Infinite Progress, Starting with Arasaka

South of the City Center lies Heywood, territory of the Valentino Gang, a district of stark contrasts. The northern part, near the City Center, boasts modern skyscrapers and parks, while the south is a slum of low-rise buildings, with narrow, winding streets and dilapidated structures stacked like cardboard boxes, threatening to collapse at any moment.

This was the first time she had truly looked down upon Night City like this.

Once, she had either lived in an ivory tower, grinded relentlessly at Arasaka Tower Academy, or traveled the world on missions with the Arasaka military. The Arasaka company cars never followed a commute route like this, and when riding in armored hovercars, she never had such a good view or the leisure to enjoy it.

Since the hovercar was heading east toward Westbrook, Vera now dynamically took in the nightscape of Heywood, parts of the Valley, and Santo Domingo.

Her cybernetic eye implant, rivaling a high-powered scope, helped her take it all in with crystal clarity:

On an empty lot at the edge of a park, under dim streetlights, the homeless sat around a fire made from a paint barrel, their faces illuminated by the flames.

In the gaps between buildings, a group of ragged children chased each other around an abandoned vehicle.

Flickering piles of trash were where addicts and drunks congregated, thick with smoke and filth.

They reflected in Vera's eyes for only a fleeting moment.

Where is my curiosity?

When did my compassion become so thin?

Vera asked herself this.

Suddenly, her eyes widened.

It turned out that, at some point, her curiosity about the true face of cyberpunk society had vanished.

Time and again, she had deceived herself while carrying out her superiors' assigned tasks—'Just another Arasaka job,' 'Company orders,' 'It's not like she killed them,' 'Those people were asking for it,' 'Climbing up isn't shameful,' 'Everyone does it,' 'They had bounties on their heads anyway'... Had her compassion really become this thin?

In the past, she had been curious about the sights of the cyberpunk streets, but fear of death and her biological parents' warnings had suppressed that curiosity.

During her first security mission as an intern observer in San Francisco, she had still felt pity for the ragged people on the streets, even secretly reflecting on herself when faced with the disgust in civilians' eyes, feeling a twinge of anxiety and loss.

Vera involuntarily spread her hands.

Her hands—the hands of a corporate dog.

Hands maintained and nourished with euros, smooth and fair as tender leaves in early summer, slender and full, with subtle hollows hidden beneath the skin. Every knuckle seemed like a meticulously carved jade sculpture, her fingertips gently swaying, radiating the luster of a work of art.

In this moment, Vera felt her hands were so filthy and ugly, soaked in bloodstains.

"The blood on your hands can never be washed off."

Vera murmured silently.

She closed her palms and shut her eyes, listening to the soothing music softly playing from the car's smart system, feeling the tranquil atmosphere that was the complete opposite of the streets of Night City.

After a long moment, Vera opened her eyes.

She did not regret her actions, nor did she regret her change.

A life of licking blood off a knife's edge, living in constant danger, and facing death at any moment—that was not what she wanted.

She was only reminding herself not to sink too low. Going with the flow didn't mean she had to become the most extreme version of herself. The milder kind of corporate dog? The kind of corporate person with a sense of responsibility and compassion?

Vera let out a soft laugh.

"Three years."

2074 to 2077.

Climbing to the top of Arasaka's Night City division in three years—or at least securing a position among those with real military power—and then quietly waiting for the upheaval within the Arasaka family—that was her most urgent priority.

Going against the current and becoming a legend had never been her path.

After all, in Night City, legends are always piled up in graves.

Hum...

The hovercar glided silently across the sky, its thrusters emitting a faint blue glow.

Vera's hovercar sped quickly over Heywood, over those dark, noisy, deadened gazes—gazes of contempt, fear, hatred, and envy cast up from the ground—until it arrived at the corporate community of Westbrook.

Apartment 414, the rear landing pad of the Russell Apartment.

The Russell family had previously qualified to use a hovercar; this was merely restoring that privilege.

A crimson shadow line projected down, marking the hovercar's landing spot. It touched down steadily, the door opened automatically, and Vera stepped out, grabbing the handle of the back door.

[Biometric information confirmed.]

The door opened, and the automatic sensor lights turned on.

As soon as she entered, she tossed her coat and briefcase onto the sofa, then grabbed the tablet from the coffee table, connected to the local network, and lay down on the sofa to browse the mall.

The Home Security Service Mall.

Miss Vera, who had a rather severe case of persecution paranoia, decided to renovate her backyard landing pad and update her security equipment for a greater sense of safety.

The standard 'Holy Sword' hovercar had just been taken out, so there was nothing to be done about that for now, but Miss Vera had already contacted the hovercar manufacturer, Rayfield Company, planning to pay out of pocket to add some armor and firepower to the vehicle—in-car portable combat robots, armed drones, all of that!

Mm, and the subscription for community housekeeping services should be upgraded too.

As for me, Vera Adelheid Russell—what I lacked before was just rank, not money.

A certain Miss Vera, who had inherited the assets of her high-ranking deceased parents and had no one to feed but herself.

011 Chapter - Reseller... Reselless?

"Commitment, integrity, and honesty—these three tenets are the foundational core beliefs upon which Umbrella Corporation was established."

"Just as our company's three main divisions—Red Umbrella, Blue Umbrella, and White Umbrella—have clear divisions of labor yet remain interconnected, none can be omitted. Together, they will support our company in better serving the public."

