Infinite, Progressing from Arasaka

Pulling open the curtains and returning behind her desk, Vera opened a drawer containing weapon design blueprints: WWA Bullpup Assault Weapon, WMA Submachine Gun Mami 10, WSA Automatic Pistol, Tamayura, WCAA Rapid Assault Shotgun, WXA Computer-Aided Targeting Suite...

They were all weapons Arasaka had phased out long ago.

With Vera's level of authority at Arasaka, she could freely access much of the weaponry and blueprint data Arasaka had developed and produced before the Fourth Corporate War in the last century.

They had long been outdated for Arasaka in 2074 and were difficult to find even on the market, but for Umbrella's era, this equipment was excellent, outstanding, and advanced enough.

"Drone factories, prosthetics, electronic equipment, vehicles, weapons... For now, that should be enough."

Half a step ahead of the times made one a genius; one full step ahead made one a madman.

You had to eat one bite at a time. Anything too far ahead of its time would be impossible for Vera to hold onto. Even Umbrella could not hold it—but releasing things bit by bit like this, the prosthetics market alone had around a billion disabled people in need.

Her mood instantly brightened. Leaning back in her executive chair, Vera spun a ballpoint pen with her left hand while picking up the desk phone receiver with her right and dialing a number.

Drake C. Simmons.

Get out of the Car Ticket

Beep beep—

The encrypted direct line connected quickly.

"Hello." A calm, powerful male voice sounded.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Simmons. This is Vera Adelheid Russell of Umbrella. I apologize for the interruption." Holding the receiver to her ear, Vera spoke warmly in the standard formal tone of an American political figure.

A great man could bend and stretch. Umbrella was not Arasaka, and the United States here had not collapsed—it remained the world's dominant power.

The other party was the National Security Advisor, an immensely influential figure in Washington whose family wielded tremendous power both above and below the table. She was merely a senior executive at a legitimate pharmaceutical company, not even its chairman, so she should not put on airs.

Washington, White House, Office of the President's National Security Advisor.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Russell."

At the prime of his life, Drake C. Simmons adjusted himself into a more comfortable posture behind his broad solid-wood desk while reviewing official documents. He spoke seriously. "What can I do for you?"

They were both old foxes. Why play games?

Simmons did not believe that Vera, who had just been promoted by Umbrella's Board of Directors to chief director of the newly established Black Umbrella Division, had called merely to make small talk and spout nonsense.

"You're too kind."

Vera smiled as she said softly, "Umbrella's growth cannot be separated from the United States. As the new director of the Black Umbrella Division, I hope to do my part in defending the values of the free world and maintaining social stability..."

Based on the information she had gathered and mastered, Vera automatically formed an image in her mind: an American elite in his thirties, dressed impeccably in a suit, with meticulously combed dark brown hair slicked back and the appearance of a mature middle-aged man.

You tailored the dish to the customer.

Simmons was an aggressive peace advocate in American politics. The political inclination he had repeatedly displayed to the public was that social stability must be protected at all costs.

Whether it was manufactured or genuine, Vera used that as the foundation for the conversation.

"Defending the values of the free world," "doing my part."

After sorting through Vera's disjointed words, all wrapped in flowery rhetoric, Simmons instantly grasped the key point and gave a faint laugh.

"As a leading company that has cultivated the pharmaceutical and medical hardware fields for years, Umbrella has made constant moves in recent years, successfully opening up emerging industries such as bionic prosthetics, drones, electronics, and semiconductors. Is that still not enough? Are you preparing to officially enter the military-industrial sector?"

"Umbrella has the responsibility, the obligation, and the capability."

Since Simmons had already said it outright, Vera naturally stopped being evasive.

"Is that so? Is it Umbrella that has that capability... or is it you, Dr. Vera Adelheid Russell, an authority in modern bionic engineering and cutting-edge Intelligent Control Technology research?" Simmons said meaningfully.

He had been watching Umbrella for some time.

Umbrella had clearly lost its two founders and become increasingly rigid in its ways, already showing signs of living off its past achievements. Yet in recent years, it had suddenly burst back to life like an old tree blooming in spring. Strange.

That string of uncharacteristic moves had probably all come from the woman on the other end of the line.

Vera merely smiled and did not answer the question.

