Progression from Arasaka

He looked thoughtful.

At this moment, the deformed giant also launched a counterattack. Tentacles growing from the gaps in its limbs wrapped around the shotgun, and its muscle fibers proliferated abnormally like fleshy thorns. Just as the sergeant was preparing to see how this anti-biochemical hero planned to turn the tide, the Armored Figure moved.

Instead of retreating, he advanced, his right hand, which had been gripping the gun, suddenly loosened its grip and, with tremendous power, smoothly seized the deformed giant's jaw. Straightening and swinging, he climbed onto the giant's back, using his thick arm, which reflected a matte metallic sheen, to straddle its neck and exert force.

"Drink it!"

Click!

The head of the deformed giant, along with its spine, was ripped off, creating a visually stunning scene as blood spurted from the gap in the headless giant's neck.

"Holy shit!!"

The sergeant was speechless, his face showing an expression of disbelief, "This, this, this..."

The BSAA marksman, who was responsible for providing long-range fire support, calmly said, "This is Chris Redfield."

130

Chapter 130 The Chris Blackhand in Vera's Palm.

The sheer force tore through fascia, ripped apart muscles, and snapped cervical vertebrae. A red, murky liquid mixed with bits of flesh gushed out like a fountain, staining a patch of rubble red.

The headless, deformed giant's body tilted forward, its large, bony, tentacle-like hands collapsing limply. With a thud, its knees buckled involuntarily, and it fell to its knees.

At that moment, a blood-stained Armored Figure stood behind the deformed giant's corpse, holding in one hand the head of a dripping, inhuman monster.

In front of the exoskeleton's heavy chest armor plate are the BSAA badge and Militech logo, which have been treated with a specific identification spectrum reflective coating.

Click click click—

The flickering of the exposure and the sound of the shutter being pressed repeatedly.

"Fantastic!"

On a flat-topped, multi-purpose high-speed helicopter, a BSAA combat photographer held up a military-grade long-focal-length high-speed camera, with the camera extending out of the belly hatch and continuously taking pictures of the anti-biological and chemical warfare taking place inside the village.

"Sir, you're practically a superhero for our BSAA. I'm not kidding, I feel like this set of photos is good enough to compete for the Pulitzer Prize this May."

He muttered this to himself.

"These R-rated restricted images probably won't be published..."

The BSAA operative, who was operating the fixed M2 Heavy Machine Gun and continuously firing at the Zombies wandering in the mountain village, laughed upon hearing this.

"Then treat it as an internal documentary, partially pixelated. It'll be used in those Anti-Bioterrorism and Anti-B.O.W. ads anyway. Besides, isn't there the Military Science Institute? Captain Chris is their product spokesperson, and seeing how hard we're working, the congressmen on Capitol Hill should be more generous with their funding..."

While listening to his teammates' conversations over the radio headset, Chris, as the person involved, didn't feel much of a reaction.

Blood dripped down, and he casually tossed the large, gray-white head, its upper and lower jawbones dislocated and broken, onto the ground.

Beneath the skull, the abnormally proliferating vertebrae, along with several sections of bone spurs that had been forcibly pulled out, swayed and writhed as if they were alive.

Clang! Chris swung his custom combat knife, severing the fleshy tentacles that were wrapped around the 'Kill' shotgun. After retrieving his weapon, he loaded a Dragon Breath Slingshot. Bang! The deformed head exploded, splattering blood and bone fragments far away.

"Turn on the radio and continue searching for survivors, guys. Do the dirty work, just like we taught you. Keep your eyes open when you're doing disinfection. I don't want to sign your death notices."

After doing all that, Chris said it casually.

"Ooo-Rah! (Waaah!)"

×N.

Bang, bang, bang!

As the helicopter descended to a height of about two and a half local earthen houses, seven or eight BSAA agents, dressed in military prototype exoskeletons and appearing quite lightweight compared to Chris's attire, jumped out fully armed.

More intense gunfire followed, and then explosions echoed throughout the village.

"What a rough yet reliable senior, Chris. Do you know what nickname they gave you? Chris Blackhand. Haha..."

A woman's voice, joking and straightforward, came from the other end of the radio.

It's Jill.

"Let them be. It's our responsibility to train more qualified operators for the BSAA who are familiar with anti-biohazard operations and unafraid of BOW. The newbies will be fine once they get past the 'first encounter'..."

With that, Chris continued walking.

With a whoosh, a stench-filled afterimage darted out from a gap in the rubble beside him, accompanied by a worm-like, sharp mouthpart piercing his visor respirator.

Chris dodged it by tilting his head.

The latest unreleased laboratory-grade functional implant from the military science department, a motion detector and a rangefinder, displays the attacker's speed, movement, and attack trajectory calculations on his embedded crystal goggles and night vision goggles. He can see clearly that it is a Licker.

A Licker with improved performance is more robust and ferocious than the ones encountered in Raccoon City.

But...

Without Umbrella's scum, will there be other scum eager to get involved?

With a low curse, Chris angrily grabbed the Licker's mouthparts with his prosthetic right hand. The artificial muscle cables, in conjunction with the pistons and hydraulic system of the exoskeleton, exerted force, bang!

The Licker was forcibly pulled out, causing a crumbling mud wall to collapse. Amidst the falling rubble, Chris swung it around, and with the momentum of a giant windmill, slammed it hard into a wrecked Hummer.

That was a vehicle that was destroyed by the tyrant during a raid on the village by USA special forces soldiers.

With a thud and a creak, the twisted and deformed wrecked Hummer lifted off the ground on one side.

Immediately following was a muffled thud.

