Within the 3D virtual grid constructed by the holographic projector, Vela's voice—outlined by blue and white data streams—echoed with a faintly inorganic, synthesized tone from the synchronized speakers on site.
[You wretched parasites...]
"Vela Adelheid!"
In the underground control room of Umbrella's Caucasus Division research base—Bang!—Sergei Vladimir's body lunged forward, his usual indifference shattered. A beast-like grin spread across his face as he stared at the control console screen.
That woman—Umbrella's most traitorous defector, the reason for its downfall—how could he possibly mistake her?
"Well, well. CEO Vela Adelheid Russell. Not enjoying your luxury tower at Militech HQ? Too bored managing global affairs and seizing assets that were never yours? What brings your precious attention to this backwater Caucasus dump?"
Grabbing the mic, Sergei's eyes turned frosty. His voice ca out dripping with mockery and scorn: "Traitor!"
"So you've finally torn off your mask of hypocrisy. Think your so-called Militech is done severing all ties with Umbrella? Think the ti has co to erase your forr employer completely? Wipe us out down to the roots?"
Hm?
Am I being that obvious?
Far away in California, inside the CEO office of Militech Tower in San Francisco, Vela leaned against her desk, lips curled with a subtle smile as she looked at the holoprojection of a shattered snowy structure and the feed from a surveillance cara.
The office's internal projection system was linked to the Militech signal amplifier deployed in the Caucasus. Sergei's sarcastic tone had been picked up by the field mics, then relayed with slight latency correction through the panelled speaker system in her refined workspace.
"Oh? Colonel Sergei Vladimir. So it's you—the spine-snapped mutt."
Vela paused briefly, then straightened up and stepped forward with a contemptuous smile.
"So Spencer's final hope and legacy is you, huh? A relic without vision, incapable of innovation or value creation, hoarding scraps like a stubborn fossil. What gives you the right to lecture ?"
Caucasus Mountains, within the village where the gunfire had started to fade.
Blue light shimred. Inside the virtual sh, Vela's life-sized hologram calmly paced in sync with a few seconds of delay. Her proud and chilling voice rang through the on-site speakers.
"Who do you think you are? One of the three founding elders?"
"Umbrella's mid-90s restructuring and business expansion... its surging market value, steady profits, the California Division in the USA, the formalization of the 'Black Umbrella' departnt—was any of it not led and executed by ?"
"You speak of Umbrella's return to profitability and breakthrough growth in the 1990s? That was my doing. Not yours."
"Traitor? Hypocrite? Those words—you have no right to use them."
...
Uh… cough cough. Jill and Brad exchanged awkward glances, both sporting expressions of complicated hesitation.
Even Barry and the other still-conscious BSAA operatives—covered in bandages, splints, and barely breathing—tilted their heads or struggled to raise their torsos to watch.
This bizarre reunion-slash-verbal brawl between Vela and Sergei—two forr executives from an evil gacorp, one now a billionaire and the other a wanted war criminal—was captivating.
As the projector finished rendering the hologram's physical form, the spectral plugins activated. Colors rapidly solidified.
"That's her... Vela. The richest unmarried woman on Earth..."
Veteran Brad glanced a few tis and muttered under his breath, "Tch... definitely stunning. No wonder so many heirs from political and business families try to chase her. Just... she's too stiff and intimidating. That aura—dominant and ice-cold. No wonder Chris is afraid of her. Is she the bride or the groom...? Ow."
An elbow jabbed his waist.
It was Jill.
She shot him a mildly annoyed look and mouthed silently: Shut it.
Jill suppressed the strange feelings stirring within her. But even she had to admit—Vela really was beautiful. In a genuinely striking way.
Not like so flashy vixen. More like a fashion model or high-class socialite.
Her hologram, surrounded by blue-white halos, showed her golden hair tied into a neat bun, facial features exquisitely refined, irises deep indigo, her skin pale and smooth. Paired with her statuesque and graceful fra, her posture was upright and firm, not the least bit delicate—showcasing the full elegance of a vibrant lifeform.
Blonde hair and blue eyes exuded a noble aura, tinged with an aloof coolness.
This was Jill's second ti seeing Vela Adelheid up close—though cybernetically.
The Raccoon City encounter had just been a fleeting glimpse through a video feed. Their only formal eting was at the White House, where Jill had accompanied Chris, then a decorated forr S.T.A.R.S. mber, as he received his dal for bravery.
At this mont, unaware of BSAA's thoughts, Vela continued speaking with composed poise.
