Chapter 26: Chris, Go Back to Raccoon City

Night.

Deep forest.

A sinister mansion.

The corpse of comrade Kevin Dooley, one mutilated body after another, faces gnawed away, torsos torn open in horrifying fashion.

That face turning back in the darkness, that ghastly pale and rotting human face...

"Huff..."

Chris Redfield sat leaning forward with his head down, breathing deeply.

After a moment, he opened his eyes. What met his gaze was an enormous red and white umbrella-patterned floor tile, silver-plated and glazed, gleaming spotlessly clean.

"Umbrella..."

The words seemed to come from his throat, the muscles in the man's face trembling with rage, his bloodshot eyes seeming ready to burst into flames.

Chris would never forget what happened that day—the night of July 24th.

As a member of the Raccoon City Police Department S.T.A.R.S. (Special Tactics and Rescue Service) Alpha Team, he had participated in operations targeting the "cult organization" incidents that had been occurring sporadically in the Arklay Mountains area since spring.

He swore it was the nightmare of his lifetime.

Bullshit cult organization!

It was zombies, living dead, biological weapons, and the sins of the US military and Umbrella Corporation!

For the past two months, whenever Chris closed his eyes, he dreamed of returning to that damned mansion, facing the bites of rotting, torn flesh still oozing pus and blood, and attacks from various deformed bioexperiment monsters.

"...Hmph, an Umbrella executive. Hope this is useful."

Chris raised his head. Under the illumination of high-tech luxury chandeliers, this reception hall of the newly built headquarters building within San Francisco's Umbrella Industrial Park was as bright as day, making him, accustomed to groping in darkness lately, instinctively squint.

After the mansion ordeal, he had received treatment and recovered at Raccoon General Hospital. He and Jill, Barry, and Rebecca, as S.T.A.R.S. survivors, had repeatedly tried to expose Umbrella's crimes to the authorities.

Unfortunately, you can't fight city hall.

Umbrella controlled every lifeline in Raccoon City, forcibly suppressing the situation.

Their report letters to the FBI sank without a trace, receiving no response. Even S.T.A.R.S. was forcibly shut down. Chris could only continuously gather damaging information about Umbrella and evidence of their biochemical research from various sources.

Due to some extreme behavior during this period, he had even been suspended. But Chris didn't give up, preparing to use vacation in Europe as an excuse to continue investigating at Umbrella's Paris headquarters.

The process remained extremely difficult.

At this point, Rebecca's letter gave Chris another angle.

Rebecca, who was supposed to accept an invitation to work at the Maine S.T.A.R.S. Exeter branch, suddenly appeared in California, saying she could try to split Umbrella from within.

As for the possibility of this, Chris thought it was complete nonsense.

Umbrella people would fight among themselves and dismember their own company?

But it was a method when there were no methods.

Given the current situation, just waiting around was still waiting around—might as well take a gamble.

The sense of justice in his heart and the mission to avenge his fallen comrades drove Chris to secretly return from Europe.

After reuniting with Rebecca in San Francisco, he first scolded her for being reckless, then took over from Rebecca to tail and observe the situation for a few days.

Learning that there would be big business between the Pentagon and Umbrella today, Chris made his way to the edge of Umbrella's industrial park. After the Defense Department convoy left and confirming Vera was still in the park, he broke in using his former Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. identity, demanding to see Vera with important company secrets.

After the 1996 reorganization, Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S.'s biggest financial sponsor had become Umbrella—this was semi-public knowledge.

The Umbrella employees here definitely knew this.

"Mr. Redfield, please follow me. Director Russell will see you."

Before long, the secretary came with security personnel to escort him.

"..." Silent, Chris stood up.

Really, even knowing Umbrella had uninformed people and different divisions, he had no good feelings whatsoever for these guys wearing umbrella logo pins on their lapels.

Ding.

The elevator doors opened. Chris followed behind the secretary, deep in thought.

Walking through the wide corridor with the obvious feeling of being watched by surveillance, he kept pondering the information about this so-called Director Russell that he and Rebecca had managed to dig up.

Vera Adelaide Russell.

Born 1976, currently 22 years old.

German descent. (P.S.: California and Pennsylvania have the most German-American populations)

Adelaide—a middle name or baptismal name commonly used in German cultural circles to convey good wishes, meaning sweet or noble.

Genius, Umbrella's youngest executive and chief researcher, first Director of the Black Umbrella division.

Skipped grades to complete her education early, graduated from UC Berkeley's College of Engineering.

