Infinite Progression Starting with Arasaka

A U.S.F soldier disgustedly gestured for Carlos to fall back with Jill.

Carlos: "..."

This was the truth.

The gunfire from these U.S.F soldiers was incredibly loud. Judging by the muzzle caliber, it was likely 7.62 to 7.92, but the chamber pressure of the ammunition they used was exaggeratedly high. When it hit the monsters' dark green skin, flesh and blood immediately flew everywhere. One shot created an opening the size of a bowl, with shredded meat and blood splattering like a small fountain, covering the ground.

New weapons, new ammunition...

Damn it, this is unbearable. Under the same Umbrella roof, they even have new ammunition?!

Fine, you U.S.F guys have good equipment, while we U.B.C.S are the stepchildren!

Though he felt a bit sour about it, Carlos just chuckled self-deprecatingly and turned to chase after Jill's retreating figure.

Hearing the hurried footsteps behind her, Jill teased, "Hey, big gentleman, feeling rejected?"

Carlos shrugged, "Can't help it, they don't seem to need my support..."

Another loud boom. While they were talking, a projectile was fired from the location of the rising flare, its muzzle flame flickering.

The black dot pierced the air with astonishing speed, violently impacting a Tyrant.

The restrictive trench coat fell away. The Tyrant, which was beginning to swell as its restraints were released, didn't even have time to react before the long projectile easily penetrated its skin and flesh, directly dislodging the restraint device on its chest and leaving a charred hole the size of a human head on its chest.

BOOM!

The next moment, the building behind the Tyrant erupted in a massive cloud of black smoke wreathed in fireballs, sending glass shards and debris flying everywhere, mixed with mangled flesh and torn trench coat fabric.

Hiss, hiss, hiss—

In the distance, two more firing positions began spewing flames, forming a crossfire. Dense bullets poured down like a torrential rain, emitting sharp whistling sounds.

This time, Carlos recognized it.

He and Jill exchanged glances and said in unison, "MaDeuce!"

The M2 Browning heavy machine gun, an heirloom of the US military, an old relic that had been in service for over half a century, its firing sound was all too familiar to Carlos and Jill.

The 12.7×99mm armor-piercing incendiary rounds struck the Tyrants, creating dazzling sparks of flesh and blood.

It was like an artisan carving a pineapple with an eye-gouging knife. The Tyrants that rushed out, whether their restraints were released or not, had their flesh, muscle, and bone layers instantly stripped away, splashing a large amount of blood.

They turned into honeycomb-like lumps of dark green, tinged with red and pink.

Two Tyrants that had only mutated their upper limbs had their knee caps shattered and were forced to kneel. One Tyrant turned, picked up a scrapped car by the roadside, and prepared to smash it down on Chris.

"стрелять (fire)!"

A few more rockets with trailing flames streaked through the air.

The two Tyrants whose lower limbs had been shot off earlier, before they could even repair them, each took another hit. The Tyrant attempting to lift the car fared even worse; one rocket detonated the car's fuel tank, and another directly blew off its head. Along with the explosion, the burning, headless corpse fell.

Da! Da! Da!

Chris had closed the distance, less than ten meters from the front-most Tyrant. He raised his assault rifle, codenamed 'Copperhead,' and fired rounds one by one into the head of the Tyrant whose chest had been pierced by the recoilless rifle. Shot after shot, until its skull was smashed and its brain tissue thoroughly mangled.

New-model armor-piercing explosive tandem monobloc rounds struck another Tyrant's head, splashing a cloud of blood mist. It was the other U.S.F soldiers who were taking action.

With prior intelligence and the firsthand combat experience of Chris, a survivor of fighting BOWs, the U.S.F soldiers, following the protocols for follow-up shots, cooperated closely. Whether wielding 'Tactician' or 'Defender' light machine guns, they systematically dismembered and tore apart the BOWs entering Raccoon Avenue.

Literally dismembered.

Whether they were down or not, they were treated the same: first, the head was shot, smashed until it separated from the torso, then the limbs were targeted, followed by the throwing of incendiary gel and thermite grenades.

They performed with extreme proficiency.

Or rather, they should have been this proficient.

Biological weapons, BOWs, rely on surprise and psychological intimidation. With intelligence, psychological preparation, and combat experience, and with ample military supplies, BOWs are even easier to deal with than humans.

"Truly brutal."

From a distance, on the semi-collapsed roof of a two-story building equipped with an M2 heavy machine gun and a recoilless rifle firing point, Carlos and Jill, who had been picked up by the U.S.F, watched with great emotion.

Just ten minutes ago, they had been the ones being chased, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, in a truly desperate situation.

The gunfire continued unabated.

