For Grandpa. You always enjoyed a good action story. I hope this will keep you busy. <3

  - A semi-graphic / visual novel using thousands of screenshots from the game, presented in classic Japanese cinema aesthetic.

  - A heavily-modified Cyberpunk 2077 storyline featuring an original corpo protagonist.

  - Multiple original and returning characters, each with their own arcs throughout.

  - All main quests followed, non-relevant side quests will be saved for future writings / omitted as-needed.

  - Deep exposition into multiple aspects from the TTRPG, including some speculative lore as confirmed by multiple sources and/or staff.

  - All dialogue, choices, and characters living or dying are UNRELATED to the game. V has agency; she can and will affect main quests unpredictably based on her actions.

  - A long, rich backstory for V filled with flashback scenes, additional characters, and more, set in Japan and the American Southwest.

  - An entirely bespoke ending with plenty of twists not seen in the game.

  - Frequent changes and updates throughout. None of this is beta read, so I'm constantly making little changes. Nothing major without leaving notes, though!

  - Current estimate of finished length: ~700,000 words

  - A direct, unabridged following of the game's plotline. While most characters are included and the overall story generally lines up, this plot follows its own arcs. That said, events outside of V's control will be near-identical, i.e. two characters she hasn't met having a canon conversation. V lives in this world; the world doesn't exist for her.

  - Over-the-top action / gameplay concessions. Everything in this story uses the basis of realism. V's body obeys the laws of physics. Cyberware needs to be powered and maintained regularly. Objects have permanence. If V isn't carrying something on her person in a screenshot, she doesn't have it. If V gets injured, that injury will need to heal.

  - V is observant, not omniscient. She is fallible, don't expect her to be perfect.

  - Because all screenshots are rendered in-game, I cannot reproduce certain scenes, i.e. scenes in Tokyo, the Metroplex, certain battles, etc. If I cannot find suitable venues to take such pictures, I'll instead revert to traditional novel format.

  - This story will feature NO SEXUALLY-EXPLICIT PICTURES OR SEX SCENES.

  - I do NOT accept art commissions, nor am I looking to commission others for art.

  I will put a disclaimer before ALL chapters featuring certain graphic content. This book contains:

  Graphic depictions of violence

  Bodily mutilation

  Graphic post-mortem suicide

  Racist / sexist language

  Explicit language throughout

  Tobacco / alcohol / drug use

  Implied rape

  Explicit sexual themes

  Partial nudity

  - This story takes place primarily in the first-person. Assume ALL of V's dialogue to be diegetically spoken in her native South Kanto Japanese.

  - Breaks with a "-" delineate a change in perspective or timeframe. Changes in perspective are typically reserved for action or out-of-body scenes. V's dialogue appears in Japanese during these scenes, with translations provided to simulate other characters listening to her and using translators.

  - The cover art only displays *some* of the characters! All original characters and minor-turned-major characters have been left out on-purpose to help with the reveals. Once the book is done, I'll create a new "back cover" with all the new and returning characters, along with any other additions (and subtractions) along the way!

  - Comments, reviews, markups, etc. are all welcome! This is a passion project; it's the love of this community that keeps me writing. Thank you so, so much for reading my work!!

  DISCLAIMER: ALL images, including the cover art, were taken by the author using the in-game Photo Mode, with some being modified with GIMP photo editor. These represent a modded game, including Ultra+ texture and non-photorealistic filter mods that retain the game and TTRPG’s intended aesthetic, rendered at 1080p native resolution. NO AI WAS USED IN THE MAKING OF THIS BOOK OR THE IMAGES.

  MODS USED:

  Visuals package:

  Appearance Menu Mod:

  Photo Mode Unlocker:

  Custom body skeleton, custom face using modified ETK Asian preset:

  Hair: About half is custom, half is various mods, ask for deets if you want!

  4K upscaling for all NPCs:

  Shinden's model:

  Izanami's model:

  Miyoko's model:

  V's combat uniform:

  V's military dress:

  All other outfit mods are available upon request, it's too long to list.

  SETTINGS: Psycho / Ultra with PTNextV3 path tracing. Some images are downgraded based on lighting, since PT sometimes acts funky on my system.

  Special thanks to R. Talsorian Games staff and other super-nerds for helping me fill in all the blanks and ensure the lore is as correct as possible.

