76: Chapter 76 Stone's End

Three hours after Clark hung up the phone, dawn had yet to break over Virginia.

At the entrance of the Vanguard Bureau headquarters, twelve unplated black Hummers were lined up in a row, their headlights blinding the sentry in the guardhouse. The sentry reached for the walkie-talkie at his waist, but before he could touch it, the car doors had already opened.

Fully armed special forces soldiers jumped out of the vehicles with agile movements and no unnecessary noise. Black tactical vests, masks, suppressed rifles—every detail spoke the same message: this was not a drill.

Clark stepped out from the passenger seat of the third vehicle.

He wasn't wearing a suit tonight. He was in a deep gray combat uniform with sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing burn scars from his early years. A Beretta without a silencer was tucked into his waist; he didn't even bother to hide it.

"Open the gates," he said to the lieutenant colonel beside him.

"General, the guardhouse over there—"

"I said open them."

The lieutenant colonel didn't say another word. Thirty seconds later, the electronic gates of the Vanguard Bureau headquarters were forced unlocked by an external military decoder, and the iron bars slowly slid open.

Sentries rushed out with rifles raised—four in total, all of them Stone's direct security detail.

"This is the Vanguard Bureau! You have no right—"

The lead sentry didn't finish his sentence before he saw the rank insignia on Clark's chest. Four stars.

Retired or not, a four-star general was still a four-star general.

The sentry's muzzle lowered by two inches. Those two inches were enough. Clark's men swarmed forward, disarming the four sentries and pinning them to the ground with clean techniques, not even needing to use their rifle butts.

"Notify internal security that I am carrying a temporary executive order from the Military Committee." Clark pulled a folded document from his pocket and threw it in front of the pinned sentry. "If anyone wants to stop us, look closely at the three signatures on top first."

On that piece of paper, the signatures of three core members of the Military Committee were clearly visible.

The temporary executive order was issued at 11:40 PM tonight—exactly twenty minutes after Clark had finished showing those three committee members the Ghost Squad assassination video.

Efficiency is sometimes a matter of ability, and sometimes a matter of leverage. Clark had both.

The special forces split into three groups, simultaneously breaching the Vanguard Bureau's main building, the underground experimental zone, and the communications center along preset routes. The entire operation used no explosives and no smoke grenades—they weren't needed. Stone's personal guard totaled fewer than eighty men, while Clark had brought two hundred and forty tonight.

With triple the manpower and a temporary executive order, any resistance was meaningless.

Short shouts of confrontation occasionally echoed in the hallways, followed quickly by silence. Disarming, controlling, advancing. The entire process was as precise as a factory assembly line.

Clark walked unhurriedly in the middle of the group, his leather boots clicking on the marble floors of the Vanguard Bureau, the echoes sounding hollow.

He was all too familiar with this building. Ten years ago, when he was still a standing member of the Military Committee, he had attended no fewer than twenty closed-door meetings here. Back then, Stone was just a colonel who had to stand at attention and salute when he saw him.

Ten years later, the tables had turned.

The communications center was the first to be taken. Clark's technicians cut all of the Vanguard Bureau's external communication lines—satellite phones, encrypted frequencies, and the internal network were all severed. Even if Stone wanted to call for help, he wouldn't find a single functional antenna.

Then came the underground experimental zone.

Clark's men discovered the Ghost Protocol modification workshop on level B3. Six operating tables, bio-culture vats, injection devices, and over a dozen unfinished modification files.

The lieutenant colonel picked up one of the files and flipped through it, his expression changing.

"General, these modification subjects... are all active-duty soldiers. The signatures on the consent forms—"

"Take photos for the records and seal everything," Clark interrupted him. "These items will be on the evidence list for the military court tonight."

—

Fourth floor of the main building, the General's office.

The oak doors at the end of the hallway were tightly closed. Six of Stone's personal guards stood outside, armed with live ammunition, their faces grim.

Clark's special forces set up a perimeter at both ends of the hallway, muzzles aimed at muzzles, the atmosphere stretched to its limit.

Clark stepped forward, looking at the six men from a distance of ten meters.

