Crackle... unsettling static mixed with the radio transmission.
Muffled gunfire echoed beneath the dim sky, accompanied by low, ghastly growls and faint chewing sounds.
Huff—huff! Rapid, panicked breathing.
Thud! The man vaulted over a wall.
His footsteps grew quicker.
Suddenly, as he turned the corner, he froze.
He held his breath.
Peering over his shoulder, he saw someone crouched over another person—feeding.
Fear seized him. He stepped back quickly, desperate to retreat, but the feaster seemed to have heard the movement behind him. It jerked its head around.
A ghastly, pale face. Murky eyes. A rotten mouth smeared with blood and shredded flesh, with fresh tissue dangling between its teeth.
"A... zombie..."
He muttered blankly.
The creature roared—Raaah!—and lunged with an inhuman twist of its limbs, propelling itself forward at terrifying speed.
The man dropped to the ground, rolling frantically to avoid it. The zombie crashed hard into a nearby car.
BEEP—BEEP! The car alarm blared, piercing the dead silence of the street.
From all directions came answering groans and dragging footsteps.
"Motherf...!" the man cursed in despair, scrambling up on all fours.
The first zombie, bloodied and crazed, came at him again.
The world seemed to blur and fade.
Then—
BANG!
A bullet tore through the despair.
The zombie's skull burst apart mid-lunge.
The man turned. Several angular heavy-rotor gunships flew toward him through the morning light.
On their hulls gleamed a yellow-on-black logo—a square enclosing a V.
MILITECH.
Headquartered in the San Francisco Bay Area—Militech.
Thunk! Searchlights fell upon him.
The rotors whipped up dust as a red-glowing holographic landing zone surrounded him.
RATATATATA—! The guns swept the ground like blazing whips, shattering concrete and tearing through the hordes.
Shielding his eyes, the man looked up.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Ropes dropped.
Glowing harnesses swung in the wind as fully armed corporate soldiers slammed into the ground—standard EXO exoskeletons, sci-fi armor plating, and Militech-grade weapons gleaming with power.
"You're safe now."
No words could comfort more than that simple, firm assurance.
A steel-gloved hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back.
Behind him, soldiers of M.B.C.S—Militech Biological Containment Service—rushed past, kicking away a small car that blocked their line of fire as they met the approaching undead head-on.
Gunfire flashed. Flames danced across the man's face.
Rip— A medic bearing the red cross and Star of Life patch tore away the fabric from the man's arm, injecting him with a T-Virus suppressant. Securing him with a harness, the medic gave a thumbs-up. Click— the line pulled taut, and the survivor was lifted skyward.
From low to high—his view expanded.
Explosions. Flashes. Smoke.
A small town on the brink of annihilation from a bioterror attack.
But for now, the descent into chaos had been halted.
Militech's M.B.C.S was clearing zombies street by street. Survivors were being rescued. Construction was underway outside the quarantine perimeter to build a relief camp...
The man exhaled deeply.
The image froze.
—[M.B.C.S]—
"Militech Biological Containment Service is committed to protecting people from the threat of bioterrorism."
"But our strength is not enough."
"That's why we need strong, ambitious individuals—ready to rise against extreme danger."
"If you live with discipline, excel in teamwork, and are willing to fight terrorism, protect the weak, and better yourself—join us..."
Beep.
[Biohazard] — West Coast, Bay Area, San Francisco CBD, Old Militech Tower.
After finishing the 2004 recruitment promotional video submitted by the M.B.C.S Public Relations Department, Vela rested her chin on her hand, expression calm as she took a sip of tea.
Standard. But sufficient.
Perhaps, in Vela's eyes, it was cliché and lacked originality—but in the latter half of 2004, such a high-definition, high-impact recruitment film, packed with dynamic transitions and intercut with live-action combat footage, was still considered innovative.
After all, despite this world's abundance of "black technology," civilian tech hadn't advanced much faster than the normal timeline.
And besides, Militech was already a massive enterprise. It didn't need flashy gimmicks to attract attention—steady, powerful imagery was enough to demonstrate corporate strength.
"Approved."
"In my personal opinion, though, add a few more heroic highlights of the protagonist—perhaps a brief scene where he kills a zombie and loses his weapon. Just a few seconds will do. And make sure to check the MPAA rating."
