Location: The Lemanissier Ranch (Underground Laboratory), Texas
Date: July 27, 2017
Time: 14:00 Hours
The underground laboratory buzzed with a quiet, focused energy. It contrasted starkly with the parched earth and cicada songs of the Texas summer above. Down here, the air was cool, filtered, and carried a faint scent of gun oil and ozone.
Alen Wesker sat at his workbench, the disassembled parts of his customized Samurai Edge (AW Model-01) laid out on a magnetic mat. His movements were rhythmic, almost ritualistic. He polished the feed ramp, checked the recoil spring's tension, and lubricated the slide rails. This wasn't just maintenance; it was a form of meditation.
Across the room, the scene was oddly domestic yet completely lethal.
Isabella Gionne was at a heavy-duty workbench, the whine of a sewing machine breaking the silence. She wasn't mending denim or stitching cotton. She worked with a matte black, high-density polymer fabric, a proprietary weave taken from the same ballistic material that Albert Wesker had worn a decade before.
On a mannequin beside her, the outfit was taking form. A black tactical turtleneck, heavy-duty combat trousers, reinforced boots, and the centerpiece: a long duster coat with a high collar, designed to make a man look like a silhouette.
Alen paused, holding the barrel of his handgun up to the light. He watched her work.
"I didn't expect you to be a seamstress, Isabella," Alen said, breaking the silence. "Hacking the Pentagon? Yes. Crashing a stock market? Sure. But stitching ballistic Kevlar with such precision? That's a new level."
Isabella didn't look up, guiding the tough fabric under the needle. "Don't underestimate a well-rounded education, dear husband. My grandfather taught me that survival isn't just about code. It's about self-sufficiency. He taught me to sew, to cook, and to patch wounds. This…" she gestured to the coat, "…is just another form of armor."
She finished the seam and cut the thread. She stood holding the duster. It felt heavy, light-absorbing, and unsettling.
"Besides," she added, walking over to him, "if you're going to be a ghost story, you need to look the part."
She draped the coat over the back of his chair, then her expression changed. The playful tone vanished, replaced by a sharp, calculating look that reminded Alen of the woman who used to run Tricell.
"We need to talk about the target," Isabella said. "Did you review the packet I uploaded to Ronda?"
Alen reassembled the Samurai Edge in three seconds flat—click-clack. He holstered it.
"I saw it. That's high-level intel, Isabella. Beyond dark web scraps." Alen leaned back, his glowing blue eyes narrowing. "Where did you get it?"
Isabella hesitated. For a brief moment, a memory flickered in her mind—a woman in a red dress, a grappling hook, a transaction in the shadows—but she pushed it aside.
"An old friend," Isabella said, her tone carefully neutral. "Someone who owes me. Someone who hates The Connections almost as much as we do."
Alen studied her. He sensed she was lying—or at least withholding the name. But in their world, secrets held value, and he trusted her results, if not her sources.
"Fine," Alen conceded. "Let's see what your 'friend' gave us."
He turned to the main console. "Ronda. Briefing mode."
<< Yes, Master. >>
The holographic avatar of Ronda appeared. She looked serious and held a virtual clipboard.
<< The data Mrs. Lemanissier provided is extensive. We have a target location and a profile on the founder. >>
A holographic portrait appeared. An older man, distinguished but with cold, dead eyes.
<< Subject: Brandon Bailey. >>
"I know the name," Alen murmured as he stood up. "He was part of Spencer's original inner circle. The one they erased from history."
<< Correct, >> Ronda began the briefing. << Bailey was a protégé of Dr. James Marcus. He was present in 1966, in West Africa, when they found the Progenitor Virus in the 'Sonnentreppe' flowers. While Spencer handled politics and Marcus focused on science, Bailey was the laborer. He built the Africa facility and spent twenty years trying to cultivate the flowers, only to be sidelined when Marcus was assassinated. >>
"A man with a grudge," Alen noted. "Dangerous."
<< Extremely, >> Ronda continued. << When Umbrella fell apart, Bailey didn't retire. He founded 'The Connections.' He rejected Spencer's eugenics for pure profit. He created a crime syndicate to sell B.O.W.s to the highest bidder. He also approved the Mold acquisition from Eastern Europe. >>
"So, he's the head of the snake," Alen said. "Where is he hiding?"
