Claire Redfield is up to something. What are the reasons for such categorical conclusions? It's simple: the girl decided, for some reason, to look for her brother in my mansion. Outrageous! And apparently, the search was dragging on, since she chose one of the rooms and became our co-tenant. By "us," I mean Jen, Sherry, Alexia, and myself. There are definitely no other inhabitants in the mansion, but the foolish Redfield, in her naivety, thinks otherwise and has been living at my expense for a month. Also, to reveal a terrible secret, she never found her brother, nor did she try very hard. I keep his contact information, including address, phone number, and social circle, on the bottom shelf of my closet. Everything is collected in case it's necessary to nip a threat in the bud. And I'm just a modest guy, not some villain. Information about all employees of the secret anti-bioterrorism department fell into my hands, one might say, by chance. I bought it from Ada Wong for fifty thousand in cash. My informant stole it from her Organization and resold it on the side. As expected from reliable allies, I'm sure she sold the information about my return to Nikolai first.
And if you ask about the reason for the purchase, I kindly leaked the data about the experiments conducted in the Caucasus Mountains on local residents directly to the States' government. Let them prepare the ground for reporters, who are hungry for news like medieval crows.
— I will not obey, — Alexia turned away rudely. — You stole from the Ashford family and still want me to dance to your tune. That's not going to happen.
— And if I offer three hundred bucks, will you agree? — I asked seriously, suppressing the urge to laugh or even smile.
— What do money, and such a small amount at that, have to do with this? — she flared up, not appreciating my generous attempt to tease her a little.
— In that case, you will obey for free. Your miserable life is directly connected to the hive, that is, to me, where I act as the connecting link between all T-Wesker carriers, — I smiled. — I die, the hive dies.
Chuckling evilly, I continued to tinker with the lagging airline ticket purchasing service. A new millennium is coming soon, and a normal service has not yet been invented. Hmm, I don't even need to bother with a business model; I can copy it from my memories. Well, to create my own service.
Alas, why didn't my ambitions get stuck somewhere at the "simpler" level: on money or respect in society. I would have created a couple of cool internet services and lived off selling shares. But no, I absolutely have to aim for world domination — check; spreading a virus under my control — check; and, of course, total dominance over the evolution of humanity — check.
— Scoundrel, — she designated with condemnation, not expressing any emotions on her face.
— Agreed, whoever wrote the server side is not characterized by a love for humanity, — finishing the clicks on the corporate laptop, completing the order process, I calmly exhaled and leaned back in my chair. Afterward, I majestically crossed one leg over the other, and slowly turned the chair toward the dissatisfied Alexia. To further emphasize the epicness of my prepared question, I interlocked my fingers. — Will you be having dinner?
— I am not your dog, — she declared, proudly lifting her chin. — I'll decide that myself.
— True, a different designation for "dog" would fit, — I adjusted my glasses.
— Bastard… — she turned red with anger, forcing my lips to twitch slightly.
— What lousy words you've learned, — I shook my head in disapproval. — You have a lot of work ahead of you to exalt your master. First, helping our first investor, and then headship over my new company, "GENTEK". Together, we will breach the boundaries of human development and lead it to a new era.
I hope I won't be sued for copyright, even though I've double-checked everything. And even the French Legion under the command of Lady HUNK will soon undergo a rebranding and become something bigger. The Black Watch.
As the saying goes: strike while the iron is hot — conquer the world before someone conquers it for you. Expressing it less abstractly: whoever was first registered all the necessary names for the company and its security service in the registry.
***
Russia, the village of Matsed, next to which Umbrella's main factory is located. For a reason not entirely known to me, the entire village was covered by the zombie apocalypse fever by the time of my arrival. I could bet Alexia's virginity that it's definitely not connected to the leak of information first to the anti-bioterrorism department, and then through a mole from there directly to Umbrella.
