Annette Birkin was taken away by Derek C. Simmons.
Sherry Birkin, however, remained under Militech's care.
Officially, she was listed as a Raccoon City disaster orphan under the care of Militech's welfare institution. In truth, she was a hostage. Vela herself held the title of honorary director.
Vela could never fully trust Annette—or Simmons, for that matter.
Sure, Vela had a thousand ways to monitor Annette. Rationally speaking, Annette's greatest strength was her capacity to love someone deeply. Previously, that love was for Dr. William Birkin. Even after he mutated into a G-creature, she never gave up trying to reach him. In the original timeline, that was what led to her death.
Now, with William turned to ash—having served as a Militech weapons showcase and target dummy—Annette had been forcibly extracted from the underground lab by M.S.F., averting her destined end. And Sherry was still alive. As long as her daughter lived, the odds of Annette losing control or going mad were extremely low.
That was why Vela dared use her—and why she handed her to Simmons.
The deal: Annette would become a covert federal employee. How Simmons used her was none of Vela's concern.
Vela would suppress any information linking Sherry Birkin to Dr. William Birkin.
Ahem, thanks to Vela's fame, William—known as her fiercest rival within Umbrella and chief suspect in the Raccoon City incident—was now utterly reviled.
Per the employment contract, Annette would be permitted one supervised visit per month to the Militech welfare center. Eventually, she'd be allowed to visit freely. Sherry would receive above-average education and personalized development support, including financial aid and anti-bullying protections.
If Sherry died—and the emotional tether broke—Vela would eliminate Annette immediately.
Without that emotional leash, Annette was useless. Once emotions came into play, Vela could no longer predict her actions. What if one day she had a nightmare, remembered all her moments with William and Sherry, and lashed out at Vela in a fit of grief-fueled madness?
"Mommy... Mommy, I want Mommy..."
Even after Annette was taken away, the room—filled with plush toys, cuddly animal pillows, Barbie dolls, and other warm décor—couldn't comfort Sherry. Curled up on the sofa, she quietly wept. She didn't even dare cry loudly. After all she'd seen in Raccoon City, the sharp little girl—who inherited her parents' intelligence—already understood adults hated noisy children.
So thoughtful. So heartbreaking.
"Don't cry. This is just a temporary goodbye, like before. Your mother just went to work. Be good... At most a month, and she'll be back."
Just as she was about to leave, Vela paused. She waved her guards and security out, then stepped over to Sherry, kneeling slightly and gently stroking the little girl's hair.
"Mmph..."
Sherry stole a glance at Vela—then quickly looked away.
"You recognize me, don't you? I used to work with your father."
"Mm..." Barely a whisper, Sherry nodded through teary eyes. "Daddy... Daddy said you're a bad person..."
Vela: "..."
"Such an honest little girl. As for whether I'm the 'bad person' your father said I was—well, Sherry, you can judge that for yourself when you grow up."
Her voice was gentle, but carried an unmistakable authority.
"Lift your head."
"Mmh..."
Biting her lip, Sherry's tear-streaked face slowly rose.
"Remember me. I'm your semi-guardian, for now. I'll take care of you until you grow up. If you ever need help—reach out to me."
Vela pulled out a sleek black business card from her pocket—trimmed in gold, embossed with a red sigil and silver engraving.
"This is my personal card."
"No replacements if lost, so take good care of it."
"...Okay."
Creak...
The door gently closed behind her.
"Boss, Oswell E. Spencer is requesting a private communication."
The secretary, waiting outside, stepped up as Vela exited the room. Staying half a step behind, she whispered, "Same as usual—ignore it?"
"Same as usual."
Ever since Vela had "discovered" and exposed Spencer's unauthorized diversion of Black Umbrella funds during the Raccoon City incident, she had unilaterally severed all contact.
Old man, stay the hell away from me.
"Have the M.S.F. Security Division coordinate with industrial park security teams in California and other states. Especially around my estate in San Francisco—tighten security."
After issuing precautions against any desperate retaliation from the old man, Vela didn't bother with more and departed Militech's Washington branch headquarters. Next stop: Capitol Hill. Stir the pot a little more, wait for the right opportunity to leak Spencer's ancestral castle location on the black market... then back to San Francisco.
...
Three days later.
San Francisco. Militech Industrial Park.
The main building of the industrial park was still mid-renovation—logos being swapped, interior design overhauled.
Clack, clack—
After a quick executive meeting at the Militech downtown tower, Vela strolled briskly into the lobby.
Having attended the October 1st ceremony awarding Chris Redfield the Medal of Valor and the following banquet, Vela had personally concluded her Washington trip and returned to the West Coast.
The Medal of Valor—officially the Public Safety Officer Medal of Valor—is the highest national honor for U.S. police and firefighting personnel, comparable in prestige to the military's Medal of Honor.
