The noise of the press hall in Tokyo's Arasaka Tower seemed to mute in an instant.
In an indistinct blend of soul and mind, an introspective gaze—Vela stared at the deep shadow known as "herself."
Like peering down an old, bottomless vertical shaft in the real world.
A pool of water.
The only difference—Vela now stood before thousands of such "shafts." In all directions—forward, backward, left, right, up to the ceiling, down to the floor—everywhere she looked, there was nothing but that boundless, endless water.
Deep and tranquil, as if it could devour and embrace everything.
She couldn't quite describe the sensation, but each occurrence brought her a distinct, foreign insight—especially in those moments when she embraced Divine Gift, breaching boundaries, transforming the intangible into the tangible.
And this sensation—of shattering membranes, breaking through barriers, climbing higher—this was only the second time she had felt it so clearly.
The first time had been when she pushed herself relentlessly at Arasaka Academy in Night City.
That was when she reclaimed and embraced the version of herself from Resident Evil.
What would it be this time?
Standing at the mouth of a "well," Vela gazed into the pitch-black abyss beyond. Like observing a leopard through a tube, she caught fleeting glimpses of bubbles and orbs bursting against the outer membrane—rings of light rising and falling in waves. Her soul yearned. Hungered.
For unity.
And yet also recoiled. Trembled with fear…
It was the primal instinct of living things to avoid harm. A kind of metaphysical intuition told Vela that some of her "soul fragments" were not ones she could retrieve right now.
Especially those that were too distant, too indescribable, eerily silent and twisted, gloomily oppressive to the extreme, or chaotically tangled with colorful filth—a stew of madness and confusion.
Even through the veil of the outer realm, just seeing the residual traces of what had stained those fragmented souls sent a faint but piercing sensation of pain and dizziness through her.
To connect and share was to invite incomparable benefits—and unknown risks.
There was endless temptation—but also endless fear.
Vela chose to follow her heart.
She followed her deepest desire, tracing the invisible, unspeakable connection—the adjoining pathways—and, under an indescribable sense of restraint, she took a steady step forward.
Through the seemingly unreachable yet ever-so-close barrier.
In the instant the tides of the boundless sea surged upward on the far side, Vela reached out to those "threads" encircling her—vmm—
She entered a state of complete synchronization with Divine Gift. It felt like an instant—and like an eternity.
Mm.
A fullness unlike anything she had felt before. From perception to thought, to body, to soul—it was as if she were completely saturated, numbed in a euphoric way.
Countless chaotic images began to overlap. Light and shadow slowly and precisely sorted themselves, categorized, brought into focus. Eyes closed, fingers gently pressed to her forehead, Vela silently smoothed the waves of fresh, resonant thoughts flowing through the synchronized "threads."
Three.
Vela realized something.
This was her current safe threshold—the upper limit she could withstand.
This time, she had caught and reclaimed three of her "alternate selves."
Except… hmm?
How to say this—
They felt a bit… weak.
Could it be that her subconscious—her so-called true self—had a tendency to pick the lowest-hanging fruit?
The first one, which her instinct told her was the safest world, began to sync memories rapidly. Vela's expression turned rather unimpressed.
It was a completely ordinary, modern, secular world. No spooky urban legends, no warped history, no hidden superpowered humans, no strange subspecies or mutants, no recognizable international powerhouses…
Just the humble rise and entrepreneurial tale of a young arms dealer.
Perhaps to the average person, that life would seem exciting and fulfilling. But to Vela—who had long worked the field in the Cyberpunk world and once served as a top executive at a major pharmaceutical giant in Resident Evil, now a CEO of a military contractor—it felt bland. Too bland.
Still, she quickly accepted this "ordinary" version of herself without much complaint.
After all, how could the world always give you the best draw? Just being lucky enough to avoid danger thanks to her innate "instinct" was already something to be grateful for. Some wins, some losses. As long as it's not the worst outcome, why grumble?
Even mosquito legs are still meat, right?
The second one, selected based on her intuition, seemed more suitable for her current stage—one that could help consolidate her foundation, experience something new, and stock up on fresh technologies.
As the synchronization of this world's memories concluded, Vela's expression turned slightly peculiar.