  A journal entry penned by a samurai under the alias of Valerie "V" Tokai, in which she details her harrowing experiences during the Unification War, when she was a 22-year old sergeant major with Arasaka Security Services. This represents an excerpt from a long and detailed account she must write to herself before her memory "fades," as she sees it.

  I will list advisory warnings before every chapter containing potentially disturbing content such as gore, violence, sexual themes, etc. for your convenience. ALL chapters contain hard profanity.

  May 14, 2070. One month before the end of the Unification War.

  My mother once told me, ‘Scream until you are heard.’ Yet she, herself, never screamed. Not once… I always wondered what she meant by that. Perhaps the scream was that of defiance. Perhaps it was pain. An acknowledgement of one's own emotional vulnerability and fear. Maybe even a semblance of hope; the more I thought about it, the more the phrase implies that there's someone out there who's listening. That even the gods themselves will listen if I scream loud enough.

  Remember who you are. What you scream for. What you scream in defiance of. A great, fiery echo into the deep abyss, a scream for love, fear, and the hope of a better future. Never stop fighting. Not because it is who you are, but because surrender means to lose yourself. And should the worst come to pass, then I may only pray that this story carries on in my stead. I am tired. My sword is tired. Yet there is more blood left to be spilled.

  I'd been fighting since 2067, though the War didn't actually start on-paper until January 2069. Tell that to the dead, though - we lost thousands of soldiers and allies alike from Myers' twisted version of Manifest Destiny, ultimately forced to retreat beyond Night City’s borders. The great city stood as an unbreakable monolith, allowing us to re-concentrate our efforts and push the enemy southward into SoCal again following a series of devastating carpet-bombings. Yet, like so many other campaigns before it, this offensive, too, failed. And people like me found no such rest.

  All I wanted was to scream. Scream in defiance of an enemy I worked so hard to dismantle for the past five years. In memory to those who have fallen. In the hope that I may be heard by the Emperor, that he may guide us to a just victory so that this war may finally end. I am a samurai by birth; it is my purpose to fight. At least, that is what I think I believed at the time. Or, at least, it's how I justified my continued existence in a conflict already spanning several years, one I originally had no personal stake in. Now I am not so sure.

  I’m penning this retrospective journal entry in remembrance to the lost, as well as the desire for an acknowledgement that I may never receive. Moreover, I must pen it for myself, so that I may remember where I come from, should my memory begin to fail me quicker than everyone anticipates. While I was most certainly wearing my Agent at the time, its memory banks have long-since been overwritten, the stores being lost in Arasaka's archives. This may be my only remaining chance to tell my story.

  Like many of us who had lived through Ridgecrest, Bakersfield, and the Oakland District, I found myself slowly breaking, yet remained in the unenviable position of being among Arasaka’s most experienced SoCal-based ground assets by 2069, and exploited just as frequently. While still young, I had already seen plenty of battles by then, mostly skirmishes between us and the invading NUSA. Though it felt more like putting thumb tacks in the path of a charging bear at the time. I didn’t mind the work, nor the physical scars that came with it. The mental ones, well, they’d manifest whether I was on the front-lines or not, so I might as well place myself where I could effect the most change regardless of what I put myself through.

  Arasaka employed approximately 5,000 operatives whom it officially deemed “Special Agents.” I was among their ranks for many years, originally head of one of the reconnaissance teams posted in the Free States, the 'Hunting Foxes.' Our sole occupation was the advancement of Arasaka’s interests around the world, on hostile and neutral soils alike. My job in particular was relatively simple: If you see an enemy, report it, then fall back and let the general infantry deal with it. The problems started when we had nowhere left to fall back to, or when the enemy didn't oblige us by politely stopping and waiting for the infantry to respond. Commanding such a unit required a combination of sharp intuition, intelligence, and seemingly a good deal of psychic foreshadowing ability.

  I trained for nine months at the Hokkaido Training Camp for this work – what used to be the only place in the world where Arasaka agents learned to soldier before we merged with JSDF. Now Hokkaido is a brutal, specialized camp solely occupied by a few thousand of all genders, nationalities, and faiths, plus a handful of instructors. But its unforgiving winter seasons cared not for our differences. We froze all the same. Some 700 people never returned, succumbing to starvation, exposure, or their own hubris. Over a thousand more were deemed 'unworthy' for one reason or another. I learned quickly that it mattered not that I am a samurai, I would have to prove myself all the same. It was a humbling yet fair place, and I found myself excelling at the courses. I was 17 years old at the time, just one year shy of their “ideal” age bracket for passing the physical examinations, though many were just 16 or even younger still. I think the youngest cadet in my class was 13, though he was built like a Panzer. They preferred children – more psychologically impressionable, I suppose.

