"...Haha."
After briefly processing the world of Call of Duty, with no discomfort at all, just as if it were a simple return home to sleep, Vela categorized the memories and fragmented pieces that suddenly surged from deep within her soul into her brain. Suddenly, the corner of her mouth twitched, and she shook her head, revealing a strange smile.
'Let them be smug.'
In the Resident Evil world, while the second 'Vela' had enjoyed unparalleled development advantages and an exceptional environment, she also had to deal with the petty nuisances that only a society with normal development would breed.
Comfort breeds desire.
When life is going well, people start thinking about unnecessary things.
It's only human nature, and even a moral saint couldn't change that.
Only the environment can alter this.
Does a good person need to have a gun pointed at them?
Yes, a good person should be pointed at with a gun.
In the context of the Cyberpunk world, all these people, every one of them, would be forced to experience firsthand what it means when a company is like a country. From extortion to brutal beatings, to the killing of select individuals or even massacring every living person in an organization deemed a threat.
Of course, if these people were actually from the Cyberpunk world, those who didn't dare to resist wouldn't have taken any real action, and those who dared to rise up would have been prepared to put everything—including their lives and their families—on the line.
No middle ground.
The Resident Evil world, despite the escalating threat of bioterrorism, was still relatively stable, with social order and values intact. It hadn't yet been transformed into a cyberpunk megacorporation-dominated world.
At least not yet.
So, when she lacked the power to overturn everything or reshape people's values, it was better to endure.
Being the so-called 'good person' with a gun pointed at her—if she was going to stay there, she had to follow the existing rules. Even if she had to cross the line, it had to be done carefully and cautiously.
She had to maintain her dignity.
For this version of Vela, dignity meant working under a middle-aged man who had lost his son and developed extreme tendencies.
"What are you laughing at, Vela?"
Jonathan Irons, the CEO of Atlas Corporation, whose gaze could turn sinister and devious at the slightest shift, approached with two cups of Kopi Luwak coffee in hand. As he handed one to her, he asked with genuine curiosity.
"Nothing, Mr. Irons. I just came up with a new idea in prosthetics technology. It's clear, though still quite rough."
As she spoke, Vela reached for the coffee Irons handed her and gestured as she continued.
Whoosh! She pulled a chair over and sat down. Irons took a sip, his face wearing a friendly smile as he said, "Tell me more."
"Medical prosthetics shouldn't just be limited to limbs. As long as rejection issues are solved, as precision implants, they can effectively replace missing or damaged organs. Including artificial heart valves, limbs, vertebrae, even implants for cybernetic enhancements. Yes, Mr. Irons, I've named this new concept 'cybernetic implants.'"
Vela leaned back in her chair, holding her coffee, then snapped her fingers with excitement.
"If implemented, this could save lives under any harsh conditions or allow patients with severe injuries to continue working, even extend the time available for life-saving procedures..."
"And all of this depends on solving the issue of human rejection."
Irons leaned forward, his previous friendly demeanor replaced by a shadow of deep pain and faint memories. With an oppressive aura, he narrowed his eyes and whispered, "Vela, tell me—how do you plan to solve the rejection problem?"
His voice held a sense of longing.
Vela smiled, "Hmm, I've got some ideas..."
This was the charm of the multiverse, where resources and possibilities flowed freely.
Even without transforming theory into reality through physical interactions, the mere fusion of knowledge alone was enough to provide endless benefits.
Atlas Corporation's tech tree hadn't yet tackled the issue of overcoming human rejection in prosthetics, and to Vela, their current prosthetics tech seemed more focused on the properties of the limb than on compatibility with the nervous system.
She then proceeded to outline how Arasaka and other cyberpunk mega-corporations had developed solutions for overcoming human rejection when it came to cybernetic implants.
Even outdated rejection solutions used for first- and second-generation cybernetic limbs, with their complete logic and interconnected, reasonable explanations, quickly captivated Irons' attention.
As Vela's explanation was drawing to a close, she suddenly turned and activated the holographic computer at her workstation. She began calculating and building models. Irons didn't seem offended by her lack of politeness.
With a complex expression tinged with some melancholy, he said, "Vela, I wish you had been born a few years earlier."
Irons didn't believe that Vela would speak without purpose.
He attended the funeral of Vela's father, not only because her father had been one of his most capable employees, but also because Vela's brilliance had been frequently boasted about by her father. He had often spoken of her academic excellence and how she had never caused him any trouble.
The truth was, Irons had investigated.
Sadly, when Vela graduated early from the University of California, Berkeley in 2053 at the age of 20, her father had perished while on duty, fulfilling Atlas Corporation's oath: 'When chaos strikes, we will bring order.' He provided safety, stability, and a chance for rebirth to the chaotic region—but he died in the process.
Out of guilt and responsibility, Irons vowed to take care of Vela. Even if she never joined Atlas, the compensation fund he had established for fallen employees would ensure she would never lack for anything.
And Vela didn't disappoint him.
She was smart, rational, and full of ingenuity. In just a few short years, she had secured multiple groundbreaking patents in the fields of neural networks and bionics, becoming the Chief Bionic Prosthetics Engineer at Atlas.
Perhaps it was the loss of her father that drove her to throw herself so passionately into the development of prosthetics.
According to Vela's description, if a mature version of her cybernetic implant technology had been available and widely distributed a few years ago—not just a small portion of its development—her father's capable employee might have survived until the rescue team arrived, and his son… might not have died!
Unaware of Irons' internal thoughts, Vela focused on her proposal.
She wasn't being overly vague or sneakily glancing at Irons' face. For someone like Irons, who had built a massive super-corporation from nothing, Vela held deep respect and never belittled him.
Finally, whoosh!
Irons stood up and, with a forced smile, said, "I lost my son, so I've learned to cherish. Vela, you are my student, and I'm very grateful to you. If this invention is made public at Atlas, it will be the greatest honor of my life."
"Thank you," he continued, shaking her hand with grace. "Thank you for your effort. Rest well and don't overwork yourself. Regardless of the outcome, I will fully support you." With that, he turned and left the prosthetics R&D lab.
Half an hour after Irons left, Vela let out a long, tired sigh.
After finishing her busy work, she lazily leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and reclined.
Hm. As for where Irons went, she could guess without a doubt. That so-called Mitchell—Irons' late son's comrade-in-arms.
Seeing Irons' affection for that guy, Vela couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.
But alas, the timing wasn't right...
The timeline was still early.
'Whether for myself or for my dear father's ideals, this time, Atlas will not repeat the same mistakes!' She opened her eyes, and in her gaze was a fleeting flash of cold, murderous intent.
Those traitors... and the USA, hehe, we've got something to play with later.
Well.
We'll grow first, level up a few times, then move forward. No rush.
If even Irons, the 'emperor,' isn't in a hurry, why should I be?"
Vela sat up and got to work again. The sounds of her instruments and calculations filled her personal workspace once more.
...
Resident Evil World.
Sensing the displeasure of the fifth 'Vela' in the Call of Duty world, Vela shook her head lightly, considering it just part of her spiritual journey.
She had to remain calm.
As she dispatched orders to secret gang members and subtly encouraged Raccoon City survivors to physically resist the various disarrayed organizations, she finally refocused on Chris's plea for help.
The BSAA, a newly formed organization with a structure quite different from the original timeline, was undertaking anti-bioterrorism operations in the Caucasus mountains.
After some consideration, she grabbed the microphone at her desk.
"This is Vela Adelheid. Order, M.S.F. Maximum Force Tactical Division, deploy."