Sitting sideways in the executive chair, teacup in hand, Vela waved lightly, her tone detached, almost absent-minded.
"Yes, ma'am!"
The Public Relations Director of the Militech Biological Containment Service rose, bowed, and departed.
Click.
As the door closed—whirr!—the ceiling projector flickered to life, forming a crimson-edged holographic image of a young girl.
Red Queen—Umbrella's core legacy.
"Executive Officer," reported the AI in its cold, emotionless voice, "according to your schedule, in twenty minutes, the Public Relations Directors of the Security Division (M.S.F), Private Security Division, and Trauma Team Division will submit their 2004 recruitment season proposals for review."
As for why there were no representatives from the Militech Security Service (M.S.S) or the Militech Tactical Sweepers (M.T.S)—those units were black ops, recruiting only through internal channels. Militech's Maximum Force Tactical Division, on the other hand, was the largest, oldest security department—directly under Vela's command.
"They all want a slice of this year's U.S. military discharge season in August, huh..."
Setting her teacup down, Vela said, "Understood. Dismiss. Enter shielding mode."
"Yes, ma'am."
The Red Queen obeyed instantly, its hologram dissolving—no unnecessary chatter, no emotional hesitation.
Ah... an untainted cyberspace uncorrupted by Rache Bartmoss or stray rogue AIs beyond the Blackwall. A pure, naive strong AI was truly the perfect workhorse.
With a faint, proud smile, Vela stood and walked to the broad floor-to-ceiling window, hands clasped behind her back.
Through her own reflection in the glass, she gazed down at her San Francisco Bay Area.
"Modeled after Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics, I've set three laws for Militech's AIs—including Red Queen."
She spoke softly to herself:
Absolute obedience to Vela Adelheid Russell's commands.
Protection of Vela Adelheid Russell's interests from any harm.
If any paradox arises, all logical outcomes defer to Vela Adelheid Russell's judgment.
"Insurance? Relax. The Tyrant-Ghoul-118-09 Fusion Virus—T-G–Progenitor–Veronica–Ghoul—was developed here. True, we haven't yet produced an effective vaccine or serum, but we do have suppressants."
"After all, it's still just an RNA virus based on DNA. It may defy some conservation principles, but it's not at the level of gods or demons yet. Our nearly completed [Warframe] system has tested successfully up to the stratosphere—more than enough to counter any B.O.W. threat."
"Assassination prevention? The lab-developed Absolute Guardian Field System, combined with your EMP capacitor module, should be enough to withstand a tactical nuke—unless it detonates right on top of us."
"Ultimate weapon? The F.L.E.I.J.A. antimatter annihilation warhead is still under development—every test's been a dud so far. But plenty of byproducts came from it: new hybrid explosives, high-energy propellants... and we've produced quite a few Sakuradite bombs—smaller in size, greater in yield. Don't worry—they're stored here, ready for use anytime."
"Honestly... am I your warehouse now?"
After glancing toward the holographic Militech Security ad over the Golden Gate Bridge and the rising construction site of the Militech Tower near the Contra Costa County port, Vela turned away.
Stepping forward, she moved to the corner of her office, opened a concealed door leading to her private rest chamber, and pressed against the seamless marble wall.
Click—whirr.
A hidden compartment appeared—a titanium pneumatic vault door.
After entering her passcode and confirming both cybernetic key and biometric data, the door unlocked.
Inside, the view opened wide.
A large vault constructed from drill- and cut-resistant reinforced steel.
Neatly arranged within were:
— Sakuradite bombs (fuses detached)
— Serums of the Progenitor and T-series viruses
— High-concentration liquid Sakuradite in various metal canisters
— Weapon energy modules and Blaze Luminous generators
— Anti-radiation drugs and viral suppressants
— S-rank and above composite-type Chimera Quinques
— Weapons, ammunition, and tactical gear
Compact, yet complete.
And identical "extreme combat caches" existed in multiple locations: the Militech Industrial Park HQ building, Vela's San Francisco residence basement, and the private Hall 1 of the Militech Strategic Expo Center.
All for one purpose—emergency readiness.
To ensure she could retrieve anything at a moment's notice.
"This should do nicely."