In the end, V stopped Panam from throwing the first punch.
Garry had no real malice—his brain had simply been messed up by AIs.
"He's actually pretty honest," V said. "Just talks a lot of bullshit. City politicians don't even come close. You know what he told me? That the Arasaka family are vampires."
"Vampires?" Panam burst out laughing.
"I stopped believing in vampires when I was six. By the way, I stopped believing in Santa Claus at four and a half."
"That's… a bit early."
"Couldn't help it. Saul, that idiot, tripped while putting gifts in my tent. The noise woke up the entire camp. From that day on, every Aldecaldos kid's fantasy shattered at the same time."
V laughed. "That's tragic. Speaking of Saul—how's he doing?"
"Got himself a new artificial kidney, flashed the latest firmware too. According to him, he's so tough now he could solo a Haboob!"
"Haboob? What's that?"
"A Badlands sandstorm," Panam explained.
"The kind that blots out the sky. Even the most experienced nomads avoid it."
Then she added seriously,
"Thank you, President V."
V raised an eyebrow.
"What for? You paid for the kidney yourselves."
"Money alone doesn't get you the latest firmware," Panam said.
"We all know you pulled some strings at the hospital."
V didn't deny it.
"Alright. I'll take the thanks."
Panam was straightforward by nature—and she liked straightforward people. V's attitude was exactly her style. Add Saul's case to the mix, and Panam had already become one of V's most loyal supporters.
"President V, you're a great benefactor to the Aldecaldos. If you ever need anything—just say the word. We'll die for you."
"I won't be shy," V replied. "Thanks."
Nomads were like that—repay kindness with kindness, grudges with grudges. V's blunt acceptance made Panam feel respected rather than used.
"Eating people, then vanishing into the night like arrows—hah! I've gotta tell Saul that one."
Panam laughed as she walked off. Everything in her life was going smoothly now, and she couldn't be bothered to argue with a street prophet.
V watched her leave.
"Haboob? That's one hell of a name."
Garry let out a breath of relief.
"That was dangerous just now. They're less dangerous in daylight—but they can still cause massacres."
You really do think nomads are werewolves, huh?
V rolled her eyes.
"Now you understand what 'disaster comes from the mouth' means."
"Thank you for helping me, President V," Garry said, "but I don't think you need to be so sarcastic."
"No need to thank me. If Panam had knocked all your teeth out, who'd be left to tell me Mars landings are fake?"
Garry tried to hold it in—but failed.
"You don't believe me at all, do you? You think I don't know you're laughing at me inside? You think I don't know people call me a fake prophet?"
In her previous life, V had mocked Garry.
This time, knowing what she knew, she genuinely hadn't.
She tried to be as direct as possible.
"Your theories… aren't completely wrong. But vampires and werewolves are outdated metaphors. If you want people to believe you, maybe use real terms—like rogue AIs."
"I'm not making up stories!" Garry shouted.
"I'm warning people—behind the curtain of darkness lurk beings born of our nightmares!"
"No matter what theory you're pushing," V said calmly, "you still need real, concrete evidence—"
"I have it! I have it!" Garry screamed before she could finish.
"Tonight! An old factory in Kabuki! They're exchanging something important! Follow them—seize it! Once you obtain that artifact from the Alpha Centauri system, you'll understand everything!"
V's expression sharpened.
If her guess was right, that "artifact" was the real Alpha Centauri data.
What a roundabout way to do things.
She received the coordinates Garry sent and nodded.
"Alright. I'll go take a look."
Garry shouted after her,
"President V! You can't strike too early—and you can't strike too late! Either way is meaningless! Humanity's fate rests on your shoulders! Don't disappoint us—don't disappoint me!"
V waved back.
"No pressure. I get it."
Leaving the narrow alley, V noticed it was still early. She grabbed a box of fried noodles from a street stall, then packed three more portions and delivered them to Misty's Esoterica.
One for Misty.
One for Viktor.
And one for Jackie.
Yes—Jackie had slept at Misty's shop last night. The reason was obvious to anyone with a brain. Jackie claimed he performed exceptionally well under the watchful eyes of mystical statues. V could only marvel once again at how creative this couple was.
After breakfast, V and Viktor headed for the boxing club. Jackie—also a boxing fan—tagged along.
When they arrived, Xu Ling was already there, guiding Aaron Waynes through slow, strange movements.
V frowned.
"What are they doing—dancing?"
Jackie stroked his chin.
