234: Chapter 234 Steal my technology? I'll squeeze every last drop out of you!

Moscow, deep underground beneath the The Kremlin.

In a top-secret conference room with no windows, the ashtray was stuffed with cigar butts.

Yuri of the Foreign Intelligence Service stood before the long table, his eyes bloodshot, yet he was in a state of extreme excitement.

Sitting opposite him was the supreme leader of the Russian Federation, along with several military bigwigs with stars on their shoulders.

On the large screen, genetic codes and 3D models sent back from Los Angeles were scrolling.

“Mr. President, Generals,” Yuri's voice trembled slightly with excitement. “This is the core map that Sergei risked his life to send back. The experts at the Academy of Sciences evaluated it overnight. It is a complete basic sequence, without any encryption.”

A white-haired general stared at the 'Small Tyrant' model on the screen, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Is this thing really as powerful as your report claims?”

“The Da Shi State's performance on the Middle East battlefield is the best proof.” Yuri leaned his hands on the table. “The U Federation's armored brigades were like paper mache before them. And now, the key to changing the world's landscape is in our hands.”

The conference room fell into a dead silence.

“How long will it take to manufacture them?” The President, sitting in the primary seat, finally spoke, his voice deep.

“The map is ready. The Academy of Sciences says that as long as we have enough living subjects and incubation vats, we can complete the first batch of hatching within a month at most,” Yuri replied immediately.

“Good.” The President made a prompt decision. “Restart the Abandoned Nuclear Arsenal No. 7 in Siberia immediately and allocate it entirely to the Intelligence Service as an experimental base. There is no cap on funding, and living subjects will be selected from Siberia's maximum-security prisons. In one month, I want to see our super army.”

Yuri stood at attention and gave a standard military salute. “Guaranteed to complete the mission!”

He turned and walked out of the conference room, his steps brisk.

Yuri felt that the moment for the Russian Federation to regain its status as a world hegemon was about to be realized through his hands.

...

Los Angeles, the seventh underground floor of Umbrella Headquarters.

Chen Feng sat in a leather swivel chair in the War Room, playing with a lighter in his hand. Click, click.

Ada Wong leaned against the edge of the desk, her long legs crossed, holding a glass of red wine.

“Boss, the Red Queen just intercepted an encrypted communication from Moscow.” Ada Wong took a sip of wine. “The Russians are moving fast. Nuclear Arsenal No. 7 in Siberia has been locked down, and a large amount of equipment and maximum-security prisoners are being transported in.”

Chen Feng smiled and tossed the lighter onto the desk. “That old boy Yuri sure is impatient.”

Sarah stood behind Chen Feng, twirling a tactical dagger in her hand, and spoke with a cold face, “The fish has taken the bait, so Sergei is useless now. I'll go dispose of him to save him from wandering around the base.”

“Don't,” Chen Feng raised his hand to stop Sarah. “He is, after all, a top genetics professor. Even if it's just a side gig to being an agent, his professional ability is much stronger than those fakes outside. Dr. Li is short-handed right now—free labor, might as well use it.”

Sarah paused, slipping the dagger back into the tactical sheath on the outside of her thigh. “What if he steals something again?”

“He won't be able to,” Ada Wong smiled slyly. “His miniature decryption device was infected by the Red Queen the very first second it was plugged in. Now, every time he sends data out, the Red Queen automatically replaces it with those gibberish papers written by Dr. Li. Even if he empties the entire server, what gets sent back is just a pile of waste paper.”

Chen Feng stood up and stretched. “Come on, let's go see how our Russian Federation ace agent is doing with his work.”

The outer laboratory sector.

Sergei, wearing a white sterile suit, stood in front of a high-speed centrifuge, his eyes locked onto the test tubes inside.

He was very frustrated right now.

He had thought that after sending the data back, he could just slack off and find an opportunity to retreat.

But as it turned out, that woman named Samantha was a total workaholic psychopath.

These fifty 'academic maniacs' recruited from all over the world had been working non-stop for forty-eight hours straight since they arrived, without even getting a sip of water.

“Victor.”

A cold voice came from behind him.

Sergei's scalp tingled. He quickly turned around with a face full of smiles. “Dr. Li, here is the third batch of rejection reaction data you requested.”

Samantha took the tablet, swiped her slender fingers across the screen twice, and her brow furrowed.

