Thud.
Vela moved the plastic crate containing the leech containers inside. After taking off her coat and setting down her law department coursework bag, she walked over, unlatched the metal clasps, and lifted the plastic lid. Inside was a metallic case bearing the circular Arasaka trifoil logo.
"Sealed tight."
Just a dozen or so leeches with standard biological traits—nothing anyone in a normal world would consider precious.
She tapped the touchscreen. The biometric reader on the panel cross-checked her DI data and the recipient info on the internal chip. Beep.
Match confirmed. Hiss. The metal case opened, releasing a puff of cool air.
Inside, a simulated sandstone environment lined the interior, housing deep brown leeches—thick in the middle, narrow at both ends.
They were fairly large, each about ten centimeters. Vela counted—around fifteen in total. She wondered what kind of T-virus variant might develop when these leeches, survivors of the Cybercorp War's environmental contamination, were combined with the Progenitor Virus.
Pricey, for sure.
Though these leeches were resilient—able to survive in freshwater, seawater, and amphibious conditions—they weren't as picky as birds or mammals about overlapping with human environments. They were easy to maintain and faced minimal extinction risk.
Still, the pollution in the Cyberpunk world was brutal.
Places like the South China Sea and the Southeast Asian island chains had become biological dead zones during the Second Corporate War. The pollution was so severe, even tardigrades probably couldn't survive.
Naturally surviving flora and fauna had become incredibly rare. If not for the gene banks, seed vaults, and cryo-zoological projects built during the Cold War, most species would be gone. Nowadays, breeding and cultivating animals had become a mainstream industry.
Many companies profited off this—even going public.
Viewing real animals had become a luxury for the wealthy.
Leeches were among the cheapest legal animals available on the market.
Yet even a single one cost more than the average person could afford.
Ask a native of Night City—most had probably never even seen real green plants or animals.
If it weren't for needing a record that upper management could review and logically approve, Vela would've been insane to purchase Cyberpunk-world leeches for experiments. Just smuggling them from Umbrella would've been way more efficient.
This time, she placed her order through Arasaka's Procurement Division, officially labeling it as lab consumables.
Definitely not a pet project born of some twisted aesthetic.
Then again, with a parallel self constantly feeding her visions of greenery and animals, Vela never developed the same rich-person fetish for owning bizarre creatures as status symbols.
Click.
"Let's extract some leech DNA."
She shut the lid. Watching the internal display show a live feed of the leeches, Vela hoisted the box and carried it into the compact lab set up inside her temporary residence.
Compact—but complete.
She'd requested it personally. Given her rank, Arasaka Tokyo Tower naturally complied.
It wasn't an unreasonable ask—her long-standing interest in biology was well-known to anyone who asked.
Grabbing a leech from the metal case and placing it into a sealed glass container, Vela slotted it into the lab's airtight processing chamber. The instruments began humming—gene reader and extractor engaged.
Leaning against the console, her eyes glowed orange-red. Her optical implants synced with the instrument panel. Data streams and parameter indexes flowed across the virtual grid in her vision.
All-in-one, idiot-proof operation—efficient!
In fact, the Cyberpunk world's biotech and gene programming technologies were anything but weak.
Gene scripting to prevent implant rejection; synthetic biology for new drugs and food; nanotech therapy for disease; anti-aging treatments that extended life…
They even had the ability to create entirely new lifeforms with bionic and cybernetic biological modification tech. Back in 2014, sixty years ago, a team from Japan's Seimei Kōgei Consortium successfully created a fourth-stage human clone with developed neural activity.
What they lacked were things like the Progenitor Virus and T-Virus—pathogens that allowed infected cells to multiply spontaneously, defying the law of conservation of mass, as if pulling mass from subspace to modify and regenerate tissue.
Vela's collaborations with Danger Gal's recovery and rehabilitation business often used Umbrella's research on the byproducts of such super-viruses to enhance treatment results.
And all of this had emerged despite the Cyberpunk world suffering a massive technological regression.
In terms of standard technological advancement, Umbrella was far behind the Cyberpunk world. They had simply been lucky enough to discover the Progenitor Virus and its wildly powerful derivatives—like stumbling upon a literal cornucopia.
By finding a different path, taking a shortcut, they had managed to rival—and sometimes surpass—the Cyberpunk world in specific fields.
Beep beep.
After a series of complex procedures and reactions, the purified leech DNA was injected into a specialized container. Hiss! Vela pulled it out and observed the semi-translucent white liquid for a moment before placing it into a refrigeration unit.
According to memories of Umbrella's T-Virus cultivation process by Dr. James Marcus and Dr. William Birkin, the virus was first stabilized by injecting the Progenitor Virus into leeches—organisms known for their adaptability and environmental resilience—before T-Virus extraction.
But considering the Cyberpunk world's tech reserves—
Maybe I should try combining leech DNA directly with the Progenitor Virus first?
Hmm, this home lab just doesn't cut it. Once I get to Africa, I'll use the lab there. I'm technically still listed as a biotech researcher for Arasaka, after all.
Let's extract a few more purified leech DNA samples.
After tomorrow's law class wraps up, she'd also visit the University of Tokyo's medical department to borrow a lab and compare these leech DNA samples with Umbrella's specially cultivated ones...
