"ROAR—!"
The thunderous cry of the Tyrannosaurus Rex.
It wasn't electronically synthesized, nor was it a pre-recorded audio track.
The audience, filled with anticipation, collectively held their breath.
As the vertical lift platform rose with a mechanical hum, the first thing to emerge from behind the steel gates was a massive head.
It was wedge-shaped and menacing, with a thick, muscular jaw. Rough, scale-like lips parted to reveal rows of conical, rake-like teeth. The nostrils flared along the sides of the skull—long, narrow openings running front to back. But the most captivating feature, without question, were those two bestial eyes glowing faint green beneath the pronounced brow ridge, radiating raw ferocity.
Soon, its entire form came into view: a burly torso, stubby forelimbs, powerful legs packed with muscle, and a thick, corded tail that looked like coiled steel cables.
"Oh my goodness!" In the elevated VIP seats on the second floor, Ashley Graham gasped in awe, eyes wide as she stared at the magnificent predator taking center stage.
"ROAR—!!" Under the spotlight, the beast raised its head and bellowed to the heavens—like it was announcing the return of the prehistoric age.
The audience fell silent.
Only the journalists, armed with long lenses and cameras, dared move, their shutters clicking non-stop.
In this moment, the myth of resurrected dinosaurs became real—and the news was spreading across the world through the live broadcast.
"Could Ms. Russell be in danger?" In the third-floor VIP box, Manuela Hidalgo furrowed her brow, genuine concern flashing in her eyes as she instinctively turned to the man beside her.
She worried for Vela's safety. Standing beside her creation, the 11-meter-long, 4-meter-tall, 7-ton behemoth—with its massive head and jaws—was an intimidating sight.
One wrong move, and Vela could easily become a snack.
If an accident happened...
"She won't." The man in black immediately cut off her anxious thoughts, his tone firm. "The Boss doesn't make rookie mistakes."
"Oh." Manuela blinked her clear blue eyes and nodded in understanding.
True enough—Vela, who always faced every situation with composed confidence, wouldn't be harmed by a creature she herself had engineered.
Tyrannosaurus Rex? Hmph. Hardly more impressive than a T-Veronica chimera, she thought.
Just as Manuela began mentally comparing the Rex to the monstrous plant-creatures her deranged father once cultivated, the front rows suddenly erupted in panicked gasps.
Too close.
THUD! THUD! THOOM!
The T-Rex's heavy footsteps drummed through the hall, reverberating in the chests of every spectator. Those seated near the stage could feel its hot, fetid breath wafting over their faces.
Faces blanched.
There was no doubt now—this was a living, breathing Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Some froze in terror, some raised their arms instinctively, others prepared to bolt...
Even with security robots and MaxTac units standing by, the tension was palpable.
Just as some of the younger attendees were on the verge of tears—
Snap!
Vela snapped her fingers.
The crisp sound echoed clearly through the hall, amplified by the exhibition's acoustic system—designed so even the upper levels and private boxes could hear her voice distinctly.
"Rexy," Vela called softly.
"ROAR—rawr!"
The T-Rex, which had been posturing before the front row, suddenly turned its head.
With a single swing of its cable-thick tail, it lumbered toward the stage—toward Vela, who stood with one hand on her hip, utterly unafraid.
"Ah!" Down below, several ladies gasped, covering their mouths in alarm.
But the creature—Rexy, as Vela called her—lowered her massive head and let out a soft, rumbling purr.
Vela reached out and stroked her chin gently.
"Mmm~ good girl."
The texture was surprisingly pleasant—warm, with a bark-like, granular roughness.
"Rawr~!" Rexy squinted her eyes, tail swishing joyfully, the air whooshing with each swing.
It was almost as if she were saying, Just kidding earlier!
The tension in the room instantly vanished.
The audience was left speechless. A "Beauty and the Beast" moment was one thing—but a dinosaur acting like a spoiled pet? None of them had ever seen, or even imagined, such a sight.
Even the children who had been on the verge of tears stopped crying, staring wide-eyed at Vela as she playfully rubbed the dinosaur's head.
"Oh..." Claire sighed, hand on her forehead.
Unbelievable—she was actually making the Tyrannosaurus Rex, one of the most powerful land predators in Earth's history, look like a whimpering puppy wagging its tail for attention.
Say what you will, but it fit perfectly with Militech's long-standing image as pioneers and innovators.