Whatever Chris might've felt deep down, a summons from the President and receiving such an award? As a former Air Force officer, Raccoon City cop, and SWAT member, he had a strong sense of honor. He had to go. He wanted recognition—not just for himself, but for S.T.A.R.S.
At the White House, Chris, accompanied by Claire and surviving S.T.A.R.S. members, saluted Vela with sincere thanks.
During the event, Vela once again invited Chris to join Militech.
As expected, he declined. So, Vela introduced him to Simmons, who was still laying the groundwork for the biohazard containment and emergency response organization.
No official name. No funding. No personnel. No structure.
Chris accepted with enthusiasm.
He even packed his own gear, roped Jill in, and marched straight to Simmons—declaring his unwavering intent to bring Umbrella's remaining evildoers to justice.
Seeing them hit it off, Vela took her leave.
Good. Less on her plate.
Any Umbrella remnants unwilling to accept her reformation? Hit them hard. Let Chris and his fellow B.O.W. experts deal with them.
Militech, as the Pentagon's strategic partner, would collect virus samples, provide support and treatment as needed.
Officially: demonstrating Militech's professionalism—analyzing virus traits, researching countermeasures, compiling data, developing and mass-producing vaccines, suppressants, neutralizers…
Chris would have to cooperate. He'd need to preserve and send as many viral samples as possible.
Beep beep—
Dismissing her bodyguards, Vela descended via her office's private elevator to the underground vault.
Bunker-grade security. Passing through multiple access controls, she arrived before a bank of sealed, recessed glass cabinets.
Password input. Facial and biometric verification—access granted.
The airtight chamber opened, revealing a row of metallic cases marked with the red-and-white Umbrella logo.
Clack clack.
Vela operated the mechanical arm that unlocked the cases. Inside, coiled vials containing green and blue liquids rested in cold storage.
Green: T-virus. Blue: T-virus vaccine.
The very samples Vela had ordered M.S.F. to extract from Raccoon City in secret.
"Super virus, huh... Doesn't seem that practical. Too damn ugly."
"The byproducts of T-virus research are more useful than the virus itself," Vela murmured. "Better to make miracle drugs than chase the fantasy of instant evolution. Just the potential to extend human lifespan and slow aging is enough to entice all those decrepit old men who've built up resistance to every so-called 'elixir of life.'"
She shook her head lightly.
She had no intention of using it herself.
She resumed operating the mechanical arms—closing the metal container, securing the vials, sealing the box, and locking it shut. Then, the robotic arm carefully lifted and placed the container into a slot. After a series of complex mechanisms engaged, the container began rising through a hidden platform.
Vela picked it up, gauging its weight.
"Are you ready?"
She turned to the wall—a mirror-smooth metal surface. In it, the reflection of a beautiful woman with pale golden hair stood silently.
With a single mental command, Vela's eyes shimmered. In the next instant, faint, nearly invisible lines appeared on her reflected face—subtle indicators of subdermal implants. The lower edge of her neck revealed a glint of a cybernetic port, and her collar now bore a black-and-white clover insignia.
The Arasaka tri-clover.
"Give it to me."
She spoke—and so did her reflection.
...
Cyberpunk World. Night City. Westbrook. Corporate Plaza.
Russell residence. Basement level. A newly completed, still-unused microbiology lab.
Thunk.
"Tch..."
The soft thud of the metal container landing on a surface echoed in the room. Vela slumped into a swivel chair, rubbing her throbbing head.
"Cough... cough..."
She hacked weakly, breath uneven. A wave of dizziness washed over her.
"That one... really hit hard. Why does this feel... oddly satisfying, like a kind of release...?"
It took a good while before she fully regained her senses.
She had overdone it this time. She wasn't just tired—her limbs were weak, her head pounded like a drum.
Ding-a-ling.
A notification flickered across her neural HUD—a communication request.
[Medical Attendant]
"Director Russell, pardon the interruption. We've received a notification from 'Quantum Enlightenment'—your bio-metrics just spiked significantly. I'm required to confirm your current health status."
Quantum Enlightenment—a rehabilitation center partnered with Arasaka.
Before she could respond—
Ding-a-ling.
Another call.
[Trauma Team]
"Respected Platinum Member Vela Adelheid Russell, we've detected critical anomalies in your physiology—"
"Stop. I'm fine. Just a bit exhausted from long hours of intense work. I've made a breakthrough in a personal experiment. Got a little overexcited. Order me some sedatives or nerve relaxants."
She cut off the Trauma Team's emergency response and reassured her Arasaka-assigned medical staff that she was okay.
"Whew..."
After ending the calls, Vela rubbed her groggy temples, glanced at the sealed container, and stored it back in its secure vault.
Then, she shut down the lab and made her way upstairs to the bedroom.
First things first—sleep it off.
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