South of Night City's City Center lay Heywood, the territory of the Valentinos gang, a culturally diverse district. The northern area, close to the City Center, was home to sleek skyscrapers and green parks, while the southern parts were filled with crumbling low-rise buildings, narrow streets, and a labyrinth of alleyways. These structures, stacked precariously like cardboard boxes, seemed ready to collapse at any moment.
For the first time, Vera earnestly observed Night City from a new perspective.
In the past, she either resided in the Arasaka ivory tower, grinding away at Arasaka Academy, or ran covert operations around the world for the Arasaka Corporation. The chauffeured vehicles of Arasaka that she traveled in never took her through routes like this, and she had never experienced such a viewpoint or this much leisure, not even in her assigned armored hovercrafts.
Now, as the hovercar moved east toward Westbrook, Vera took in the sprawling landscape of Heywood, part of Arroyo, and the dilapidated outskirts of Santo Domingo.
Her cybernetic eye implant, functioning like a high-powered lens, allowed her to see it all with sharp clarity:
In the park's open space, under dim streetlights, homeless people huddled around a bonfire made from discarded paint cans, their faces illuminated by the weak glow.
Children in ragged clothing dashed between abandoned cars, playing in the alleys of deteriorating buildings.
Flickering heaps of garbage were a haven for junkies and drunks, places choked with the haze of cheap drugs and foul odors.
These images slipped through Vera's mind in rapid succession, fleeting but vivid.
Where was her curiosity? When had her compassion grown so thin?
She asked herself in silence.
Her eyes suddenly widened in realization: she had become indifferent to the grim realities of cyberpunk society without even noticing. In her pursuit of power, her ambitions had dulled her emotions. The missions given by Arasaka, the orders from above, the lies she told herself – "It's just Arasaka's job," "I'm following orders," "I'm not pulling the trigger," "They deserved it," "You must rise, don't be soft," "Everyone's doing the same," "They had bounties on their heads anyway."
Had her empathy truly eroded so much?
She remembered her first mission in San Francisco, how she'd felt pity for the desperate people on the streets. She had secretly reflected on herself back then, uneasy in the face of the public's disgusted glares.
Vera spread out her hands.
Her hands—those of a corporate enforcer.
Soft, smooth, and well-maintained with eurodollars, they appeared almost too delicate for the world she lived in. Pale and unblemished like tender leaves in early summer, her hands resembled finely carved sculptures. Each knuckle was precise, her fingers graceful, and her skin radiated a faint glow, like a piece of living art.
At that moment, Vera's hands felt dirty, soaked in invisible blood.
"The blood on your hands can never be washed away."
She muttered the words to herself, the weight of her actions pressing on her like a shroud.
She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, letting the soothing music from the car's AI system fill the space. The calmness of the ride stood in stark contrast to the streets below.
After a long moment, Vera opened her eyes again.
She didn't regret her actions. She didn't regret who she had become.
She had no desire to live a life on the fringes, constantly skirting death, taking desperate chances for petty survival. But at the same time, she reminded herself not to lose all her humanity. She could rise through the corporate ranks without becoming the worst of the worst. Was it possible to be the gentler type of corporate operator? One with some degree of responsibility and compassion, even if only relative?
She chuckled softly at the thought.
"Three years," she whispered.
From 2074 to 2077, she would climb to the top of Arasaka's Night City division. If not the very top, then among the few who wielded real military power. All while preparing for the inevitable shakeup in the Arasaka family. That was her immediate goal.
Defying the flow of history to become a legend had never been her path.
After all, in Night City, legends ended up buried in the graveyard.
...
The hovercar hummed as it glided silently over the city, its thrusters glowing with faint blue light.
Vera's car flew swiftly past Heywood, leaving behind its darkness, its noise, and the watchful eyes of hatred, fear, and envy. Soon, it reached the corporate-dominated sector of Westbrook, a place of affluence and privilege.
Landing pad 414, in the backyard of the Russell family estate.
The hovercar descended, guided by a crimson laser that marked the precise spot for landing. The car docked smoothly, and the door slid open. Vera stepped out and approached the backyard door.
"Biometric information confirmed."
The door opened, and sensor lights activated in response to her presence.
Upon entering the house, Vera immediately tossed her coat and briefcase onto the sofa. She grabbed a tablet from the coffee table, connected it to the local network, and sprawled across the couch, browsing the latest security systems.
Home security service mall.
Despite her growing paranoia, Vera found comfort in the knowledge that she could upgrade her backyard landing pad and invest in more advanced security systems.
Her 'Excalibur' hovercar, while standard-issue, couldn't be modified immediately. However, Vera had already reached out to the manufacturer, Rayfield, arranging for custom upgrades. Personal funds would add enhanced protection, firepower, and a fleet of drone-mounted armed robots.
The subscription to the community housekeeping service needed an upgrade as well.
After all, Vera Adelheid Russell didn't lack for money anymore.
As the heir to her deceased executive parents, she was now well-off, with nothing to worry about except her corporate status.
— — — — — —
PS: There's one more chapter.
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Chapter 011: The Speculator (Or Speculatrix?)
"Commitment, integrity, and honesty are the core tenets upon which the Umbrella Corporation was founded."
"Our company is organized into three main divisions: Red Umbrella, Blue Umbrella, and White Umbrella. Each department has its distinct responsibilities, yet they are interconnected, supporting the overall success of the company in serving the public."
"Today, we announce the creation of a fourth division: the Black Umbrella Department. According to our strategic goals and operational needs, the board has approved the establishment of this new department, headed by the brilliant scientist Dr. Vera Adelheid Russell. Dr. Russell will oversee research and development in materials science, intelligent control systems, and human bionics."
Ding.
On the West Coast, in the heart of San Francisco, the Umbrella Corporation's headquarters loomed over the city. In a high-rise office, a graceful figure lounged against a large desk, holding a remote control in hand.
With a flick of her wrist, the TV clicked off.
Vera tilted her head back, her light blonde hair shimmering as it caught the afternoon light. She looked at the remote control in her hand and sighed with amusement. "The remote... it feels so antiquated."
She was used to the commonality of cross-border thinking, where a mere glance could manipulate technology. But when her stare failed to operate the TV, she chuckled at the quaintness of using an actual device.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
A receptionist from Umbrella entered, bowing slightly as she placed a tray with refreshments on the desk. "Your black tea, Director."
"Thank you."
After the receptionist excused herself, Vera picked up the delicate china cup and took a small sip of the tea. Its rich, mellow flavor filled her senses, though she found herself merely going through the motions.
Ding-a-ling—
Here it comes.
Vera pressed a button on her integrated desk system.
Swish.
The room darkened as curtains closed automatically, and an LCD projector activated. A large screen descended from the ceiling.
A moment later, the static-filled image of an elderly man flickered to life on the screen.
"Dr. Russell," came the voice of Oswell E. Spencer, one of the founders and current CEO of Umbrella Corporation.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Spencer."