"Boys, you're all good soldiers." His voice wasn't loud, but the hallway's echo made sure everyone heard clearly. "But the man you're protecting tonight will be in a military court within forty-eight hours. Treason, crimes against humanity, illegal human experimentation, and conducting assassinations against civilians on domestic soil—which one of those is worth spending your life in prison with him?"

The six guards looked at each other.

"I'll give you ten seconds. Those who lay down their weapons can go home tonight. Those who don't—" Clark paused. "I brought two hundred and forty men. I can still afford the bullet money for a few extra shots."

Silence lasted for about five seconds.

The first guard placed his rifle on the ground. Then the second, then the third. Finally, all six guns lay on the marble floor.

Clark walked over and personally pushed open the oak doors.

The lights in the office were still on.

Stone sat behind the alloy desk he had smashed countless times, his posture very upright. His military uniform was buttoned to the top, and his tie was meticulously straightened. A half-finished glass of bourbon sat on the desk next to a Colt Python revolver that was halfway disassembled.

He wasn't holding a gun.

Clark walked in and stood at the door. The two men stared at each other across the alloy desk.

"Arthur," Clark spoke first.

Stone stared at him for a few seconds, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"How long did it take you?"

"What?"

"From the moment you decided to take me down to standing here now. How long did it take?"

Clark thought for a moment. "To be precise, about a week."

Stone chuckled. He picked up the bourbon, took a sip, and set the glass down.

"Those monsters... the things that killed my entire Ghost Squad at the Winston Building. Are they yours?"

"No, they belong to the future." Clark walked to the side of the desk and looked down at Stone. "And you, Arthur—you and your ideology both belong to the past."

Stone didn't speak. His gaze fell on the half-disassembled revolver, lingered for a moment, and then moved away.

"You've taken the Vanguard Bureau, and then what? Hand it over to that East Asian kid making drugs? Give it to Umbrella?" His voice carried a hint of raspiness. "You think you can control that kind of technology? Clark, you've seen those test subjects—you know how dangerous they are. I ran Ghost Protocol; at least it was controllable within the military system. You've given the technology to a private company—"

"Enough," Clark raised his hand to interrupt him.

He took the handcuffs handed to him by the lieutenant colonel from behind, the silver metal reflecting the light.

"Arthur Stone, pursuant to Military Committee Temporary Executive Order No. 07-41, you are hereby relieved of all duties and transferred to a military court on suspicion of treason, violation of the Biological Weapons Convention, illegal human experimentation, and plotting assassination operations against civilians on U Federation soil."

Clark placed the handcuffs on the desk and pushed them toward Stone.

"Put them on yourself. I'm giving you this much respect."

Stone looked down at the handcuffs. There was silence for about twenty seconds. Then he reached out both hands and clicked the handcuffs onto his wrists.

The sound of the metal snapping shut was exceptionally crisp in the quiet office.

Stone stood up, his steps steady. When he reached the door, he paused for a moment without looking back.

"Clark."

"Yes?"

"You'll regret this."

Clark didn't answer. He watched as two soldiers escorted Stone into the hallway, past the six disarmed guards, into the elevator, and disappeared behind the closing doors.

"Take control of all facilities," Clark turned to the lieutenant colonel and said. "Databases, experimental samples, research files—not one is to be missing. I want a complete inventory before dawn."

"Yes, sir."

"Also—take photos of the things in those modification workshops and send a copy to Los Angeles. Chen Feng will be interested."

—

Los Angeles, Umbrella Corporation.

4:17 AM.

Chen Feng hadn't slept. He sat in the swivel chair of the top-floor CEO's office, three empty soda cans and two half-eaten takeout boxes laid out before him. Marcus stood behind him, having also stayed awake all night.

Encrypted messages from Clark scrolled across the screen—the takeover progress of various Vanguard Bureau sectors, updated in real-time.

Main building, secured.

Communications center, secured.

Underground experimental zones B1-B4, secured.

Armory, secured.

Database, mirror backup in progress.

Arthur Stone, detained.

Chen Feng read the last line twice to confirm his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

Then he leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

It was done.

Before he had a chance to process his thoughts, the system panel popped up, and it popped up more violently than ever before—a series of golden notification boxes exploded across his vision, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding, like a string of firecrackers.

