To the Heights 1

A few more days passed after the aptitude test ended. It was time for the results to catch up with me—and sure enough, there were some big changes.

What do cows have four of, but humans only two?

I had no idea what V was thinking, but the answer was legs.

And right now, I had four of them. No matter where I went, Svetlana was glued to my side.

The woman in the black suit from the aptitude test? That was her. She had such a graceful appearance and demeanor that even I thought, If that's what a secretary looks like, sign me up—but what she actually did was stalk me. I'd sit and rest in the dorm, and she'd follow. I'd go to the bathroom, and she'd trail behind. She'd eat beside me, and when I studied, she'd even offer pointers from the side.

Once, Clea mustered her courage and tried to rescue me from Svetlana.

"Cool big sis."

"Did you call for me?"

"Give Neige back. She's mine."

Why am I yours? Okay, I got the meaning, but treating me like an object?

"We were gonna play board games and share snacks."

"That sounds truly regrettable."

But instead, she hoisted me up like a cat and said, "Unfortunately, no can do. You've got a ton of work ahead of you, missy."

I'd long since given up resisting this absurd situation and just dangled limply.

What the hell are you even learning?

To understand how I ended up like this, we need to rewind a bit.

Right after I took down Cerberus, Svetlana started influencing my life immediately. First, the moment I exited cyberspace, I was plunged into an ice bath on the orders of some "higher-up"—probably her. She said it was to rapidly cool my overheated brain and neural network during combat and prevent damage. She even explained that adult bitmancers sometimes enter cyberspace while fully submerged in cooling units if heavy computation is expected. Treating humans like CPUs in a fridge—what an era.

Okay, grateful for the fix-up. Wait—none of this would've happened if they hadn't thrown me at Cerberus. Gratitude revoked.

Clea and the other kids got sorted into classes based on their aptitude scores.

"Neige, I made it into the top class!"

"No way?"

She'd bragged about her 98 to me, and sure enough, Clea was in Class A. Classes ran from A to E, right? Top of the five tiers.

"Where'd you end up, Neige?"

"Class S."

"Huh? There's a place like that?"

"Nah, there isn't."

"What?"

Of course, I was exempt. Svetlana had personally told me my placement would be decided by the "chairman."

Yeah, couldn't avoid talking about that encounter.

After the ice bath compress and a bit of rest, I finally met her as promised—not just anywhere, but in the executive reception room on the top floor of the ImmuneWire Paris Branch. I got the VIP treatment: luxury sofa, state-of-the-art climate control, premium teas and snacks. Everything money could plaster on a room was there.

"Everyone, please leave us."

Svetlana made it clear she wanted to be alone with me, and the staff bolted like they'd been waiting for the excuse. Serving the higher-ups sucks in any era.

Before we talked, she plugged a cable from her wrist into the room's computer. Whatever she was doing, she was humming happily, so she seemed in a good mood. I just sat in the kid-sized chair, waiting. My short legs didn't even touch the floor—felt weird.

She spent a while at the computer, checking something, then nodded and smiled at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me.

"No security issues in this room. Sorry to keep you waiting, Princess."

"Prin..."

The word "princess" twisted my spine with chills. The male hormones in my soul were violently rejecting it. Damn, if it were my previous life's spine ravaged by spinal cancer, I'd never have felt this vitality. Thanks for the new experience.

I know.

"Not a fan of the title? How about 'missy'?"

"Yeah, that works."

"Noted. I'll remember you hate that stuff."

Svetlana personally served me snacks and hot tea, sitting across from me.

"Nutritious and delicious. Eat up—it's the age where you need the best."

Even in this era, they had "kids' nutrition snacks." Luxury for the rich, probably. I appreciated the care, but it sparked a tiny unease. Pure goodwill was rare these days. Drop your guard, and you become a sucker.

"Alright, to business. Do you know how amazing what you did was, Miss Neige?"

"I caught a puppy."

No need to sound too eloquent. She saw me as a 5-year-old girl; play dumb, and she'd explain.

"Right. And that's not something just anyone can do."

"Really?"

"Yep. Outside the company, most folks wouldn't bat an eye at a single puppy."

Ironclad ICE for regular people, huh.

"You did something incredible. So I reported it to the chairman, and... well, he wants to meet you himself."

"The chairman?"

"Yes, ImmuneWire's chairman. Cashian Krabets."

