222: Chapter 222 The New King Ascends the Throne, and the Old Money Receives Its Submission

Los Angeles, Umbrella Headquarters.

Underground level five.

Old Morgan and Old Rockefeller had never walked such a long road in their entire lives.

The private elevator they took had no luxurious interior, only cold metal and blinding white light. When the elevator doors opened, they were not greeted by a red carpet, but by two rows of straight-standing U.S.S. operatives and an overwhelmingly thick scent of disinfectant.

"This way, gentlemen."

Sarah wore a sharp black suit and led the way with an expressionless face.

On both sides of the corridor were half-meter-thick special glass. Behind the glass was a sight that would drive any military expert insane.

In a massive cultivation tank, over a dozen Lickers hung upside down from the ceiling, their scarlet tongues flicking out from time to time, leaving sticky trails on the glass.

Old Rockefeller's footsteps clearly faltered.

"These..."

Sarah didn't even turn her head. "Just test subjects, not worth mentioning."

Walking further ahead, the light dimmed, and only the eerie glow of blue nutrient solution emitted from several vertical cultivation tanks.

Old Morgan saw clearly what was inside.

Over three meters tall, wearing black trench coats, their muscle lines were terrifyingly fluid.

Third-generation Tyrant, T-801.

The protagonist of that video from the Texas warehouse.

Old Morgan's eyelids twitched violently. He only then realized that behind the glass, it wasn't one, it wasn't ten... it was a whole row, over a hundred of them!

They were lined up, quietly sleeping in the nutrient solution, waiting to be awakened.

Old Rockefeller could no longer walk. He leaned against the wall, feeling his heart gripped tightly, making even breathing difficult.

Was this Chen Feng's trump card? Was this the monster they had foolishly tried to challenge?

They had always thought they were the ones playing the game, but now they realized they weren't even pieces on the board; at best, they were insects beside the board that could be crushed at any moment.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy alloy door slowly slid open.

This was Umbrella's B.O.W. exhibition hall.

In the center of the hall, Chen Feng sat on the only leather sofa, holding a glass of red wine, watching them leisurely.

Behind him stood a woman in a wine-red, high-slit qipao, with a seductive figure and black hair reaching her ears.

When Old Morgan's gaze swept over the woman's face, his murky old eyes instantly shrank to the size of needle points, and his entire body stiffened.

"It's you..." He squeezed two words out of his throat, his voice terrifyingly dry.

Ada Wong raised her wine glass to him, her red lips curving into an arc, her smile full of cold mockery.

At this moment, Old Morgan and Old Rockefeller understood everything.

The fall of the DuPont Family, the infighting of the Alliance, the betrayal of that idiot Julian... it was all a trap laid by this young man before them.

From beginning to end, they had been played for fools.

"Sit." Chen Feng pointed to the two chairs opposite him, his tone incredibly flat, as if he were hosting neighbors.

The two old men looked at each other, both seeing fear and defeat deep in the marrow of their bones in the other's eyes. They pulled out the chairs and sat down stiffly, their straight backs unable to hide their inner collapse.

"Name your price." Old Morgan spoke first; he knew there was no room for bargaining today.

Chen Feng didn't speak, just pushed a tablet to the center of the table.

Sarah stepped forward and unlocked the screen.

An equity acquisition agreement and a political alliance covenant.

"It's very simple." Chen Feng swirled the red wine in his glass. "First, all cutting-edge medical, bioengineering, and military-industrial laboratories, patents, and production lines under your two major families will be fully acquired by Umbrella at a ten percent premium."

"Second, fully support General Clark's election. I need you to use all media channels and political resources to ensure he moves into the White House within a month."

Old Rockefeller's body began to tremble violently. He slammed the table and roared, his voice harsh and weak: "This is robbery! Do you know that doing this will set the global economy back twenty years? The entire financial system will collapse!"

Chen Feng laughed.

He couldn't even be bothered to argue with this old man.

He just snapped his fingers lightly.

"Snap."

The crisp sound echoed in the hall.

Elena, who had been standing in the shadows, slowly walked out.

She walked to the table, extended her right hand wearing black silk gloves, palm facing upward.

In the next second, a cluster of golden-red flames ignited silently in her palm.

There was no smoke, no sound, but the temperature of the entire hall rose rapidly at a terrifying speed. The red wine on the table began to bubble, and the armrests of the leather sofa began to curl and carbonize.

Old Rockefeller felt as if he had been thrown into a blast furnace, his skin feeling the prickling pain of needles, and even his breath felt scalding.

That inconspicuous cluster of flames had a temperature of at least three thousand degrees.

"Economic collapse?" Chen Feng picked up his wine glass and took a sip. "Does that have anything to do with me?"

"Mr. Rockefeller, it seems you still haven't grasped the situation."

"Rules are used to restrict the weak. And I am the one who makes the rules."

Old Rockefeller opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word. He watched helplessly as the flames in Elena's palm burned brighter and brighter. That high temperature, capable of instantly vaporizing steel, turned the perceptions and dignity he had built over decades into ashes.

"Enough."

Old Morgan sighed deeply, and his entire person seemed to age twenty years in an instant.

He reached out a withered hand, pressed down on Old Rockefeller's still-trembling arm, then picked up the electronic pen on the table and shakily signed his name on both agreements.

Old Rockefeller looked at him, his eyes full of despair and unwillingness, but in the end, he also picked up the pen.

When the last letter was written, the era belonging to the old gods was officially declared at an end.

"A wise choice." A smile appeared on Chen Feng's face.

He nodded to Samantha behind him.

Samantha understood and took two silver metal syringes from a cooler nearby, placing them on the table.

"This is..." Old Morgan's pupils shrank as he looked at the familiar syringes.

"A welcoming gift." Chen Feng stood up and walked in front of them. "A downgraded version of the Eternal serum. It can allow you to live healthily for another twenty years. However, you will need to return to Umbrella for a gene sequence calibration and maintenance every year."

A slap, followed by a sweet treat; he played this tactic with ease.

Old Morgan and Old Rockefeller looked at the two syringes, their expressions extremely complex.

A few minutes ago, they were still fearing Chen Feng's power; now, they began to crave this power.

The two did not hesitate, picked up the syringes, and effortlessly injected them into their carotid arteries.

A warm, powerful torrent of life instantly washed over their aging bodies.

Their withered skin began to regain elasticity, their murky eyes became clear again, and even their gray hair seemed to be turning gray-black from the roots at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The feeling of being reborn made them feel a fanatical awe for the young man in front of them.

"From today on, you are still the rule-makers of this world."

Chen Feng looked down at them, his voice cold but full of unquestionable majesty.

"But Umbrella is the one who makes you."

The two old men lowered the heads they had held high for a lifetime, and in a tone bordering on pilgrimage, respectfully replied:

"Yes."