South of City Center lay Heywood, Valentino Gang territory, a district of varied styles. Near City Center in the north stood modern skyscrapers and parks; in the south sprawled a slum of low-rise buildings. The narrow, winding streets and dilapidated structures looked like cardboard boxes piled together, ready to collapse at any moment.
This was the first time she had looked down on Night City so seriously.
In the past, she had either lived in an ivory tower, worked herself to the bone at Arasaka Tower Academy, or followed Arasaka's military around the world on missions. Arasaka's private cars did not take commuter routes like this, and when she rode hover armored vehicles, she had neither such a view nor the leisure to appreciate it.
Since the hovercar was heading east toward Westbrook, Vera took in the night scenery of Heywood, part of the valley area, and Santo Domingo.
Her optical implant, comparable to a high-powered scope, helped Vera see it all more clearly:
At an open patch by the park, beneath dim streetlights, homeless people sat around fires made from paint cans, their faces lit by the flames.
In corners between buildings, ragged children chased one another and played beside abandoned vehicles.
Flickering garbage heaps were where addicts and drunks congregated, filling the air with foul smoke.
They reflected in Vera's eyes for only a fleeting moment.
Where had my curiosity gone?
When had my compassion become so thin?
Vera asked herself.
Suddenly, her eyes widened.
At some point, her curiosity about the true face of cyberpunk society had vanished.
As she repeatedly deceived herself while carrying out tasks assigned by her superiors—It is only an Arasaka assignment, It is the company's order, It is not like she wanted to kill them, Those people deserved to die anyway, There is nothing shameful about climbing up, Everyone is the same, They were guilty to begin with and had bounties on their heads... had her compassion truly become this thin?
In the past, she had been curious about the streets of Cyberpunk, but fear of death and the restraint of her biological parents had suppressed that curiosity.
When she first went on a security assignment as an intern observer in San Francisco, she had still felt pity for the ragged people on the streets. She had even reflected on herself in private when faced with the public's disgusted stares, becoming somewhat anxious and conflicted.
Vera unconsciously spread open her hands.
Her hands—the hands of a Corporate Dog.
Hands nourished and healed with eurodollars, smooth and fair like tender leaves in early summer, slender yet full. The creases were hidden beneath the skin, every knuckle seeming like meticulously carved jade. Her fingertips swayed lightly, radiating the luster of an artwork.
Yet at that moment, Vera felt that her hands were so filthy and ugly, soaked in blood.
"Blood on your hands cannot be washed away."
Vera murmured soundlessly.
Clasping her hands together, Vera closed her eyes. She listened to the soothing music gently playing through the car's intelligent system and felt the peaceful atmosphere, utterly unlike the streets of Night City.
After a long while, Vera opened her eyes.
She did not regret her actions, nor did she regret her change.
Living on the edge, uncertain whether she would see tomorrow, liable to end up dead in the street at any moment—that was not the life she wanted.
She was merely reminding herself not to fall too far. Choosing to go with the flow did not mean she had to become the most extreme kind. Could she be one of the relatively gentle Corporate Dogs, one of the more responsible and compassionate corporate people?
Vera gave a soft laugh.
"Three years."
From 2074 to 2077.
Her most pressing task was to climb to the top of Arasaka's Night City division within three years—or at the very least become one of those who held real military power—then quietly await the upheaval within the Arasaka Family.
Going against the tide and becoming a legend had never been her path.
After all, in Night City, legends had always congregated in graveyards.
Bzz...
The hovercar glided silently across the sky, its thrusters giving off a faint blue glow.
Vera's hovercar swiftly passed over Heywood, past those dark, noisy, deathly still places and the gazes cast up from below—contemptuous, fearful, hateful, envious—before arriving at Westbrook's corporate district.
No. 414, the rear courtyard landing pad of Russell Apartment.
The Russell family had previously been qualified to use hovercars. Now, they had merely regained that privilege.
Crimson guide lines projected downward, marking the hovercar's landing position. It docked steadily, the door opened automatically, and Vera stepped out before walking up and grasping the rear courtyard door handle.
Biometric information confirmed.
The door opened, and the motion-sensor lights came on.
As soon as she entered, she tossed her coat and work briefcase onto the sofa. Then she grabbed the tablet on the coffee table, connected it to the local network, flopped onto the sofa, and began browsing the mall.
Home Security Service Mall.
Miss Vera, who had quite the persecution complex, decided to renovate her home's rear courtyard landing pad and update its security equipment to give herself a greater sense of safety.
There was nothing she could do about the standard Holy Sword hovercar she had just started driving, but Miss Vera had already contacted Rayfield Company, the hovercar manufacturer. She planned to pay out of pocket to add some protection and firepower to it—installing things like in-car portable Combat Robots and armed drones!
Mm, she should upgrade the community housekeeping service subscription too.
She, Vera Adelheid Russell, had previously lacked only status, not money.
Miss Vera, who had inherited the assets of her dead executive parents and had no one but herself to support.
The Reseller... or Reseller Mom?
"Commitment, integrity, and righteousness are the core principles upon which Umbrella Corporation was founded."
"Just as our Red Umbrella, Blue Umbrella, and White Umbrella divisions have clear responsibilities yet remain interconnected and indispensable, they will jointly support our company in serving the public better."