"Now, our company formally notifies the public of the resolution to establish the Black Umbrella Division: In accordance with the company's development strategy and the needs of this year's production, operation, and management, following discussion and research by the Board of Directors, it has been decided to establish the Black Umbrella Division."

"The Director of the Black Umbrella Division will be held by the genius scientist Dr. Vera Adelheid Russell, who will be responsible for our company's research and development in the fields of materials, intelligent control technology, and human bionic technology..."

West Coast, San Francisco, Umbrella Tower.

A graceful figure leaned against the spacious desk, raised the remote control, and turned off the television.

She tapped the remote in her hand, gently brushed aside her pale golden hair, and with a cheerful demeanor, swayed her slender fingers as she sighed, "...A remote control. Suddenly feels like such an old-fashioned thing."

This was a small side effect of cross-disciplinary thinking and shared consciousness.

She tried to glare at the TV to turn it on and off, to change channels—but nothing happened at all.

Knock knock.

"Come in."

"Director, your black tea." The door pushed open, and Umbrella Corporation's professional hospitality attendant gave a slight bow, gently placing the delicate snacks, teapot, and bone china teacup on Vera's desk.

"Thank you." After the attendant withdrew, Vera picked up the teacup and took a small sip. The rich aroma of tea immediately spread through her mouth.

She pretended to savor it.

Who was she putting on this act for?

Ring ring—

Here it comes.

Vera pressed the button next to the integrated service phone on her desk.

The curtains automatically drew shut, the LCD projector slid into place, and the projection screen descended.

Before long, crackle...

"Dr. Russell."

An aged yet steady and powerful voice rang out from speakers that Vera considered extremely outdated.

On the projection screen, amid flickering static and pixelated interference, the image of an elderly man gradually sharpened.

Caucasian, male, thin build, hair completely white—that authentic old London Union Jack-style hairline, a gleaming bald crown.

Oswell E. Spencer.

One of the three founders of Umbrella Corporation, the mastermind behind a series of future Resident Evil incidents, and now Umbrella's Chairman and CEO. Vera's Direct Superior.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Spencer."

Vera held her red teacup and gave a graceful slight bow by way of greeting.

It wasn't like she was at Arasaka, with all those petty ranks and rules where meeting a superior was like an ancient official meeting an imperial envoy—and Vera really didn't dare to quit.

But at Umbrella, Vera's behavior was perfectly normal for late 20th-century America.

She'd put it out there today: if Spencer dared to press her on etiquette issues, Vera would dare to expose office oppression and let the unions come after Umbrella.

Besides, wasn't she having afternoon tea right now? That was already her way of sucking up to this Brit.

"Dr. Russell, the Board of Directors has high hopes for you regarding the human bionic engineering and prosthetic project. We hope you won't disappoint them." Spencer put on a very genial expression.

"I won't." Vera naturally displayed an air of arrogant confidence, as if she alone could take on the world.

After receiving her assurance, Spencer nodded.

A genius—having pride was only natural.

Even though it was quite surprising that within Umbrella, which under his leadership was clearly more focused on virology and biological research, a genius with remarkable talents in semiconductors, engineering physics, bionics, intelligent control technology, and even mechanical fields had emerged.

It was an unexpected windfall.

Even though she was not a product of his favored eugenics 'Wesker Project,' Spencer had quickly accepted Vera.

Wasn't Vera's genius a concentrated embodiment of the eugenics theory he believed in? Just like his old friend's ancestor, Veronica Ashford—beautiful, intelligent, rational.

As for the possibility of her being a corporate spy, Spencer had never doubted it. Who would be foolish enough to send someone with such remarkable talents undercover?

Wasn't that just strengthening the enemy?

Thanks to Vera's research results, Umbrella's stock price had soared. Since discovering Vera, Umbrella's business scope had been continuously expanding.

The only regret was that Vera had no interest in virology whatsoever, even holding a dismissive attitude toward it.

On this point, Spencer, after many rounds of probing, had already confirmed where Vera's interests lay.

"Flesh is weak, Machinery ascends..."

On the British Isles, in the Spencer family castle, before the modernized electronic equipment, Oswell E. Spencer watched the LCD screen showing Vera calmly holding her teacup and taking a light sip. He couldn't help but recall the words she often said.

"This is indeed another path. William Birkin has grown complacent. His abilities may ultimately be inferior to his teacher's and Alexia's. The key bottlenecks of the T and G Projects remain unbreakable."

"I hope Dr. Russell's appearance will make you regain your former sense of urgency." Spencer picked up the prospectus on prosthetics that Vera had submitted to the Board. He didn't read the details carefully—only one item caught his eye: lifespan extension.

"Eternal Life."

What an intoxicating word.

Spencer's delusions were of no interest to Vera. Seeing that old bastard lost in thought again, she pulled out the PPT she had just finished.

"Weapons?" Spencer was even more astonished. He looked at the document just printed by the Fat Printer—if his eyes weren't failing him, those were firearms.

"Why did you come up with the idea of developing and manufacturing firearms?" Spencer asked.

"There's a market. And, the company's security forces... forgive my bluntness, the UBCS's equipment is too shoddy." Vera said casually. "Couldn't stand it, so I did some research in my spare time."

A tone of genius, and it happened to suit Spencer's taste perfectly.

"Very good. Refine your design and submit it to me as soon as possible."

He didn't ask further. With Alexia Ashford graduating as the top doctoral student from a prestigious university at just ten years old as precedent, his threshold for accepting genius was quite high.

Vera nodded.

The call ended.