"...embezzlent, misappropriation, phantom ledgers. You don't realize it until you check—but when you check, it's shocking. What was originally mine, you handed out at a steep discount to others. And I'm supposed to thank you? Umbrella lost its way precisely because of you incompetents clinging to the wrong path."
"So who exactly is to bla for Umbrella's downfall?"
"I said it during board etings ti and ti again—William Birkin's repeated delays, Dr. Marcus's untily death, the Ashford family's decline—every one of them showed that the company's existing strategy was wrong. The path was flawed. No amount of struggling could save it."
Vela's voice remained calm as she stated what she believed to be facts.
"Umbrella's destruction... was at your hands."
Her eyes didn't move an inch as she stared into the cara, enunciating every word.
"You—!"
Smash! In the base control room, Sergei's twisted face was reflected in the dimly glowing screen. He crushed a fine wine glass in his grip.
"Outrageous! You are Umbrella's traitor. That is indisputable—"
Vela gave him no chance to continue. A Militech technician had already cut the audio output from the village's surveillance network.
Only she could speak. No backtalk.
She chuckled softly and turned sideways toward the cara, issuing what felt like a sentence:
"Stalling for ti won't help you."
"There's no point in aningless talk. 'Extend human lifespan, strengthen human physiology.' That was why I joined Umbrella in the first place. Now, Vladimir—look within yourself. Have you strayed from that original intent?"
Truth be told, Vela rather admired Sergei.
Among Umbrella's ranks of double-crossers—William tried to defect to the U.S. military with his research, Wesker founded his own faction with various virus breakthroughs, Alex Wesker obsessed over correcting her genetic flaws, and U.B.C.S.'s Nicholai was a pure rcenary who'd sell to the highest bidder—only Sergei had remained loyal to the end.
Perhaps after the collapse of the USSR, this colonel who had lost his purpose transferred his unshaken loyalty to the man who had honored him—Spencer. If the USSR still existed, he would have continued serving his motherland with the sa fervor he gave to Spencer.
But alas, his holand was gone. It collapsed from within.
Pitiful. Tragic…
Vela was rciful. She decided to put him down.
Recruiting him? Impossible.
Cloning him? Easy.
As a genetic base for the stable T-103 series Tyrant, Sergei's DNA was indeed top-tier. Vela decided to add his geno to Militech's genetic repository. It would be useful eventually. Best to preserve it.
"You need to understand one thing—I am the true heir to Umbrella's original vision."
Her tone was gentle, but the authority in her voice left no room for doubt. Vela pronounced their 'betrayal.'
The wayward must be cast out.
"Sergei Vladimir, you are dismissed."
With that, her expression softened with a hint of pity. Vela averted her gaze and turned her back.
Bang!
Instantly grasping their superior's intent, a MaxTac soldier fired a shot, blowing out the surveillance cara. Hackers had already infiltrated the Caucasus base's underground monitoring network—now, everything was cut off.
Vela then surveyed the ravaged village. She brought up the M.S.F. combat report with a gesture.
To Jill and the others, it looked like she was manipulating an invisible touchscreen.
After a quick scan, a strange expression flickered across Vela's face.
Cough cough. No wonder...
Chris ended up in such a miserable state. It did seem—just slightly—to be her fault.
Both of the Talos Tyrant corpses were equipped with vehicle weapon modules she had originally submitted to Paris HQ as a tech showcase. Several of the cybernetic components—made of heavy tal and categorized between 0- and 1st-gen prototypes—had been repurposed. These bulky chanical appendages, like first-generation functional prosthetics, were forcibly removed and transplanted into the Talos units by Sergei's people.
Even the village's surveillance systems—the integrated circuits, signal towers, communication chips, and the brain-implanted Talos control chip—all bore the marks of her 'Black Umbrella' division.
The product itself was neutral. Responsibility lies with the user.
"Commander, we've located the Umbrella Caucasus underground research base. The advance unit is in position," reported a MaxTac comms officer.
"Understood. Proceed independently. Neutralize all biohazard threats."
Nodding, Vela's projection walked up to the battered BSAA survivors—so on stretchers, others covered in soot and bandages.
"I apologize, BSAA operatives, for letting you witness such a grim scene."
Among those still standing, the one with short, dark brown hair, sharp features, and a capable, composed air was Jill Valentine, whom Vela had t briefly before. With a kind tone, she asked:
"I presu a full retreat is out of the question. Since Sergei's base has been located, what will you do?"
"Naturally!"
Vela's direct approach instantly won Jill over a bit more. She nodded, clenching her fists.
