"Atlas."
"Atlas, the Titan..."
In the CEO office of the Central Headquarters building at the San Francisco Militech Industrial Park, Vela sat behind a luxurious, high-tech semi-circular desk, deep in thought.
At least, that's how it appeared to outsiders. If there had been others in the office...
She had already entered that vague yet clear and precise mystical state. A strange, shifting light slowly focused in her indigo irises.
She indexed the most vivid memory from her subconscious—a scene that stood out.
Light rain.
A cemetery.
The somber sounds of funeral music and gunshots filled the air. The grass-covered marble tombstones trembled as wheels spun, the sound of soldiers' commands and military boots pounding in unison on the ground.
From the absurdly exaggerated security convoy, a black SUV, a middle-aged man dressed in a suit stepped out.
Around fifty, wearing a pristine white shirt with a standing collar, no tie, and a dark-colored suit. He had medium build, with brown-golden hair combed into a chestnut style and a receding hairline. Below that, a sharply defined, commanding face, with noticeable furrows on his forehead and around his mouth.
Add the politician's smile and the distinct air of an upper-tier leader, and it was clear he was the type who could regularly appear on serious political news channels.
"Excuse me, is this Vela Adelheid?" The man dismissed his bodyguard and stepped forward, saying, "I'm your parents' employer."
"Sir," I replied.
"I am truly sorry, Vela. Please, allow me to address you in this way. Your father was one of my most excellent employees. They gave their lives for world peace and stability. This was a tragedy, one that could have been avoided."
His tone was slow and filled with genuine apology.
"Child, I will take care of you in your father's stead. At Astra, we have a technological reserve at least twenty years ahead of the military. I promise you, here, your talents will be showcased to the fullest, just as your father expected. Astra will accept and embrace you as a member of the family."
With that, the man took a black business card from the breast pocket of his suit and handed it to me.
"Vela, think it over. Just like your father did."
Then, he left.
I lifted the card in my hand.
The cool metallic texture felt slightly off, and on the pure black background, a silver-gray 'Λ' shaped inverted V symbol appeared, with a scarlet arrow embedded inside.
As the logo rotated, the card shifted in black, red, and white, and a name appeared: Jonathan Irons, Chairman and CEO of Atlas Corporation.
...
"Jonathan Irons."
Tap tap, her fingers unconsciously tapped lightly on the desk as she furrowed her brows for a moment, only to quickly relax again.
That was the first encounter with Irons.
Truly, it was quite memorable.
She already knew which world the fifth 'Vela' was in.
Atlas Corporation, named after the Titan from Greek mythology, was the world's largest private military contractor and weapons manufacturer. With the most powerful military force in its world, it was rich enough to rival nations, its technology fifty years ahead of global standards. High-tech equipment had already been deployed to frontline soldiers.
"High-end warfare..."
Vela smiled mysteriously, almost speaking to herself as she rose and walked to the large floor-to-ceiling windows behind her. Through the adjustable one-way polarizing glass, she gazed at the high-tech factories and research buildings of the military-industrial park rising from the ground.
This was her Militech.
Though it was temporarily no match for Arasaka and the genuine Militech of the Cyberpunk world—or the mighty Atlas Corporation from the Call of Duty world—it was only temporary.
Unlike other worlds, where obstacles or sheer lack of power and understanding meant her personal development trajectory had no bearing, in the Resident Evil world, she had already stepped into the ruling circle by leveraging Umbrella as a stepping stone. She was now connected to all key forces, with power, wealth, and influence, only waiting for time to solidify her foundation and accumulate her strength.
The future looked bright.
Vela had a premonition.
Here, in this world, the second 'Vela's' path in Militech would be smooth and unimpeded. Everywhere she looked, all she saw was a wide-open road, with no obstacles in her way!
In comparison, the Cyberpunk world posed a much harder challenge. Arasaka's path to dominance would be blocked by NUSA first and foremost.
Corporations like SovOil, Petrochem, Kang Tao, Zetatech, and Lazarus would all play hardball, whether or not they had signed alliances. Not to mention the looming European banking institutions.
Arasaka's road to revival and domination was fraught with difficulties. Achieving a peaceful rise to the top was nearly impossible.
The third 'Vela' was in a completely normal modern secular world, with a straightforward historical trajectory.
There, she had no status, no power, and no opportunity. She had only managed to accumulate her first difficult bucket of "wild" startup capital after returning, still in the early stages of her business career. Transitioning from arms dealing to self-manufacturing, she was essentially useless at this point.
Vela couldn't afford to focus too much on that world. She could send over some useful things for defense, leak a few patents to help her stand firm—just that would be victory enough.
The fourth 'Vela' was busy hunting ghouls.
