51: Chapter 51 Seeking a Tiger's Skin

Chen Feng hung up the phone and tossed it casually onto the sofa.

"Tomorrow will work."

He didn't have the slightest regret about the words that had just slipped out of his mouth.

Risk?

From the moment he activated the Umbrella System, risk had become a part of his life.

Dealing with a tiger?

He himself was the hungriest, most unpredictable beast of all.

Unlocking the G-Virus required an astronomical amount of Research and Development points, and military orders were the fastest, most direct ATM.

He couldn't wait any longer.

...

The next day, 10:00 AM.

The sky over Los Angeles was as clear as a fresh wash. A pitch-black Sikorsky S-76 private helicopter, like a precise hummingbird, landed smoothly on the roof of the Umbrella Corporation headquarters.

The massive airflow kicked up by the rotors made it hard for people to keep their eyes open.

This was the rooftop helipad that had only passed municipal approval three days ago; it still smelled of fresh paint. The construction and flight path application costs for this helipad alone were enough to deter ninety percent of small and medium-sized business owners in Los Angeles.

Chen Feng stood at the edge of the helipad, dressed in a simple black casual hoodie and trousers, hands tucked in his pockets. Beside him was Marcus, silent as an iron tower, wearing a black tactical vest and training pants. His muscles strained against the fabric, and his face was devoid of expression.

A young Chinese boss and a fierce Black bodyguard—the scene possessed a strange harmony.

The company's newly appointed Chief Operating Officer, Tony Stark—an unlucky fellow sharing a name with a certain playboy—was leading several department heads. Dressed in crisp suits with professional smiles on their faces, they were prepared to step forward and welcome the guests.

The helicopter cabin door slid open.

First down were two bodyguards in black suits. Their physiques weren't exaggerated, but every step exuded a sense of stability forged through a thousand trials. Their eyes scanned everyone around like radar.

Immediately after, an old man stepped down the ramp.

He looked to be at least in his seventies with gray hair, yet it was groomed meticulously. His back was as straight as a javelin. Even in a custom gray suit, he couldn't hide the iron-blooded military temperament that radiated from his bones.

He was the retired four-star general Weber had mentioned: Clark.

Clark's gaze was as sharp as a hawk's. He gave a casual glance at the beaming Tony and the others, then ignored them entirely, his eyes landing precisely on Chen Feng in the distance.

It was a look of pure scrutiny, carrying the pressure of someone long accustomed to a high position, as if he could see right through a person's bones.

Tony's hand, extended for a handshake, froze awkwardly in mid-air.

Meeting that gaze, a hint of a smile appeared on Chen Feng's face as he stepped forward.

"General Clark?" He took the initiative to extend his hand, his tone as relaxed as if he were meeting a grandfather from next door. "I am Chen Feng."

Clark finally moved his gaze away from Chen Feng and shook his hand. The old man's palm was dry and powerful, with thick calluses covering his palm and knuckles.

"That old fellow Weber's body can't take this kind of tossing around," Clark said, getting straight to the point. His voice was booming, not at all like a man in his seventies. "My time is also very precious, Mr. Chen. I need to see with my own eyes if your 'merchandise' is worth the price."

His choice of words was blunt—"merchandise"—carrying the cold evaluation of value typical of military procurement.

"In my hometown, we have a saying: hearing something is false, but seeing is believing." Chen Feng released his hand, his smile unchanging. "However, I must say in advance, General. Today's demonstration might slightly... subvert your traditional understanding of the word 'weapon'."

"Is that so?" Clark raised an eyebrow, noncommittal. "I shall wait and see."

The two bodyguards behind him tried to follow, but were blocked by Marcus's outstretched arm.

Marcus said nothing, just quietly watched them.

The two highly skilled bodyguards actually felt a dangerous aura from this silent Black man that made their hair stand on end.

"My security chief will take them to the lounge," Chen Feng turned sideways and made a 'please' gesture. "From here on, it's just the three of us."

Clark looked back at his bodyguards and gave a slight nod, essentially permitting Chen Feng's arrangement.

This young man, from the first second they met, had been quietly asserting the rules of his home turf.

Interesting.

Chen Feng led Clark toward the private elevator leading downstairs. Marcus followed silently behind the two.

The elevator didn't lead to the office floors; it required dual iris and fingerprint verification from Chen Feng before it would start.

Clark stood seemingly at ease, but the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. This watch had been specially modified with short-range signal scanning and positioning functions.

However, at this moment, a small indicator light beneath the dial was blinking a faint red.

Signal... completely blocked.

It wasn't simple interference, but rather the formation of an absolute signal vacuum. This level of shielding technology was rare even in the most classified departments of The Pentagon.

In his mind, he silently raised his evaluation of this 'Umbrella' company by another level.

Ding—

The elevator doors slowly opened on the third basement level.

A strange scent, a mixture of disinfectant, ozone, and some kind of... beastly body odor, wafted toward them.

Before them was no longer the luxurious decoration of a commercial building, but a metal corridor wide enough for two cars to drive side-by-side. On both sides of the passage were thick alloy walls, with a blue indicator light flashing every ten meters, casting a cold and solemn glow over the entire space.

Different areas were marked on the walls with simple letters and numbers.

"Gene Editing Zone 1", "Virus Culture Room-A", "B-03 Sample Observation Zone"...

Clark looked at those signs, his gaze narrowing.

Chen Feng stopped and turned toward Clark, that relaxed smile still on his face.

He pointed to a circular alloy gate on the left, thicker than a bank vault door. Directly above the gate, a line of code was marked in red font.

[B-01-E Incubation Zone]

"General," Chen Feng's voice echoed slightly in the empty corridor.

"Welcome to the new world."