Way bigger fish than expected taking interest in me. My original goal was to catch a high-up's eye anyway—to avoid annoying attacks from psychos like Enora.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly. I'm the Third Secretary to the Chairman, Svetlana. Born in the old Russian territories. Know it?"

"Think I've seen it on a world map."

But ImmuneWire's chairman was too big. I wanted out of this company. Sticking around meant getting dragged into trash work eventually. But if the chairman remembered me? That changed things. Like undergrads kidnapped into grad school by profs who know their names.

"The chairman only meets one team a day, booked solid through next year. But he made time for you next week. Unprecedented."

Even bumping the schedule? I must've really impressed him. In this society, megacorp power rivaled nations. A chairman like Cashian had sway equal to the European Federation president. Not someone a talented orphan like me should be meeting.

"Did I do that much?"

"Missy, no one's shown that skill at your age except maybe the chairman himself. And... he has a thing for talented people."

What I pulled was even crazier than I thought. Cashian did that without a V? Isn't he the real monster?

Then V popped up faster than usual.

This body's courtesy of Alphabet anyway, right?

Got it, got it. No need to spam it five times.

Now she's spamming my brain. An AI plastering messages in someone else's head—shouldn't that get deleted? Keeps calling me talented, but maybe she's ramping up because I'm ignoring it.

I refocused on Svetlana.

"When the time comes, you'll board the hovercraft we've prepared and fly to HQ where the chairman is. Excited?"

"...Oh, a hovercraft?"

"You like them?"

Hell yeah, I wanted to ride one. Flying cars—how do you hold back? Once I make bank, I'll snag a fancy one.

"Look forward to it. We've got a VIP-exclusive hovercraft ready."

"Okay."

"But... there's something a bit uncomfortable I need to discuss, missy."

"What?"

"The chairman's schedule is critical—no delays allowed. So I'll provide close protection until the meeting day."

And that's how it led to this.

"Missy, don't leave the salad. ImmuneWire's meals are nutritionally perfect. Can't have you collapsing from malnutrition before meeting the chairman."

"Missy, when showering, clean behind your neck thoroughly. Can't risk illness causing delays."

Missy, missy, missy. Ughhh. Felt like being stalked by a psycho every day. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Why go this far for a simple meeting? What makes Cashian sic secretaries on this? Is the world full of lunatics?

After days of this, I made a decision.

"Take me outside."

"No can do. It's dangerous out there."

"I've never been beyond the facility since birth. Orphanage, dorm... I wanna go out once."

"Missy, you see—"

"Don't I deserve mental health protection too?"

Can't just whine "Boo, I'm depressed" in unfair situations. Find the gain even then. Svetlana stalking me? Drag her outside—piece of cake for a secretary-chief. Time to sightsee the world I'd only glimpsed through windows.

"Mental health is..."

Svetlana trailed off, looking troubled.

"If you don't take me, I'll tell the chairman you bullied me."

"Gasp..."

Done. Persuasion complete.

The outside air was as dirty as expected. Not the thing to say on my first free walk ever, but reality bites. Svetlana even strapped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gas mask on me, though she and the street folks went without. Probably "Can't meet the chairman if you get sick."

Not that I minded much—the air was that bad. Seeing the outside for real, not just through windows, was fun. After drab suits and uniforms, colorful fashions popped. Unlike dorm slogans praising ImmuneWire, graffiti spewed corporate hate. Citizens glared hatred at Svetlana; cops glanced nervously. Inside and out felt worlds apart in vividness.

"Can I try that?"

I pointed at street chicken skewers.

"Missy, hold on."

Svetlana's eyes gleamed—eye cyberware scanning.

"Microplastics, cadmium, lead, chromium, arsenic, nickel... plus 57 others. Missy, this is—"

Before she finished, I set it down.

"Oh, not eating?"

"Those names sound sketchy..."

Air this bad, but selling edible poison? I eyed people chowing down—looked like lab beakers for chem experiments.

"Our dorm food..."

"ImmuneWire supplies it clean and responsibly."

Svetlana caught my worry quick. Secretary-chief material. First time feeling good about being sold as corporate slave labor. Yeah, they'd waste investment if we got sick young from heavy metals.

We strolled past metal cocktail stalls—not far, just a walk, but enjoyable. Walking 2160 streets, not my 2077 world. Everything novel. One flaw: Rough guys with guns in alleys glaring at me.

"Why do they keep..."

"Missy, not good company. Let's go."

Svetlana's hand hovered near her thigh holster.

Cops were around, but these guys were bold. Whatever, not my problem.

