Location: The Lemanissier Ranch, Outside Amarillo, Texas
Date: July 29, 2017
Time: 13:00 Hours
The Texas sun felt heavy, beating down on the asphalt as Alen Wesker sped down the highway. The wind rushed past his helmet, but it did little to ease the sudden dread building in his stomach.
He had Ruby secured behind him on the bike, her small arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He had left the San Antonio bunker in a pleasant mood—a rare occurrence for him. He had saved a life. He had found a daughter.
But as the ranch came into view, everything changed.
Blue and red lights cut through the heat.
Police cruisers. An ambulance. The Amarillo Sheriff's Department vehicles were scattered on the gravel driveway. A crowd of neighbors stood behind the perimeter tape, murmuring and pointing.
"Hold on tight, Ruby," Alen said, his voice strained.
He killed the engine and placed the stand down. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of police radios.
Alen scanned the area. Near the barn, forensic teams were taking photos of bodies. Five… no, six men. They were dressed in black tactical gear—body armor, combat boots, suppressed weapons lying in the dirt. They weren't ordinary criminals. They were a hit squad.
Then, he saw her.
Isabella was sitting on the back of an ambulance, a shock blanket draped over her shoulders. Her left arm was heavily bandaged, blood seeping through the white gauze. A paramedic was checking her pupils.
Alen didn't walk; he rushed through the police tape.
"Isabella!"
He reached her in seconds, gripping her uninjured shoulder, his eyes scanning for life-threatening injuries.
"What happened?" Alen demanded, his voice shaking with anger and fear. "Who did this? Tell me!"
Isabella looked up. Her face was pale, streaked with dust and dried tears. She appeared broken.
"I'm sorry, Alen," she whispered, her voice cracking. "They found me. The PMC… they tracked my digital trail. They came for me."
"And?" Alen pressed, his heart pounding.
"We fought," Isabella sobbed. "But there were too many. I… I couldn't stop them. Master Shi…"
She choked on the name.
"He fought them, Alen. He took down four of them with his bare hands. But they had automatic weapons. My contact—an old friend—she arrived late. She saved me, but she couldn't… she couldn't save him."
The world stopped. The heat, the noise, the sirens—it all disappeared.
Alen let go of Isabella. He turned slowly toward the second ambulance. Two paramedics were loading a gurney. A white sheet covered the form, but Alen recognized the shape. He knew the stillness.
"No," Alen breathed.
He walked toward the ambulance. His legs felt like lead. He felt like a child again, walking through the ruins of a life he thought was safe.
"Sir, you can't be back here—" a paramedic started.
Alen pushed past him with a force that sent the man stumbling. He reached the gurney. His hand shook as he gripped the edge of the sheet.
He pulled it back.
Shaolin master Shi Yan Xing, lay still. The old martial arts master, the man who had taught Alen that strength meant nothing without control, the man who had been his anchor when the Wesker blood threatened to drown him.
There were bullet wounds in his chest, but his face… his face was peaceful. Defiant.
Alen stared. The floodgates opened.
He didn't scream. He collapsed, sinking to his knees in the dirt, resting his forehead against the cold metal of the gurney rail. Tears streamed from his eyes. He grabbed Shi Yan Xing,'s cold hand, squeezing it, desperate for a pulse, for a lecture, for anything.
He had lost Jessica Richard in 2001, and that had shattered his childhood.
Now, he had lost his father figure, and it shattered his manhood.
"Why?" Alen whispered, his voice broken. "Why did you leave me?"
He lingered there for what felt like an eternity, holding the hand of the only man who had ever understood the monster inside him. Finally, gently, he pulled the sheet back up.
He stood. He wiped his face.
Grief didn't fade. It hardened. It became a dark and sharp thing in his chest. His veins pulsed, momentarily turning black as the A-Virus reacted to his rising cortisol levels. He pushed it down.
I will kill them, Alen vowed silently. I will burn their world to ash.
"Mr. Lemanissier?"
Alen turned. Sheriff Johnson stood there, hat in hand, looking both sympathetic and skeptical.
"Sheriff," Alen said. His voice was void of feeling.
"I need to ask you some questions, son. You must be Nicolas Lemanissier."
"That's me," Alen lied, the alias tasting bitter.
"Where were you during the attack?" Johnson asked, glancing at Alen's dusty clothes.
Alen gestured to Ruby, who stood quietly by the police tape, looking terrified.
"I was on a trip," Alen said smoothly, pulling Ruby close. "With my daughter. We went camping. I didn't know… I didn't know this would happen. I've never done anything to deserve this."
Johnson looked at Ruby, then back at Alen. The lie held.
"I know, Mr. Nicolas. Everyone speaks highly of you. I saw Master Yang every day… he was a good man." Johnson sighed. "I'm sorry for your loss. We'll find who did this."
"Thank you, Sheriff," Alen said. "When can we bury him?"
"Mrs. Xing requested an immediate burial, following his wishes. The coroner has cleared the body. The funeral is this evening."
Alen nodded. He walked away toward the small guest house where Shi Yang and his wife lived.
