Chapter 314: I Smell a Hint of Armpit Hair
"Shining Rod!"
Allen pulled out a plastic-looking controller and struck a classic pre-transformation Ultraman pose in front of the bashfully squirming Dr. Birkin.
"I designed three settings. Doctor, get yourself acclimated ahead of time."
Three settings: Strong, Super Strong, and Ultra Strong. There was absolutely no consideration given to anything weaker.
Click!
The switch was pushed to the "Strong" setting.
Dr. Birkin's face immediately froze, his eyeballs bulging out as his entire body started trembling uncontrollably, legs twitching like he had a fever.
Deactivation.
Whoosh…
Dr. Birkin let out a long sigh of relief as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
"Now, I'll demonstrate Morse code—transmitting messages through short and long pulses."
Allen fiddled continuously with the switches. Dr. Birkin's expression morphed repeatedly—sometimes ferocious, sometimes twisted, sometimes numb…
The women of the Raptor Squad all showed expressions of disgust at the same time.
Still, they couldn't help but respect Dr. Birkin's astonishing tolerance.
"Doctor, doesn't that feel good?"
Allen kept flicking the switch at a high frequency, not giving Dr. Birkin even a chance to respond.
"My invention obviously has its unique perks. Otherwise, how's it any different from those knockoff 'fake Kun-Kun' toys sold in adult shops?"
He didn't forget to turn and explain to the women, "The Giant Treasure Darts swell on contact with water, expand to lock in place without falling off—extremely user-friendly. And once you hit Ultra Strong mode, it detects the target's body temperature and emits a rainbow light show. There's even a mild electric current for a little extra spice."
But the women's attention remained squarely on Dr. Birkin.
At that moment, the elderly Dr. Birkin wore a hideously contorted expression, scratching at his ears and cheeks in a desperate attempt to relieve the indescribable sensation.
Thud.
Dr. Birkin collapsed onto the ground, his eyes rolling back to reveal only the whites, crystalline drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.
"…Oops. Did I switch it to Ultra Strong by mistake?"
Allen had accidentally cranked it up to the highest setting—no wonder Dr. Birkin looked like he'd lost his soul.
Meanwhile, strange buzzing noises began emanating from a metal case.
The women cast skeptical glances his way.
Allen shyly turned away and mumbled awkwardly, "I didn't just make one Giant Treasure Dart… it's a whole set."
"…"
At that moment, a shared thought emerged in all the women's minds:
This man is not someone you want to make an enemy of.
Just imagining themselves being subjected to the torment of those darts made their bodies shudder involuntarily.
Too cruel.
How can anyone be that merciless?
Click.
Shining Rod: off.
Dr. Birkin's eyes were completely unfocused now, his body occasionally twitching. His expression was one of utter despair.
Allen couldn't help but reflect inwardly: "Am I rewarding my enemies… or punishing them?"
"…"
No one could answer.
Because that all depended on whether your enemy had any sense of shame.
---
Outskirts of New York City, inside a refrigerated warehouse.
One of the many secret Umbrella Corporation bases.
Generally built in remote areas to avoid exposure, these facilities often received regular shipments of research materials via refrigerated trucks, making their operations seem completely reasonable and unsuspicious.
Building underground bases in urban areas was a whole different beast—nearly impossible. The city's underground was filled with water pipelines and various infrastructures, requiring numerous government permits and strict oversight. There was no way to quietly complete such massive construction projects.
Dr. Birkin took an elevator directly down to the subterranean structure.
Ding…
With a crisp sound, the elevator doors opened, revealing Umbrella's true work area.
Dr. Birkin stepped out with an awkward gait, his legs clearly affected by his earlier trauma.
The first checkpoint was a security screening area, scanning his entire body to ensure that no forbidden items were brought back in and to detect any electronic spy equipment—after all, this was highly illicit research.
Passing through a doorframe-like scanner, the black security guard glanced at Dr. Birkin and gave him a knowing smile.
He flipped his long dreadlocks and licked his lips, a wicked glint in his eyes that said, "So that's the kind of doctor you are."
All because the scanner display showed a strange elongated object inside Dr. Birkin's body.
"Welcome back, Dr. Birkin."
The guard licked his thick lips again, eyes gleaming like a predator sizing up its prey.
Dr. Birkin, perhaps out of guilt or sensing something off, gave a slight nod and quickly shuffled off toward his private office.
The black security guard reluctantly watched his swaying hips as he left, murmuring softly:
"Biatch."
Back in his office, there was nothing Dr. Birkin could do but quietly observe how things unfolded.
The first step of the plan: Allen would lead the Raptor Squad in an assault, forcing Umbrella to abandon the base—giving Dr. Birkin a legitimate reason to be transferred elsewhere.
He held the base's highest clearance and knew exactly what research was being done.
Using the T-virus as a foundation and combining it with Facehugger genetics, they were attempting to develop a controllable bioweapon.
But progress had been sluggish, even stagnant.
Xenomorph origins traced back to the Engineer civilization—clearly far beyond current human biotech capabilities.
So the project remained stuck at the research stage, with no successful applications in sight.
---
Outside the base…
Allen and the five women were hiding in the forest.
Launching a stealth assault on the base was basically wishful thinking.
There were surveillance cameras everywhere—show your face and you'd trigger alarms instantly.
Plus, the base had two tactical special ops squads on permanent rotation, each on par with the world's top elite units. Not to mention the Red Queen AI managing base operations.
"Maybe we should just give up," Pamela suggested.
Poison Ivy had the upper hand in forest environments due to her plant manipulation powers, but a simple flamethrower could take her out of the equation.
"Never give up! Oh yeah!"
Allen pulled five shovels out of the metal case and tossed one to each woman.
"Time for Plan B: tunnel warfare. You dig, I'll stand watch."
"…"
The five women looked at each other, none of them making a move.
Dig a tunnel all the way to an Umbrella base?
What kind of lunatic came up with that idea?
And Allen himself was lounging on the grass, legs crossed, chewing on a blade of wild grass like none of this concerned him.
Free labor.
Even a dog wouldn't put up with this.
"Someone's coming!"
The women quickly dropped to the ground, hiding in the tall grass as a helicopter approached from the sky.
Whoosh…
Before they could even see who it was, the refrigerated warehouse launched a surface-to-air missile.
Boom!
The missile struck the helicopter, which burst into flames midair.
But just before impact, all personnel aboard had ejected safely.
"It's the Suicide Squad!"
Harley immediately recognized the escaping figures as former teammates.
Part of the Checkmate organization, their target was clearly the Umbrella base.
"Stay hidden. Let's pull a mantis-stalks-the-cicada maneuver… and strike from the rear!"
With that, Allen pulled up a blade of grass and stuck it on his head, his face blank and slack-jawed—pretending to be a plant.
"More incoming—looks like a fleet of black SUVs."
Barbara raised her binoculars and observed for a moment. "It's S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."
Everyone knew Checkmate and S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't get along.
Checkmate answered to the government, while S.H.I.E.L.D. operated independently, a force the authorities were deeply wary of.
"I smell… a hint of armpit hair," Allen muttered seriously, picking his nose.
"You mean the scent of conspiracy?" Pamela rolled her eyes.
"Same difference."
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