...
"Lord Yorinobu..."
"Watashi o wazurawasu na to iwanakatta ka? (Did I not say—do not bother me?)"
Tokyo, Chiyoda Ward. In a luxurious estate near the Imperial Palace—one that rivaled the Palace itself in size and grandeur, bordering on presumptuous.
Knock knock.
An Arasaka retainer clad in the family's insignia knelt before a traditional sliding paper door, sitting properly on a muted golden tatami mat, head bowed.
Upon hearing the irritated voice of a middle-aged man from inside, he bowed lower.
"Lord Yorinobu... we've confirmed that the person Lady Hanako met after leaving the family estate last time was a high-ranking security executive from Night City. Our people intercepted a surveillance report from Shintaro Takayama's team. Lady Hanako seems to value her..."
Slide—
"Who?"
The door opened. A man wearing a blue pinstripe shirt and black jacket, looking pale and gaunt from mental exhaustion, around his mid-forties, stood with arms crossed, glaring down.
Yorinobu Arasaka.
Heir to the vast Arasaka empire. The youngest—and only surviving—son of Saburo Arasaka, and considered by most to be the crown prince who would one day inherit the throne after Saburo's death.
"Vela Adelheid Russell. From the Night City Security Division..."
"Send me her file." Yorinobu cut off the lengthy explanation.
"At this point in time, I don't want to be disturbed—understood?" He turned, staring coldly.
"Yes, sir!"
Slide—
The door closed again. Walking across softly glowing polished wood floors, Yorinobu's expression darkened as he approached a low table holding a datapad and smartphone. He picked up the datapad and began reading—about the woman hailed as the rising star of Arasaka's North America HQ in Night City.
That old bastard Shintaro Takayama—he owed his entire existence to Saburo. A loyal mutt through and through. If he was watching Vela, there had to be a reason.
Was he personally screening candidates? Looking for someone worthy of carrying a heavy mantle? Testing whether someone had the loyalty needed to be granted an audience with Saburo?
Yorinobu Arasaka didn't see it that way.
That old man thought too highly of himself.
Ding.
Yorinobu swiped across the touch panel.
Public security, riot suppression—he ignored all that. What caught his eye immediately was Vela's repeated collaborations with Michiko Arasaka, the daughter of his so-called older brother, in rehabilitation and wellness ventures.
Self-study?
A personal hobby?
[Regenerate]—a treatment that reactivates dead cells to rejuvenate the body. Claims of health recovery, muscle relaxation, healing chronic fatigue, revitalizing the spirit…
Yorinobu stopped there.
He spat a curse: "You undead bastard. Do you really intend to live forever?!"
No one knew Saburo like his own son. In an instant, Yorinobu saw through his father's scheme.
That decrepit old corpse had already consumed every anti-aging and longevity product on Earth as if they were side dishes. His tolerance levels were maxed out.
Any substance that could reactivate cellular function—or any person capable of inventing such a treatment—Saburo Arasaka would stop at nothing to acquire them.
And his sister, Hanako, was a traditionalist. She loved and protected the family.
Saburo had used her. That dinner she shared with Vela—under the pretense of the "pheasant faction," the conservative camp—was clearly orchestrated by Saburo himself. Hanako might have agreed to meet Vela under her own initiative, but never to talk so much or act so personally.
That Vela… enrolled in the University of Tokyo's Law Department, right?
Arasaka had rolled out the red carpet—majoring in law, with a double minor in biology and virology.
Once she graduated and returned to Night City, she'd no doubt be promoted. After gaining enough seniority, she'd be eligible to compete for the Second Executive Assistant position at Arasaka's North America HQ. The First Executive was Michiko Arasaka.
Problematic.
Someone at her level, operating under Saburo's watchful eye, couldn't be dealt with directly. Yorinobu couldn't covertly use the hawk faction to suppress her either. Vela was a North American power bloc figure—Michiko would think he was targeting her and retaliate.
And infighting at that level wouldn't bring down Arasaka. It'd only weaken his own side.
He had to bide his time.
His expression clouded with a mix of calculation and frustration. After a moment of silence, Yorinobu narrowed his eyes and scrolled through Vela's public security records. "A militant. Hawk faction. Joined the Security Division in honor of her deceased parents..."
"Didn't you want to inherit your father's post? Then go earn it. Rack up achievements. Deploy her nonstop. Send her on riot control missions, bodyguard contracts, peacekeeping deployments across South America, North America, and the South Pacific—keep her too busy to pursue her hobbies. Stall until that old man dies."
Even if another megacorp discovered a miracle drug, none of them would want Saburo to keep living.
The old bastard didn't have many years left.
"Her research..."
Rehabilitation treatments...
A new type of 'longevity drug'—one without resistance buildup—and right under his nose? Absolutely not. Even if it could be commercialized, it would have to wait until Saburo was dead!
Yorinobu's eyes fell on the Arasaka trifoil etched into the black marble wall.
Determination flickered across his face.
"Doesn't matter if it's viable. Leak it. Give our rivals a tip..."
Just watch, Father. I'll save this world from the fear you've brought upon it. I will destroy Arasaka! I'll destroy this world ruled by capital and darkness!
Hanako—wait for me. I swear, one day, I'll set you free from this cage.
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