"I'm going to blow that Umbrella psycho's head off... uh, not referring to you."
"Understood," Vela replied, looking at Jill and Brad. "If you must go, then go. But take care. I'd hate for Redfield to wake up and find he's lost the most important thing to him."
That last line was directed at Jill.
For once, Jill paused. Then she nodded and departed with the fully ard Maximum Force Tactical Division.
Vela watched as they boarded the helicopters, leaving the range of the 3D holo-projection. In the surveillance feed, their chopper rose toward the snow-capped chemical plant. The sound of rotors gradually faded through the speakers. Vela then turned to the M.S.F. technician at the folding table, who was tinkering with an old-gen hacker terminal.
[Find the backdoor interface in the chip and break in.]
This ti, Vela's voice didn't echo through public speakers. It was transmitted through a dedicated internal channel—directly into the M.S.F. cyber-ops team's headsets.
[If Sergei is using the 'Red Queen' to control the Talos units remotely, then these surveillance caras must also be routed through her. Once my UID is detected, the Red Queen will experience a software crash. You will seize control.]
[Understood!]
San Francisco, Militech Tower, CEO's office. Vela lifted a bone china cup and took a sip of coffee. She didn't shut off the projection imdiately—instead, she calmly waited for the fall of Umbrella.
U.M.F-013, the "Red Queen" supercomputer—Sergei and Spencer thought she didn't know? No, she knew everything. Even in her early days at the company, Vela had been vigilant with any project handed to her involving smart control systems and computing infrastructure.
That included the massive parallel processing chipsets she had designed and supplied to Umbrella after rising to head of the 'Black Umbrella' departnt. She'd embedded a hidden backdoor—one that required specialized programs to activate.
Sergei tried to stall for ti.
And so did she.
Would Umbrella, after her betrayal, continue using her critical infrastructure? Would they vet it? Would they detect anything? Or abandon it?
Vela was curious.
...
"Damn it!"
Crash!
Sergei smashed another bottle of vintage red wine he'd collected for years.
"Lord Spencer... no! I mustn't contact Lord Spencer. This area's tech is Vela's specialty—she knows the operational flow and internal tech support across Umbrella. She'll trace it back. I can't risk Lord Spencer's safety."
Looking at the surveillance systems, now reduced to white static and broken mosaics, Sergei took a deep breath.
He understood clearly—once Militech's ard forces had arrived, he had to evacuate.
Settling scores with Vela wasn't for today. They needed to gather strength, and only by unleashing a far greater bio-disaster and BOW outbreak in San Francisco than Raccoon City—combined with mass-scale kinetic terror—could they succeed.
The base had a secret escape route. He could flee.
But what about the Red Queen? What about the Talos production labs and new BOW clone incubation chambers? Umbrella no longer had the funds to build another lab of this caliber.
He had wanted to buy ti through dialogue. But Vela hadn't given him even that—muting him, delivering a lofty verdict, and then launching the assault!
Her troops were already inside the chemical plant. And Wesker—who knew where that bastard had run off to.
Rumble rumble rumble!
Too fast. The ceiling trembled slightly from the blast force.
Sergei didn't believe his BOWs, traps, or zombie swarms at the surface could hold them off for long.
He hesitated—military instinct scread that hesitation ant death. So…
"I won't let you have it."
A grim smile twisted Sergei's square-jawed face.
"Red Queen, initiate delayed base self-destruct protocol!"
Sergei strode to the Red Queen's cylindrical core processor, ready to download all of Umbrella's critical data—but—
"Red Queen?"
No response. The computer was locked. Sergei's face twisted in shock.
At so point, the Red Queen had stopped responding to the control room. And what's more—the hidden express elevator was active?!
Was it Vela Adelheid? When had she…
But there was no ti to analyze it.
Ssss—
The automated door connecting to the control room slid open.
Thump thump thump.
Gunshots rang out in brief bursts. Heavy boots stomped into the control room, steady and disciplined.
Clack clack clack.
Surrounded. Sergei, standing with his back to the Red Queen's core, now faced down a periter of weapons—massive rifles gleaming with cold steel, laser sights aid straight at him.
"M.S.F. How lovely to see you again," Sergei growled. "I wonder if old U.S.F. veterans still recognize—"
His hand began to move from the console. His face darkened. But—
Bang! Bang! Bang bang bang!
Mutation? No ti.
His ocean-blue coat burst open, struck by conical kinetic rounds. Flesh tore, bone fragnts scattered like ash under muzzle flashes.
Seconds passed.
Beep.
"Central control room secured."
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