"That's some seriously sleep-inducing dance."
Viktor shook his head.
"That's not dance—it's martial arts. Authentic Chinese kung fu. I think it's called Tai Chi."
"Tai Chi?" V repeated the awkward word.
"What's it good for?"
"Supposedly builds endurance," Angie said, walking over with a tablet displaying Aaron's full data—health stats, cyberware models, serial numbers.
"But according to his monitoring software, there's no obvious improvement yet."
V whistled.
"I didn't know boxing had to be this complicated."
"Boxing itself isn't," Angie complained.
"But the Olympics are different. There's a strict cyberware whitelist. Athletes can only use approved implants, and everything has to be registered in advance. If the serial numbers don't match during inspection—instant disqualification."
V and Jackie clicked their tongues. Viktor, as a veteran, nodded in understanding.
"Fairness," he said.
"If everyone had gorilla arms, it wouldn't be a competition—it'd be a massacre."
As the "morning exercises" ended, Kurt Hansen arrived. Training officially began.
As usual, the Dogtown boss went first, then V—and today, Jackie joined in as well. Three completely different fighting styles rotated in sequence. Aaron Waynes was beaten to the brink of blissful agony.
And that wasn't even the worst part.
After skill training, Xu Ling stepped in with a cheerful smile—physical conditioning.
Training stamina works best when you're already exhausted. To break limits, you must first reach them. Simple logic—just hell on the athlete.
Every step Aaron ran looked like he was about to collapse—yet somehow, he finished the entire course.
Why?
For his dream.
Dreams themselves are products of free will—a kind of vanity created to satisfy the "self."
But without that "self," humanity would never create miracles.
V felt a surge of emotion and patted Xu Ling on the shoulder.
"Carrying hardware?"
"Yeah."
"Lend it to me. I'll return it tomorrow."
"Oh."
Xu Ling didn't ask questions. She lifted her jacket and handed over the weapon from her lower back.
"Holy shit—it's a Yinglong! And the prototype!" V exclaimed.
Xu Ling was just about to gloat when V added,
"Guess your aim must be terrible."
Why else use a smart weapon?
Xu Ling jumped in rage.
"My aim is not terrible! Using Yinglong is Kang Tao tradition!"
"Yeah, yeah," V waved it off, then called to Jackie.
"Jackie—lend me your gun too."
"Sure thing."
Jackie tossed over a golden Malorian Arms pistol—one of a kinetic twin set.
"See?" V grinned at Xu Ling.
"True sharpshooters use kinetic weapons."
Xu Ling ground her teeth and shouted,
"Aaron! Stop playing dead—ten more laps!"
Aaron Waynes: "…What?!"
Amid the future Olympic champion's wails, V made her stylish exit.
She summoned her Caliburn, set the route, activated autopilot—and made another call.
"Hey, Reed. How've you been?"
"Busy with the North American release of I Am the Blackwall," Solomon Reed replied. He'd swapped his agent trench coat for a producer's gaudy purple suit.
"What's up?"
"Dinner at Judy's place tonight. Let her know."
Reed sighed.
"Why don't you call Judy yourself?"
"I don't have her number."
"You're going to her place for dinner… and you need to notify her?"
"Isn't that polite?" V asked.
"Shouldn't I tell her?"
"No—the host should invite the guest, not the other way—never mind. I'll tell her."
"Thanks. What pizza do you like?"
"I don't like pizza."
"Choose one: cricket Italian sausage, vegan tuna with pineapple, or Korean moss with avocado."
"I said I don't like pizza."
"Alright—cricket Italian sausage."
Reed: "..."
What could he do? Endure it.
Orders from the boss were orders.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Wait—one more thing. Help me with—"
That night, at Judy's apartment, V, Reed, Judy, and Evelyn shared a massive pizza feast.
Judy and Evelyn had been arguing lately—they wanted a child, but both wanted the other to give birth. V wisely stayed out of it and focused on pizza. Reed, meanwhile, discovered pizza was surprisingly good—almost as good as his beloved tacos.
At 10:02 PM, V and Reed left.
Downstairs, Reed opened his trunk and took out a sleek black sniper rifle, brimming with futuristic design.
"Rasetsu Sniper Rifle," Reed introduced.
"A tech weapon—Tsunami Defense Systems. Unfortunately, the prototype blueprints were lost beyond the Blackwall. To honor that legacy, Rasetsu uses a retrofuturistic design. Its revolutionary system recaptures part of the recoil energy and feeds it into the next shot—meaning each attack hits harder than the last, until it pierces everything in front of the target."