Some of the institutions and entities within were growing more and more familiar.
This world, too, had followed a normal industrial revolution into a modern 21st-century society. No skewed history, just a few man-eating beings lurking in the cities.
Creatures that looked like ordinary humans, but were far stronger physically, had predatory organs called kagune, and could only consume human flesh and coffee—ghouls.
To handle incidents involving ghouls worldwide, an investigative organization had been formed: the Commission of Counter Ghoul (CCG).
By killing ghouls or extracting their kakuhou, a special organic weapon called a Quinque could be forged. Alongside its manufacturing techniques, the daily routine of a ghoul investigator (aka White Dove) became a tale of fieldwork, harvesting kakuhou, crafting Quinques, and rising through the ranks of the CCG's bureaucracy.
Vela nodded with mild satisfaction.
Not exactly a gourmet feast, but a pretty decent side dish.
The technology behind Quinque manufacturing and modification greatly piqued her interest.
The third...
"Vela."
"Vela?"
"Vela Adelheid..."
The call of her name pulled some of her attention from self-integration back to external reality.
Click!
A new extra-dimensional interaction. With the power of three "Velas" merged and flowing, a moment of total infusion. Her entire being surged with power. Bliss! Exhilaration! Even her combat cyberware seemed to be celebrating, syncing together with a theoretical 99.99999% compatibility rate. In the instant she casually clenched her hand, the datapad screen beneath it cracked.
A crisp shatter, followed by micro-sparks from damaged circuitry.
"Commander?"
"Supervisor Russell?!"
Vela turned her head and found Shintaro Takayama looking at her with concern. Goro Takemura, Sandayu Oda, and the Arasaka cyber-ninjas in charge of press hall security all followed up with wary and puzzled expressions.
She startled them. It's Saburo-sama's press conference—why crack the datapad?
"Ah, sorry. I was just pondering an improvement design. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration—you know that feeling, right?"
Unbothered and as if it were all perfectly natural, Vela quickly adapted to the newly enhanced, unified power. With a calm expression, she gestured as she explained.
"I see."
Takemura and Oda nodded and returned to their duties, sharply scanning the faces and bodies of every journalist and media figure in attendance. Takayama motioned for Vela to follow—Saburo-sama's press conference was ending; they needed to ensure a secure exit.
Vela nodded without objection.
At this moment, although she had just emerged from a sudden moment of profound realization and dearly wanted to delve into and explore her new gains, she couldn't.
She was currently Saburo's favored protégé. The top boss hadn't stepped down; she couldn't either.
After all, the news that she had been nominated as a candidate for the North American Business Executive Council was already publicly known within Arasaka. Everyone in the company knew—the supervisor who had come to Tokyo from the cesspit of Night City had now caught the ear of the heavens.
One of life's three great joys: topping the imperial examination list, receiving promotions and raises; meeting an old friend in a distant land, and now, reclaiming her "other selves."
Double the joy.
Might as well accompany this old man through the rest of his performance.
Suppressing her inner longing, Vela looked toward Saburo Arasaka, who had just finished his speech and the product reveal. He walked toward her with vigorous energy—both domineering and benevolent.
"Saburo-sama."
Vela placed her right hand over her chest in salute, then naturally joined Saburo's entourage as they exited the press conference.
Saburo was only here to deliver the keynote address. Details about the R-618 'Rebirth' Compound and related therapy and wellness products would be handled by dedicated marketing experts and sales agents.
"Vela," he said. "Come closer."
After offering a formal apology to Shintaro Takayama, Vela stepped up, falling into pace three steps behind Saburo's right side—almost aligned with Hanako Arasaka on the left.
This scene, almost instantly, was captured by countless journalists out of pure professional instinct.
Saburo ignored the cameras, speaking in clipped Tokyo dialect about business:
"Vela, if I reveal parts of the Sonnentreppe Project and release a watered-down version of the R-618 'Rebirth' Compound for collaboration with biotech firms and the EU, what is your opinion?"
"Your will, Saburo-sama."
Vela answered without hesitation.
"Better to redirect than to block. Your 'rejuvenation' has no doubt already landed on the desks of the key power players in our allied nations and companies. Giving something up isn't surrender—it's strategic patience. Only shortsighted fools bicker over scraps. Arasaka needs allies. At least until the restoration is complete."
