"..."
The vehicle glided smoothly through the air. Vela lay back on the soft rear seat, quietly watching the world outside the window, eyes half-closed in feigned sleep, seemingly contemplating the contents of an upcoming work meeting.
In a dimension unnoticed by the two Arasaka bodyguards, Vela's eyes suddenly shone like stars—brilliant, sharp.
It wasn't the gleam of a cybernetic implant.
From Vela's perspective, time around her seemed to pause.
Everything near her moved in extreme slow motion. Her field of view sank, as if her soul had suddenly plunged into a deep ocean. Yet there was no suffocation, no discomfort—only a strange sense of familiarity and peace. Like returning home.
In a fleeting instant, Vela looked deep within her soul—
A hollow chamber formed from black-and-white ink-like ripples, silently embedded in a void. Dim light pulses flowed through it like filament threads, orderly yet unpredictable, converging and weaving together seamlessly.
Here, there were no concepts of direction, height, or dimension.
Like the hidden world only madmen or the mentally deranged might see—a layer of existence invisible to ordinary people.
No one had ever told Vela what this was. She simply knew instinctively: this was the reason she had been reborn, transmigrated.
At the unknown edge of the void, glowing pathways—like winding galaxies—drew luminous traces before her eyes. Some twisted, interlaced, and spiraled together. Others stretched endlessly into unreachable horizons before vanishing into the unknown.
Faint and ethereal, they were illusionary—yet undeniably real.
Vela focused on the one closest to her—the only one that was tangible.
Milking Umbrella for all it's worth.
How?
Just like this.
Her so-called "Divine Gift."
"Umbrella… B.O.W. (Bio-Organic Weapon) experiment byproducts, side results from the T-virus research. They really did leave behind a goldmine in pharmaceuticals, medical science, and biotech."
The pathways constantly shifted, but one resonated deeply. Vela instinctively funneled her thoughts and intent into the sole solidified thread—
Resident Evil.
That was the label Vela had chosen to categorize it apart from the others.
…
Resident Evil World.
North America, Colorado. Raccoon City.
Vrrrm...
The engine stopped. A black company car bearing a red-and-white umbrella logo eased to a halt at the base of a high-rise.
With a polite gesture from the suited bodyguard, the car door opened—and out stepped a shapely leg in sheer tights and black high heels, the sharp heel tapping crisply on the pavement. Vela followed, lifting her gaze to the Umbrella Corporation's Raccoon City tower, her expression oddly amused.
She was still Vela—the same Vela. The only real difference lay in her appearance: no visible cybernetic implants, and a shift in attire—a sleek black business suit paired with a tailored pencil skirt. She looked striking, worlds apart from the oppressive, tech-heavy Arasaka uniforms and the rigid, conservative ensembles she wore in the Cyberpunk world.
"Yeah, yeah… I got the message about our executive's interest in 'Danger Gal' rehab services. Got it. Umbrella's rehabilitation tech should keep 'us' well-fed for a while. I'll get it."
'Us,' meaning me.
In this secret communication with another self that no one else could perceive, Vela shifted her focus to the approaching Umbrella colleagues—some in suits, others in lab coats, all with ID badges.
Her face bloomed with the kind of practiced, polished smile seen on TV hosts, politicians, and corporate executives. With equal poise, she returned each greeting.
"Where's Dr. William Birkin? Given how loudly he protested my 'Flesh Deficiency' proposal at the board meeting, I could hear him all the way from the West Coast."
"Uh..."
"I'm here. Let him come out and speak to me directly. We're colleagues, after all—let's communicate face-to-face. So? Where is Dr. Birkin?" Vela said as she theatrically looked around.
The administrative director of Umbrella's Raccoon City department froze mid-smile.
Not a friendly visitor, clearly…
He had long heard that Dr. Vela Adelheid Russell possessed a genius-level intellect—no less brilliant than the tragically short-lived Umbrella prodigy, Alexia Ashford.
More critically, Dr. Vela's research focus was completely different from the mainstream of Umbrella's current direction in virology and biological studies.
Ever since Vela had started rising within the company, her talent and achievements in materials science, intelligent control systems, human bionics, and cybernetics were well known.
"Flesh is weak. Ascend through machinery."
Dr. Vela had emphasized this phrase multiple times at internal Umbrella meetings—even at the board level.
Her opinion of William Birkin and the old "virology faction" within Umbrella was easy to imagine.
Medical research was expensive.
Biological and medical science? Even more so—especially when so much of it had to be hidden from the public and couldn't be monetized or scaled for external investment.
And Umbrella's R&D budget was finite.
