Location: Dulvey Parish, Louisiana
Date: July 20, 2017, 23:10 Hours
The southern night was not just dark; it felt heavy. The air was thick and suffocating, filled with the odor of stagnant water, decaying cypress, and something sweeter and sicker—the scent of Mold.
Above the treetops, the sound of a huge transport helicopter faded away. Its body showed the reformed Umbrella Corporation logo in white against a blue background. They were leaving. The survivors, Ethan and Mia Winters, were safe.
Yet, the silence they left was anything but peaceful. It rang with the profound stillness of a gravesite.
From a high spot in the canopy of a moss-covered oak, a figure watched through advanced thermal binoculars. The digital readout tracked the heat signatures of a cleanup crew below—Blue Umbrella soldiers in protective suits, establishing a perimeter around the Baker estate ruins.
Alen Wesker lowered the device. The pale green glow of the rangefinder briefly lit his face before disappearing into the darkness. He wore his family's uniform: a high-collared, armored trench coat made of matte-black Kevlar, tactical gear fastened with silent magnetic clasps, and dark sunglasses that made the dim light clear.
A ghost dressed as a ghost.
They call it a victory, Alen thought, his gaze cold behind the lenses. They contain. They rescue. They file a report. They never see the root.
His knowledge of the "E-Type" bioweapon, codenamed Eveline, was patchy but serious. Bits he had taken from Blue Umbrella's secure servers and whispers from the black market networks he followed as Nicolas Lemanissier all pointed to a secret organization known only as "The Connections."
A child weapon, Alen mused, watching a soldier spray a flamethrower over a patch of writhing black slime. A biological mind-control agent that could rewrite the victim's nervous system. And they lost her in a swamp.
"Red Queen," Alen subvocalized, tapping his comms bead. "Status report."
A clear, British synthetic voice responded immediately in his ear. It was the reactivated fragment of the Umbrella AI he had recovered from the Caucasus years ago—it was now his digital watchdog.
<< Primary objective confirmed. Bioscan indicates the end of Subject E-001's dominant consciousness. However, residual Mold biomass remains highly active. Blue Umbrella perimeter established at a 500-meter radius. Chris Redfield is currently coordinating the subterranean sweep. >>
"Redfield," Alen murmured. The name always stirred a complicated mix of respect and caution. "If he's underground, the surface is vulnerable. I'm going in."
His mission was not just containment. It was exhumation. To kill a monster, you not only cut off the head—you must learn about the heart. He needed a pure sample of the Mold's central nervous system—the core biomass that had been Eveline.
23:15 Hours – The Perimeter
Alen closed his eyes, centering himself. The humid air felt heavy in his lungs. He recalled the teachings of Master Shi Yan Xing. Focus not on the muscle, but on the space between. Become the void.
The world's ambient noise faded away. The crickets, the distant hum of a generator, the squelch of boots in mud—it all turned into background noise.
Then he moved.
It was not a run; it was a displacement.
Spatial-Phantom Movement. It was a grotesque, terrifying evolution of his Progenitor-derived abilities, honed through years of secret training. To an observer, it would appear as a glitch in reality—a blur of darkness, a distortion of light, as if a frame of film had been cut from the reel.
Alen untethered himself from conventional physics. He folded space, stepping from the tree branch to the rooftop of the ruined guest house in the blink of an eye.
Impact.
He landed silently, but it came at a price. His internal temperature spiked. His cells cried out as they burned ATP at a fantastic rate to fuel the impossible speed.
Eighty percent awakening, he grimaced, his chest heaving in silence. And it still feels like I'm tearing my soul apart for fuel.
He pulled a high-calorie nutrient gel from his belt and downed it in one squeeze. The sugar surged into his bloodstream like a hammer, stabilizing the tremors in his hands.
Below, a Blue Umbrella soldier paused. He swept his tactical light across the roof. "Did you hear that? Sounded like… wind."
"It's a swamp, rookie," his partner scoffed. "Everything makes noise. Keep moving."
Alen waited for the beam to pass, then slipped through a gaping hole in the roof, dropping into the second-floor hallway of the main house.
The smell hit him first. It wasn't just rot; it was the scent of a localized ecosystem. The walls were coated in hardened black resin. The air was thick with spores.
Alen moved through the ruins of the Baker home. He passed the dining room, where the remains of a horrific feast rotted on the table. He saw the family portraits—Jack, Marguerite, Lucas, Zoe—smiling faces from a time before they became puppets.