Other people walked their dogs. Vela walked her dinosaurs.
"Ridiculous," someone muttered softly.
Still, one couldn't help but wonder—humanity's defiance of nature, its ability to resurrect and tame dinosaurs, and its audacious attempt to control the very secret of life—would it ultimately prove a blessing or a curse for the world?
"Could this be the result of a breakthrough in cybernetic integration? Or perhaps advances in neural sciences? Or even controlled interference during gestation? Or... maybe all of the above..." Annette Birkin's researcher instincts surfaced as she gazed at the docile prehistoric beast beneath Vela's hand, her mind racing with hypotheses.
Could this technology be applied to stabilize uncontrollable B.O.W.s?
Could it even preserve the consciousness of G-virus hosts—suppressing the parasitic takeover that defines G-organisms?
A complex feeling stirred within her. Annette couldn't help thinking of her husband, William—driven insane and ultimately consumed by the very creature he became.
If only William had had access to such technology back then...
But she quickly stopped herself and gave a bitter smile.
Useless thoughts.
At that time, William had been crushed under the immense pressure Vela placed on him—mentally unraveling, barely holding together.
Umbrella sent the U.S.S. to "deal with" the traitor trying to steal the G-virus. Vela, meanwhile, had dispatched her own people back into Raccoon City to recover evidence while publicly cutting ties with the disaster. The Federal Government, desperate for a scapegoat, was busy passing blame to save face.
Would any of them have let William Birkin walk out of Raccoon City alive?
Heh.
A faint, weary smile curved Annette's lips as she let go of the thought entirely.
Enough. She had long since accepted her fate.
The higher-ups could worry about the science and politics.
She was just a prisoner on temporary leave—grateful for a few rare days of peace with her daughter.
Turning to look at Sherry, who was now enthusiastically explaining dinosaur facts to her friends, Annette's expression softened.
Aside from you, I want nothing else, she thought.
"This... this really is a T-Rex?" Jake Muller asked, frowning in disbelief. "Where's the wild instinct?"
"You'd probably find it if you tried touching her," Sherry replied dryly, leaning back in her seat. "But no, it's not a true Jurassic or Cretaceous-era tyrannosaur. Strictly speaking, it's a synthetic life form created through genetic engineering."
"Genetic engineering, huh? Where'd they even get dinosaur DNA?"
"Amber," she answered.
"Amber?"
"To be precise, insect amber. They extracted genetic fragments from ancient mosquitoes trapped in amber that once fed on dinosaur blood. Combined with Militech's advanced gene-editing technology, the sequences were repaired, spliced, and recombined—thus, dinosaurs of the modern age were born. At least, that's what the official Jurassic Park website claims. Because of that, amber prices have skyrocketed lately—"
Before she could finish, the rumble of engines suddenly filled the hall.
Moments later, the excited voices of children rose from the front rows.
"An armored vehicle!"
"It's a tank!"
"No, it's a mech!"
Arguing and pointing, they watched as two massive, six-legged armored vehicles rolled onto the far ends of the stage.
Resembling squat, mechanical spiders, each stood three meters tall. Six hydraulic legs supported their bodies, while two heavily armed arms were fitted with multi-barrel cannons and hydraulic shears. Their "mouths" were grenade launchers, and their bulging abdomens housed rocket pods and missile bays.
The two mechs faced each other from opposite sides of the platform, casting long, dark shadows across the exhibition floor.
Their laser-guided optics rotated in sync, sleek and merciless. The metallic hulls gleamed under the lights, every weapon mount exuding cold, industrial menace—the pure essence of war machinery.
In an instant, the tension created by the prehistoric beasts vanished completely.
After all, this was humanity's era. The Jurassic Park might be impressive, but at the end of the day, it was still just a theme park. No matter how mighty dinosaurs once were—humans could now wipe them out at will.
Clap, clap, clap!
Someone stood and began applauding.
Even those who had trembled in fear moments ago joined in, reassured by Vela's calm demeanor, the presence of security robots, the MaxTac troopers, and now the intelligent armored mechs.
What was there left to fear?
And that—was precisely the message Vela wanted to deliver to every spectator in the hall and to those watching around the world.
"...Safety," she said with a faint smile, "is the foundational creed upon which Jurassic Park was built."