"Mr. Simmons, that question seems unrelated to the topic... Let's return to the matter at hand and discuss Umbrella's factory construction on the West Coast." After obtaining permission to send a fax, Vera explained and transmitted the materials on the equipment she had provided Spencer to Simmons once more.

It was a pared-down version, but Vera believed Simmons, as a seasoned politician, would certainly understand the subtle hint of profit sharing within it.

Silence. The rustling sound of the fax machine at work, the sound of papers being turned. "Why not go through the state government? Or the GOP..." Simmons asked as if casually.

"I chose you." Vera was very sincere.

Simmons abruptly froze.

"Why?" he asked.

"I personally agree very much with Mr. Simmons's views and stance on peace, order, and stability." Vera flattered him. Her words were earnest, as though she truly supported Simmons's political platform.

She could hardly say that she knew the flaws and fatal weak point of this mattress-loving lapdog.

"If Mr. Simmons intends to run in local state elections or even the future presidential election, Umbrella will always be your most loyal supporter."

"..." Simmons fell silent for a while. He knew this Umbrella referred to Vera's Black Umbrella Division.

"Let's meet, Ms. Vera Adelheid." Switching to a more intimate form of address, Simmons spread out the still-warm pages before him.

Tamayura, WWA Bullpup Assault Weapon, WXA Computer-Aided Targeting Suite...

As the National Security Advisor, the president's chief adviser on national security matters, administrator of the national security decision-making process, and coordinator of all intelligence information, Simmons naturally knew the military's standard equipment, deployment upgrades, and the parameters of weapons still in pre-development inside and out.

If the specifications of these weapons were correct, they would completely crush the equipment the military was currently developing through competitive bids... provided Vera had not lied to him.

On a matter like this, Simmons believed Umbrella did not have the nerve to deceive Washington.

"It would be my honor. I enjoyed speaking with you, Mr. Simmons."

"The honor is mine as well, Ms. Vera."

Beep beep.

At Umbrella Tower in San Francisco, Vera hung up the phone and shook her head with a laugh. It truly was a capitalist world—endless pleasantries and flattery before the main event were less useful than showing value and handing over money. Oh, no, it was not called handing over money. It was called a political donation.

That was right. Vera was bribing them heavily—throwing money at them!

For example, she planned to give half the shares in the Tamayura pistol production workshop to the Simmons family. Other weapon production lines would also need to provide benefits and dividends. Only then could they truly enter the military-industrial industry.

Drones, semiconductors, integrated circuits, electronic equipment... These could be used for both civilian and military purposes. Even though Vera had already secured several major deals with the Pentagon under her leadership, those only counted as sensitive technology industries—half military-industrial at best.

Only by truly entering the military-industrial sector could they be considered to have obtained an entry pass for the entire industry.

The Simmons family would be holding a charity auction before long. She would probably need to make a trip to Washington and discuss things face-to-face with Simmons.

Oh, and she needed to participate deeply in the charity auction too. Paintings by unheard-of artists, doodles from children who had come out of nowhere—she had to spend lavishly a few times before the process could be considered complete.

There was also the master-level artistic handmade firearms auction hosted by the National Rifle Association; the California government's press conference on Umbrella building a factory in San Francisco; the Veterans Association's charity gala for Umbrella's prosthetics project...

Vera was very busy.

She was both seeking her own advancement and drawing a clear line between herself and the shitstorm of Umbrella's old B.O.W. project.

Buying her "get out of the car ticket" in advance.

Umbrella's massive ship could sink, but she could not go down with it!

"Mm-hm-hm~"

Spreading open the documents her secretary had placed on the desk, Vera was happily planning her great decoupling from Umbrella and calculating how to make it more reasonable when several official letters that sent her mood plummeting appeared before her.

Inside the opened documents:

A protest letter from environmental protection groups and animal rights organizations over Umbrella's large-scale factory expansion damaging the natural environment.

A protest and proposal letter from anti-discrimination and equality groups regarding the allegedly unreasonable makeup of Umbrella's newly hired employees.

"..."

After a long while, Vera forced out a curse. "Fuck!"

If it were not early enough in the era, would diversity advocates be here too?

American-server specialty. You had to have a taste.

It really was more satisfying to throw my weight around at Arasaka.