Chris, with the Licker's mouthparts still wrapped around his right arm, pressed himself against the car and punched the Licker's already bloody brain into the deformed wreckage. He then punched several more times, turning the Licker's exposed, swollen brain tissue into a bloody pulp, with blood gushing out.

In the cockpit of a heavily armored attack helicopter.

Is this a show-off?

Brad shook his head, muttering to himself, and said to the back of his head, "Hey, Jill, look how violent Chris is getting."

"Isn't that awesome? I like it just the way it is."

Jill, operating the fixed M82A1 anti-materiel sniper rifle, replied with a wild laugh.

"Okay... but your love marathon, really, isn't it going to turn into a biological terrorist disaster that hasn't been eliminated yet..."

"Shut up, Brad! Keep your plane flying!"

"OK, OK, I'll drive carefully, I'll drive carefully..."

Ten minutes later.

The gunfire gradually subsided.

Chris stood with his sword drawn, several mangled corpses lying at his feet.

After Brad signaled "Cleanup complete" and "No abnormalities detected in the vicinity," he wiped his battle sword and secured "Slaughter" to the slot on the back of his exoskeleton.

Looking at the several mangled corpses lying in the pool of blood, their USA camouflage combat uniforms still faintly visible, Chris silently made the sign of the cross on his chest. "May you rest in peace."

Buzzing...

Brad piloted the heavily armored helicopter down to a lower altitude. "All done! Chris, there are a few soldiers who have been bitten. We need to get them to Bagram Air Base as soon as possible."

He shouted.

"Chris, prepare to retreat."

Jill leaned out of the side hatch and waved.

"Learn."

Chris said.

After all his comrades had boarded the helicopter, Chris knelt down on the roof and jumped. The exoskeleton propulsion system activated in mid-air, spraying gas from the nozzle to help Chris land safely inside the cabin.

"Wow, cool, sir."

A BSAA agent reached out his hand.

Chris wasn't aloof either, and he high-fived each of them.

"When can we be equipped with your exoskeleton? Propulsion system, grappling hook, magnetic gloves... wall-climbing, double jumps..."

Some people are eager to try it.

Upon hearing this, Chris did not answer, but only sighed with a slightly melancholy expression.

Chris reached out and looked at the combat exoskeleton attached to his body, which, as far as he knew, was called [EX0-1].

According to Vera Adelheid, CEO of Military Science, his device is a laboratory-grade custom-made product, with many add-on functions not included in the standard (crippled) model.

It has a special bio-information and prosthetic information frequency code, and no one but him can use this exoskeleton.

It's clear that the prototype technology on it is very valuable, but Chris doesn't know what Vera was thinking when she gave him something so precious.

Is it just for testing performance and collecting combat data?

Well...

The old debts haven't been paid off, and new ones are already incurred.

This is neither a luxury nor a material possession for pleasure; it greatly helps the global anti-biochemical movement. Can he say no?

"Don't even think about it, rookie. Even if you had it, you couldn't handle it. You guys should be happy. It's good enough that the standard exoskeleton is even useful. If it weren't for the fact that the Military Science Institute is our BSAA's direct sponsor and logistics supplier, we'd probably be treated the same as the Marine Corps."

While Chris remained silent, Brad's voice came from the cockpit.

"Besides the SEALs, Delta Force... the military's special operations forces are all waiting to be equipped. The Pentagon is still evaluating and can't make such a big decision, after all, it's cutting-edge and too novel new equipment... Aha, we're treated the same as Level 1 combatants, testing the reliability and stability of the exoskeleton..."

While Brad took over the conversation and started bragging to the rookies, Chris plopped down next to Jill.

The mask and respirator sealing buckle loosened, and Chris took off his helmet, revealing his increasingly hardcore and ruthless face.

"Something on your mind?"

Jill handed him a bottle of military electrolyte water.

"You can't hide it from me."

Chris unscrewed the cap, took a big gulp, and said, "The sheer variety of BOWs emerging on the Afghanistan battlefield is a bit abnormal..."

"You mean..."

Jill the meaning of those words, "People from old Umbrella? After the Caucasus War, all that's left is... that fugitive Spencer?"

"I'm not sure. But the mastermind behind this can't be low-ranking within Umbrella. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I have a bad feeling about it..."

"Whoosh—"

Just as Chris was deep in thought, exciting music suddenly blared from the speakers on the helicopter cabin monitor, faintly accompanied by the clamor of a noisy crowd.

"Brad, what are you doing now..."

Jill spoke in an annoyed tone.

"I'm afraid you'll get bored. Besides, this is the first-ever Militech exhibition hall strategic expo, don't you want to take a look? Vera Adelheid will be there to host it, our big spender, the new patent queen of the 21st century, the 'wicked queen' most envied by all the little bitches in America, the richest unmarried woman in the world..."

Chris looked up thoughtfully.

Looking at the display screen embedded in the partition wall—

Militech logo that rotates, disperses, and assembles.

The aerial view appears to be of the San Francisco Bay Area, a world quite different from the hellish depiction of Afghanistan. The park is bathed in spring sunshine, with buildings ranging from smooth surfaces to futuristic structures, from imposing fortresses to grand geometric shapes. Countless tourists stroll through the park, creating a bustling and lively scene.

As the camera moves, the scene shifts to a luxurious venue with a high dome.

The camera zooms in, and amidst a group of bodyguards in black, armed security personnel, and police officers on duty, the blonde beauty enters the venue. Vera, the CEO of Military Science, is talking to a middle-aged white man with a neatly combed slicked-back hairstyle, a high hairline, and a forehead that shines slightly under the venue's lighting.

Chris met him at the White House.

It seems to be the president's National Security Advisor?