  The first time I learned of the device that would change my life was during one late evening. Our company HQ had given my unit an assignment: a rescue operation. More specifically, a solo op to hunt for a Militech whistleblower abducted by 6th Street, apparently being held hostage at an old, decrepit power station pending shipment back to Militech. He was going to Arasaka with critical intelligence, but never quite made it into Night City proper before he was intercepted. Nevertheless, he fell within the city’s borders – a city which was officially neutral. That’s where people like us came in. It was routine, if somewhat dangerous work for us, and it was my turn up to bat that evening. Generally we worked in teams between one and four. Any more than that would draw the potential eye of Night City’s internal police units, meant to “keep the peace” in the officially neutral sovereign territory. It was a veil slowly lifting day after day as Militech’s divisions closed in around us.

  As far as I’m concerned, then, this assignment was purely routine, if a bit dull by what I was used to. But after years of fighting, I deeply envied those who enjoyed more 'dull' moments than not.

  I located my target southeast of the city, just before the newly-constructed highway that led to SoCal’s closed-off border. So close, yet so far, they must have thought. Yet something about this felt wrong to me. There was not a single guard anywhere within 15 meters of the central posting, a camouflaged fallout shelter. I remember scouting the enemy, waiting for any shift or routine changes to indicate where the hostage was – nothing. It was almost as if there was no hostage at all, I thought to myself. Yet my gut told me that something was hidden inside that bunker, hostage or not. I had to see for myself.

  I drew my okatana, Shinden, and scanned the area for signs of security cameras, noting two on the house I perched myself on. People have a habit of looking straight ahead. Looking left, right. Not so much looking up. A mistake the first guard would never have the opportunity to learn from.

  Shinden, my family's heirloom sword, was always with me no matter where I went, even if it wasn't my primary weapon during the War itself. But now, when subterfuge is most valued, a blade always wins over a handgun, even a suppressed one. The quietest suppressors on the market are still audible over an average conversation - enough to draw someone's passing gaze, at least. A quick thrust into the back of someone's skull, disturbing the medulla - that was dead-silent.

  I ditched my pistol holster, tucking my handgun in the small of my back to afford greater mobility and keep Shinden from snagging on it as I silently dispatched each member in-turn. My katana’s nanomolecular blade was as sharp as ever, slicing through limbs and metal cyberware with ease, making quick work of the next three guards just as rapidly as I write this.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I much preferred this work over what came after, yet I must admit that it was a living Hell at the time. That said, I certainly never despised it the way I despised the desk job “promotion” that came after it was said and done. I was always a woman of action – sitting back and waiting for someone else to do my job never appealed to me. All it did was make me feel rudderless.

  At the time, though, it pains me to admit that I actually looked forward to getting away from it all, secluding myself in that Tower. Then when I finally made it to the Tower, all I could think of was the level of pure, undiluted freedom I experienced during my tenure in Arasaka’s military ranks, feeling like I was making a real, tangible difference. I suppose that’s part of the romanticism of military life, though. It's easy to reminisce when one's not seen a battlefield in many seasons. But we did make a difference. Of course, that doesn't stop me from dwelling. The feeling that I could’ve done more, that I could be doing more, is inescapable. That I let my unit down, that what I’m doing now as a mercenary, will never be as effective as our actions in combat. I suppose that’s a consequence of being a student of war, not a student of profit.

  As for the enemy, after a year and a half of fighting, most of their old guard were dead. The 6th Street puppies were nothing more than raw recruits, more draftees from the ranks of the streets, no doubt. Perhaps the prison, even – I heard Rick Morton was recruiting from the inside as well, desperate to get any sort of manpower after suffering thousands of casualties by Arasaka’s hands. Neither would’ve surprised me. They fell beneath Shinden all the same, the sword’s thirst for blood seemingly unquenchable by this point in the conflict.

  All this time, yet the only true objective the NUSA accomplished was rallying all of the Free States against its cause. President Myers treated herself like Caesar resurrected, conquering lands without a thought to the cultural zeitgeist. I’ve studied American history fervently before traveling here – it seems to be a country obsessed with the notion of Manifest Destiny, believing that it’s entitled to these lands by some sort of divine right. For a country which prides itself on its cultural diversity, for hundreds of years it’s spent exorbitant amounts of capital antagonizing anyone it deems as the “other.” What bullshit.

