Over a dozen minutes ago.
Afternoon, at the firing range on the outskirts of Bagram Air Base.
Scorching sun, yellow sand, hot wind, gunfire, artillery blasts, and noise.
Da-da—
Bang bang bang bang—
Bang bang, bang bang—
Thump, boom, thump, boom—
Facing the Hindu Kush Mountains, this specially constructed training facility for U.S. forces in Afghanistan was alive with activity. Humvees and transport trucks roared in alternating bursts, the sounds of firearms—large, medium, and small caliber—rang out non-stop, overlapping in a ceaseless barrage.
As tongues of flame burst from heavy fixed firepower undergoing loadout testing, a storm of bullets howled through the atmosphere.
Several hundred meters away, dirt mounds set with human-shaped targets, ring targets, and various obstacles were being bombarded—raising clouds of brown-yellow dust with every hit.
Burning vehicles and scattered wreckage littered the area, with fragments of pulverized human models strewn across the field.
In the training prep zone—
Over a hundred Army soldiers, with assistance from military tech engineers, were donning the [EX0-A1.2] model (stripped-down version) standard exoskeletons, quickly adapting to the enhanced physical capabilities.
Even the most basic exoskeletons, with their metallic frame and motorized actuators, could significantly boost a soldier's strength and mobility.
Needless to say, the artillery crews operating the M777 155mm howitzers were thrilled.
Especially the loaders and shell carriers—now able to hit rapid-fire rates close to the design limit of the artillery with ease.
The generals watching all nodded in approval.
They even began discussing the potential revival of the 203mm heavy artillery program on the spot, inviting military-industrial groups, including Militech R&D, to join the design bidding process.
Bigger barrels, more excitement.
After all, one key reason 155mm was once the upper limit was because anything larger became impractical for soldiers to carry and operate efficiently. The human-machine tradeoff wasn't worth it—until now.
Meanwhile, the U.S. special operations troops conducting suppression fire and precision shooting were equally impressive.
Their weapons included standard-issue M16 and M4 rifles, M249 squad light machine guns, Militech's D5A1 Copperhead, M251A1 Ajax personal defense weapons—and even M2 heavy machine guns used for live-fire demonstrations. Performance? Just one word: steady! Recoil felt like a damn lie.
As the special forces grew more familiar with the exoskeletons clinging to their bodies, their sustained-fire accuracy improved dramatically.
Even hand grenade throws became Olympic-level long-distance hurls—every one a medalist in the making.
Exoskeleton-clad soldiers versus regular infantry? The scene looked like heavyweight boxers pummeling featherweights.
Some officers were already impatiently recommending they begin tightly coordinated small-team assault drills immediately.
Others tested endurance running under load—soldiers carrying extra ammo and RPGs on cross-country sprints, putting the exoskeletons' stability and endurance to the test.
As for Vela…
"Say, Ms. Russell, interested in some target practice? Uh… have you used a gun before?"
The general glanced toward the Militech CEO, who was deep in conversation with BSAA's Chris Redfield.
Afghanistan's harsh weather hadn't left much of a mark on Vela. Her skin showed no signs of damage, and there was no trace of makeup. Though a light sheen of sweat dotted her brow, she remained pale, firm, and radiant. Her slender hands were graceful and elegant—not the hands of someone accustomed to handling firearms.
Wearing brown-tinted aviator sunglasses, and having already declined Chris's offer to hold a sunshade for her—insisting that in a military camp, one should look the part—Vela turned her head.
"A little."
She smiled lightly at the Central Command general.
Leading Chris forward, Vela selected a massive revolver from a stack of Militech-branded ammo crates.
A Militech Prelude: 0.42 caliber, six-round cylinder, semi-automatic kinetic double-action revolver.
"Huh?"
A few minutes earlier.
As Vela picked up a box of ammo and selected a massive handgun that looked comically oversized compared to her slender fingers, then calmly stepped up to the firing line and loaded it, not just the military officers and Chris, even the Militech security staff and weapons engineers froze.
The security detail assigned to protect Vela immediately moved forward.
Seeing their overly tense posture, Vela couldn't help but chuckle softly.
In the Resident Evil world, aside from the occasional hunting trip for relaxation, she had indeed rarely fired guns. Let alone stained her hands with blood.
"Lady Vela… using a handgun of that caliber? Are you sure?"
Chris looked conflicted—he clearly wanted to dissuade her but didn't know if he should. He really didn't want to see Vela injure herself.
All he could do was gesture toward the correct two-handed grip. "Please try this first. Elbows slightly bent, body turned sideways, dominant hand on the grip…"
You're teaching me how to shoot?