Jill noticed that the operators of the new recoilless cannons and rocket launchers, which they hadn't seen before, seemed to be constantly taking notes.

From their conversations, it sounded like they were discussing setting parameters, penetration depth, and delay fuse settings, like weapons testers, continuously writing improvement suggestions in their small notebooks.

"You're Jill, right? Hand the item over to me."

"...Okay."

Nodding, Jill handed over the backpack containing the evidence Umbrella had collected in Raccoon City by S.T.A.R.S. to the U.S.F soldier in front of her. Jill emphasized, "Please protect it. Those Umbrella bastards want to destroy it..."

Having accidentally let out a curse word out of habit, Jill immediately paused, looked at the Umbrella insignia on these U.S.F soldiers, coughed, and quickly corrected herself, "Uh, I mean them, the hostile Umbrella personnel."

"I know."

After briefly checking the backpack, the U.S.F soldier, who seemed to be in a command position, said calmly, "Umbrella... we won't be them for much longer."

Without dwelling on the deeper meaning of his words, Jill looked at him, "Can you give me a gun? Those guys chasing me weren't BOWs, they were live people, hired by Umbrella. They definitely won't..."

"Oh, you mean the U.T.S guys. Those hyenas, they specialize in dirty work like destroying evidence and eliminating individuals unfavorable to the company. Don't worry about them, they won't be chasing you anymore."

As the words fell, he looked to the other side of the firing position: in front of several U.S.F. technicians carrying communication backpacks with antennas and operating some kind of tablet, stood a burly man holding a microphone and saying something.

"That's our boss. The matter of the U.T.S. hunting you should be resolved."

With questions in her eyes, Jill walked over. As she got closer, she could roughly hear the man speaking loudly in Russian.

"Oh? So you're the woman Redfield was talking about. You certainly have a commanding presence. Is there a problem?"

After a while, he put down the microphone and looked at Jill. This time, he spoke in English, still with a Russian accent.

"How did you resolve that U.T.S. matter?"

Jill asked, then, as if realizing the question was inappropriate, she added, "If it's inconvenient, just pretend I didn't ask."

"The Director greatly appreciates the Redfield brothers, so there's no harm in telling you."

Because she was fully armed, Jill couldn't see his face. The burly man said heartily, "It's nothing more than keeping in touch. The Umbrella forces, many of them and I are similar people who came out to make a living after that incident in '91. And now, I'm doing better, so I just used that to put pressure on them."

He asked, "Do you know who we and Redfield are working for in Raccoon City?"

"Who?"

"The head of Umbrella USA, the Director of the Black Umbrella division, the number one Director of the California branch, Ms. Vera Adelheid Russell."

As he spoke, he pointed to the squad that had converged from the other side of the floor's firing position. Among the squad were several people wearing white lab coats or suits, with red and white umbrella-shaped pins on their collars.

Undoubtedly, they were research institute staff and administrative personnel from Umbrella's Raccoon City branch.

In the middle of the group, several U.S.F. soldiers carried highly sealed, military-grade, silver briefcases towards the burly man. They glanced at Jill, an outsider, and after seeing their captain nod, they spoke:

"Captain Andreyev, the Raccoon City Central Hospital and Umbrella Raccoon Building have been 'rescued.' These are the 'survivors,' and they are willing to expose William Birkin and the board's conspiracy to the Director."

"Very good. Ensure their safety and escort them out."

Andreyev immediately turned around and looked at Jill. "It's that simple. I told my old comrades in the U.T.S. that Umbrella's ship is sinking and no one can control what happens in Raccoon City. Whether they wanted to get on our Director's ship, survive, and not be purged, and they agreed."

"You probably don't know yet. Just now, Umbrella USA officially announced its secession from the Paris headquarters."

Andreyev handed her a square object.

Jill focused her gaze.

It looked like a standalone LCD screen, and the picture was very clear, displaying some small squares. As Andreyev tapped one of the squares, an interface appeared, much like a television news broadcast.

The scene appeared to be an airport, San Francisco Airport, where countless reporters were surrounding a tall woman with light blonde hair, and the scene was chaotic.

Andreyev amplified his voice.

Although it was still noisy due to the nearby gunfire, it was enough for Jill to clearly hear the information.

"I, Vera Adelheid Russell, as a member of the Umbrella board of directors, hereby formally announce that the Umbrella California branch and the USA region are immediately seceding from the Umbrella Paris headquarters."

Chapter 032: Umbrella Falls

"...the Umbrella California branch and the USA region are immediately seceding from the Umbrella Paris headquarters."

Outside Terminal 3 of San Francisco International Airport, reporters from various news outlets were gathered. Following the explosive announcement of Umbrella Corporation's split, a barrage of flashes and shutter clicks erupted.