V's eyes lit up. She reached for it—only to find Reed holding tight.
"This genius design also jacked the price through the roof," Reed continued.
"I sold everything to buy one. Thought it'd stay with me for life."
V understood instantly. Her eyes flashed blue—20,000 eurodollars transferred. Reed finally let go.
V smirked.
"I thought you were about to lecture me."
"Lecture you about what?"
"Not killing innocent people and all that."
"Am I that pedantic in your eyes?"
V thought for a moment.
"Yes."
Reed stormed off.
V muttered to herself: Why are you mad? Everyone knows you're pedantic.
She immediately called River Ward and reported Solomon Reed for illegal arms trafficking—using her real name.
River's sense of justice ignited instantly.
"Who's the buyer?"
"You're talking to her."
The NCPD captain hung up without another word.
River Ward couldn't tolerate sand in his eyes—but meteors were fine.
Going after President V? He wasn't stupid.
Pleased with his emotional intelligence, River looked up to see Alex leaning against the bedroom door.
"Anything serious? Need to respond?"
"No. Nothing important."
"Oh? Then come inside. You still owe me twice this week."
River's face turned green.
Alex smirked.
"What—can't do it?"
"Of course I can! I'm just… resting."
"Fine. Rest. On the bed. I'll help you… rest."
The battle between the current NCPD chief and the retired female agent raged fiercely—while V's night remained quiet.
The reason she'd chosen Judy's place for dinner was simple: Garry's old factory coordinates were right behind the apartment building.
Abandoned oil tanks loomed like dying mountain giants. The cluttered scrap yard resembled ruins of a fallen dynasty.
V slung Rasetsu across her back and muttered as she moved in.
"An opportunity for close contact with a third species. One small step for V—one giant leap for mankind."
She rolled behind a pile of rubble, hiding herself.
"Wonder who's coming," she mused.
"Necromancers? Lizard people? Werewolves? I hope it's unicorns. I believed until I was six that they'd fly in from Nibiru, wiping out humanity with rainbow love lasers."
"Too bad time makes fools of us all. Even if a unicorn showed up now, I'd assume it came through a wormhole from another dimension—not aliens."
She checked the time.
32 minutes until the scheduled exchange.
"Hope Garry didn't scam me," she muttered.
"Otherwise I'm definitely asking for a refund."
V closed her eyes, waiting.
At 11:11 PM, engine roars shattered the silence.
Two Herrera EC-D I360s rolled into the factory, skull decals blazing.
"Maelstrom?" V scoffed.
"These cockroaches really are hard to kill."
Six people stepped out—three clearly Maelstrom, two Scavengers, and one Animals member.
That mix was… strange.
Each gang alone made sense. Together—and not shooting each other? That was wrong.
Then V noticed their eyes—all glowing blue.
She had a theory.
Like Garry, they'd undergone the "Life Is Short" conditioning program. Normally autonomous—but once activated, they became puppets, following prewritten routines.
As she considered this, more engines sounded.
A Chevalier Emperor 720 arrived—definitely not a gang car.
Two people stepped out—a man and a woman in sharp suits. V scanned them.
The man: Russian, PetroChem.
The woman: American, Militech.
Great. After gang unity, now Russians and Americans were cooperating.
This scene was more horrifying than an alien invasion.
With all parties present, the next stage began.
The Militech woman spoke first.
"When the Wolf Father met the Virgin of the Moon, what did he say?"
A Maelstrom thug replied,
"I guard the realm between humanity and shadow. But today, those who guard them will be our children—the patricides."
The Militech woman nodded.
"In his despair, he lost himself in the forest."
The thug nodded back.
"Lilith concealed the Tenth Sacred Ring from the eyes of the ancestors."
Together, they said:
"By night, ghosts—curse the daylight!"
V: …?
What is this, a cult password?
As expected, once the phrases were exchanged, the gang members simultaneously pulled out personal data cables and plugged them into the sole Animals member.
After a brief convulsion, the Animals ganger ejected a chip from his neural port and handed it to the Militech woman.
There it is.
V didn't care what the Wolf Father or Lilith were plotting. She was here for one thing only—to grab the Alpha Centauri data and screw over New Africa.
Mission first.
She stepped out from behind the rubble and said calmly:
"Hand over the chip, and you can leave. Don't try to resist—you're already surrounded."
"By me. Alone."