Vela gave him a side glance.
"It's fine. I'm naturally a bit stronger than most. I haven't touched a gun in a while, though…"
As she spoke, in full view of Chris's widened eyes, Vela raised the gun single-handedly, casually aimed using muscle memory, and—Bang! A heavy thud rang out. Fifty meters away, the steel humanoid target's head erupted in sparks with a sharp Clang!
Bang! Bang bang bang bang!
A cascade of bright sparks burst from the humanoid target.
One-handed. 0.42 caliber. Six-round burst. All headshots at fifty meters?
Chris was a little stunned. Was the gun's recoil suppression that effective? A new kind of ammo? Or had Vela undergone cybernetic enhancement too?
But she didn't look it.
He unconsciously glanced at the decorative golden cybernetic seam trailing down the sides of her forehead.
"Still a bit rusty."
Unfazed, Vela turned and tossed the now-empty Overture revolver to Chris.
"Keep it."
With that, she walked toward the applauding generals.
"Excellent shooting," the general remarked.
"Just a bit of hunting practice—nothing worth mentioning. Well then, General, the appetizers are digested. Time for the real main course…"
"We're very much looking forward to that 'main course' you mentioned."
"Thank you. This way, please."
...
As Vela's silhouette receded, Chris looked at the Overture revolver in his hand, then at the steel target. He pulled out one of the conical rounds Vela had just used, loaded it, aimed, and—Bang!
Feeling the force traveling through his wrist, he narrowed his eyes.
Could it be…
Biological enhancement? Super virus?
His expression shifted slightly.
Chris quickened his pace to catch up.
...
On the other end of the firing range—
While the gunfire here wasn't as dense as over there, every single report was thunderous, accompanied by deafening explosions, rumbling vehicle movement, and the buzzing of drones.
The site was divided into sections.
Technicians and Militech engineers were calibrating integrated closed combat helmets—sleek, pilot-style headgear equipped with holographic HUDs, communication, directional mics, noise cancellation, rangefinding, targeting assistance, ballistic computation, night vision, infrared detection… the works.
Some were testing new optical sights with real-time ammo readouts. Others operated programmable shrapnel rounds from 0.70 caliber heavy machine guns. Some were experimenting with different launchers and tubes…
But what truly drew everyone's attention were the airborne light and heavy drones, robotic dogs, multi-legged autonomous mechs, light missile trucks, and various classes of tactical hardware.
Not to mention the cutting-edge weaponry shaped with angular contours, power coils, cables, and linear electromagnetic acceleration rails—screaming high-tech complexity and cost. Like the Militech DB-1 Testera twin-barrel electromagnetic shotgun, and the DS-1 Testera bolt-action electromagnetic sniper rifle.
Boom!
...
The gunshot echoed with electric pulses, loud and sharp. Steel nails slammed into the metal target at tremendous speed, bursting in a blinding shower of sparks like molten steel from a ruptured furnace. Five hundred meters away, the steel plate was melted through—dead center, a glowing red hole.
Lowering his binoculars, a U.S. Army colonel grimaced and looked at the Militech engineer beside him with pained eyes.
"It's perfect—except the price is murder."
"You get what you pay for. I heard the military had a similar project, but the size and power issues were never resolved. Buddy, you need to understand—this is the first truly deployed individual electromagnetic weapon. Just like the first breech-loading rifle, it's revolutionary."
The Militech engineer, holding a PDA tablet, spoke with earnest conviction.
"The Logistics Bureau and DARPA people are just freeloading bureaucrats," the colonel muttered.
"Back in '98, during the Raccoon City incident, didn't they buy your prototype electromagnetic weapons? Swore they'd finish the research, dumped a mountain of funding into it—and still came up with squat…"
Clearly, he knew a bit about Pentagon internal politics.
Back then, the military hadn't bought in bulk because Militech's tech wasn't quite mature. And the Pentagon, with its own electromagnetic railgun expertise and some actual results, was a bit arrogant—ordering only a limited batch for analysis, hoping to reverse-engineer and improve it.
Turned out… they blew it.
Four years passed, and in the end, it was still Militech's version that made it to the field first.
So where did all that special funding go?
Shit!
The Militech engineer only shrugged, then added with no small measure of pride, "Well, we do have a genius at the helm."
"Yeah… genius," the colonel echoed with a nod.
His gaze drifted to the dual-barreled electromagnetic shotgun.
"This gun—against personnel, even armored targets—it's overkill. Against actual armored platforms…"
He shook his head. "Almost seems like it was designed specifically for anti-BOW work."
