"Destination: Arasaka Academy."
Rayfield Excalibur Executive AV onboard AI: [Acknowledged. Route calculated. Now en route to Arasaka Academy, Night City.]
Vmmm...
Landing struts retracted, cabin sealed, blue thruster flames ignited beneath the four vector engines as the AV smoothly lifted into the air. Inside, the smart system, following Vela's personal presets, began playing the morning news.
"This is Night City Bulletin. We interrupt your regular programming for a major news update. Last night, a large-scale armed engagement occurred in the northern Old Industrial Zone of Watson..."
Glancing at the news anchor droning seriously on the holoscreen, Vela shifted into a more comfortable position, lazily sinking into the plush sofa seat. As she adjusted her state, she simultaneously contacted subordinates and browsed files within the internal HUD net grid.
"Have the bodyguards wait on standby at Arasaka Academy. Yes."
"Intelligence Division, this is Vela Adelheid. Yes, already pre-registered. Please confirm again—this morning, I will be attending the Arasaka Academy freshman entrance ceremony."
Vela's lifestyle was simple: unless it was high-priority, high-urgency, or a critical contact or task, her OS filters would automatically block routine administrative files and mundane inquiries.
She was an executive, not some rank-and-file grunt.
No need to be married to the corp or be on-call 24/7.
It wasn't wartime or a field operation. Off-duty was off-duty. On-duty, she would handle business. No one should work year-round from 8 AM to midnight without a shred of personal time—taking a breath wasn't unreasonable.
"Huh? What's this?"
While browsing, Vela's scanning process skimmed past the usual daily reports—until a subject line in her inbox caught her eye.
[Message: Dead Lotto]
[Congratulations! You've guessed the winning number in today's Dead Lotto! Your prize is €66,666 and a Chevillon Emperor 620 Ragnar! Be sure to treat it well when you take it out for a spin!]
—[Image Attachment]—
Vela's gaze sharpened slightly as she switched the channel. Stanley, the infamous Night City loudmouth, was mid-broadcast:
"...So, word is even one of Maelstrom's higher-ups got clipped. I'd say they took a major hit—but whether they can swallow their pride or not, swallow it they must. After all, we're talking about Arasaka."
"Yo, looks like they didn't even cheap out with a junker prize this time... Adapting to your audience's status—now that's a survival skill in Night City."
Stanley's mouth kept flapping, but Vela's thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
Dead Lotto, like the rest of Stanley's show—which roasted every corp and even NCPD and gangs alike—was somehow still going strong with its iconic "Good Morning, Night City."
Why?
Because Stanley's show was a corporate asset. It was backed by capital, just another entertainment product. Stanley was a wage slave. He might trash the corps, but the ratings—and thus the money—still flowed right back to the corps.
Infamy is still fame.
As Vela knew, Arasaka even held a stake in the show. One of its investors. Annual dividend and all.
After all, it's about profits. Trash-talk the company? That doesn't hurt them. And at this point in 2074, does Arasaka even have a reputation left to tarnish?
Stanley just said what everyone already knew. A public outlet for venting. Nothing more.
The real secrets—the stuff that kills—he didn't know and wouldn't dare to.
So the public intel? Let him yap.
It was profitable, free PR, a vent valve for the masses, and even distracted the public. All while keeping street crime slightly lower. Brilliant.
As for why Vela won the lotto? No one really knew how many people died in Night City last night. But since she was the one who did the most killing, she naturally hit the jackpot.
Vela was no street-level lucky draw winner—she was an Arasaka Security Division executive. They couldn't just hand her some junker.
Dead Lotto: winners usually died blissfully behind the wheel. Most prizes were refurbished rides whose previous owners got blown apart.
But for corporate staff winners? Totally different treatment.
Brand-new car, customized for taste. A sleek SUV every good company dog would love. Toss in a respectable cash prize—just enough, with a lucky number for flair. Done deal.
Vela marked the message as read, sent back a perfunctory thank-you, and closed the Dead Lotto feed.
She accepted it all without guilt.
Night City had its own rules.
Last night's suppression of Maelstrom, the recovery of the Intelligence Division's cargo—Arasaka didn't care about the rest of the "trash" on the battlefield. But Dead Lotto sure did.
They'd comb the site again to scavenge vehicles, strip parts, repair and repackage them into future prizes. The buzz generated lotto sales and show ratings. All profit.
Oh—and after them came the solo scavengers, organ thieves, and chop-shop crews, squeezing the last drops from the battlefield.
Only then would the ripples of Vela's tactical suppression fade away, remembered as another show of Arasaka's overwhelming authority.
"And even scored a commendation. Not bad."
Vela shut down her internal netview, reclined the chair, and pulled an orange juice from the in-car fridge.
Not the dyed syrup sold on the streets—this was real, fresh stuff. Serviced and replaced daily by dedicated staff working Arasaka Tower delivery loops. One swipe of her card, one order placed—service level secured.
Ding-dong.
Vehicle AI: [Approaching destination: Arasaka Academy.]
Through the tinted anti-surveillance glass, Vela's indigo eyes caught the red-and-cyan twin koi projections swimming over the corporate plaza. Arasaka Tower, Militech Offices, Kang Tao Building—distinct yet standing shoulder-to-shoulder like towering steel ramparts, coldly surveying the city below.
...
Arasaka Academy.
Vmmm... vmmm...
The AV glided between buildings—not toward the internal Arasaka Tower hangars, but rather to an annex near the municipal complex. After passing a ring of low buildings surrounded by green space, it hovered above a crowded plaza.
Under guidance from ground control staff, the AV activated its laser edge markers beneath, outlining a safety boundary in red light. The struts extended and it began its descent.
Squeak.
As the hatch opened and Vela stepped sideways down the airstair, a short, stocky middle-aged man in an Arasaka Academy uniform and large, square tea-tinted glasses immediately approached.
"Chief Russell, welcome back to Arasaka Academy."