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for completing the mission: Dawn of the Alliance!]

[Ding! You have successfully eliminated the threat 'Vanguard Bureau' and achieved the title 'Rule Breaker'!]

Chen Feng blinked; he had expected these two. But the numbers that followed made him sit bolt upright in his chair.

[Reward Issued: Research Points +200,000! Current total Research Points: 308,000!]

Three hundred thousand.

Three hundred and eight thousand research points.

Chen Feng stared at this number for a full five seconds. From the moment he got the system until now, all the points accumulated from all his missions combined didn't amount to as much as this single job tonight.

The system panel was still refreshing.

[Unlocked new technology branch: [NE-α Parasite] complete cultivation protocol!]

The moment this line of text jumped out, Chen Feng's breath hitched.

NE-α.

Memories from his past life automatically surfaced—in those Resident Evil materials he had pored over, the NE-α Parasite was the most critical link in the T-Virus ecological chain. It was an intelligent parasite that could live symbiotically with T-Virus infectees. Once implanted, it could significantly increase the host's intelligence level and regenerative repair capabilities, and grant them the qualification to use complex weaponry and execute strategic-level missions.

Translated into layman's terms—Tyrant T-501 was already powerful enough, but at its core, it was still just a muscle-bound monster that followed orders. Once implanted with NE-α, it would no longer be just a monster.

It would become a perfect soldier capable of thinking, decision-making, and independently executing complex tactics.

"Nemesis."

Chen Feng remembered this code name. It was the ultimate evolved form of the Tyrant.

The final notification on the system panel flashed up:

[Unlocked special authority: [Military Supplier] (Primary) — Umbrella Corporation has obtained the legal qualification to provide non-lethal biological products to the U Federation Military (Clark's faction).]

Legal qualification.

The weight of these two words was heavier than the previous two hundred thousand research points combined.

Before this, all of Umbrella's military-related transactions had gone through gray channels. Giving Hellhounds to Sarah was under the guise of "security consulting services"; giving Tyrants to Weber and Clark was under the guise of "private gifts." To put it bluntly, it was all playing in the margins.

But starting tonight, Umbrella Corporation officially possessed a government license to supply the military.

Even if it was only primary, only for Clark's faction, and only for non-lethal products—once the door was opened, a whole new world lay beyond.

"Marcus," Chen Feng called out.

"I'm here, Boss."

"Help me do some math. The Vanguard Bureau is gone, Stone is going to a military court, and Clark is taking over the Vanguard Bureau's facilities and data—what did we get out of this?"

Marcus thought for a moment. "A deadly political opponent has been eliminated, so we don't have to worry about the military directly trying to seize our things anymore. Clark owes us a massive favor, and the people in the Alliance owe us too—Edgar's life was saved by the T-501. Howard from the FDA, Fisher from Wall Street, Edgar from Voice of the Globe, plus Clark... Boss, the cards in your hand now are more than ten times what they were a month ago."

Chen Feng nodded. Marcus was calculating the visible gains, but he had another ledger in his mind.

Three hundred and eight thousand research points.

The complete cultivation protocol for the NE-α Parasite.

Military Supplier qualification.

The unfinished modification data from the Vanguard Bureau's underground experimental zone—the photos Clark said he would send over.

What did all these things together mean?

It meant the T-501 Tyrant Legion could be upgraded.

He reopened the system panel, found the newly unlocked [NE-α Parasite] technology branch, and expanded the details.

The complexity of the cultivation protocol far exceeded any biological technology he had unlocked before. The prerequisite experiments alone would take at least forty days and consume an astronomical amount of research points—completing a single mature NE-α prototype required 50,000 research points.

But once successful, the first "Nemesis" would be born.

A perfect biological weapon capable of independent thought, wielding weapons, and making autonomous decisions in complex battlefield environments.

If the Tyrant was a sledgehammer, then the Nemesis was a scalpel—precise, lethal, and unstoppable.

Chen Feng closed the panel, picked up the last unopened soda can on the desk, pulled the tab, and took a sip.

The soda was lukewarm, but he didn't care.

"Marcus, notify Samantha. Have her come to my office first thing tomorrow morning."

"What's the occasion?"

"A new project."