seen a few dead people in cyberspace. Former scientists, former CEOs, former rock boys, that sort of thing."
Garry seized on that instantly, shouting at passersby,
"Listen to the witness! Hear her testify for the souls in hellfire!"
"Uh…" V said awkwardly. "Didn't really see any fire."
Garry ignored her.
"You ask—who opened the blasphemous gate of the abyss?"
"The necromancers of Alpha Centauri!"
"Mm-hmm," V nodded. Zero surprise.
"President V, you come here often. Your eyes tell me you've opened your heart to the truth. Would you donate a small sum to help me continue my mission?"
Same script. As expected.
"Of course."
V sent another 1,000 eurodollars—the third time.
"You're helping the public. Use this money to awaken Night City."
Today's lesson ended there.
Tomorrow would be the final one.
V drove to the boxing club.
Viktor was already there. Kurt arrived shortly after.
After some polite back-and-forth, V beat Aaron up first—then Kurt beat him up.
Afterward, the boxing kid had to thank them both.
Kurt sighed contentedly.
"I've never felt so at peace. Even if my wife slept with another man right in front of me, I wouldn't feel a thing."
"That wouldn't be your wife anymore."
Kurt tossed aside his towel, climbed back into the ring, beat Aaron up again, then calmly sat down.
"Dinner tonight with my son. My ex—my former wife—and her husband will be there too."
V was alarmed.
"Holy shit—don't kill anyone."
"Relax. I'll beat Aaron senseless before I go."
V: "...Then we're good."
Sorry, Aaron.
To prevent bloodshed, you'll just have to bleed.
V thought that thanking him mentally wasn't enough—so she climbed back into the ring and beat him up once more.
In the afternoon, Xu Ling arrived. She'd been frustrated lately, and Kurt said this place was great for stress relief—so she dumped all her work on her secretary and came running.
She was trash in direct combat, no match for Aaron—but every Chinese person is a martial arts master by default. Xu Ling couldn't fight, but she could run. She sprinted around the ring nonstop like she'd eaten an expired synth-meat burger. Aaron was so exhausted his tongue was hanging out, yet he still couldn't catch her.
"This isn't boxing—this is chaos," V said. "Should I make her get down?"
Viktor shook his head.
"No. Consider it cardio training."
Xu Ling pulled faces while taunting Aaron:
"Short legs! Can't run! Big dumb guy, haha! Give up, Blackie—you'll never catch me! Go home and drink milk with mommy! Bleh!"
Viktor added calmly,
"Also trains mental resilience."
Speechless, V recorded the scene—planning to send it to Xu Shiming so he could see how trash his granddaughter's trash talk really was.
After running over 200 laps, Xu Ling was drenched in sweat and in a much better mood. She hummed as she went to shower.
Aaron Waynes' legs were shaking, face pale—like he'd just been… serviced by seven or eight Clouds legends in rotation.
Cardio was the true nightmare of athletes. Xu Ling instantly became the most terrifying person in his mind—surpassing even V and the Dogtown boss.
Just then, Johnny arrived. Full of swagger, he put on gloves, ready to "teach the youngsters a lesson."
Less than ten seconds into the bout, freshly cardio-trained Aaron punched Johnny straight off the ring. Johnny rolled his eyes and passed out.
Panic erupted. Viktor rushed to administer first aid. Those in the know recognized Johnny—those who didn't thought it was Saburo Arasaka.
V didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
You're a bard, not a tank—why solo duel? Pure charisma build, no defense. That's feeding.
The chaotic day finally ended.
The fourth day arrived.
V showed up on time before Prophet Garry.
"Those leaders and executives who want power, domination, control over you—they are not human!"
"You ask—what are they, then?"
"They are… LIZARD PEOPLE!!!"