Her parents died accidentally during her student years. After graduation, she immediately joined Umbrella's California division and rapidly rose to prominence, known for expertise in mechanical engineering, bionics, ergonomics, smart control, electronic information and other fields.

A typical genius success story.

Suspected to be extremely focused on prosthetics and bionics due to her parents' accidental deaths.

An opponent of Umbrella's old routes, who had publicly criticized Umbrella's excessive investment in medical and biological research multiple times, and was the biggest promoter and organizer of Umbrella's transformation from single medical industry in recent years.

That damned mansion probably existed much longer than this Director Russell had even been born.

Compared to the fragmentary G-virus related materials Chris had difficulty investigating in Raccoon City, and the chief researcher William Birkin there, this Director Russell had joined Umbrella far too late.

T-virus, G-virus, BOWs and such had existed before Russell graduated.

And this woman's discord with William Birkin, her belittling and criticism of his research results being disproportionate to investment—even Raccoon City Umbrella's rank-and-file employees had heard about it.

Connecting this with her performance at Umbrella press conferences and symposiums, she really was the breakthrough point with the highest chance of success.

Thinking this, Chris felt a bit more hopeful about this trip's success rate.

Rebecca, I hope you're right.

Click click—

The footsteps suddenly stopped. Seeing the fully armed company security gathering around, Chris turned to the leading secretary. "What's this about?"

Secretary: "Please excuse this, Mr. Redfield. This is standard procedure. Please stand in the security gate for a body search and inspection. Please cooperate."

Chris kept a wooden expression, but having come this far, giving up halfway wasn't his style: "Fine."

Standing between two pillars, two tall, burly security guards stepped forward to search Chris, very thoroughly, holding long strip-shaped items with displays that he couldn't identify—metal detectors?

Only now did Chris begin carefully observing these Umbrella security guards.

First, they looked very intimidating—all tall, strong men.

Equipment-wise, they were definitely much better equipped than his S.T.A.R.S. Completely wrapped up tight. Black stab-proof uniforms, black military boots and tactical gloves, black coveralls, knee pads, arm guards, armored plate aramid heavy bulletproof vests, and...

Hiss?

What model gun was this? He'd never seen it before.

As a former Air Force pilot, police officer, SWAT, who regularly participated in shooting competitions and even won championships—a gun expert—Chris wouldn't say he knew every gun model in the world, but he'd basically handled most of the famous ones with good industry reputations.

Anyway, from Chris's perspective, the guns these security guards held were no inferior in craftsmanship to the champion, runner-up, and third-place prizes he'd seen at shooting competitions. Except they weren't personalized.

"We'll keep these safe for you, Mr. Redfield."

The guards completed the search. A Beretta M92F pistol, a military knife, a spare magazine, a wallet, a key ring, a Nokia phone, and a waist pack containing film, discs, and CAM flash memory were laid out on a long table.

The secretary's eyebrows twitched, but he still didn't say much. "Please." He gestured for Chris to follow.

After advancing dozens more steps, they reached a door that looked very heavy and extremely expensive.

Knock knock.

"Director, Mr. Redfield has arrived."

"Please send him in." A cool female voice came from within.

The secretary stepped aside.

Chris straightened himself. Nothing to back down from.

Worst case scenario, he'd die. He'd backed up all the information he had and given a copy to Rebecca. Before entering the Umbrella industrial park, he'd specifically recorded video. If something happened to him, it could still be used to attack Umbrella.

Creak.

Pushing the door open.

Chris looked at the interior decoration, quickly and carefully observing every detail.

Completely different style from that damned mansion and the Raccoon City Umbrella building.

The office was very spacious, clean, and bright—about three hundred square meters. An entire wall was composed of dark-toned floor-to-ceiling glass. A semi-circular large desk, elegant and refined, seemingly wood yet metal, with a 27-inch computer monitor without a tower placed to the side, and a large black leather executive chair.

The ceiling was very high, with a dropped ceiling directly over the office desk concealing unknown cutting-edge communication equipment and precision electronic devices.

The walls on both sides were divided into three areas. One side had bookcases, with a recessed small bar with wine cabinet and refrigerator plus rest area. The other side's reception area consisted of a large sofa set and coffee table.

Special panels like minimalist ripple-patterned carpeting decorated the long, empty center of the room. A striking woman leaned against the desk, raising a teacup for a light sip, nodding to him.

"Welcome, Mr. Redfield."