Oh, no, I lost the bet… Now Alexia will have to pay off my betting debt. Heh-heh, but seriously, an unreasonably large amount of work has piled up on me, even for elementary sleep. Creating my own company is not so easy, and dumping everything on a rebellious assistant is too risky. I have to properly place the pieces on the chessboard first, and only then prepare a plan to overthrow the enemy king or remove another player from the game. In chess, you can win in different ways. But not in life. In life, you need to have a plan and stick to it, contacting a bunch of different acquaintances and offering them various bonuses for help in creating GENTEK in place of the dying Umbrella. Why dying? The Raccoon City incident did not pass entirely without consequences for it; after the city was destroyed, it was asked for a lot of money as compensation. They bled it dry as much as they could.
— It doesn't look like a systematic virus infection, — I rubbed my cheek, dealing with another batch of zombies. It felt as if some creature escaped from the factory due to a personnel error, after which it attacked the village. A very plausible version, to be honest. — And it's not fun clearing out crowds of small zombies.
I gloomily looked at the horde of hungry dead shuffling toward me.
If I were given some points or, at the very least, coins for every fallen zombie, but no, the best that fell out of a zombie was guts. And the worst was something that intended to dirty my favorite sunglasses. The only consolation is that the walking dead can be represented as mannequins for practicing the art of fencing. I was once again fully armed and especially dangerous, with my katana 2.0. — I'm simply filled with determination to become a true samurai.
After five minutes of such unhurried clearing, I heard the sound of gunshots. Either a U.S.S. squad arrived for the cleanup, or a US special forces squad. Perhaps the local authorities reacted, but that is unlikely; the village is isolated from the outside world by dozens of mountains and impassable roads. You can only get here in a Humvee, and even then, you'll have to risk a lot on the ascents.
— What people, — I whistled, trying to get closer and hide my presence. Although I really wanted to laugh, because I found Chris before Claire. My God, you can even stumble upon him accidentally somewhere in Russia, and she spent half a year searching for something that was lying on the surface.
Chris was not alone. In his company was another surviving S.T.A.R.S. operative — Jill Valentine.
Chris was shooting at zombies inside the storage room, aiming anywhere but at the zombies. Why is he shooting through the farmers' sacks? And he's stressing out Jill, who is asking why her partner is shooting at sacks of flour. I'm curious myself. Flour has high volatility, and zombies are blind anyway, so closing their view with dusty clouds will not affect them in any way. Chris, my brave operative, why are you aiming at a burning light bulb with your pistol?
Sensing that things were about to get ugly, I leaped backward and avoided the roar of a powerful explosion. The question is one in a million: why the hell did the "flour" explode? Combustible powders are, for example, aluminum, magnesium, and zinc powder. And even then, it shouldn't explode from a shot into a light bulb. Flour is not explosive. Damn it, what were these farmers keeping in those sacks? Cursed followers of Heisenberg. But what is even more frightening is Chris's luck. It is of legendary level.
— We survived… — Jill responded, addressing Chris after the explosion.
Time to step onto the stage.
— Excluding your ignorance regarding the flammable powder, naively mistaken for flour, I am ready to bow down to your reckless luck, Chris.
— Wesker?!
— Were you involved in the incident in the village?!
Two emotional questions from former subordinates for the price of one.
— Her Majesty Chance cast the bones. A one fell out, marking the fall of the village and the transformation of the locals into infected monsters. And I, also the will of the dice, have a different role and execution. I intend to destroy the heart of Umbrella — the root cause of this village's infection, — adding more mystery, I put my hands in the pockets of my dark coat and looked at my old friends.
After which, turning around epically, I made the coat sway in the wind before going my own way.
— Hey, wait! — they tried to boldly stop me, but I ignored the extraneous sounds. No time to look back when you need to pave the way to a bright future. And also, I don't want to mock Chris unnecessarily in Jill's presence, goal in bed number… I forgot my notepad. But it doesn't matter. I can't tease Chris right now about sleeping on the plane with his sister, blurring the details like a downpour. Oh… It's so hard to restrain the impulse of the "Weskerisms" famous throughout Umbrella.