As she spoke, Vela emphasized the phrase "allied nations and companies."
"Continue."
Saburo nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
He seemed quite pleased with Vela's attitude and answer.
"I do not underestimate the intelligence of others. Only fools think everyone else is stupid. Likewise, I do not believe myself inferior to them. Rather than have them steal, deceive, or seize by force, I prefer to release some benefits to regulate them. Let Arasaka set the industry standard."
If it was only about stolen tech, Vela wasn't too concerned.
The most valuable parts of the Sonnentreppe Project were the flower itself and the purified Progenitor Virus. Everything else—like the R-618 'Rebirth' Compound and related enhancements—were derived from viral byproducts.
Even if they managed to get their hands on the serum's formula and production method, so what?
Without the key raw materials, even the most skilled couldn't cook a meal without rice. Even if their biotech was advanced enough to decode the genetic secrets of the serum and clone it, it would take them at least several years.
By then, Vela and Arasaka would likely already be restored and soaring.
Would they really care about some stripped-down rehab and beauty product tech?
Backed by multiple worlds beyond the Veil, with the strength of five Velas, if she couldn't beat them in her core expertise, she might as well bash her head in with a brick.
Along the way, Vela and Saburo exchanged views like this.
It wasn't the first time…
On the left, Hanako Arasaka stared at them in a daze.
She remembered times long past.
Back then, her elder brother Kei Arasaka had not yet passed away, and her blood brother Yorinobu had not yet rebelled.
Their father, Saburo, had not yet aged to the point of needing a wheelchair. After school, during family conversations or meals, she and Yorinobu would kneel on either side of the table.
Saburo would ask them about their day, what they learned, what insights they gained—and it was exactly like this. He would nod, the corners of his mouth would rise slightly, and he would explain.
Unaware that Saburo's attempt to win her over—and their oddly synchronized rapport—was stirring up mixed emotions in Arasaka's first princess, Hanako, Vela continued discussing supplementary achievements of the Sonnentreppe Project.
Military applications.
"The Progenitor Virus has an extremely low compatibility rate. Failed hosts either die or lose their humanity and become monsters—like the two infected during the Johannesburg incident."
"While their threat level diminished after losing rationality, I think there's potential in special cultivation and directed proliferation. Using giant-type infected to interface with military-grade cyberware, like the 'Prototype Cyberskeleton' project from Night City's Equipment R&D Department, might be a worthwhile direction. I believe it's worth a try."
"Tyrants, huh?" Saburo said thoughtfully, recalling the hapless tech from Militech who had nearly lost all human form after repeated experiments by Vela.
"That failed infected subject—his early-stage symptoms reminded me of an old film: zombies," he added.
Vela was momentarily speechless.
While the zombie concept was archaic in the Cyberpunk world, it wasn't unheard of.
Ancient notions of zombies could be found in folklore: corpse-herding shamans from Xiangxi, vampires and ghouls of the Balkans, voodoo rites of Haitian witch doctors, the many yokai of Japanese urban legends…
Perhaps the first widespread modern zombie portrayal came from 1968's Night of the Living Dead, and then 1978's Dawn of the Dead.
But beyond that, the concept never reached full saturation. The Resident Evil franchise never had a chance to be born. Even if Capcom's founder had the idea, they'd likely have ended up working for Arasaka's infotainment division.
Which made sense. The world had gone off the rails in the late '80s and '90s. Many familiar cultural icons simply never had the soil to take root.
By the 2020s, the DataKrash unleashed by the "God of Hackers" Bartmoss caused a total technological regression. The zombie concept became a buried, fringe memory.
As their conversation dragged on, and Saburo showed no signs of letting her go—likely intending to bring her back to the Arasaka Family Compound again—Vela sighed internally.
If you have free time, you go. she muttered to herself.
...
Resident Evil World – San Francisco Militech Industrial Park.
CEO Office.
Vela rubbed her temples and unfolded a support request report from the BSAA (Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance).
Though her gaze lingered on the page, her thoughts were elsewhere.
"Atlas," she murmured.
That was the word that had surfaced most frequently in the memories of the fifth "Vela" she had just reconnected with.