As Vela soothed the slightly restless T-Rex, unsettled by the multi-legged war machines' targeting sensors, she continued her address.
Although incidents of dinosaurs going rogue and mauling tourists were practically routine back in the original Jurassic Park + World—almost as if some world-conscious curse punished any attempt to control life itself—
This wasn't that world.
This was Resident Evil.
Losing control? She'd love to see how.
If outside opportunists wanted to meddle, or if animal rights activists tried to sabotage her projects—or even if there were moles within—so be it. Experience was the best teacher. Militech's Security Division could always use another real-world drill. Every mistake exposed a weakness, and every weakness could be improved upon.
As for Jurassic World under Masrani Global—the operator of the Nublar Island park—Vela was actually quite curious. When the hybrid dinosaurs escaped and chaos ensued, which program would prove superior: the Biohazard Countermeasure Division she herself had proposed, or the rival hybrid genome projects run by the older research teams?
The principle was universal: wherever there were humans, there was competition. And the budget was always finite.
After being invited to join Masrani Global, Vela had been given her own genetics lab. Naturally, that meant carving a piece of the funding pie for herself.
Scientists, after all, loved their rivalries. And Vela was anything but complacent—sharp, ambitious, and hungry for control. The older laboratories were not pleased. Thus began the competition: constant debate, aggressive iteration of genome-editing tech, wave after wave of hybrid dinosaur projects... like raising a pit of venomous insects just to see which one survived.
From conflict came truth—and from relentless competition, progress.
Whatever the case, Masrani Global's CEO seemed thrilled.
"Rawr..." Rexy gave a low, uncertain rumble, as if sensing the dark, calculating schemes brewing in Vela's mind. She shuffled nervously, trying to appear loyal.
Vela couldn't help but chuckle.
Of course—the flagship dinosaur she'd personally raised would have good instincts.
"The pursuit of new species never ends," Vela continued smoothly. "Militech will, as always, remain dedicated to forging a brighter, more magnificent future for all mankind."
She gave Rexy's chin a gentle pat and stepped forward.
"In time, people will view the Tyrannosaurus Rex as casually as they do elephants at the city zoo. And this... is only the beginning. Perhaps one day, dinosaur pets will become as common as household dogs."
Reaching the base of the vertical lift, she raised her hand.
A low hum filled the air.
The gates opened once more.
"Hiss! Hiss! Hiss!"
This time, the sounds were sharper—and multiplied.
Four sleek, amber-striped figures shot out at incredible speed.
They bounded up to Vela and rubbed their heads affectionately against her palm.
In their eagerness to compete for attention, the four small predators even began jostling and pushing each other, their scaly heads bumping against her legs with audible thuds.
Only when a thunderous ROAR! echoed from Rexy did the raptors fall obediently silent.
Now the audience could finally see them clearly: each stood roughly 1.6 meters tall, over 3.5 meters long including the tail, their lean bodies weighing around 220 kilograms. Three-clawed forelimbs flexed like short daggers, and sharp, uneven teeth lined their jaws.
"Velociraptors," Vela announced, tapping each small head lightly. "Carnivorous theropods from the Late Cretaceous. Their name means 'swift thief.' Ferocious by nature, they hunt cooperatively and are known for their pack instincts."
Then, with a playful smirk, she added, "Don't try this yourselves."
The audience erupted into brief laughter.
Who in their right mind would dare imitate her?
Vela gestured for the trainers to escort the raptors away, leading them to the opposite lift.
The showcase continued.
"Dilophosaurus."
An early Jurassic carnivore, notable for the twin crests on its head—vibrant and expandable.
"Ankylosaurus."
A gentle herbivore, known for its armored body and clubbed tail.
"Ornitholestes."
...
By the time Vela finished, and the lumbering Triceratops had been led offstage, the vast platform was filled with holographic projections of the entire dinosaur family.
It was a good thing the venue was enormous and the stage reinforced—otherwise, it would never have withstood such an elaborate parade.
"Due to space limitations," Vela concluded, "that will be all for tonight's demonstration."
As the whirring of the stage machinery faded, Vela clapped her hands to signal the end of the demonstration. Only then did the audience, still dazzled and exhilarated, finally return to their senses.
"Ms. Russell! Don't you have any smaller dinosaurs?" someone shouted from the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth.
"Yeah! Like the Compsognathus! We've been waiting for that one!"
