...
Military.
The word immediately evokes stability, reliability, and durability.
That is the new image I want to present to the public.
Military-grade doesn't always mean the best or most expensive, but it always prioritizes mass production, standardized quality, and affordability.
The most cutting-edge science and technology is always first applied in the military.
Not because better can't be made, but because economics demand it.
Military represents the frontier of technological exploration.
Technology.
The union of science and its application.
Science answers theoretical questions; technology solves practical problems.
Every advancement in human society has been accompanied by technological progress.
Militech is my answer.
Military means I will fulfill my God-given and constitutional civic duty—no shirking, no retreat. Technology is the reminder never to forget my roots. We will be reborn from fire, break through the shadow once known as Umbrella, and once again lead at the forefront of innovation.
...
Rustle—
Washington, D.C., atop the 25-meter-high Capitol Hill, inside the Capitol Building, House of Representatives.
In the second-floor gallery, clerks and journalists frowned in thought or scribbled notes as they recorded the non-Congressional speaker's explanation for reorganizing Umbrella into Militech.
An emergency legislative session was underway.
September 26, 1998.
Morning.
Inside this 233-meter-long neoclassical structure, the world's first major biohazard incident—the Raccoon City Event—was fully revealed.
Former Umbrella board member and USA Division Head Vela Adelheid Russell submitted the recovered evidence from Raccoon City proving Umbrella's covert research into bioviruses and bioweapons to the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court!
If this were a Hollywood movie, it would be a classic tale of redemption and bravery—a gritty, all-American lone hero narrative.
From this moment forward, former Raccoon City Police Department S.T.A.R.S. member Chris Redfield became a national—even global—hero.
In Vela's vivid account, this young officer had infiltrated Umbrella's industrial park in San Francisco at the risk of being shot on sight, just to meet her. He shared his harrowing experiences and evidence, ultimately persuading her.
Years ago, on the S.T.A.R.S. team, Chris had been lured into Umbrella's old mansion—built in the '60s and '70s by William Birkin's conspiracies—used as a living test subject for bioviruses and B.O.W.s.
Most of his team died; only he and a few barely made it out alive.
But instead of receiving justice, they faced suppression from Umbrella. S.T.A.R.S. was forcibly disbanded.
Chris received multiple death threats and dared not meet even his sister. He fled to Europe, investigating despite having no leads or hope of victory. Yet he never gave up, continuing to challenge Umbrella.
Eventually, persistence paid off. A teammate's hunch led to another approach.
Even though the plan was risky, Chris's sense of justice and guilt over his fallen comrades drove him to act. Every day of delay meant more innocents harmed. He chose action.
And it worked. His efforts fractured Umbrella. There were still good people. Raccoon City's evidence was salvaged before destruction.
Look at that narrative—how righteous, how perfect.
Chris Redfield, they say, is still in Raccoon City right now, rescuing teammates and unearthing more of Umbrella's crimes.
The ultimate tough guy. No compromise, no surrender, no retreat. He escaped Raccoon City's hell, and then willingly went back in.
Retired Air Force pilot. Ace marksman. Former cop. SWAT veteran...
Stack those buffs up—what a righteous figure!
As for Director Vela, the genius billionaire? She'd been at odds with William Birkin, the mastermind behind Raccoon City, for years. Duped by that old vampire Spencer? Completely believable. And then, her return to the light, her moral awakening? People love that narrative.
Before a podium modeled after the Roman Pantheon, built of white marble and full of Roman revival elegance, Vela ended her special appearance in the House with a vow: "No more repeating mistakes. Embrace civic duty. Reform Umbrella into Militech."
Yes, appearance.
Though she still held no formal Congressional seat, her conversation with the President had landed her a new title:
White House Technical Advisor. A think tank figure.
No real power, but not insignificant either. Certainly nothing compared to Simmons, the National Security Advisor.
Bang!
The Speaker of the House slammed the gavel.
"399 votes in favor, 5 opposed, 31 abstained. Final count, 398 to 18. I declare the Sanctions and Freeze Resolution passed. Umbrella Corporation is found primarily responsible for the Raccoon City biohazard. It is in severe violation of the law. All of Umbrella's operations in the United States are hereby terminated."
Applause erupted.
"Magnificent speech. Militech... that's a strong name. Ms. Russell, have you ever considered a political career? I could sponsor your party membership."
"Sir, thank you, but I have no such intention for now. Just thinking about Raccoon City..."
As she stepped down from the podium, Vela met the gaze of the balding, deep-eyed congressman and shook her head gently.
"What Birkin unleashed was too catastrophic."
That was the Majority Whip.
Vela recalled the favors she'd done for him—a donation at his wife's charity auction, where she bought an absurdly overpriced painting she found artistically void. Two million dollars.
"You think you know someone... Spencer always played the noble Brit. Who knew he had this in him."
Another timely voice chimed in—a tall, slender man with graying hair. Vela shook his hand lightly.
The Opposition Leader.
His son worked at a construction company with heavy contracts from Vela's old Umbrella California Branch—now freshly rebranded as Militech.
"Gentlemen, this is a unity we haven't seen since 1941. God bless America. When disaster strikes, our shared patriotism shows the true strength of our system."