"Now, our company formally announces to the public its resolution to establish the Black Umbrella Division. In accordance with the company's development strategy and this year's production, operations, and management needs, the Board of Directors has discussed and decided to establish the Black Umbrella Division."
"The director of the Black Umbrella Division will be the genius scientist Dr. Vera Adelheid Russell, who will be responsible for our company's research and development in materials, Intelligent Control Technology, and human bionics..."
San Francisco, West Coast. Umbrella Tower.
A beautiful figure leaned against a broad desk, raised a remote control, and turned off the television.
She patted the remote in her hand, lightly brushed aside her pale golden hair, and swayed her slender fingers with a cheerful air. "...A remote control suddenly feels like such an outdated thing."
That was probably a tiny influence brought by the shared consciousness of her cross-world way of thinking.
She wanted to glare and turn things on and off or change channels with her eyes, but nothing happened.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
"Director, your black tea." After pushing the door open and entering, Umbrella Corporation's professional hospitality attendant gave a slight bow and gently placed the delicate pastries, teapot, and bone china cup from the tray onto Vera's desk.
"Thank you." After the attendant withdrew, Vera lifted the cup and took a small sip. The rich fragrance of tea immediately spread through her mouth.
She put on a show of savoring it.
If one had to ask who she was putting on a show for—
Ring, ring—
There it was.
Vera pressed the button beside the integrated service telephone on her desk.
The curtains closed automatically, the LCD projector moved into place, and the projection screen descended.
Before long, crackle...
"Dr. Russell."
An aged yet steady and powerful voice sounded from speakers that, by Vera's standards, were extremely outdated.
On the projection screen, amid flickering static and mosaic distortion, the image of an elderly man in his seventies gradually became clear.
A white man, thin in build, with completely white hair, an authentic old London Union Jack-style receding hairline, and a gleaming bald crown.
Oswell E. Spencer.
One of Umbrella Corporation's three founders, the mastermind behind the future Resident Evil incidents, and now Umbrella's chairman and CEO. Vera's Direct Superior.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Spencer."
Holding her cup of black tea, Vera gave an elegant little bow as a greeting.
This was not Arasaka, with all those damned ranks and damned rules, where meeting a superior was like ancient officials meeting an imperial envoy. Besides, Vera really did not dare resign from Arasaka.
But Umbrella? Vera's behavior was perfectly normal in the United States at the end of the twentieth century.
She would say it right here: if Spencer dared use etiquette to pressure her, Vera would expose the workplace oppression and let every union condemn Umbrella.
Besides, could he not see that she was having afternoon tea? She was already flattering this Brit.
"Dr. Russell, the Board of Directors has high hopes for your human bionics project and cybernetic implant program. I hope you will not disappoint the Board of Directors." Spencer appeared very amiable.
"I will not." Vera naturally displayed an air of supreme confidence.
After receiving her assurance, Spencer nodded.
Geniuses having pride was perfectly normal.
Although it was astonishing that a genius with outstanding talent in semiconductors, engineering physics, bionics, Intelligent Control Technology, and even machinery had emerged within Umbrella, which under his leadership was clearly more focused on virology and biological research—
It was an unexpected delight.
Even though she was not a product of the eugenics-focused Wesker Project he championed, Spencer quickly accepted Vera.
Was Vera's genius not a concentrated manifestation of the eugenics theory he believed in? Just like Veronica Ashford, the ancestor of his old friend's family: beautiful, intelligent, rational.
As for the possibility that she was a corporate spy, Spencer had never suspected it. Who would be foolish enough to send someone with such remarkable talent undercover?
Would that not be aiding the enemy?
Thanks to Vera's research results, Umbrella's stock price had soared. Ever since discovering Vera, Umbrella's business scope had continued expanding.
The only regret was that Vera had no interest whatsoever in virology and even held it in contempt.
After probing her repeatedly, Spencer had already determined where Vera's interests lay.
"Flesh is Weak, Machinery Ascends..."
On the British Isles, in front of the modern electronic equipment installed within Spencer family castle, Oswell E. Spencer watched Vera calmly sip tea on the LCD screen and could not help recalling the words she often kept on her lips.
"This truly is another path. William Birkin has grown slack. Perhaps his abilities will ultimately fall short of his teacher's and Alexia's. The key bottleneck in the T- and G-Project has remained unbroken."
"I hope Dr. Russell's appearance will allow you to recover your former sense of urgency." Spencer picked up the cybernetic implant prospectus Vera had submitted to the Board of Directors. He had not looked closely at anything else, but one item alone caught his attention—extending lifespan.
"Eternal Life."
What an intoxicating phrase.
Vera had no interest in Spencer's fantasies. Seeing that the old bastard was lost in thought again, she pulled out the PPT she had newly prepared.
"Weapons?" Spencer was even more astonished. Looking at the documents that the Fat Printer had just printed, if his old eyes were not failing him, these were firearms.
"Why did you come up with the idea of researching and manufacturing firearms?" Spencer asked.
"There is a market. And the company's security forces... frankly, UBCS's equipment is far too poor." Vera casually said, "I could not stand looking at it, so I studied it in my spare time."
It was said in a very genius-like tone, one that happened to suit Spencer's tastes perfectly.
"Very good. Refine your designs and submit them to me immediately."
He did not ask further. With Alexia Ashford's precedent of graduating from a prestigious university at the age of ten as its Chief doctoral student, he had a very high tolerance for geniuses.
Vera nodded.
The call ended.
Before you continue