  I wonder if Myers had even seen the Western States, stood in front of the great mesas of Arizona, the dumping grounds of the Grand Canyon, the remains of Cheyenne National Park following the orbital strike, the towering solar plants of Phoenix. Likely the closest she’ll ever come to witnessing a real-life cowboy is on a neon sign in the Vegasplex. And she used to be a Marine as well. The Marines would be fucking ashamed of the lives she’s thrown into the meat grinder for no other reason than her own agenda as Militech’s CEO.

  The ringleader finally emerged from the fallout shelter, producing a shotgun and staring at the many body parts littered about the field with a sense of incredulity. Apparently she couldn’t believe that one woman with a sword single-handedly overpowered ten of her recruits. I remember looking at her and grinning beneath my mask, giving her a courteous bow as she raised her shotgun. I held my sword at the low-ready position, prepared to accept that I would not be able to deflect the majority of pellets, though I may score one hit – enough to stun her, at least, and close the distance. Of course, life has a certain humor about it; as it turned out, she chose this day to load solid slugs. It was undoubtedly… hefty to block, but by the second shot I managed to score a ricochet hit off the ground by pure, dumb luck. Two leaps forward, and I cut her down like grass, with electrical arcs shooting out of her cyberware and setting fire to the field around her.

  While I know my abilities well, I’ve also learned the hard way to always respect my limitations. Moreover, I have learned time and again to never underestimate someone who knows what they’re doing with a gun – a shot to the head will end my day the same as anyone else, as I’ve certainly learned. These people, however, did not know what they were doing. They fired in predictable patterns, making it all-too-easy to deflect their rounds with my sword. Admittedly I wasn’t as skilled as I am today, not yet fully trusting my own proficiency and fighting style. This went doubly-so in the land of politics. We were never taught to question. Questioning is dangerous. Questioning opens doors, and those doors generally lead to swift deaths for people like me. People who had a habit of testing out every doorknob they found.

  That fear of questioning taught me that Arasaka wanted me for two things: My eyes and my sword. The latter being my particular specialty. I’d practiced the art of the sword since I was four years old, yet I remained painfully aware of its inherent flaws. Namely, that I couldn’t shoot back unless I drew my handgun, which would then compromise my strength by assuming a one-handed grip. Rather, I opted for a different approach to ranged combat. In keeping my sword out, it meant the enemy rarely entered cover, instead believing they had the upper hand. They wildly fired at me, exactly as I wished. It wasn’t my sword which was most lethal, but rather the bullets bouncing off its blade and shredding the enemy which proved their undoing.

  Deflecting bullets with a sword, much less aiming the ricochets, is among the rarest talents in the world. As far as I am aware, no one else in Night City and very few in Japan can execute such a style with any degree of competence and without a Sandevistan or other exotic reflex-boosting speedware.

  Yet as impressive as it is, there's a reason why it's so rare: What worth is it to learn such a style? Why would anyone have to learn how to block bullets with a sword when firearms already exist, much less high-quality smart weapons? Why bother pouring decades of your life to learning a skill made redundant by an armored shield with a firing porthole?

  My good friend Jackie, I know I won’t forget him, once criticized Shinden for being ostentatious, saying it’s a waste of time when I could simply shoot the people with my own gun in the first place. Then I instructed him to unload both of his handguns straight at me from a range of just 20 meters. I blocked every single bullet, even those he claimed to have fired at the same time. I remember the stunned look on his face well; it’s that paralyzing expression which has cost many enemies their lives. Does that mean I am against the use of firearms? Of course not, though admittedly I'm a poor shot. I merely enjoy the convenience of using the bullets the enemy provides to me. Hopefully, as I read this back at a later date, I retain some muscle memory of this. Note to self: If in doubt, just pick up your sword, and your muscles will do the rest.