"Love you, Russell! Any more?"
"Any more?"
"Any more?" ×N
Once someone started, others joined in—this was America, after all, the land of freedom and loud opinions.
Vela, having just taken a sip of mineral water handed to her by her assistant, smiled faintly at the noise.
Of course, some of those voices were plants—but that was fine.
Facing the audience's eager enthusiasm, she pretended to think for a moment before replying, "Such warm enthusiasm—how could I refuse?"
Indeed, this was part of the marketing strategy.
Just like how the front rows—filled with middle-class families and their children—had been deliberately arranged.
How do you win public favor and reduce resistance when launching a controversial project?
Simple: get more people to support you, and fewer to oppose.
Militech wasn't afraid of conflict—but head-on clashes every single time were simply too exhausting and too domineering.
With a bright, confident smile, Vela motioned for a trainer to approach and whispered brief instructions before turning back to the crowd.
"I've heard your requests and passed the word along," she said. "But transporting the next exhibit will take some time, so let's move into the Q&A session. Please raise your hand and indicate whether you represent yourself or a media organization."
As soon as her words fell, the cheers rolled through the hall like thunder, loud enough to shake the air.
It took her a moment of calm hand gestures to quiet them again.
While waiting for silence, Vela cast a glance toward Rexy, still standing obediently nearby as the ever-loyal stage mascot. The faint crystalline glow of her Geass shimmered deep within her indigo eyes.
Hmm... bored, a little hungry, and irritated by all the staring... craving attention, are we?
"Come here," Vela murmured, beckoning.
"Rawr."
Rexy rumbled softly, stepping forward, then thoughtfully curved her tail behind Vela, forming a makeshift seat cushion.
Such a considerate dragon.
"You may call her Rexy," Vela said proudly, showing off her well-trained companion before crossing her legs gracefully and taking her seat.
By now, a few journalists—and those with more provocative agendas—couldn't contain themselves any longer.
"Ms. Russell, do you not have the slightest empathy?" a middle-aged woman called out sharply. "Do you even realize these are living creatures? What kind of cruel experiments did you perform on Rexy to make her so afraid of you—so obedient? This is nothing short of animal abuse! The Animal Protection Association demands an immediate review of Jurassic Park's welfare policies—"
"ROAR—!!"
Before she could finish, Rexy's furious bellow thundered through the hall, instantly silencing her.
The woman froze, her face draining of color.
"Invalid premise," Vela said coolly, patting the rough, pebble-textured tail she sat upon. "Including dinosaurs, all creatures within Jurassic Park are the private property of Militech. Existing animal rights legislation does not apply to resurrected species."
"Next question."
"But—!"
Vela simply gave her a glance.
The woman's gaze darted to the heavily armed security robots that had taken position along the aisles. Her lips tightened—and she sat down without another word.
"Ms. Russell," another reporter rose, his tone far more composed. "Earlier, you mentioned the idea of dinosaur pets entering the consumer market. Could you elaborate?"
"The project is officially titled Mini-Dino Pets," Vela explained. "It's designed for both personal and public service applications. In short, we select the most suitable, docile species and engineer them into companion animals—preserving their primal nature while enhancing sociability and playfulness."
"Including the T-Rex behind you?"
"Haha, I'm afraid that would be difficult," she replied, amused. "For one, its size poses... logistical challenges. And then there's the appetite. So, the product line will focus primarily on miniature and small-sized dinosaurs."
"Like the Compsognathus?"
"Yes. It's an intricate process of genetic engineering, but our DNA excavation teams have already prepared several samples. Please look forward to it—they'll be joining us shortly." Vela's eyes swept across the crowd as she spoke.
"OK, thank you for your answer," the reporter said respectfully, sitting down again.
Now that was a professional—polite and well-trained, just like a true journalist from a reputable paper.
Hmm, absolutely unrelated to the fact that Vela happened to be a shareholder in that newspaper...
Next. Vela's gaze swept across the hall, and within moments, she selected a raised hand from among the crowd—a professor, clearly from the academic circle.
"Life is resilient. Life... finds a way," the man said. He appeared to be in his fifties, bald, his sharp features giving him a hawk-like look—eccentric and unmistakably academic.
"Dr. Russell, I don't deny Militech's strength," he continued, "but unless you exterminate every last one of them right now, as the number and diversity of dinosaurs in Jurassic Park continue to grow, life's inherent unpredictability will inevitably bring disaster."