The day to meet the chairman approached—with two extra days' buffer. To avoid schedule issues, we'd leave early.

On the Paris Branch rooftop, two hovercraft waited for me and Svetlana.

"Missy, you'll fly to Israel HQ in this one. I'll take the other. You go first; I'll follow in an hour."

"Separately?"

"For safety. You wanted to ride one, right? Enjoy."

True to VIP billing, the interior was loaded.

"Whoa... practically a limo..."

Leather seats that folded into beds, gaming console, TV, computer—you name it. Even a maid to tend me.

"I'll ensure a comfortable trip, Lady Neige."

'Guest the chairman wants to meet' meant this level of treatment. If I had to meet bigwigs, might as well reap the perks. Let's do this.

"Takeoff soon."

"Yay~."

Hovercraft excitement softened my voice. Plus this 'princess' pampering... Princess... I glanced cautiously at the dress Svetlana picked for the meeting. 'Cyber-princess' vibes. Why the shiny threads?

Gotta get used to girl clothes if I'm living as one...

Quit teasing.

Spamming again. No block function?

"Lifting off."

Hearing that, I sat and fumbled for a seatbelt, but the maid smiled like it was cute.

"First time in a VIP hovercraft?"

"Yeah, actually... first hovercraft ever."

"You can stand during takeoff."

Such insane tech. VIP hovercrafts rule.

It lifted smoothly, and like a kid, I pressed to the window, thrilled. My outer age was 5—no shame in giddy. The city shrank below. Night view would've been epic, pity. Speed built, leaving urban sprawl for barren outskirts desert. Beyond cities looked like this—my birthplace was a scrapyard too.

Mid-scenery-gazing, I spotted something odd. A light approaching from afar, gleaming bright even in sunny daytime, piercing sunlight.

"Whoa, maid! What's that?"

"What?"

"The sparkly thing there."

"Where..."

She looked, then paled and screamed.

"Missile inbound! Missile inbound!"

Huh? What inbound? The hovercraft banked hard; the maid caught my fall.

In-craft announcement sounded ominous.

"M-Maid... this safe?"

"It's a VIP hovercraft. Sturdy."

Right. A corp like ImmuneWire wouldn't skimp on exec transport.

"But a missile might..."

Maid, don't jinx it.

A massive impact slammed the craft.

That was my last memory.

When consciousness returned, hoarse voices chattered nearby.

"What'd I tell ya, boss? That corp bitch had top-tier security. All 'missy this, missy that' in that honey voice reeking of cash."

"This dress... gotta be at least a director's kid. Ransom's gonna be huge."

Eyes open, dozens of thugs leered.

"Huh? Good call using that pricey EMP missile. Worth every penny."

My body was bound. Pilot and maid tied nearby too.

Kidnapped, huh?

Thanks for the fact-check.

Yeah, if I were lucky, I wouldn't have gotten spinal cancer and revived as an AI guinea pig. Sigh, nothing ever goes smooth.

"Ah, she's awake."

A male thug met my eyes and approached.

"So, 'missy'? Wanna tell us whose daughter you are?"

Situation clear: Crime syndicate hijacks corp hovercrafts for loot. VIP one? Jackpot. 2160 had street gangs firing missiles. Humanity's killing it—go extinct already.

"...Huh?"

Acted confused, stalling. They needed me alive for ransom. Crazy folk? Deal with it. Anxiety faded fast.

"Haha, sheltered life slowing you down? Get it now?"

But above all, I had backup. Faith in Svetlana, departing an hour later, handling this.

The thug pressed a gun to my head, threatening. Not scary, but I faked fear.

"We're squeezing cash from Daddy. Don't wanna get shot and hurt, right?"

"Daddy'll punish you all!"

"What? Kids, hear that?!"

Laughter erupted.

"Missy, this ain't our first rodeo. Send mercs—we'll drag it out a month, a year. Think Daddy holds?"

Got their MO. Poke corps for cash but avoid full war. Hide, bleed 'em dry, grab payout, vanish. ImmuneWire had thousands of execs worldwide. Easier to pay than deploy elites each time—or recruit as privateers against rivals. Good biz for them.

But their flaw: Long-game strategy. And I wasn't some rich kid. Chairman bumped my slot personally, sent VIP ride. No clue why he favored me so, but imagining Svetlana's rage at this interruption? Thrilling.

Watching the cackling crew spin happy delusions, I swallowed the words bubbling up.

You idiots are screwed. Run.