Dr. Vela needed funding to expand her cybernetics research base and drone factory. Dr. Birkin needed funding for Project G and improvements to the underground labs in Raccoon City. The two sides clashed regularly over resource allocation.
When Vela criticized one day, Birkin would clap back the next.
This was the deep-rooted conflict between Umbrella's new "Cybernetics Faction," led by Vela, and the old "Virology Faction," led by William Birkin.
At first, Birkin had managed to suppress her with his seniority. But as Vela began producing one result after another—prosthetics for the disabled, drone markets, smart devices—she brought in more and more tangible profit. Increasingly, more within the company began siding with her.
After all, compared to these public-facing, fundable projects, things like the T Project and G Project—no matter how ambitious they were claimed to be—couldn't be brought into the open.
These past two years had been increasingly difficult for Dr. Birkin.
The more brilliant and profitable Vela became, the more pressure and frustration weighed on Birkin—who had always carried himself as a child prodigy, proud and arrogant.
On multiple occasions, staff in Umbrella's Raccoon City office had overheard Birkin yelling and throwing objects in rage inside his office.
As they escorted Vela toward the building's conference room, the group of hosts began enthusiastically shifting topics—introducing the storied history of Umbrella Raccoon City division: the Umbrella Executive Training Center, the Arklay Research Facility, the old manor...
Vela didn't recognize most of them, but she spotted a familiar face: Annette Birkin.
Her name was pinned to her chest ID.
William Birkin's wife.
A white woman in a casually worn lab coat, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her long hair was tied into a loose ponytail resting over her shoulder.
Noticing Vela's gaze, the clearly distracted woman forced a polite smile. "Dr. Vela."
"And who might this doctor be?" Vela stopped walking. While reaching to take a glass of iced water from a conference attendant, she asked, knowingly.
"Dr. William Birkin's partner—Dr. Annette. One of our top researchers and co-lead on Dr. Birkin's project," a senior Umbrella exec replied.
"Oh? May I call you Ms. Annette?" Vela stepped forward, her tone thoughtful. "Your husb—"
Before she could finish—
"Adelheid!"
Bang! The door to the conference room burst open.
"Stay away from my family, Vela Adelheid!"
He was a thin, gaunt middle-aged man with a sallow complexion, made paler from long days without sunlight. His features were narrow, and his parted golden hair was thinning.
William Birkin. A genius researcher at Umbrella who had risen to prominence a decade ago. Now, he was the undisputed authority on virology within the company.
"You won't win. You can't bring me down."
Shielding his wife behind him, and clearly under immense pressure lately, William Birkin spoke with a faintly manic look:
"I'm the chief. I'll prove that I'm stronger than you, you money-soaked woman. Once Project G succeeds, all your gimmicky toys will be swept off the table!"
Vela shook her head slightly. "How pitiful… trapped in your own obsession."
"Shut up. I don't need your pity. Short-sighted, chasing scraps—you're not cut out for real science!"
His thin face twisted into a snarl. "Extending human life, enhancing human biology—do you even understand that kind of project?"
To Birkin, Vela's polished image resembled that of a corporate executive or PR spokesperson more than a researcher—and it irritated him.
Especially since she belittled many of his studies, repeatedly opposing Umbrella's heavy investment in virology and arguing against putting the cart before the horse.
"No point in talking if we're not on the same page."
Honestly, ever since Vela entered Umbrella and her "Divine Gift" awakened—revealing her talents in bionics—their relationship had been strained. They were simply incompatible.
Partly due to the struggle for limited funding. Partly because Vela had no patience for a neurotic chief constantly barking orders. This wasn't Arasaka, where a superior had absolute power over your life and future.
All the little frictions had piled up into this.
"Chief? Take the title if you want," Vela said coolly, pulling out the chair opposite Birkin and sitting down. She placed her hands on the table, fingers interlaced. "By next summer at the latest, my integrated research facility in the California branch will be fully operational."
"You—"
"Of course, you're still of some use."
She bluntly cut him off. "After I establish the new Black Umbrella company, you'll remain the nominal head of the White Umbrella's biological research division."
The Umbrella Corporation was primarily structured into three divisions:
Red Umbrella — the paramilitary arm, which also managed research related to computing technologies.
Blue Umbrella — B.O.W. development and research of related pharmaceuticals and serums.
White Umbrella — the primary R&D division, including biotech and bioweapons development.
Vela's strength and achievements had clearly garnered significant support from the board and key factions within Umbrella. Her work would be carved out from White Umbrella to form a new entity: Black Umbrella.
"Just as you feared."