Her position was neither high nor low; she was a CCG White Dove investigator and a Quinque R&D technician.
Currently, she was working within the Commission of Counter Ghoul, improving her skills in Quinque manufacturing and gaining experience while dealing with worldwide ghoul-related incidents.
Unlike her other self's business vision, at least not for now, once she took over and fixed the CCG, eventually transitioning to GFG in Germany and US CCG upon retirement—then it would be another story.
Once she was a civil servant within the system, failing to climb higher would be a waste. It would be foolish to pursue a "revolving door" after retirement for money, connections, or credentials.
As for the fifth 'Vela'?
The time wasn't right yet.
"So I have a heavy responsibility," Vela murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly as a smile played on her lips, watching the ripples forming in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of her...
One, two, three, four—it's all her.
One of her was at a family banquet in the cherry blossom courtyard of the Arasaka Family Compound, unable to break free;
Another was in Africa, flipping second-hand arms and promoting her company's self-developed products, enjoying a barbecue with retired mercenaries on the cargo ship on the way back;
One was out in the field slaying ghouls, carrying a Quinque suitcase and returning to the CCG branch with trophies;
Another, in a bright, spacious R&D office with an 'Atlas' logo, reporting to Jonathan Irons.
Tsk.
Still, this world, where Militech development stemming from the Umbrella California branch, the USA region, and some other branches had been reorganized, was much more time-efficient and convenient.
Though it didn't match the Cyberpunk world's Arasaka or the authentic Militech, nor was it on the level of the Atlas Corporation from the Call of Duty world, that was only temporary.
With current progress, she had acquired Quinque manufacturing tech and high-tech military equipment manufacturing techniques from Atlas.
Yes, her development and growth would be completely unimpeded...
Knock knock knock.
"Come in."
Vela didn't look up as she spoke, instead spinning her pen and beginning her task.
Creeeak.
It was her administrative secretary.
"Ms. Russell, they've come again. These are the joint protest and petition letters from Greenpeace, radical environmental groups, and animal protection organizations, asking to be handed over to you." The secretary placed a thick stack of documents on the desk.
Vela glanced at them briefly, and her face immediately darkened, her brows almost twitching in anger.
Even Chris Redfield's personal request for equipment and funding support had been temporarily shoved aside.
The documents were petitions, signed and stamped, filled with passionate rhetoric from those standing on the moral high ground, pointing fingers at her.
"Our large-scale infrastructure projects in California, Texas, Raccoon City, and Colorado have met with their strong opposition. Their people have chained themselves to trees, set up tents on mountains that need leveling, and even sabotaged our construction vehicles at night, vandalizing and defacing our local offices..."
Seeing her CEO's disgusted expression, seemingly stained by some unpleasant, yellowish substance, the secretary hesitated briefly before continuing:
"Their spokesperson demands that our Militech operations halt construction and return the land to nature, restoring forests and building ecological parks for displaced animals, with funds allocated for protection. They intend to oversee it..."
Bang!
This was too much!
Vela slammed the petition onto the desk, her face darkening as she muttered under her breath, "They're getting too bold! This door cannot be opened. Once we do, the consequences will be endless. Militech will never step back."
She knew very well. After the 1960s and 70s left-wing movements in the Western world, environmentalism and animal protection became cultural and media mainstream topics. By the 1990s, extreme animal protection organizations began to rise.
Even the Vice President of the United States had joined in their support.
By the end of the 20th century, the Cold War ended, the USSR collapsed, and the U.S. deindustrialized, shutting down many military factories and laying off skilled workers. Militech emerged and began reversing the trend, taking over the abandoned military factories, research projects, and skilled workers.
It became a notable shift within America, especially with how Militech, under Vela's leadership, handled charity and environmental causes. Not that it didn't contribute, but in comparison to its scale, it was too small, and the money rarely reached them, which made these people upset.
"Grab them!"
The word was spat out with force by Vela.
"This is no longer just extreme protest—it's time to hit back hard. Where are the police? Where's security? Arrest them! Where are our legal and partnering law firms? Sue them! We'll apply to the state governments of California, Texas, and Colorado for the licenses to run state-level private prisons. If the prisons are overcrowded and under pressure, we'll sympathize with the governors and state legislatures and build our own, relieving their pressure."
"I'll spend a few hundred million to build prisons just to shove them in! And not give them a single penny!"
With that, Vela looked at her secretary, who seemed to hesitate to speak further.
"Is there more?"
"Yes, ma'am. Some social activists say our company's efforts for diversity, equity, and inclusion aren't sufficient..."
Vela: "..."
Fortunately, the diversity movement hadn't yet become that insane...
Ahem... there are some constraints in development, but not to that extent.
Here, everything is great, except for all these damn annoying little issues that keep cropping up like stars in the sky...
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