Looking at this man with great interest, Vera spoke first.

Tsk tsk, look who this was?

Young Chris.

Over six feet tall, brown-black hair slicked back, though not yet having his future explosive muscles but still quite robust build. His youthful face already showed that steely resolve and the ruthless temperament of someone who'd go hand-to-hand with a Tyrant.

Chris.

Really, Vera hadn't expected that one of Resident Evil's destined protagonist team would come seeking her out on his own.

"Director Russell, you should know about what happened in Raccoon City, right?"

Although Vera's displayed elegance and tranquility gave a very comfortable feeling, as a steel-straight man who'd left even his beautiful partner at home behind, Chris had no intention of chatting aimlessly with Vera and got straight to the point.

"What? That washed-up middle-aged stubborn William Birkin can't even manage his own territory properly? You, a Raccoon City SWAT officer, come to me for help. Ah, though I'd love to kick Birkin out and take charge of US operations, he is a founding member after all, still has some influence on the board."

Raising an eyebrow, Vera set down her teacup.

Fine, you're in a hurry, so no tea for you. No pleasantries—let's talk directly.

"You... no, they're researching viral weapons!"

"Viral weapons research is also part of national defense security. Are you some kid with black-and-white values? As a former Air Force soldier."

Vera spoke in bureaucratic terms. "The company having this kind of business cooperating with the Pentagon is perfectly normal. This is 'White Umbrella' and Birkin's business line. Raise objections at board meetings. I don't interfere with their work, and they can't interfere with mine. These are public rules."

"Rules... your rules. People are dying! Fuck you! So many people died! Yet you sit in your luxurious safe office saying..."

Still just a 25-year-old young man, his composure was limited. Provoked by Vera's casual attitude, Chris, already angry and depressed from being suppressed while investigating Umbrella, immediately exploded.

Bang bang.

"I remind you to use civilized language."

Vera looked at Chris's gritted teeth expression, knocked on the desk, and said sternly: "Otherwise I can ask you to leave."

"Huff... huff..." Taking deep breaths, Chris looked deeply at Vera. "You really don't know?"

"I know, but as a professional corporate person, I won't dig into details or want to understand clearly."

Vera answered instantly, while fearlessly walking up to Chris to face him directly, staring into his eyes, speaking word by word: "So, tell me about the inside information you know regarding the company's Raccoon City situation. That's also why I agreed to see you."

Saying this, Vera turned and walked to the large sofa in the reception area, gesturing for Chris to sit.

"A Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. coming to me—has that stubborn William Birkin degenerated into a waste? Research and research, only to cause a leak without adequate defenses. Don't tell me it's evolved into a biohazard crisis? Then he really needs to step down..."

"It is a biohazard crisis. Corpses are moving. Living dead."

Chris didn't sit, walking directly up to Vera. His expression was unprecedentedly solemn.

"This is your Umbrella's crime. If you have any conscience left, expose the truth to the public. Your people confiscated my bag—it contains the evidence I collected!"

Vera paused, leaning against the sofa, seemingly lost in thought due to Chris's words. Then she smiled.

"As an Umbrella executive, aren't you afraid I'll destroy the evidence and silence you?"

"Go ahead and try. Coming to your snake pit, I never expected to return safely."

"Then, don't you want to try taking me hostage, threatening me into compliance?"

"No, I won't do that. I will never vent anger on others indiscriminately."

Chris kept a straight face, saying stiffly: "You're not a good person, but you're not scum either. You're a true genius. My military friends all say so. The prosthetic technology you developed helps my comrades embrace again. Society needs you... Umbrella has criminals who enable evil, but also innocent people."

"Ha." Vera chuckled lightly.

Young Chris was already this eloquent?

"So if I don't take your side, I'm enabling evil?"

Chris nodded straightforwardly.

"..." Smiling without words, Vera returned to her office desk.

Picking up the phone, she had her secretary bring in Chris's things. Taking out items from the waist pack, Vera accessed the flash memory and reviewed it briefly, her expression growing increasingly grim.

Chris just stood there, observing Vera's changing expressions.

After a long moment, Vera looked at Chris standing across from her. "Not enough."

Chris looked puzzled.

"This circumstantial evidence—William Birkin could easily counter-sue me for defamation, stubbornly claim special effects. They know I have that technology, so I need concrete evidence, like their research process materials or experimental samples."

"You mean..."

"I need you to return to Raccoon City."

Vera revealed her true purpose.

"Of course, I won't make you go alone, but together with my forces."