Tragedy, Alen thought, his boots soundless on the floorboards. Just another family ground into the machine of progress.
He reached the main hall. In the center stood the final, grotesque bloom of the Mold—a giant, pulsating mass of fungal tissue that had once been Eveline's final form.
He approached it not with fear, but with the cold scrutiny of a virologist. He pulled a specialized cryo-container from his trench coat.
"Forgive me, child," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You were never given a chance to be anything but a weapon. Your suffering ends here. Your design will not be replicated."
With a scalpel made of laser-sharp obsidian, he sliced into the petrified mass. He extracted a core tissue sample—black, vein-like material that still seemed to pulse with a faint heat. He sealed it in the sub-zero chamber.
Sample Secured.
<< Alert. >> The Red Queen's voice broke through his concentration. << Bio-signature detected. Sub-basement level. Faint. Human. Identified as Zoe Baker. >>
Alen froze.
Zoe. The daughter. The one who guided Ethan. The one left behind.
He turned his gaze toward the stairs leading down to the basement. The logical, strategic part of his mind—the Wesker part—prompted a quick analysis.
Variable: Zoe Baker.
Status: Calcifying. Critical condition.
Risk Assessment: Extraction requires engagement with Blue Umbrella forces. High probability of exposure. Compromises anonymity. Compromises mission.
But another part of him—the part raised by Jessica Richard, the part that found peace in a Texas dojo—screamed in protest.
He could be there in seconds. He could phase through the walls. He could grab her, break past the soldiers blocking the way, and vanish into the swamp before they knew what happened. He had the power of a god in his veins. He could save her.
Alen took a step toward the stairs. His hand hovered over his pistol.
<< Blue Umbrella Alpha Team is breaching the basement, >> Red Queen updated. << They have medical containment units. Chris Redfield is leading them. >>
Alen halted.
Chris was there. The man who could punch boulders. The man who never gave up.
He will save her, Alen told himself, though the words felt like ash. He has the medevac chopper. He has the legitimacy. If I intervene, I turn a rescue mission into a firefight. I become the villain.
It was the curse of the Ghost. To witness the tragedy, to possess the power to stop it, but to remain bound by the shadows.
"Redfield will handle it," Alen said, turning his back on the basement. "My war is not here."
July 21, 2017, 01:00 Hours
Safehouse Delta (Nondescript Trailer), Deep Bayou
The trailer was hidden beneath a canopy of camouflage netting, miles away from the nearest road. Inside, it hummed with the sound of encrypted servers.
Alen sat at a small metal table, staring at the vial of black Mold. Under the containment field, the substance swirled with malevolent life, reacting to his presence.
<< Analysis complete, >> Red Queen reported from the terminal. << Sample E-001-Core possesses a programmable psionic resonance matrix. This is not just a pathogen, Alen. It is a biological transmitter. The Connections did not just create a monster; they built a receiver. >>
"They'll do it again," Alen said, his voice cold. "They have the data. They don't need the ship. They can grow another Eveline in a lab in Hong Kong or a bunker in Nevada."
He picked up the vial. The blue light of the container reflected in his eyes—eyes that burned with a dangerous intensity.
The guilt of leaving Zoe behind, the guilt of the Edonia mission, the guilt of his bloodline—it all merged into a single, diamond-hard point of resolve.
The governments would squabble over jurisdiction. The BSAA would be held up in red tape. Blue Umbrella would try to monetize the cure.
None of them would do what was necessary.
"Red Queen," Alen said. "Initiate Protocol: Scorched Earth."
<< Protocol requires authorization. Target parameters? >>
"The Connections," Alen vowed. "I want their supply lines. I want their research labs. I want the names of their bankers and the routes of their couriers. I will find every single point in their network."
He stood up, sliding the sample into his armored coat.
"I will burn them to the ground before the BSAA even gets the briefing."
He walked to the door of the trailer and looked out into the swamp. The night remained dark, but in the distance, the first light of dawn was starting to break through.
The Phantom of Dulvey had taken what he needed. And the shadow war had just gained a new, terrifying combatant.
Mission Update:
Status: Success.
Asset Acquired: E-Series Mold Core.
Current Objective: Dismantle "The Connections" Syndicate.
Next Target: Lucas Baker's Encrypted Data Servers (The Salt Mines).