Nothing can stop me! I have to say…
Unexpectedly, I felt the approach of danger; something was wrong under the ground. Sharply jumping six meters high, I avoided another explosion. And I frowned at the appearing monsters. Hunters — chimerical monsters, and in the plural, they continued to crawl out like from a horn of plenty. Moreover, their Delta subspecies. It turns out the whole village is a second laboratory for illegal research. No wonder the T-plague flared up here.
Upon landing, I dusted myself off from the dust that had touched me like… from dust.
— What are those creatures doing underground?! Wesker! — the S.T.A.R.S. operative roared, preparing for battle.
— Chris, you were my best operative. Deal with it! — I gave a thumbs-up, turning around again and trying to get away from the opponents.
A flashbang grenade flew at me, which I easily deflected with my katana sheath. Was the suicidal operative so full of confidence that he decided to attack me when he was surrounded by Delta Hunters?
Turning around to say something important, I noticed the mutants running toward the noise. While Chris ran with Jill to the Humvee with the weapon. Hmm… They used me as bait to escape. I disapprove.
Drawing the katana from its sheath, I activated the virus acceleration and, in half a second, turned all the Hunters into an ideally symmetric slice. And I got rid of the last one with a roundhouse kick.
And without slowing down, I found myself near the rear door of the Humvee, opened it, and got inside. Well, if they don't want to part with me, then so be it.
Returning to the normal flow of time, I waited for the two of them to get into the SUV and start moving, sliding along the snowy trail. The blizzard showed signs of life, starting to bury the village with dead snow, symbolically reminding of the heavy burden.
— What a cunning bastard! No, did you see?! He cut those mutants in a flash and then disappeared! — Jill emotionally described.
— Wesker is very dangerous and cannot be trusted. I told you, Jill. He is not our ally, even if he is an enemy of Umbrella. We must not lower our guard, — he shook his head, shifting gears.
— You are two idiots, — I chuckled, making Chris slam on the brakes, pull out his pistol, and point it at me. In response, he only received my eyebrow raised in bewilderment. Did the guy seriously think he could do something against my speed? Oh, right, he's a Redfield. Thinking is not for him.
— How did you…
— From the very beginning, you missed the voice of reason by not looking in the mirror, — I gestured to my reflection. — And you dare to fancy yourselves as seers capable of maintaining vigilance. How naive.
— And now… answer our questions, — the suicide commanded. — What the hell is going on here? And why did you come to this village?!
— Why should I answer? — I replied with a question. — Drive further, then turn left. Stop near the large house that stands out from the rest. An Umbrella security mole should live there.
— Am I your taxi?
— I'll give you one star, — I coldly stopped his argument. — Out of five, if you don't move.
— No way in the world would I…
I activated acceleration, opened the door to its limit, and got out. Circling the car and finding myself near the driver's door, I opened it and threw Chris out of the car, who had barely managed to graze the trigger.
The time for my first carjacking had come.
In slow motion, adjusting my glasses right in front of the flying Chris, I got into the car and turned the ignition key, before closing the doors and setting off.
— We'll go without him, — I suggested. — Chris is a bore.
— What… — Jill was shocked, looking in disbelief at the place where Chris had been. — You've become much faster and stronger…
— I work out, — I boasted solidly. — And you've become even more charming, although you've aged just a little bit, about a couple of months. Listen, don't you want a diluted dose of the virus to stay eternally young and combat-ready?
— That sounds extremely… dubious?
— You meant tempting, — I joked, turning toward the right house. Through the side window, I noticed the S.T.A.R.S. operative trying to crawl out of the snow. — Agree. You'll become strong and without any serious consequences. Thanks to the study of the vaccine, I have become quite good at selecting a dose that promotes stoppage of aging and slight enhancement. All for the sake of fighting bioterrorism.
— And the drawbacks?
— I haven't noticed any, — I shrugged, speaking the pure truth. The first sample of T-Immortality had not yet undergone clinical trials on test subjects, so I was offering Jill to become a pioneer and the first rabbit.
— I'll think about it…
— Don't miss the moment, — I reminded, stopping the Humvee and getting out of the car with the operative.
Sorry, Chris, but she was your operative, and now she's ours. We are in the vastness of the former socialist system, so there is nothing here that cannot be taken over. Communization.