Fifth Mission: Operation GHOST WALK
December 23, 2012, 18:00 Hours
Blue Umbrella Headquarters, Tactical Briefing Room 1
Location: Undisclosed
The room was filled with cold blue light and the low hum of cooling servers. Alen, disguised as John Michael Kane, sat alone at one side of the polished steel table. His reflection in the metal revealed a man calm, detached, and ready.
Across from him, three high-ranking Blue Umbrella officials appeared as flickering blue holograms. In person, Dr. Elias Veynor stood next to the main projector, his presence solid and imposing.
"REVENANT," Veynor began, his voice breaking the sterile silence. "The mission we are about to assign is Code Black. Solo infiltration. High risk. Zero support." He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. "You are a ghost. You will not be there. If you are captured, we will not acknowledge you. This mission is far more dangerous than Seien Island. In fact, it is the most dangerous assignment of your career."
Veynor tapped the console. The holoprojector hummed, displaying the image of a woman in a lab coat. Her features were sharp, intelligent, and cruel.
"Carla Radames," Veynor said with disdain. "A prodigy. She earned her doctorate in genetics at fifteen. Recruited and manipulated by Derek C. Simmons. She is the creator of the C-Virus."
A memory, sharp and sudden, flashed in Alen's mind like a migraine.
Cambridge, 2001. A young, intensely focused Carla approached him after a virology seminar.
"Your work on retroviral integration is exceptional, Richard," she said, her eyes burning with a fanaticism he hadn't recognized then. "I'm working on something profound. A new vector for evolution. You could be a part of it."
He declined, unnerved by her fervor. Now, looking at the hologram, he understood what she had been building.
Veynor advanced the slide. "Her first field test was at the Marhawa Academy. She manipulated the students, triggered an outbreak, and watched it burn. She is not a scientist, Kane. She is a nihilist in a lab coat."
The image flickered and changed. Carla again, but different. She wore a red dress, and her hair was cut short. She looked just like Ada Wong.
"Now, she is the public face of Neo-Umbrella," Veynor continued. "She runs labs across Lanshiang and is ready to start a C-Virus outbreak in Edonia. Our intelligence suggests a large-scale field test is coming soon. We don't know exactly when, but it's a matter of hours, not days."
Alen's jaw tightened. The image of the Siberian train, his team mutating, the betrayal—it all came back. This woman was the source.
Veynor zoomed in on a map of Edonia's war-torn capital. "Your target is here. A Neo-Umbrella lab buried beneath a repurposed government facility. Your objective is to infiltrate, gather all data on the C-Virus timeline, and exfiltrate without a trace."
Veynor turned to Alen, his gaze deadly. "Understand this, REVENANT. The BSAA has deployed Captain Chris Redfield and his team to the area. The DSO has agents Kennedy and Harper in the field. The U.S. government has Sherry Birkin on a protective detail. You will operate beneath them all. If you are detected by anyone, we will disavow you. You are a phantom. Is that clear?"
Alen met his gaze, his voice steady. "Crystal, sir."
"Good. You deploy immediately. Dismissed."
December 24, 2012, 04:30 Hours (Christmas Eve)
Edonian Border Crossing
The snow fell in thick, silent sheets. The man presenting his passport to the drowsy border guard was Gilberto Di Piento, a Brazilian freelance security consultant. The documents were flawless, and the cover story was ordinary. The guard stamped it without looking up.
An hour later, "Di Piento" abandoned a nondescript jeep on the outskirts of the shelling zone. Now as John Michael Kane, Alen navigated the rubble-strewn streets with the grace of a predator. The sounds of civil war—mortar fire and screams—echoed in the distance.
He found his entry point: a rusted grate leading to the city's forgotten sewer system.
This is where it begins, he thought, lowering himself into the darkness.
He had two plans.
Plan A: Complete the mission, return to Blue Umbrella, and continue the charade.
Plan B: If Simmons's mole had compromised him—and Alen was sure the mole had—he would disappear forever.
Alen found no corruption among the regular members of Blue Umbrella, but he discovered something rotten at the top. Simmons's assistant had been watching him too closely. He sneaked into Alen's quarters and checked his logs. They suspected he was Alen R. Richard. They thought he had survived the fall.
He spent four hours in the freezing tunnels, planning his escape. He identified a drainage pipe that led to a remote forest—his Plan B exit. There, behind loose bricks, he hid a waterproof go-bag. Inside were a stolen CIA passport he had gotten years ago under the name Nicolas Lemanissier, a change of civilian clothes, cash, Alex Wesker's diary, a hard drive, James Marcus's journal, and the golden locket.
Finally, he applied heat-resistant gel to his skin and put on his Black Wolf tactical suit.
"Time to go to work," he whispered.
December 25, 2012 – 07:00 Hours (Christmas Day)
Neo-Umbrella Sub-Level Access Tunnel
"I'm in," Alen whispered, his voice barely audible over the encrypted comms.
"Acknowledged, REVENANT," Veynor's voice crackled in his ear. "Remember: surgical. Shadows and silence."
Alen became a whisper in the concrete maze. A guard rounded a corner and met the sound of a silenced gun. Alen laid him gently in a maintenance closet. He cloned keycards and looped cameras. He moved through the facility like a toxin—unseen and deadly.
He documented everything: storage rooms filled with C-Virus canisters, schematics for the J'avo mutation process, and the main lab's horrifying centerpiece—a massive bio-tank containing a monstrous, unfinished B.O.W. called the Ogroman.
"Veynor, are you seeing this?" Alen subvocalized as he transmitted the images.
"We see it," Veynor replied, disgust clear in his voice. "It's worse than we feared. Go to the main lab. The core data must be there."
Finding an air duct, Alen crawled inside, moving with a silence born from strict discipline. He emerged above the main lab control room. Below, Carla Radames was pacing and barking orders to a squad of J'avo scientists.