As Birkin's face grew darker, Vela tapped the table gently. "From this point on, Umbrella will be Red, Blue, White… and Black—equal in standing."
Not only am I done playing your game… I'm playing above you now.
Birkin's expression twisted into a storm, but he swallowed his rage, gave a sharp snort, and stormed off.
"Wait," Vela called out.
"If your goal was to humiliate me, congratulations…" Birkin said, voice hoarse with fury.
"No. I don't stoop to that kind of tasteless display. The board has already approved a new pharmaceutical plant on the West Coast for the Asia-Pacific expansion. I'll be overseeing it, and your Raccoon City division will need to send personnel and provide technical support in bio-research. We won't need your project materials. This falls within your strengths. You're fine with that, right?"
"No… problem," Birkin forced out through gritted teeth.
What else could he say?
He was just a senior employee—if the higher-ups approved it, could he forcibly oppose it?
Vela gave him a compliment, which was really a reminder not to play any tricks. The new factory project was being carried out under his name. If anything went wrong, it would tarnish his reputation. He would be responsible. Vela was merely assisting in oversight.
You could barely call it a mutually satisfactory interaction.
With a copy of the Raccoon City Daily in hand, and surrounded by bodyguards, Vela exited Umbrella's Raccoon City office building, got in the car, started it up—destination: Raccoon City Airport.
In the backseat of the company car, Vela sat on the soft cushion and flipped through the day's local news:
Washington Time, 1997/2/12
Recruitment information for the still-active Special Tactics and Rescue Service (S.T.A.R.S.), open to all citizens.
The Raccoon City Police Department has decided to officially relocate to a vacant art museum in the city center by summer this year.
A comprehensive cooperation plan between Raccoon City's municipal government and the Umbrella Corporation.
…
"A storm is brewing."
Vela smiled faintly and folded the Raccoon City Daily.
One more year. But none of it had anything to do with her.
Time to find a new sponsor. And she absolutely must not get too entangled with the filthy mess that was the B.O.W business. This was also one of the reasons she had repeatedly opposed overinvestment in "virology" within the company.
Yes, she needed to increase her engagement with the Washington side.
She closed her eyes and leaned back.
This batch of tech should be enough to get you by for a while.
…
A person's first time is always awkward and clumsy, but after a few times, it becomes smooth and natural.
Inside the Arasaka company car, Vela no longer experienced that soul-reentry-like shudder. It simply felt natural—as if she had just glanced or moved her consciousness slightly, her vision cleared, and then all the strange sights vanished.
As if it had never happened.
The data from Umbrella's Raccoon City research department is enough.
Vela moved her neck around.
This was why she could pass as an Arasaka biotechnology researcher.
Umbrella's biotechnology and medical products had some genuine merit.
For example, zombies were one product of T-virus research. Another was the highly effective Umbrella First Aid Spray, hailed as being fifty years ahead of its time—also a product of T-virus research.
It didn't require ultra-cutting-edge tech either. In this cyberpunk world, which had experienced a collapse of the Old Net and a massive technological regression, even giants like Arasaka were lacking in small- and mid-tier tech items.
Most companies had internal departments for Old Net restoration. Their goal was to salvage, replenish, and recover lost and broken tech trees and industrial chains.
Unfortunately, her "Divine Gift" was more like a conduit between countless worlds—all of them herself. A chat group of herself, a tarot assembly of herself. Countless parallel selves with unified, shared thoughts. Two of her, or just one, posed no discomfort. Hm, somewhat like a mirror hall folding inward—everything reflecting and returning to the self.
Vela's version, however, was more like a super monkey edition of a monkey edition.
Currently, she had only connected to one.
And it hadn't shown any extraordinary power. The exchange could only occur at the level of thoughts and knowledge. As for exchanging physical objects—so far, that wasn't possible.
Vela wasn't in a rush; haste makes waste.
She had a vague, indistinct sense—distant yet real—a powerful call from within her soul. She believed she could one day unify, and even influence physical reality…
Was it because of the transmigration? Had her soul been split into N parts by the scars of spacetime? Or had it been assimilated by quantum or temporal properties? Vela didn't think too deeply. She focused on the present. If there was a problem, she would overcome it gradually.
Call it luck or otherwise.
When heaven offers, to refuse is to court misfortune.
There was no need to be overly calculating or overly cautious. The key was to focus on the present and make full use of it—maximize her gift. That was the respect it deserved.
This was her "Divine Gift."
Beep beep…
The broadcast chime announced their arrival at the corporate plaza. The Black Arasaka bodyguard spoke: "Commander Vela, we've arrived at Arasaka Tower."
"Mm."