Amidst the cameras, Vera, having finished her statement, turned her head. A bodyguard in black stepped forward and whispered discreetly in her ear, "Director, Captain Andreyev in Raccoon City has successfully made contact with the S.T.A.R.S. survivors."

"Mm, I know."

Vera nodded slightly, then furrowed her brow, displaying a practiced look of concern and annoyance as she gave a slight nod to the reporters present.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this will be the end of our Q&A session. As a responsible corporate employee and citizen, I cannot stand idly by while the disaster in Raccoon City unfolds. Even though my conflict with William Birkin has never ceased, we were, after all, once part of the same company. The Raccoon City incident has happened, and there is no doubt that I will not shirk my responsibility now. Both I and the California branch will contribute our part to help Raccoon City overcome this difficulty."

The bodyguard team, understanding their employer's intentions, immediately stepped forward, along with the SFPD airport police maintaining order, to separate the reporters. Vera then took this opportunity to walk towards the Boeing 777 private jet waiting on the tarmac, which was painted with the red and white umbrella logo.

"Director Russell, as a company employee, executive, and board member, is your unilateral secession from headquarters and the board legal?"

"Director Russell, why was your first reaction after the Raccoon City incident to announce secession from the Paris headquarters? Are there any unspeakable secrets hidden within..."

Vera naturally ignored the reporters shouting questions.

I invited you here to give you information, not for you to ask me questions.

As expected of American reporters, they are portrayed as high-risk individuals and troublemakers in various TV dramas, and their questions are sharper and more reckless than the last. Some tabloid reporters, even at this moment, haven't forgotten to steer the questions towards gossip.

As she walked up the stairs and onto the private jet, the cabin door closed, and the look of worry and annoyance on Vera's face immediately vanished.

"These reporters."

Sitting in a comfortable luxury seat and fastening her seatbelt, Vera pursed her lips. Of course, she wouldn't argue with reporters.

This is how they make a living. Within the rules, it's their freedom to ask whatever they want, and it's Vera's freedom whether to answer or not.

Of course, if any reporter foolishly tried to steal, pry, invade privacy, dig too deep, or play dirty tricks, Vera would definitely make them experience the iron fist of a monopolistic capitalist.

This would include, but not be limited to, having them declared mentally ill on the spot, subjected to various violations in a mental hospital, and then hanging themselves to commit suicide – a full package service until burial.

"The media industry, you old fogies, I'll let you have your way for a while longer. There will be opportunities to step in."

Vera tied up her hair bun, picked up the latest newspapers and magazines personally placed on the table.

The front pages of several major newspapers were all emblazoned with bold, enlarged headlines: "Cannibalistic Disease" Outbreak in Raccoon City. On them, various speculations and reports about Umbrella's illegal experiments occupied a significant portion.

Vroom...

The fuselage vibrated. After the plane took off and entered cruise flight mode, Vera signaled her personal bodyguards to come over for a detailed report.

This 777 private jet, personally ordered by Vera from Boeing and subsequently modified by Umbrella, was, in a way, not much inferior to 'Air Force One.' It housed cutting-edge communication equipment and sophisticated anti-jamming, eavesdropping electronic devices, essentially a non-standard, incomplete command center.

It was sufficient for Vera's current needs.

A hidden compartment opened with a faint hum, and the lights of various command and communication devices flickered. After a loading time of over ten seconds, the main composite screen successfully connected, quickly displaying images.

It showed an overhead view of Raccoon City and first-person perspective footage recorded by U.S.F soldiers' data recorders.

Through the amplification and relay functions of signal receiving equipment located in Raccoon City, the images appeared before Vera with a slight delay.

"Andreyev surrendered the U.T.S. units currently operating in Raccoon City under my name?"

"They're quite well-informed. Fine, after I finish my trip in Washington, I'll meet with them." Vera tapped the armrest's touchscreen, browsing through the enhanced images one by one. Then, she put on her headset.

"A request? You still want to rescue people from the U.B.C.S.?"

After a moment of contemplation, Vera's eyes flickered as she spoke, "Approved."

She wasn't surprised by Andreyev's contact with other Umbrella armed units.

After '91, Russians from the northern part of Eurasia's continental island played a significant role in the establishment and development of Umbrella's private military forces.

Sergei Vladimir, the highest-ranking official of the company's paramilitary division 'Red Umbrella,' was Russian and a former Colonel in the CCCP; Michelle Victor, a detachment captain of the U.B.C.S., was a former mid-level operative of the KGB; and Nikolai Zinoviev, a former CCCP special forces member with extensive combat experience