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The Cross-Species Genetic Blood Research Center was thoroughly destroyed.
Before leaving, Luke had extracted valuable intelligence from a few terrified vampires who'd surrendered rather than face the same fate as Subject One. What he learned painted a disturbing picture.
This wasn't the only research facility.
The vampire elders were conducting experiments across multiple sites, combining Reaper genetics with something else—the power of the Blood God. The same forbidden knowledge that Deacon Frost had used in his ill-fated ritual.
"So that thing was Jared Nomak," Luke said, processing the information. "The Reaper Prince. Damn."
He'd obliterated the primary antagonist of Blade 2 with a single anti-tank missile. The creature hadn't even been recognizable as the tragic prince from the films—Gitano's scientists had twisted him into something barely humanoid.
The purebloods had never believed in the Blood God mythology. But Frost's attempted ascension had proven that the old texts contained real power. If Frost could decipher the Book of Erebus, why shouldn't they exploit that knowledge themselves?
They couldn't capture a Daywalker for experimentation. So they'd tried Reaper blood instead.
The result was a new breed of vampire: immune to silver, moving like shadows, existing somewhere between the physical world and something darker. Incredibly strong, impossibly fast.
And apparently, their "failed" experiments were more dangerous than the successes.
Just like Frost, Luke thought. The Blood God version of Deacon had been practically invincible—only the EDTA anti-coagulant had brought him down. Raw combat couldn't touch him.
"Time to end this," Luke decided. "Before they create something I can't kill with missiles."
Umbrella Corporation's underground headquarters had become home.
The facility had originally belonged to the military—a classified bunker with capacity for hundreds of personnel. Luke's people had renovated it into something between a fortress and a luxury residence.
Tifa stared at the sprawling underground complex with undisguised amazement.
"The building above looked so ordinary," she said. "I didn't expect... this."
"Home sweet home." Luke gestured expansively. "This is where we live now. Where you live now."
Tifa's expression softened, her eyes warm as she looked at him.
Now that the immediate crisis was handled, Luke finally had time to think about his newest companion.
Her outfit was clearly from the FF7 Remake—the specific design, the color scheme. But that didn't necessarily mean her memories aligned with that timeline. The drop system did strange things with context and personality.
"Tifa, there's something I need to understand." Luke hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Cloud and I... for you, are we different people?"
The question had been bothering him since she'd called him by his actual name. Every other drop had fitted Luke into their existing worldview—Skadi saw him as the Doctor, Riven as her summoner. Why was Tifa different?
"I know what you're asking." Tifa shook her head gently. "Cloud is you. But you're not Cloud."
That... didn't make sense.
Seeing his confusion, Tifa elaborated.
"For Skadi, you're her Doctor—not because you're literally that person, but because you fill that role in her existence. For Riven, you're her summoner. For me..." She smiled. "You're who Cloud represents. The person at the center of my story. But you're also yourself."
Luke parsed the explanation slowly.
It was like asking whether a summoned character was "real." The Tifa standing before him wasn't the Tifa from any specific game timeline. She was a Tifa—one who recognized Luke as the central figure in her narrative, the way Cloud had been in the original.
Did that make her feelings less genuine? Were they "programmed" rather than authentic?
Luke decided he didn't care.
He'd loved Tifa since the first time he played Final Fantasy VII. If he'd ever entered a world like Terror Infinity, the first companion he'd have created was her. Having her here, real and present and looking at him with those warm brown eyes—that was enough.
Philosophy could take a back seat to happiness.
"You need new clothes," Luke said, deliberately changing the subject. "Let me take you shopping."
He had very specific requests in mind. That purple dress from the Remake? Absolutely happening.
Of course, his plans were interrupted.
"Boss." One of the staff approached. "Mr. Vanko says he needs to see you. Something important."
Luke sighed and followed the messenger to Vanko's workshop.
The Russian engineer had been given an entire floor for his projects—laboratory space, fabrication equipment, whatever resources he requested. Umbrella's capital and Vanko's genius were proving to be a productive combination.
What Luke found exceeded his expectations.
Standing in the center of the workshop was a mechanical exoskeleton, cables trailing from its joints to monitoring equipment along the walls. It wasn't elegant—the construction was rough, industrial, clearly a prototype rather than a finished product.
But it was real.
"Power armor?" Luke circled the device, examining the hydraulic systems and servo motors.
"Based on the specifications your people provided." Vanko was already disconnecting cables, preparing to demonstrate. "My interpretation, of course. Your concept drawings were... optimistic."
He climbed into the frame, sealing himself within the mechanical shell. Hydraulics hissed as the suit came online.
The movements were slightly sluggish—not combat-ready, but far beyond what commercial exoskeletons could achieve. Vanko walked, turned, reached, the armor responding to his motions with reasonable precision.
"Initial tests," Vanko said. "First time the full assembly has been activated."
He took the stairs instead of the elevator, proving the suit's mobility. Then, in an open area outside the workshop, he ran a circuit.
Four hundred meters in thirty-eight seconds. While carrying the weight of the armor itself.
For the finale, Vanko bent down and lifted a boulder that had been placed for testing purposes. Six hundred kilograms, raised overhead using nothing but the suit's hydraulic assistance.
Luke was genuinely impressed.
"Current components are off-the-shelf," Vanko explained, powering down. "Performance is limited by available parts. With custom fabrication—better servos, improved hydraulics, military-grade materials—output increases substantially."
He paused. "Also, with faster processing chips, I can write AI assistance for the operator. Predictive movement, threat assessment, autonomous functions."
"You're a genius, Ivan Vanko."
The words came out before Luke could stop them. He'd known Vanko was brilliant—the man had built his own arc reactor from scratch—but this was beyond expectations.
"Obviously." Vanko's smile was more smirk than grin. "Why else would you have kidnapped me?"
Fair point.
Tony Stark was still the greater intellect, the one who could build miracles from nothing. But Vanko wasn't far behind. Given resources and time—things he'd never had in Russia—the gap was shrinking.
Luke looked at the prototype armor and saw possibilities.
Mass production. Enhanced soldiers. Equipment that could turn ordinary humans into something approaching superhuman.
The Wolfpack had just gotten an upgrade path.