  The man had taken up residence inside the bunker, apparently living off various nonperishables for what seemed like weeks and dressed in rags befitting a homeless person. Of all the things I remember, the smell stuck out the most. There’s a unique odor one achieves by locking themselves inside a room for that long with no access to a shower. Who knows how long he’d been shipped around to avoid capture. Nevertheless, I implored him to come with me to safety. These people were all the same, so I thought. Whistleblowers - a great irony in that they showed the most tremendous courage against their employers. But when faced down with the threat of violence, they cower inside of places like this, as if that helps anyone out. My young, foolish self used to scoff at this practice, never quite understanding the nuance behind it. I remember asking him again, allowing his petrified self to come back to the real world, only to stare at my mask again and start whimpering.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing in response. As soon as I said I was from Arasaka and removed my mask, the man immediately drew his weapon on me. I raised my sword in-kind, resting it on my shoulder and imploring him to stand down. I remember pondering to myself if he was cyberpsychotic or something, but no, he seemed quite articulate. I asked him why he was so reluctant to go to Arasaka if he betrayed Militech; after all, we could’ve used all the intel we could find. But, interestingly, he said he wasn’t from Militech at all. He was from Arasaka.

  That’s when everything fell into place for me. That assignment wasn’t about me escorting a Militech whistleblower; it was about silencing an Arasaka turncoat. My job wasn’t to ensure his safety, it was to deliver him to be tortured to death by Arasaka.

  Naturally I asked him what the Hell he was working on in Arasaka that he was so keen to die over. At first he refused to give me an answer, then I sheathed my blade as an act of good faith. I wasn’t about to kill if I didn’t have to, after all; besides, it wasn’t my duty to take this man’s life.

  He spoke to me about some secret project Arasaka had in the works, something involving Soulkiller. According to him, Arasaka had planned to utilize Soulkiller to digitize the psyches of Militech’s core leadership apparatus, even Myers herself, and extract information from the engrams. A full reboot of the Soulkiller weapons program… but to what end? The technology was hopelessly outdated by 2070. Sadly I have long-since forgotten the specifics of the conversation.

  He believed such a system to be unethical, even in violation of the very concept of human nature itself. Moreover, he stated a desire for someone higher up the food chain to develop this technology as a means to create a living, breathing entity from someone’s psyche – presumably some wealthy elite. “Godhood,” he called it. A modification of an old OS, supposedly to capture and enslave anyone Arasaka deemed fit… An interesting concept, though it was officially ditched as a weapon back in the 2020s. Did we restart the program or something…? I supposed such questions were above my pay-grade.

  The man clearly had a lot to say, and certainly said a lot. Enough to where I knew that, should he have returned to Arasaka, he would’ve been killed in a most extraordinarily violent manner, if not Soulkilled himself and used as a test subject, if what he said was indeed true. And if he went to Militech, this would mean an unprecedented escalation and the start of the Fifth Corporate War. Either way, he simply could not be allowed to leave this bunker with his head on his shoulders. Either side would’ve killed him in far worse methods than what I had in-mind. I sealed his fate, but not before apologizing profusely and wishing him a good rest. He said he understood, and knelt down before me, accepting his fate now that someone else knew of his secret. He’d hoped I would’ve carried on his work, yet I doubt that he recognized the futility of asking a samurai to dishonor their charge. Nevertheless, I made his death as painless as possible, empathizing with how he found himself in such an unenviable position.

  It certainly didn’t hit me at that moment just how pivotal that was for me. I had never before gone against the wishes of Arasaka in favor of myself. I was a soldier, and a professional. I represented Arasaka's interests, not my own. But I couldn't obey that order. Of course, I also knew it wasn’t my place to end this man’s life, yet I felt compelled to do just that, out of compassion and mutual respect. It marked the first time I truly did something for myself, I feel. Or, at the very least, the first time I placed value in a personal principle over what Arasaka deemed as “correct.” I saw no justification in giving the man back to Arasaka, only to have his death be long and excruciating as I’m sure so many others like him are fated to experience every day. Nor did I feel he’d be better off subjected to an interrogation with Militech, only to face the firing squad after.

  I just wish it didn’t come down to this; a man dying for the knowledge he held. What a sad, pathetic way to go. While some might argue that I’m no better than the corporation I represented through my actions, the way I see it, I handled him with a greater respect than most would ever give him. Even now, though, the simple fact that I have to justify my actions to myself means that it still haunts me. I suppose it’s better than the alternative, being given to Arasaka, Militech, or let loose with no experience and a division of soldiers bearing down on this position. At least everyone has closure this way. That’s a luxury in this city.

  After all was said and done, I remember going to El Coyote Cojo with Jackie after the assignment was over and asking him for a stiff drink. I never spoke of the information revealed to me, nor did it really concern me at the end of the day. Despite my disobedience, I was still a soldier, a cog in the machine, and I quite liked it that way. It was a good life, albeit one fraught with dangers. But I suppose it was no more or less dangerous than being on the wrong side of the river in a place like Night City. And Jackie, well – he and I go way back, as I’m sure you know. In case you don’t, just remember Mexico. The desert. Connect the dots. It’s what you’re good at. Don’t forget, V.

