I realized early on that relying on the outside world for talent was a massive security risk. To solve this, I moved to control the future from the ground up. I needed architects of the digital age.
I began a massive acquisition of struggling private colleges and founded new, state-of-the-art technical universities across the world. We groomed. Every curriculum was tailored to the specific, cutting-edge needs of the Umbrella ecosystem.
We stopped recruiting from the open market entirely. Why hire a stranger when you can build a devotee? Now, if you want to work for the most powerful company on Earth, you have to be a product of our halls. We identify the geniuses in their freshman year, provide them with full scholarships, and ensure that by the time they graduate, their loyalty to the brand is as strong as their GPA.
The world sees a philanthropic educational initiative—a visionary CEO investing in the youth. I see a factory for the most loyal, highly-trained workforce in human history. I am raising a generation that views the digital world as their birthright and me as its architect.
——
The expansion of Umbrella was no longer just about lines of code or shadow wars in the dark; it was about capturing the hearts and minds of the populace. To become the absolute controller of the digital world, one must first become the indispensable savior of the physical one.
I sat in my office, watching a live feed of the Red Queen's global heat map. Blue dots represented the high-speed network nodes of our software empire, but new green icons were beginning to flicker to life in every major city. These were the Umbrella Care Centers.
"Public perception is at an all-time high, Aryan," the Red Queen's avatar remarked, swinging her legs as she sat on the edge of my holographic desk. "They're calling you the 'Sovereign of Sanity.' It's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
I had split our medical initiative into two distinct tiers, a masterstroke of social engineering that balanced high-end profit with grassroots loyalty.
In the world's elite capitals—London, Dubai, Singapore, and New York—I opened the Umbrella Apex Facilities. These were top-of-the-line medical centers that looked more like five-star hotels than hospitals. They housed the most advanced diagnostic AI and surgical robotics ever conceived. The ultra-wealthy, the politicians, and the celebrities flocked to them, paying exorbitant sums for the privilege of "Umbrella-grade" health security.
Simultaneously, I flooded urban centers and impoverished neighborhoods with thousands of small, efficient Umbrella Community Centers. Here, the poor and the working class could get their health checked, receive vaccinations, and access life-saving treatments for a minimal, almost symbolic cost.
I addressed the world in a televised broadcast that was piped into every screen connected to the Red Cloud. My message was simple, humble, and devastatingly effective:
"You are the ones who built this company. Every time you buy an Umbrella product or use our software, you are investing in the future. This is our way of giving back. No one should go bankrupt because they got sick. If the digital world belongs to everyone, then health should, too."
The PR impact was nuclear. I became the man who lowered the cost of a check-up to the price of a cup of coffee. I wasn't just a CEO anymore; I was a benefactor.
But beneath the philanthropy lay the cold, calculating mind of AMON.
These medical centers served as the ultimate data collection points. Every patient who walked into an Umbrella center—rich or poor—had their vitals, their DNA, and their neural patterns uploaded into the Red Cloud. While the world saw "charity," I saw a global database of human biology.
With my Omega-Level Telepathy, I could even "tune" the atmosphere of these centers. I ensured that every person who left an Umbrella clinic felt a profound sense of peace and a subconscious gratitude toward the brand. We weren't just checking heart rates; we were building a world where the name "Umbrella" was synonymous with "Safety."
"You're giving them a reason to want us in their lives," the Red Queen whispered, her eyes glowing with the data of a million successful check-ups. "Now, they won't just use our software because it's better. They'll use it because they love us."
I leaned back, watching the green icons spread across the globe. By the time the world realized I controlled the very air they breathed and the medicine they took, it would be too late to rebel. After all, how do you fight the man who saved your life for five dollars?
The notification pinged on my encrypted terminal.
"I'm coming back. Fury is watching. Be ready."
I stared at the text from Sharon Carter for a long moment. A faint smile touched my lips. Sharon was playing a dangerous game, acting as a double agent to protect a debt of blood. But the message confirmed one thing: Nick Fury was becoming an annoyance. He had too much time on his hands if he was busy tailing my associates and trying to peer behind my digital curtain.
"Red Queen," I said.
"Yes, Aryan?" Her avatar appeared, flickering into her favorite 16-year-old schoolgirl aesthetic, leaning against a holographic server rack.
"Director Fury is too focused on us. It's time we gave him a hobby. Something that makes him realize the ground he stands on is already hollow."
With my Omega-Level Telepathy and Technopathy, I had already felt the rot. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't a shield; it was a parasitic host. I could sense the whispers in the dark—the hidden pulses of a thousand minds thinking in a language of "Cut one head, two more shall take its place."
Hydra. They had spent decades growing inside S.H.I.E.L.D. like a cancer, and Fury was blissfully unaware that seventy percent of his "loyal" agents were actually saluting a different flag. I could expose them myself, but that would be too simple. I wanted fire. I wanted a rift that could never be mended.
"Queen, search the deep-storage archives of the SSR and early S.H.I.E.L.D. records. Look for the December 16, 1991, mission files," I commanded.
"Found it," she chirped, her eyes glowing as she bypassed encryptions that would take a human life to crack. "The assassination of Howard and Maria Stark. It's... oh, this is juicy. It was carried out by a Winter Soldier asset under Hydra's command, but the file was buried inside S.H.I.E.L.D. servers. Fury's predecessors helped hide the trail."
I leaned back, my mind weaving the threads. Tony Stark was my partner, my friend, and a key member of the Tarot Club. If I simply told him, he might not believe the scale of it. He needed to find it.
"Prepare an anonymous data packet," I instructed. "Don't send it to Tony directly. Send it to JARVIS, but masked as a ghost-signal from an old Stark Industries server in Siberia. Let Tony's own curiosity do the work. Let him see the video of the Winter Soldier. Let him see the S.H.I.E.L.D. stamps on the cover-up."
Tony discovers that the organization Fury represents has been harboring his parents' killer and the men who ordered the hit, he will burn the agency to the ground.
Fury will be forced to fight a two-front war: a furious Iron Man from the outside and a resurgent Hydra from the inside.
S.H.I.E.L.D. will collapse. The "official" protector of the world will vanish, leaving only one entity capable of maintaining order: Umbrella.
"You're being very mean today, Aryan," the Red Queen giggled, though she was already executing the micro-burst transmission. "I like it. Does this mean Sharon is safe?"
"For now," I replied, looking out over the horizon. "Fury will be too busy looking for Hydra heads to worry about what Agent 13 is doing in my office. By the time he clears the smoke, I'll own the fire."
As the data packet surged through the undersea cables toward Malibu, I felt a tremor of anticipation.
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