Vera Needed to Vent, Because—

A gunshot rang out.

A seductive female figure toppled onto the filthy ground.

A large-caliber heavy bullet punched into her artificially perfected beautiful features and tore out through the back of her head. Metallic bone fragments and a spray of red-and-white blood splattered out in a fan, while the half-head that remained, with only the jaw intact, pulled her body backward with the momentum before she crashed heavily to the ground.

The corpse lay limp on the floor. Damaged exposed prosthetic components jutting from it burst with sparks, and its limbs occasionally twitched irregularly.

Scarlet human blood and milky maintenance fluid flowed from the opening in her head, staining the ground and slowly spreading across a pair of indigo eyes.

Tap tap...

Vera emerged from the shadows in Arasaka's black combat uniform patterned with red.

Lowering the RT-46 Storm electromagnetic revolver in her hand, Vera cast a sidelong glance at the man beside her, who had collapsed in terror, mouth hanging open, staring blankly ahead with his mind utterly empty, unable even to scream. Her indifferent face showed that she was not in a very good mood.

"Ahhhhh—!"

Only then did the man, his face smeared with blood, chunks of flesh, and brain matter, finally let out a terrified wail.

Then, smack! Smack smack!

The heavy soldier behind Vera stepped forward and slapped him hard several times. Silence.

Bang bang bang—!

All around them, following the signal of Vera's gunshot, a series of gunshots rang out alongside the resistance of those refusing arrest and the screams of passersby. Before long, the sounds died down, and several plainclothes Arasaka agents, along with Arasaka Heavy Soldiers escorting their targets, landed steadily from the rooftop.

"Ma'am, how should we handle this guy?"

Jimmy, Vera's trusted subordinate and acting captain of Special Rapid Response Unit Team 6, stepped forward. After handing the target over to the plainclothes agents—the target's limbs twisted, face swollen, ICE countermeasure unit violently torn off, prosthetics paralyzed by the implanted Puppet Virus, and body beaten beyond recognition—he spoke.

A Puppet Virus was, simply put, a virus uploaded by hackers when invading protocols. It was integrated with script commands, allowing hackers to affect users within a network—whether by cracking systems quickly, causing the other party's prosthetics to malfunction, or burning out their brains depended entirely on how it was used.

ICE was a special defensive program specifically designed against Puppet Virus attacks.

"Handle it by the book."

With that, Vera turned and left.

"Yes..."

After nodding, Jimmy looked at the man, who seemed to realize what the problem was and had become even more terrified. He shrugged.

"Idiot. You didn't even realize you'd been targeted as a weak point by corporate spies. You think a pretty thing fitted with a high-end sex-doll chip would normally take an interest in you? Why don't you piss and take a look at yourself? What leaked from the fingers of any rich sucker picked up at Clouds would be more than your monthly salary."

After wiping the blood from his face, he looked fairly presentable in his little suit, but he reeked of a Corporate Dog.

Oh, he had been a Corporate Dog to begin with, but not for much longer.

The case cracked by the Counter-Intelligence Department was simple from beginning to end. A newly hired administrative clerk in the Security Department had been targeted. Someone had taken advantage of his habit of visiting sex-doll establishments, intending to use an encounter with a sex doll as a breakthrough, build intimacy, and slowly plant a sleeper agent.

Arasaka did not know when they planned to activate him—perhaps after he had climbed a few more ranks—but Arasaka had discovered it in advance and dealt with it immediately. The person involved had a file in the Security Department. The Counter-Intelligence Department notified Security Department leadership, then dispatched personnel. They had arrived just in time to catch them in the act. There really had been hackers in the surrounding buildings, recording in real time while secretly uploading Puppet Viruses, perhaps for future coercion.

Vera had watched the entire process: the two meeting, pouring their hearts out, groping each other in a corner, then locking lips so passionately that strings of saliva stretched between them.

"He's yours now."

Jimmy spoke to the plainclothes agents from the Counter-Intelligence Department.

"Yamauchiura Masato, you are suspected of violating company regulations. Come with us."

The Counter-Intelligence Department's Arasaka agents took away the utterly dazed Yamauchiura Masato, the suspect they had just apprehended, and, oh, the dead sex doll's body as well.

An Arasaka Security Department armored hovercar.