  He just sat there and listened to me blabber on and on. We thought the war wouldn’t end until Myers held Night City in the palm of her hand, but we kept fighting anyway. Jackie fought for the freedom of his people. I fought for the right to exist in this continent in the first place. We were certainly not an everyday friendship duo, myself being nobility and him being a former Mexican cartel member, but that’s a story I’ve written various times already. Look through my other belongings if you must.

  As for the rest of my old unit, the War had taken its toll on us all. But we kept going, more or less running on fumes by the spring of 2070. We set up defensive grids in the southern portion of the city, supposedly the 'least' risky position for a recon team. Problem was, some bright spark in Militech came at us with a surprise attack, pushing us south to the defunct NC Airport. We ended up staying there for two months, only really able to venture out for oddball, low-risk missions like this one.

  We all were so tired, having long-since grown weary of questioning the status quo. About a dozen units just like ours were holed up in various locations around the greater perimeter. Many had deserted to the wastes, while many more did little more than drink, get high, and procreate with the locals and each other that whole time. I was certainly guilty of all three, I write with a level of shame. That said, I couldn't have picked a better unit to end it with.

  The end of the War saw a surge in casualty rates, with my unit suffering about 50% losses. Militech easily gained a foothold in Pacifica and cut us off from the northwest, and we faced a hostile SoCal bearing down on the central Night City like a hammer. If NC fell, Sacramento would soon follow, and we all knew it. The NC Mayor finally struck a deal with Arasaka to end hostilities once and for all, but the plan was slow going. I remember waking up in May and waiting for Ayuzawa, our comms officer, to come around and tell us which unit snuffed it that morning, which of my soldiers went missing or was killed. What's sad is that we stopped reacting to it after a while. Like it was statistical. The city itself was far better-off, of course. But we kept going. We always kept going.

  Then, at 7PM on June 6, the capitol, Sacramento, was struck with a series of carpet bombings that lasted until midnight. Fire-bombings with white phosphorus. I remember people describing a great and terrible plume of smoke, as if Heaven itself was burning. Stories that everyone had retreated in bunkers; entire barracks suffocating from the fumes. We weren't much better off. But we survived, some of us with our sanity intact. Three days later, on June 9, the Kujira supercarrier parked itself off the coast, and everyone in Night City celebrated. But for us, we just sighed. Got drunk, fat, and tried our best not to throw ourselves off bridges. People called us the 'lucky ones,' but I'll count myself lucky when I'm able to sleep for more than a couple hours, wake up without screaming, no longer be surrounded by a puddle of cold sweat.

  V, read this. Remember who you are. Remember your name. Tattoo it on yourself, if you must. Do not forget.

  Top row, from left: PFC Brenda "Yankee" Doyle, SPVT Akira Moto (KIA), CPL Naira "Scars" Skara, 2PVT Yuki "Oklahoma" Okada (MIA), SPVT Jin "Zams" Ayuzawa.

  Bottom row, from left: CPL Lance "Tank" Carney (MIA), SMGR Valerie "V", "Sarge" Tokai, SGT Clyde "Chief" Solares (KIA).

  Complete list of V's implants during the Unification War, with installation dates:

  ---

  - Personal link and neurolink interface: infancy

  - Partial right inner-ear replacement, due to battle-damage while training: 2055

  - Hormone regulator: 2057

  - TechHair adjustable length syn-hair with natural follicles and hair cores: 2062

  - Generation-2 Arasaka cybereyes with TimesSquare Marquee, anti-dazzle protection, and Chyron image overlay display, functionally-obsolete: 2062

  - Automatic wireless jammer to prevent facial recognition: 2064

  - Arasaka Shadow Mk.5 cyberdeck with advanced Kerenzikov reflex-boosting modifications and self-ICE capability, modified by Arasaka techs on V’s request: 2064

  - Custom-built Arasaka elbow, shoulder, and wrist-mounted microrotors with interwoven titanium-magnesium alloy cables throughout the back, chest, biceps, and forearms, power-assisting V’s natural muscles for extreme velocity: 2064

  - Titanium-vanadium bone reinforcement lattice in all arm and shoulder bones: 2064

  - 10-pound layered subdermal armor, light-class, resealable, proof against intermediate-caliber rifle fire: 2064