"Chaos theory, hm?" Vela nodded slightly, her tone even. "A keen observation."
Then she shifted her tone.
"But, professor, that is precisely why we must continue. We are Militech—the vanguard of human progress."
"The founding purpose of Jurassic Park was never merely to resurrect dinosaurs. I won't deny the commercial aspects, but within the park's ecological simulation lies a far greater goal: the practical application of environmental reconstruction and ecosystem engineering—technologies that will form the cornerstone of humanity's expansion to the stars."
Vela had no interest in debating philosophical notions of life.
So, she simply elevated the topic to something larger—something visionary.
And it wasn't mere rhetoric. Her next major objective was, indeed, to reach for the stars—to begin interstellar expansion. Lunar and inner solar colonization counted as a start, after all.
The old professor looked intrigued. Unfortunately for him, Vela's assistant stepped onto the stage at that moment.
After acknowledging the professor with a polite nod, Vela stood once again, smiling serenely. "I believe many of you can't wait to meet our mini-dinosaur darlings. So without further ado—please welcome our little friends!"
The mechanical hum returned.
This time, the lift platform rose much more slowly. For a long moment, there was no sign of any creature.
Then, as the platform locked into place, three tiny forms appeared: a bright green, frog-mouthed Compsognathus with big, glossy eyes; a slender-necked, emerald-scaled Procompsognathus; and a short-snouted, horn-ringed Protoceratops—adorably chubby, like a baby lizard wearing a dinosaur costume.
Vela casually lifted the little Protoceratops into her arms.
It tilted its head and let out a high-pitched, chirping squeak right on cue.
"Wow!" the crowd erupted.
Cheers and laughter filled the air as Vela invited several families with children onto the stage to interact—with the baby dinosaurs and the towering Rexy.
The event's atmosphere reached its peak.
Finally, after smoothly and professionally wrapping up the media Q&A, Vela stepped down from the stage.
Rexy was led away by her trainers, and the press conference continued under the supervision of Militech's designated spokesperson.
According to the schedule, Vela's next stop was the Engineering Division briefing on the construction progress of the Militech Tower Global Headquarters.
...
Toward the back rows of the main floor, Ada Wong glanced one last time at the lively exhibition stage. Seeing that Vela had already departed, her interest faded. It was time to scout the area and prepare for infiltration under her false identity.
She rose and began walking toward the back, blending with the crowd of reporters eager to chase Vela down for a quote—or even a single photo.
Striding casually down the corridor, Ada's sharp eyes took in every angle of the hall's structure.
Then—tap, tap, tap.
A sudden flurry of footsteps echoed behind her.
Coming! Her gaze flickered, and she stepped aside near a doorway by the stairs.
But before the newcomers arrived, a wave of chatter and perfume flooded down from the staircase.
A swarm of excitable young women—students—rushed past, nearly shoving Ada aside.
"Fan girls," Ada muttered, exasperated. She'd clearly heard them shouting about autographs.
Adjusting her position to a less conspicuous corner, she froze when she spotted someone approaching from the opposite direction—Sherry.
Damn it. This job just keeps getting worse.
She'd have to demand more pay from Wesker.
Ada definitely didn't want to cross paths with Sherry. If the girl recognized her, it would be trouble.
Thinking fast, she shifted positions again, preparing to quietly slip away.
But just then—Vela's entourage appeared.
"Ms. Russell!"
"Dr. Russell!"
"Madam CEO!"
The wall of reporters surged forward, pressing in. Ada was shoved aside, colliding with something solid.
Something... very solid.
A chill ran through her.
Turning her head slowly, she found herself staring into the unflinching gaze of Militech's black-suited bodyguards—and directly beyond them, Vela's strikingly flawless, commanding face.
For a heartbeat, Ada froze—then forced a stiff smile and quickly pulled out a small notepad.
Vela blinked, momentarily surprised.
Isn't this Ms. Wong? she thought. But she didn't expose her.
Instead, Vela smiled faintly and extended a hand to take the notebook.
In elegant cursive, she signed the first page: Vela Adelheid Russell
Vela didn't care about Ada Wong's corporate espionage—in fact, she rather enjoyed it.
As long as there was no sabotage, she welcomed the game.
Whatever you manage to steal... is only what I allow you to.
—
—
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