Leaving Viktor's clinic, V hesitated for a moment before stepping into Misty's Esoterica.
"Hey, Misty." V greeted her casually.
Misty, who was mixing incense, looked up with a puzzled smile.
"Welcome, miss."
The overly polite tone hit V with a wave of disappointment.
"You don't recognize me either?"
"Sorry?" Misty blinked, confused.
"…Never mind."
V quickly pushed the emotion down and smiled. "Give me a reading."
"Of course. Please sit."
Misty shuffled a deck of tarot cards and set it in front of V.
"Alright. Empty your mind. Follow your intuition and draw three cards."
V randomly picked three.
Misty flipped the first.
"This card represents your past."
She studied the imagery. "The Tower, upright. One of the most troublesome cards."
V raised a brow. "How so?"
"The Tower symbolizes material stability. The crown at the top represents power and achievement. The lightning that strikes it down means everything you once had collapses in an instant."
V chuckled. "Not bad. Pretty accurate. Keep going—I'm curious about the next two."
Misty glanced at V, then revealed the second card.
"This one represents your present. Death, reversed."
"Explain."
"Death signifies endings—a phase coming to a close. You must change. The change will be painful, but reversed Death means there's still hope. Dead wood sprouting anew. Old trees growing new buds. Death can be the end… but also the beginning of new life."
"I like that. Third card?"
Misty turned over the last card.
"This one reveals your future. The Hanged Man, upright. It symbolizes conflict, contradictions, meaningless sacrifices, and new perspectives. It's one of the hardest cards to interpret—and now showing up as your future card… the meaning is just as elusive. Even I can't fully read it."
"Mmm~" V rested her chin on her hand, pretending to ponder.
Misty asked curiously, "As the person concerned, do you have any thoughts?"
"None."
V shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't understand a word you said. Only thing I noticed is that the art looks nice."
Misty stared at her, speechless.
V laughed and transferred payment.
Once Misty received the €$100 reading fee, her expression softened slightly.
"See ya." V stood.
Since this Misty didn't know her, V had no reason to linger.
"Wait." Misty called after her.
"You said you liked the cards. You can take one of the three. Consider it a new-customer benefit."
"Huh? That's a thing?" V scratched her head.
"Why not? Pick one."
V scanned the three cards, then took Death, reversed.
"So you value the present more?" Misty mused. "Perhaps it reflects your confusion and unease—"
"Confusion? Unease?"
V laughed. "No such thing."
"Then why choose Death?"
"Professional courtesy. I just like running into colleagues."
With that cryptic remark, V walked off.
"Colleagues… of Death?" Misty murmured, baffled.
Back inside the Delamain cab, V let out a long sigh.
No Relic torment. Back before everything began. Both good things. Together they should've made her happier… so why didn't they?
"Detecting negative emotional state. Would you like some music?" the Delamain AI asked.
"Sure."
"Understood. Now playing: 'Body Heat Radio'."
♪ I couldn't wait for you to come clear the cupboards… ♪
V's expression twitched dangerously.
"Detecting rise in blood pressure," the AI added helpfully. "Is there an issue with the selection?"
V rubbed her temples. "Switch to 'PonPon Shit'."
"PonPon Shit! PonPon Shit! PonPon Shit! PonPon Shit!"
The fast-paced, filthy little song blasted through the cabin—crude, obscene, but cheerful as hell.
V snapped her fingers to the beat, humming along. By the end she burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! Now that's Night City! I fucking love this song!"
"As long as you're pleased."
V maintained her smile, then calmly said:
"Old De… no one remembers me."
The AI responded in a customer-service tone,
"As an Excellence-tier client, if you are distressed by losing friends, I can establish a new friendship with you."
V snorted. "See? Even you forgot me."
She turned to the window. Streets full of life flashed past, yet she felt more detached than ever.
"No friends. No enemies. Every connection severed. Is this freedom… or exile? Without those who helped me, held me back, encouraged me, or opposed me—am I still me?"
She found herself thinking thoughts she'd never considered before.
But before she could reach any conclusion—
Her phone rang.
And the call auto-accepted, bypassing her consent.
A stern-faced man appeared in her optic projection, sounding impatient:
"V. Where are you? Did you forget the routine briefing today? Counterintel is waiting!"
V's jaw dropped.
"J–Jenkins?! You still recognize me?!"
"Snorted too much Black Lace, did you? Of course I recognize you! I don't micromanage personal vices, but skipping a meeting you knew about—"
He scoffed. "Bold of you, V."
V: "…"
"Get back here. Now."
He hung up.
V felt a swirl of emotions.
Good news: someone in this city still remembered her.
Bad news: it was absolutely not the person she wanted.
Friends forget you. Enemies forget you.
But your boss?
A boss will NEVER forget you.
No matter if you traveled through time or reincarnated—so long as you're alive, even at the ends of the world, the boss will call you back to work.
This cursed corporate life.
Still… having someone remember her wasn't the worst thing.
Time for a return to familiar grounds—in every sense.
"Old De, to Arasaka Tower."
V's lips curled upward.
City Center. Corpo Plaza.
"Ding-dong. Welcome to Arasaka Tower, Deputy Director V."
The synthetic female voice felt strangely nostalgic.
Compared to last time, the greeting now included "Deputy Director V."
And she was no longer carrying that X-MOD2 Baseball Bat.
Why had a well-educated Arasaka exec chosen a street thug's weapon like a baseball bat?
V figured it was because she'd been fed up with corporate bullshit.
Like Jackie said—once Arasaka fired her, stripping her of everything, she also lost her chains. Deep down she craved chaos, not order. Stability was comforting, but adrenaline-fueled mayhem was what she truly desired.
Now she had looped back to the start, once again the enviable yet despised "corpo dog."