The Speaker descended from the dais, robust despite his age, cheeks rosy, and his handshake firm. He looked Vela in the eye.
She returned his smile.
They had a bit of history too.
This venerable old Speaker had once been a VIP patient in Umbrella California's rehab programs. After Raccoon City, Vela didn't just reach out to Simmons.
This man—a Berkeley Law grad, former lawyer—was her senior several class years back. Vela promised him a cushy post-retirement job: legal advisor to Militech's legal affairs division.
With introductions from these old men, Vela shook hands with each nearby official and lawmaker, wearing a flawless smile and repeating a single phrase over and over:
"Thank you."
Probably her most-used word today.
While listening to their words of sympathy and encouragement, Vela chuckled inwardly.
Unity, my ass.
If Raccoon City hadn't turned into a global catastrophe, they'd still be bickering along party lines.
9/11 hadn't happened yet. At this moment, America had never suffered an attack on home soil. But a sudden bioweapon incident that could kill over 100,000 and wipe out a city?
No politician could survive that kind of blame.
Even the President wouldn't survive this politically—one wrong move, and it would be impeachment, maybe even resignation.
It had to be her.
Bringing benefits while taking the fall...
Well—not really. Umbrella was responsible.
The White House and Washington had long known of Umbrella's shady dealings. They turned a blind eye because they needed the tech, and because their own hands weren't clean. Plus, Umbrella's lobbying machine and campaign donations had built an impressive protective shield.
Look at the original timeline: after Raccoon City was destroyed by a nuclear warhead, lacking concrete evidence and constrained by... something, Umbrella was only suspected of wrongdoing—and still managed to stay afloat on the stock market until 2005.
Had Wesker not submitted internal research data on Umbrella's bioweapons to the International Court, the company might have lasted even longer.
But now, with Vela switching sides, dozens of insiders from the Raccoon branch rescued by U.S.F., and evidence that would have been incinerated in the blast made public, Washington politicians sang her praises.
All blame had to go to Umbrella. With hard proof in hand, they could convict to the fullest extent.
Otherwise, they'd look incompetent.
In this moment of national unity, the House floor was all smiles.
As if there was no pressure. No conflict.
And now, the newly appointed Militech CEO—heir to all of Umbrella's assets—stood shoulder to shoulder with the Majority Whip, the Opposition Leader, and the Speaker. Reporters, ever vigilant, weren't about to miss this photo op.
As the four exited the Capitol building, a swarm of journalists surged forward.
Click click click! Flashbulbs exploded. Shouts of questions filled the air.
"Was the Raccoon City incident really caused by a viral outbreak?"
"William Birkin turned into a monstrous creature—Ms. Russell, are the photos and videos you released real? Can you guarantee their authenticity?"
"Why name the restructured USA Umbrella branch 'Militech'? Are you signaling deeper ties with the Pentagon?"
"Does this mean Militech will abandon Umbrella's pharmaceutical business and become a purely defense contractor?"
"Ms. Russell, are you cutting ties with Umbrella so quickly because you're implicated in the Raccoon City crisis? Or is Congress using this moment to force your separation from the Paris HQ to break up the company?"
Secret Service agents and Capitol Police pushed hard to hold back the crowd.
Vela didn't try to steal the spotlight.
At a time like this, the stage belonged to the old political veterans. They would handle everything.
Once the benefits were distributed, Militech would serve their interests—unlike Spencer and the British. They would never allow Raccoon City to be conflated with the reborn Militech.
Even when it came to arranging Militech's corporate shares during the Umbrella restructuring, they were rational and restrained.
Further discussion pending...
Everyone knew Vela was a genius.
And true geniuses never fear sharing profits—they always create new streams.
This was obvious to them. Militech wasn't the real asset. Vela was.
No one would challenge her control. Chairman, CEO, majority shareholder—that power was hers alone.
These lawmakers didn't need ownership; they needed clean, legal money.
Washington was more important. No one in 1998 thought a corporate board seat could rival a federal position.
After playing along with Congress' theater, Vela's face started cramping from forced smiles. Finally, a White House aide and a Marine lieutenant colonel rescued her.
"President and Mr. Simmons are waiting in the White House Situation Room, Ms. Russell."
She gestured apologetically toward the general from the White House, excused herself from the lawmakers, and with the aid of Secret Service and her own guards, entered a private vehicle with the colonel.
"What kind of support do you need from me?"
"At 0200 on the 26th, the National Guard linked up with your U.S.F. at the western evac zone. But Delta Team and Echo Team, entering from the southeast, may have been attacked by U.S.S..."
He paused.
"Dr. William Birkin... reports indicate they may have encountered a severely mutated version of him."
Vela raised an eyebrow.
Not surprising. Coming from Raccoon Avenue, the western city was open and grid-like. But the southeast? Police station, city hall, substation—tight, complex tunnels. And the school was there. Birkin, needing to lay eggs, would go for his daughter...
"Mr. Simmons hopes you can attempt to negotiate a surrender from that U.S.S. team. Simultaneously, he wants U.S.F. to move in, either capture or kill Dr. Birkin... and assess if there's any last chance to salvage Raccoon City."
Ha.
Capture a G-creature?
Vela couldn't help but smirk, shaking her head in disbelief.
Wishful thinking.
"Alright. Do you have a satellite phone?"
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