Isabella stepped forward, typing a command into her laptop. "Not in a skyscraper. Not in a city. He returned to old methods. Ancient. Hidden."
The hologram shifted. A map of Eastern Europe zoomed in on a small, landlocked country.
THE CONNECTIONS — MAIN MOLD LAB
LOCATION: MOLDOVA
<< Target Location: The Orheiul Vechi Cave-Monastery Complex, Central Moldova, >> Ronda announced. << It is a real place. A candidate for UNESCO heritage. Limestone cliffs filled with caves carved by monks centuries ago. It is remote, spiritual, and completely unsuspecting. >>
"Moldova," Alen mused. "The poorest country in Europe. Easy to bribe officials. Easy to disappear."
<< Precisely, >> Ronda displayed the surface schematics. << On the surface, it is the 'Orhei Agricultural & Mycology Research Institute.' Officially, it conducts soil fungus studies. It gets EU grants, holds environmental protection status, and has no security presence. No fences, no guards. Just a small concrete building and some delivery trucks. >>
"The perfect cover," Isabella said, crossing her arms. "Hiding a monster in plain sight. But the real facility lies beneath."
The hologram expanded, revealing a 3D wireframe of the mountain. It went deep—terrifyingly deep.
<< SITE–KÓLIS. Depth: 300 meters. >>
Ronda highlighted the layers as she spoke:
* Levels 1-2: Logistics and Decontamination; accessed via freight elevators disguised as grain silos.
* Levels 3-4: Research Wings for mold cultivation and human testing.
* Level 5: The Cryogenic Archive, where failed E-Series prototypes are kept.
* Level 6: Command & Data Core.
* Level 7: The Heart.
<< Level 7 is built into a massive, natural limestone cavern, >> Ronda explained, her voice dropping an octave. << It holds the Nutrient Core and the fungal intelligence node. It is a super-colony. >>
"It's a hive," Alen corrected. "A biological fortress."
Isabella walked to the screen, pointing at a small ventilation shaft on the schematic. "My source says there's a back door. A collapsed limestone cave behind the monastery connects to a sealed Soviet-era bio-bunker shaft. It intersects with their Level 2 logistics tunnel. It's tight, dangerous, and unguarded."
Alen stared at the map. The sheer scale of it was daunting. The Connections hadn't just built a lab; they had infected the earth itself.
"The Baker incident in Louisiana was a field test," Alen realized. "This… this is the factory."
He turned to Isabella. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and resolve. She understood precisely what she was sending him into.
"Are you sure about this, Alen?" she asked softly. "This isn't a cleanup mission. This is war. The Connections have resources that rival Tricell at its peak. And the Mold… it changes people."
"I know," Alen said. He walked over to her, moving gently despite his violent preparations. "But the government is too slow. The BSAA is mired in bureaucracy. If we wait, they will create another Eveline or something worse. They won't stop until the whole world is part of their 'family.'"
He reached out and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I have to do this, Isabella. For the world. For us."
Isabella leaned into his touch for a moment, then pulled back, her hacker's resolve returning.
"Then you better come back," she said. "I didn't sew this coat just for you to die in it."
She picked up the Wide-Brimmed Fedora from the table. It was black, reinforced with a ballistic lining, and stiff. She handed it to him.
"The Hat Man," she whispered. "Make them fear the dark."
Alen took the hat and walked to the mirror.
He pulled on the tactical turtleneck, stepped into the boots, and threw the heavy duster over his shoulders, the fabric settling with a heavy thud. He holstered the Samurai Edge.
Finally, he placed the hat on his head, pulling the brim low.
He looked up. In the dim light of the lab, his face was hidden in shadow. Only two faint, glowing blue points of light—his eyes—were visible beneath the brim. He didn't look like a man anymore. He looked like a living urban legend. A reaper in a trench coat.
"Ronda," Alen said, his voice muffled by the mask he pulled up to cover his jaw.
<< Yes, Master? >>
"Prepare the jet. We're going to Moldova."
Alen turned to the exit, his coat swirling around him like smoke.
"It's time to cut the connection."
Mission Status:
Objective: Infiltrate Site-Kólis.
Target: Brandon Bailey / The Mold Core.
Persona: The Hat Man (Fully Equipped).
Departure: T-Minus 1 Hour.