Her previous choices had proved a mistake.
So should she fix it this time?
Following the rules wasn't so bad, right?
Didn't Mama Welles always say, "Peace is a blessing"?
With knowledge of the future, she could help Jenkins crush Abernathy, letting him climb further—and in turn, she would take the throne of Counterintel Director. Even without combat cyberware, she'd live comfortably.
After all, power was the strongest equipment in the world.
V headed for the elevator.
On the way, she passed a wall-mounted suggestion terminal—a relic from another era—and a camera above it.
Employees could supposedly submit requests to upper management through it.
Of course, that was corporate fantasy.
Johnny once said that system stopped working around 2020. Eventually it became nothing but a loyalty test. A fossil buried in time.
No corp in 2077 still used this archaic crap.
Except Arasaka.
Arasaka's CEO, Saburo Arasaka, was 150 years old.
Old fossils love fellow fossils.
Kindred spirits.
150 years.
V couldn't help sighing.
She once couldn't understand Saburo.
Now she understood a little.
Watching familiar faces age and die, being left completely alone… Saburo must've also wondered about "the meaning of existence."
Just like her.
If no one in the world remembered her—was she still herself?
Maybe that was why Saburo cherished his family. Even when Yorinobu Arasaka stole the Relic and defied him repeatedly, he still gave his son chances.
V stepped into the elevator—then stopped.
She stepped back out.
And walked toward the suggestion terminal.
She pulled a personal connector from her wrist and slammed it into the port.
The lobby froze.
Employees watched in horror.
Someone was—actually—using the suggestion terminal?!
Was she not afraid of being fired?!
Click.
The camera above the terminal dropped down, staring her straight in the face.
Then every camera in the lobby swiveled toward her, like a disturbed swarm of cybernetic insects.
The lobby fell silent.
Oppressively silent.
But…
V couldn't resist.
Her hands were itchy.
Peace was nice.
But she didn't come back to 2076 to live peacefully.
She came to fix regrets.
Rewrite tragedies.
Reclaim everything that belonged to her.
Show the world what she was capable of.
If she couldn't do that—she'd rather die in a garbage bin.
So come on.
If my battered body can still burn, let's see how many I can light up this time.
Family-loving Saburo Arasaka?
Bullshit.
He just wanted an immortal vessel to jump into.
V smirked and typed her "suggestion":
"Arasaka Tower is too stiff. Add some music. I recommend 'The Rebel Path'—the cello version."
She finished, flashed the camera a V-sign, yanked out her cable, and strolled into the elevator.
Only when the doors shut did the employees finally exhale.
They exchanged glances—none daring to voice their thoughts.
Because in Arasaka—and in Night City, and in the entire world of 2076—
Power is absolute.
No matter what V did, she was someone allowed to rise above floor 60.
A place 90% of humanity could never dream to reach.
No one beneath her dared criticize her.
But some who were not-so-beneath her… dared.
The elevator opened onto Floor 62—Counterintel, Spec Ops, and other high-level departments.
In truth, "high-level" was just a nice label. They were still corporate workers—paid well, treated well, but ultimately servants of Arasaka. Tomorrow the corp could give them a penthouse; the next day, toss them out on the street.
The higher you climbed, the more you understood this.
So they climbed further—vying for seats in the Board of Directors, in the decision-making core.
And they'd kill for it.
But V knew—even reaching the board wouldn't change fate.
Above them sat the Arasaka bloodline.
The true rulers.
Everyone else was a pawn.
Saburo ruled from Tokyo headquarters.
In North America, his granddaughter Hanako Arasaka held control.
V was still thinking through Arasaka's hierarchy when a group blocked her path.
A smug-looking man in front.
Several men and women behind him, all wearing mocking expressions.
"Something you need?" V raised an eyebrow.
"Nope. Just wanted a look. I've seen people with guts—but never someone gutsy enough to submit a complaint to the company. Spec Ops could use someone like you. Wanna transfer?"
"Don't be stupid. She'll probably get fired tomorrow. What use is she to us?"
"Hah! Deputy Director V from Counterintel? More like Deputy Dumbass."
"Pretty face though. Looks organic too. When you get fired, come find me, sweetheart."
"Why bother? You can buy any face you want nowadays."
"You idiot. I'll play with her first, then sell her to Clouds. I'd make a killing."
"Damn, smart!"
"Hahahaha!"
Their laughter echoed through the corridor.
V smiled too.
From anger.
Yeah, she couldn't use combat chrome.
But this wasn't the street.
This was Arasaka.
The street had its rules.
Arasaka had its own.
"You do know I'm Deputy Director V?" she said coldly. "A bunch of Spec Ops grunts blocking my way? Who the hell gave you that courage? Believe me, I file one report and you're all out on your asses in ten minutes. Acting tough? Fuck your mothers."
Their grins froze instantly.
Spec Ops had recently gained favor from Hanako—they'd been riding high, growing arrogant.
But Arasaka's rule was power above all.
Normally people feared retaliation from Spec Ops, so they tolerated their bullshit.
But someone like V—someone who followed procedure meticulously—was the worst kind of threat.
"We… we didn't mean—"
"If you don't want me filing a report, get the fuck out of my way."
"Yes, ma'am— yes!" They scrambled aside, bowing repeatedly. The woman who wanted to "keep" V was already crying, stammering apologies. "I—I'm sorry! Really sorry!"
V walked past them—then spotted Jenkins, leaning against the wall, watching.
"Hey, Jenkins." V waved. "You saw that and didn't help?"
"If I stepped in, I wouldn't get to enjoy such a show." Jenkins replied bluntly. "Those Spec Ops mutts needed a reminder."
He turned toward the conference room.
"Come on. I've decided. Tomorrow you're coming with me on a business trip to Europe."
"What?!"