69: Chapter 69 The Enraged General

U Federation, Virginia, Vanguard Bureau Headquarters.

This was an office devoid of any warmth; the walls were a cold, metallic gray, and a massive tactical map occupied the entire wall.

Brigadier General Arthur Stone stared at the extinguished tactical screen in front of him, where the final image displayed was the bright red words: "SIGNAL LOST."

Signal lost.

The elite squad he had sent to Los Angeles to "handle" that disobedient small company had vanished from this world, along with their vital signs.

On the desk, a freshly printed assessment report gave off the scent of ink. The report's conclusion was blunt and crude: the target, "Umbrella Corporation," possessed technical strength and anti-infiltration capabilities far exceeding expectations.

"Far exceeding expectations?" Stone repeated these words in a low voice. There was no emotion in his tone, yet the temperature in the office seemed to drop a few more degrees.

"General." An adjutant in a crisp military uniform knocked and entered, his footsteps exceptionally clear in the silent room. He placed a document on Stone's desk with meticulous precision.

"The latest intelligence from our informant at the Los Angeles Police Department. Last night, the 'Iron Fist Gang,' which had entrenched itself in the Southern District, was uprooted."

Stone didn't even lift his eyelids. The annihilation of a local gang was like crushing an ant to him; it wasn't worth his attention.

The adjutant paused, then continued, "The key point is that according to the informant's on-site description, the Los Angeles police used two… canine creatures we have never seen before during the operation. Their speed, strength, and obedience far exceed any military dog program we currently know of. It is speculated that they are products of Umbrella Corporation."

Stone's fingers tapped lightly on the desktop, producing a dull "tap, tap" sound.

The adjutant added, "Additionally, General… our people discovered that General Clark's 'special procurement channel' recently had an abnormal flow of funds, directed toward a newly registered security consulting firm in Los Angeles. Behind this company is Umbrella."

With a final "tap," the rhythmic drumming ceased abruptly.

The office fell into a deathly silence.

The adjutant could even hear the sound of cold sweat seeping from his forehead.

The next second, Stone's calloused fist slammed into the metal desk without warning!

"Bang—!"

With a deafening boom, a clear dent was smashed into the sturdy alloy tabletop.

"Damn it!"

Stone stood up abruptly, like an enraged lion, his eyes bloodshot.

"A brat running a pharmaceutical company! Not only did he swallow my elite squad, but he also dared to sell my technology to that old bastard Clark!"

He roared, his voice echoing in the room. In his view, a bio-weapon of this level must have been developed from technical blueprints leaked from the Vanguard Bureau by Umbrella! That damned mole!

Now, this kid not only sold weapons that should have belonged to the military to his political rival, but he even extended his claws into the law enforcement system!

"He is provoking the entire U Federation military machine!" Stone growled. He walked to the window, looking at the heavily guarded base outside, "Who does he think he is?"

The adjutant spoke cautiously, "General, we cannot launch any larger-scale operations. According to news from the Weber consortium, Umbrella Corporation has obtained capital injection from a federal pension fund through a series of complex capital operations… Nominally, they are now also an investment enterprise of our U Federation."

These words were like a basin of ice water poured over Stone's rage.

He slowly turned around, the muscles on his face twitching slightly from anger.

He certainly knew what this meant.

It meant he could no longer use "handling" to solve the problem. The opponent had transformed from a private company he could manipulate at will into "one of our own" that required following procedures and the approval of the bigwigs in Congress.

"Weber… Clark… those damned old foxes." Stone squeezed the words out through his teeth.

He understood that he had been played. That young man named Chen Feng was hiding under the Umbrella propped up by these old geezers, mocking him unscrupulously.

"Keep a close eye on him for me." Stone sat back in his chair, his voice returning to a cold chill. "Dig up all his information, everyone he meets, every word he says."

"Yes, General!" The adjutant saluted and quickly retreated.

Stone was left alone in the office. He picked up the report about Umbrella on the desk, his gaze so gloomy it could drip water.

"Kid, it's not over yet."

Meanwhile, far away at the Long Island estate on the East Coast.

Gentle sunlight spilled over the neatly trimmed lawn. Ninety-year-old Weber was sitting on a rattan chair on the terrace, covered with a soft wool blanket.

Since injecting "Neo-Genesis," his body had been improving day by day; he could even walk without his cane. This feeling of regaining control over his own body was even more wonderful than making ten billion.

Today was his ninetieth birthday, but he had dismissed all the guests who wanted to come and curry favor, wanting only to enjoy this hard-won new life in peace.

His private butler, Louis, brought over a cup of warm black tea.

"Sir, a call from Mr. Chen Feng."

Weber took the satellite phone and said with a smile, "Chen, I thought you had forgotten this old man's birthday."

Chen Feng's relaxed voice came from the other end of the line, "How could I? Mr. Weber, a small birthday gift is on the way. I hope you will like it."

"Oh?" Weber raised an eyebrow.

"Believe me," Chen Feng chuckled over the phone, "You will definitely be satisfied."

Less than an hour after hanging up the phone, a massive container truck slowly drove into the estate.

When the huge metal container, stamped with the red and white Umbrella logo, was lowered onto the lawn by a crane, several of Weber's personal security guards immediately tensed up, their hands instinctively reaching for the weapons at their waists.

This container did not look like it was meant to hold a gift.

Yet, Weber stood up with great interest and signaled for Louis to take him over.

"Open it," Weber ordered the truck driver.

With the sound of hydraulic rods venting air, the container's heavy metal doors slowly opened to both sides.

Sunlight shone into the gloomy interior of the container, dispelling the darkness.

The expressions of Weber's security detail changed drastically. They drew their guns in unison and assumed a defensive posture, as if facing a formidable enemy.

In the very center of the container, a specially made alloy chair was placed.

A humanoid creature, over two meters tall and with an exaggeratedly bulky physique, was sitting there quietly.

It wore a well-tailored black trench coat and a matching fedora, the brim pulled low to obscure its face. Even while seated, the trench coat could not conceal the bulging muscle contours beneath, which were filled with an explosive sense of power.

It was like a silent sculpture, exuding a terrifying aura.

Weber's security captain felt cold sweat seep from his forehead; he had never felt such a pure and terrifying threat from any living being before.

However, Weber's reaction was beyond everyone's expectations.

He felt no fear and did not retreat; instead, his cloudy old eyes shone with excitement.

He waved his hand, signaling the security personnel to lower their guns.

"Don't be nervous."

He walked forward slowly until he reached the container entrance, examining the monster at close range.

He could see the grayish-white skin beneath the trench coat, as well as the terrifying muscles that the oversized coat could barely contain.

This was true power.

This was the aesthetic of violence capable of defying death.

Weber suddenly began to laugh, first a low chuckle, then escalating into hearty laughter that echoed across the open lawn.

"Hahaha… Good! Very good!"

He looked at the behemoth sitting in the shadows and nodded with satisfaction, as if admiring his most perfect collection piece.

"Chen… you always know what I want."