“Is this the data you spent three hours running?” Samantha threw the tablet back onto the desk. “The fusion rate of Antibody No. 14 is only sixty percent. Has your brain been frozen by the cold winds of Siberia? You added one point five milligrams too much catalyst.”

Sergei cursed in Russian in his mind, but still smiled apologetically on his face. “Apologies, Dr. Li, I'll redo it immediately.”

“Redo?” Samantha sneered. “Do you think the reagents here grow on trees? Go wash those two hundred petri dishes over there. If you don't wash them clean, don't even think about eating today.”

Looking at the mountain of petri dishes covered in green slime on the cart, Sergei nearly ground his back teeth to dust.

He was the ace agent of the Russian Federation's Foreign Intelligence Service, code-named 'Winter General.' He had killed people and hijacked cargo, and now he was actually washing dishes here!

But he didn't dare to resist, so he could only bow his head and push the cart toward the washing room.

Chen Feng and Sarah stood on the second-floor glass corridor, taking in the entire scene clearly.

“Tsk tsk,” Chen Feng leaned on the railing. “Dr. Li's methods of exploiting employees would make even capitalists weep.”

Samantha walked upstairs in her flat shoes and pushed up her rimless glasses. “His foundation is too poor; he can only do manual labor. Boss, did you need me?”

“I'm here to give you a new task.” Chen Feng turned around, the smile fading from his face. “The Russians have already begun mass-producing that batch of 'Shrunk-down Tyrants.' Without a genetic lock, once those monsters hatch, they'll gnaw through sheet metal if they get hungry enough.”

Samantha nodded. “According to the metabolic rate of that version, they will lose control within half a month at most.”

“So, we need a targeted remedy.” Chen Feng snapped his fingers. “I want you to develop a special nerve gas specifically targeting that version of the mutants. Upon inhalation, it should instantly dissolve the monsters' muscles. While you're at it, develop a dedicated inhibitor as well.”

Samantha thought for a moment. “It's not hard. Just reverse-compile the code they stole and add a few ingredients. Give me three days.”

Sarah asked from the side, “Boss, do you plan to save the Russians once things go wrong for them?”

“Save them?” Chen Feng sneered. “Since when did I, Chen Feng, start doing charity?”

He walked to the end of the corridor, looking down at the busy laboratory below. “When that base in Siberia turns into a living hell, and the high-ranking Russian officials realize that the monsters they created don't listen to commands at all, and even begin to turn on them, they will know the true meaning of despair.”

Chen Feng turned his head to look at Sarah and Samantha. “When that time comes, we will make our appearance in the name of 'international humanitarian aid.' We'll sell them a canister of nerve gas for a billion, and a vial of inhibitor for five hundred million. Don't want to pay? Then let the monsters gnaw Moscow clean.”

Samantha's lips twitched slightly. “Your heart is so black, I actually feel bad for them.”

“This is called a closed business loop.” Chen Feng patted Samantha on the shoulder. “Hurry up and get to work.”

In the War Room, Ada Wong's communication came through.

“Boss, there's news from the White House.”

Chen Feng walked back into the War Room, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “What did that old boy Clark say?”

“After Philip scrambled back, Clark was scared out of his wits.” Ada Wong projected a document onto the large screen. “Not only did he wire the remaining five billion in equipment payments he owed us, but he also placed an additional ten billion order. Furthermore, to apologize, he leased a supply base of the Seventh Fleet stationed in Okinawa to us for one dollar, with a lease term of ninety-nine years.”

Chen Feng looked at the transfer records on the screen and smiled with satisfaction.

That's how politicians are: when you try to reason with them, they act like thugs; when you press a gun to their forehead, they understand the rules better than anyone.

“Accept it,” Chen Feng leaned back in his chair. “Tell Clark that the Umbrella Corporation has always been the U Federation's most loyal partner. As long as he behaves himself and plays his role as president well, everyone makes money.”

“Understood.” Ada Wong tapped the keyboard to reply to the message.

Chen Feng stood up and walked to the massive French window.

The dome of the seventh underground floor glowed with artificial cold light.

The Old Money families had already been trampled underfoot, and the President of the U Federation had become a puppet in his hands. Now, he was just waiting for the Russians to bring this play to its climax.

“Sarah,” Chen Feng suddenly spoke.

“Present.”

“Have Hunk get ready.”