Sydney International Airport.
Whrrrrrrr—
A rush of turbulence. The hatch sealed shut. As the shuttle lifted with a gentle tremor, Vela gazed out the porthole window, watching Sydney's cityscape slowly shrink and blur into the clouds. Her face remained expressionless the entire time—this kind of suppression task held no interest for her.
"Commander Russell, the Intelligence Division has already identified the ringleaders behind the unrest. Are we really pulling out early?"
An Arasaka security team leader approached, armor marked with operational command sigils and a tactical terminal mounted on his chest, clearly unsure of the decision.
"You that desperate to scavenge?"
Vela chuckled lightly and waved him off. "This is a local family matter for the Sydney branch."
"We're guest troops, here as backup. Acting like we own the place just earns resentment."
Australia—a continent famously dubbed as "sitting on a minecart" and "riding on a sheep's back"—was rich in resources. In the Pacific Rim, like Southeast Asia, Arasaka regarded it as a crucial raw materials base. Essential to its Manufacturing Division.
Outside the porthole, the polluted rivers and murky estuaries spoke volumes.
The riverbanks and coastal waters were strewn with garbage and unknown chemicals. Beyond Sydney's metro zone, massive automated factories spewed smoke and sludge, sprawling out to the horizon. Smog blanketed the landscape.
Industry meant power. Heavy industry meant military power. It was the foundation of wealth and control.
Precisely because of its importance, Arasaka's upper brass didn't want labor disputes here to trigger broader unrest across Australia. Local garrisons were on standby but restrained, fearful of disrupting production or affecting stock prices.
Calling in out-of-region support was the safest bet.
So, when Vela happened to be wrapping up another assignment and heading home, they diverted her to Sydney. Her infamy would hold the line.
If riots broke out, she'd lead the heavy firepower to crush it.
Now that the storm had passed, and Intel confirmed no "friendly" foreign factions were pulling strings, the alert level was lowered. Sydney was stabilized.
Vela promptly applied to return to Night City.
Only she knew her true reasons.
On one hand, yes—respect for the host unit. This wasn't her turf. The more competent she looked, the more incompetent they would seem.
On the other hand, the cleanup job left behind was downright filthy.
And Vela, for all her flexibility, wasn't about to get her hands dirty with that.
Avoid it if you can.
Call it hypocrisy, posturing, whatever—but she still hoped her hands stayed a bit "cleaner" than most corp dogs.
She reclined her seat, said nothing further, and waved the subordinate away.
Stretching out, she closed her eyes. Her cognitive interface synced with the central processor. Virtual inbox: open.
—Application Form—
Sender: Vela Adelheid Russell [Night City]
Recipient: Arasaka Tokyo Global Headquarters
[Scholarship & Internal Arasaka Recommendation for Tokyo University Department of Law]
Reflected in the data panel was her own face. Orange-red glimmers of thought flickered in Vela's pupils.
Her promotion was capped.
As an outsider, she'd only made it this far at age twenty-one by stacking every possible buff: orphan of loyal executives, second-gen purebred corp loyalist, bureaucratic scion.
To rise any further, no matter how many standard merits she earned, she'd need to sit tight for a few more years to accrue seniority.
Without at least one or two more levels of clearance, she couldn't risk revealing her true Umbrella-tier viral science and biotech knowledge.
Vela could feel it—a growing pull from her alternate self, the "Black Umbrella Director" in another timeline.
Beyond abstract knowledge...
Lay something tangible.
Without sufficient clearance, she couldn't escalate those "discoveries"—nor gain audience with Saburo Arasaka to personally present the T-Virus, G-Virus, and their grand visions of immortality. Which meant she couldn't fully maximize their value.
Just waiting around wasn't an option!
Too passive.
But what kind of earthshaking merit would she need? Blow up Militech's tower in Night City? Expel Militech from the city?
That would practically ignite the Fifth Corporate War.
No. She needed a new path. A different race track.
Why not... go back to school?
In this world, schooling seemed pointless to mercs, nomads, Afterlife regulars, and bar-crawling cyberpunks. Might as well sell your body instead.
But in the eyes of the ruling class—the real Celestial Dragons—education still mattered.
Not community colleges. Not mid-tier corp-owned institutions. Real universities.
The kind where, after graduation, you find out your classmates, seniors, and juniors are CEOs, world leaders, and global elites.
Like the Berkeley-Asukaga University in New America. Many White House officials, congressional members, and even Night City mayoral candidates like the Peralezes were alumni.
Vela's target: Tokyo University.
A cradle for Arasaka upper management and Pacific Rim political elites. Even Yorinobu Arasaka graduated from there.
It'd been nearly two years since she graduated from Arasaka Academy in Night City.
She figured she had enough social capital by now.
She was driven, determined to advance, had interned and served in countless operations since graduation, stacked up major contributions, and lacked nothing in funding.
No way would she be a liability.
Arasaka... you'd better not be blind to value!
Beep!
[Sent]
...
Arasaka Tokyo Headquarters.
Department of Analysis.
The application appeared on the data interface.
"Vela. Rising star of Night City Security Division. Security Chief. Supervisor of Special Assault Unit. Rich in combat experience. Rumor has it she's close with Adam Smasher."
"No issues with her profile. Sole daughter of Old Fred Russell from North America. Attractive, clean record, young, gifted, and deeply ambitious. Wants to climb to the top of Arasaka Tower."
"She has a documented interest in biotech. Joined the Security Division to fulfill her parents' legacy? Maybe. But I think it's more about power. She's got serious ambition."
"Given my analysis, there's no way she's a covert commercial spy. The odds of her being subverted by hostile corps are near zero. Scholarship? She probably doesn't need one. As the top student of Class of 2070, chances of her racking up wasteful costs are slim."
"My recommendation: Approve."
"Agreed."
"Submit the list to Lord Saburo Arasaka for final approval."