"…The mercenary Jake Muller is the key!" she shouted, her voice sharp with excitement. "His blood holds the antibodies. He is immune to the C-Virus. With his blood, we can refine the virus—or cure it—on a global scale. Make sure the Ustanak captures him before the BSAA or that DSO fool, Kennedy, can extract him."
Jake Muller.
Alen froze in the vents. The name hit him harder than a bullet. He knew the truth from the files he had stolen. Jake Muller wasn't just a mercenary.
He is Albert Wesker's son.
He is my younger brother.
Alen's blood ran cold. Shock, protectiveness, and amazement washed over him. He had family. A brother. Someone who shared his cursed bloodline but appeared free of the madness.
I can't engage him, Alen told himself, forcing the emotions into a mental lockbox. If I reveal myself now, Simmons finds us both. I have to finish this.
Compartmentalize. Mission first.
As Carla and her team went to hunt down Jake, Alen dropped quietly into the room. He moved with blinding speed. He photographed every document on the desk and transmitted them instantly to Dr. Veynor. He plugged his data extractor into the central terminal.
"I'm connected. Uploading the C-Virus genome now."
"Receiving data stream," Veynor confirmed. "Excellent work, REVENANT. Stand by for transfer completion."
"I wouldn't move if I wanted to keep my spine intact."
The voice was cold, mocking, and came from directly behind him.
Alen froze. He raised his hands slowly and turned. Carla Radames stood in the doorway, a custom pistol aimed at him. She tilted her head, her eyes widening in genuine shock as she studied his face.
"You…? The Agent? Alen R. Richard? You should be dead. No one survives a fall like that—or the mutation." She stepped closer, her finger tightening on the trigger. "How did you survive? Answer me, little ghost."
"I'm hard to kill," Alen replied calmly.
There was no time for conversation. In one smooth motion, Alen slapped a flashbang grenade from his belt and dropped it at his feet.
BANG.
The room exploded with blinding white light and deafening noise. Alen didn't flinch. He ripped the data extractor from the terminal and dove over the console just as Carla fired blindly.
"Compromised! Compromised! Initiating escape!" he yelled into the comms.
Alarms blared throughout the facility. "Intruder Alert! Sector 4!"
Alen abandoned stealth. His silenced pistol became a weapon of chaos. He sprinted through the corridors, shooting down Neo-Umbrella soldiers and J'avo mutations with deadly precision. But security teams were pouring in. He was cornered.
Plan B it is.
He sprinted not for the exit but for the facility's power core—a room filled with volatile generators and fuel tanks. He slapped his remaining C4 charges onto the main conduits.
"This is REVENANT," he said, his voice calm. "Transmission ends. Good luck, Veynor."
He triggered the charges.
BOOM.
The explosion was catastrophic. A fireball tore through the sub-levels, consuming labs, specimens, and soldiers. The shockwave hurled Alen through a weakened wall into a secondary tunnel, burying him under tons of concrete and rebar.
The Aftermath
Silence. Then, the shifting of rocks.
Alen clawed his way out of the debris. His body screamed in pain. He was battered, burned, and bleeding from a dozen shrapnel wounds. A normal man would be dead. But as he looked at his arm, the skin was already healing, the burns fading into new, pink flesh. The regeneration was slow, but it was working.
He stumbled through the smoke-filled tunnels, following his memorized path to the drainage pipe.
Twenty-five minutes later, he crawled out of the drainage system into the crisp, freezing air of the Edonian forest. He limped toward a frozen pond, breaking the ice to wash away blood and grime.
He found his stash.
He stripped off the battered Black Wolf tactical suit—the symbol of his servitude to Blue Umbrella.
He opened the bag and pulled out the First Aid spray, treating the wounds that hadn't fully healed.
He dressed in thick civilian clothes: jeans, a heavy sweater, and a plain coat.
He put on a pair of glasses.
Then, he made a fire. He threw the tactical gear, his communicator, and every piece of tech linked to Blue Umbrella into the flames. He watched them melt and blacken.
He looked back once at the plume of black smoke rising from the capital city, where Chris Redfield and Jake Muller were fighting for their lives.
"Good luck, brother," he whispered.
John Michael Kane was dead.
Alen R. Richard was a ghost.
Nicolas Lemanissier picked up his bag and began the long walk to the coast.
Blue Umbrella Headquarters – Two Hours Later
Dr. Veynor stared at the static on the screen. The telemetry from Kane's suit had flatlined instantly at the moment of the explosion.
He slammed his fist on the console, a rare crack in his stoic demeanor. "Damn it, Kane! Why did you have to trigger the core?!"
The official report was filed within the hour: Agent John Michael Kane. Status: KIA. Cause of Death: Self-sacrifice to destroy Neo-Umbrella Edonian Facility.
The news was relayed to Simmons's mole, who passed it on to the Family. Derek Simmons smiled in his office in Tall Oaks. A loose end, finally tied off.
Veynor sent the grim notification to their contacts in South America.
In Colombia, a cartel kingpin wept openly for the guardian angel who had saved his family.
Diego, the leader of Lobos Negros, poured a shot of tequila onto the ground. "For the Lone Wolf," he murmured. "Rest easy, brother."
January 2, 2013
Atlantic Ocean – Aboard a Cargo Ship bound for the USA
Alen stood on the deck, watching the gray waves of the Atlantic. He was officially a phantom now. No organization owned him. No superiors controlled him.
He reached into his pocket and touched the golden locket. His mind was clear for the first time in years.
Mission Update:
Status: Independent.
Objective 1: Locate the Burton Family in Canada.
Objective 2: Neutralize Natalia Korda / Alex Wesker.
He adjusted his glasses. The ghost was coming to America.