Just then, a voice rang out behind them.
"Gentlemen—what's better: being respected or being feared?"
It was bold, magnetic, and full of power—a woman's voice.
The colonel and the engineer turned.
On a raised platform beside a multi-rack missile launcher—each rack mounted with medium-sized missiles sporting forward and rear fins—stood a blonde woman, back to them, addressing the assembled military brass.
"I say—it's not too much to ask for both."
"Allow me to introduce the flagship of the Militech 'Liberty' series—a new short-range strike missile system, incorporating the latest rapid-response architecture and proprietary impact technologies."
"People always say the best weapons are the ones you never need. Respectfully, I disagree. The world evolves. There's no such thing as 'the best weapon'—only the right weapon. And any weapon will have its day."
Snap!
Vela snapped her fingers.
Whirr—
The missile rack rotated. One of the missiles activated—engine igniting, clamps releasing—and launched. Mid-air, the tail flared to life, burning bright as it surged toward the mountains facing the training field.
"For your reference—Militech's Liberty 1-$2 Cluster Submunition Missile."
Vela opened her arms with perfect timing.
Two seconds later—boom, boom, boom!
The missile disintegrated in the air, scattering dozens of submunitions that trailed flames like falling stars.
Each one detonated at a different depth, a different layer of the terrain, creating a cascading avalanche of explosions.
BOOM BOOM BOOM—
The chain detonation ripped the air apart with thunderous howls. It looked like a miniature volcanic eruption. The ground shook violently. The deafening roar was as if the mountains themselves had screamed.
The shockwave tore through the air barrier at incredible speed. The blast of dust lifted from the impact blew off the officers' hats as they watched the test.
Vela stood firm.
"Good stuff is never cheap. For every $500 million deal, we'll throw in a complimentary case from Militech Distilleries."
Tossing her head lightly, she brushed the debris off her shoulder and pointed with a smile to the custom metal crates of liquor arranged neatly nearby. "Well then, shall we toast to a successful partnership, General?"
As she watched the looks of amazement morph across the generals' faces, Vela knew—the show had reached its perfect conclusion.
She turned to look at the blast site.
"Not bad at all."
She murmured quietly.
The mountains ahead were shrouded in a gray haze—thick with the scent of scorched earth, smoke, and stone. That entire section of the range remained veiled in drifting dust clouds.
It was a weapon born of Vela's memories—based on the concept dreamed up by a certain unlucky soul who nearly lost their life in Afghanistan. Drawing on knowledge accumulated from Cyberpunk and Call of Duty, refined and cross-referenced, this was one of her proudest results.
With the weapon demo completed, Vela prepared to return to base and board a private jet back to San Francisco.
She was, after all, a very busy woman.
The Central Command General immediately expressed his understanding. As the true power behind a corporate titan and its chief technical officer, Vela had responsibilities rivaling the President's.
After bidding farewell to the brass, Vela walked toward Chris, whose face was a conflicted mix of awe and confusion.
"Not even going to see me off?"
She smiled.
"Sure."
Chris didn't hesitate. He nodded.
Click.
They boarded the convoy of modified Humvees provided by the U.S. military. The drive back to Bagram Air Base from the outskirts would take some time.
Inside the vehicle, Vela reviewed administrative approvals and company affairs on a PDA handed to her by one of her personal security staff. Chris sat quietly, seemingly lost in thought.
"..."
Minutes passed in silence.
"You want to ask something? Go ahead."
Vela broke the silence.
"Was it that obvious?"
Chris looked up.
"Mhm."
Vela tilted her head, resting her chin against the back of her hand. "Ask away."
Though she said that, her peripheral vision had already caught something beyond Chris, outside the right-hand window.
That faint sensation of being watched—was here.
Vela's gaze sharpened. Her right hand moved subtly to her waist, finger lightly tapping against a thin, cold, squirming organism hidden beneath her coat.
"I know it's forward of me, but… are you researching—"
Before he could finish, Chris suddenly froze.
His Enhanced Senses Bioware had picked up something—anomalous noise in the sound feed. Bang! A sharp crack echoed as a bullet struck the Humvee's bulletproof window, leaving a spiderweb of cracks.
An assassination attempt?
With perception and reflexes far beyond normal, amplified further by his cybernetically enhanced body, Chris instinctively extended his right arm, leaning forward to shield Vela.
Clang!
The round, which had penetrated the ballistic glass, sparked against Chris's matte-black cybernetic forearm.
In that brief flash, sirens wailed from the convoy. Bodyguards and soldiers shouted in alarm.
And Vela… still wore her calm, poised expression.
"There's a sniper!"