He found Mrs. Xing sitting on the porch. She wasn't crying. She was staring at the horizon with the calm strength of a woman who had endured wars.
"I'm sorry," Alen fell to his knees before her, burying his face in her lap. "It's my fault. I wasn't here. I should have protected him."
Mrs. Xing stroked his hair, her hands trembling slightly. "It is not your fault, my child. It is fate's wheel. He died protecting family. There is no greater honor."
Alen wept in her arms, but the comfort felt distant. The fire in his chest was growing.
Time: 18:30 Hours (The Funeral)
The sun was setting, casting long, bloody shadows across the small cemetery on the hill. The neighbors had left. The Sheriff had gone.
It was just Alen, Isabella, Ruby, and Mrs. Xing standing over the fresh mound of earth.
Alen stood rigid. He wore a black suit, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, but his posture vibrated with suppressed energy.
Ruby tugged on his sleeve.
"Alen?" she whispered.
He looked down. "What is it, Ruby?"
She held out a sealed envelope. "A lady gave this to me. She was wearing a black trench coat and sunglasses. She said she was a friend of Isabella's. She told me to give this only to you."
Alen took the letter. He tore it open. The handwriting was elegant, sharp.
> I'm sorry for your loss. I arrived too late to save the Master, but I got Isabella out. I took out six of them, but the rest scattered.
> These men belong to 'Black Tusk', a PMC using a front on the state line. They are the ones hunting your wife.
> Location attached. Avenge him.
There was no signature. Just a faint scent of expensive perfume.
Alen crumpled the paper in his hand. He pulled out his phone.
"Ronda," he whispered. "Locate these coordinates."
<< Scanning… Confirmed. It is a roadside bar named 'The Last Drop'. It serves as a front for illicit trafficking. 100 miles west. >>
"Good."
The ceremony ended. Mrs. Xing walked back to the house with Ruby. Alen and Isabella were left alone by the grave.
The silence stretched thin and fragile.
"It's your fault," Alen said. His voice was devoid of feeling.
Isabella froze. "Alen…"
"If you hadn't come into my life," Alen turned to her, removing his sunglasses. His eyes burned blue. "If you had told me they were hunting you… he would be alive."
"I wanted to protect you!" Isabella pleaded.
Alen snapped.
He moved faster than anyone thought possible. He grabbed Isabella by the waist and pinned her against the stone archway of the cemetery gate.
"Protect me?" Alen roared, his face inches from hers. "I am the son of Albert Wesker! I don't need protection! I needed the truth! Who are they? Tell me!"
Isabella looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. She saw the monster he fought so hard to suppress.
"They are Black Tusk," she cried, tears spilling over. "A private military company. They traffic drugs and bioweapons. I used to manage their cryptocurrency accounts before I met you. When I tried to expose them, they put a hit on me. I thought… I thought I lost them."
Alen stared at her for a long moment. Then, he released her. She slumped against the wall, gasping.
"Alen," she reached for him. "Where are you going?"
Alen walked toward his motorcycle. He didn't look back.
"To finish it."
He paused, his back to her. "Go home. Look after Ruby and Mrs. Xing. Don't wait up."
Time: 21:00 Hours
Location: 'The Last Drop' Bar, Texas Border
The bar was a dive—neon signs buzzing, heavy metal music thumping through the walls, bikes parked out front.
Alen parked his motorcycle in the shadows. He didn't have his coat. He didn't have his hat. He wore a black hoodie, the hood pulled up to obscure his face.
He checked the Samurai Edge. Full mag. One in the chamber.
He walked to the door. The bouncer, a hulking man with a Black Tusk tattoo on his neck, stepped forward.
"Private party, pal. Beat it."
Alen didn't speak. He grabbed the bouncer's head and slammed it into the brick wall. The sound of cracking bone was sickeningly loud. The man dropped.
Alen kicked the door open.
The music stopped. Twenty men turned to look. They were armed. They were the ones.
"Who the hell are you?" the bartender shouted, reaching for a shotgun.
Alen looked up. Under the hood, his eyes glowed with a terrifying, supernatural luminance.
[ABILITY ACTIVATED: SPATIAL-PHANTOM]
He moved.
To the mercenaries, he was a ghost. He flickered out of existence at the door and reappeared in the middle of the room.
SNAP.
He broke the nearest man's arm, snatched his pistol, and put two rounds into the man next to him.
"CONTACT!" someone screamed.
Gunfire erupted. Alen phased through it. He was a blur of violence—cold, calculated, and brutal. He didn't just kill them; he dismantled them. He used his enhanced strength to shatter ribs, to throw men through tables.
He wasn't fighting. He was executing.
He reached the back office and kicked the metal door off its hinges.
The Boss of the cell sat there, frantically trying to load a revolver. He looked up, terror in his eyes as the hooded figure stepped over the debris.
"Who sent you?" the Boss stammered. "What do you want?"
Alen walked forward. He grabbed the revolver, crushing the barrel with his bare hand.
"I want your blood," Alen whispered.
He grabbed the Boss by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
"You killed an old man today. A man worth a thousand of you."
"Please—"
Alen tightened his grip. "No regrets."
He threw the man through the office window, out into the alleyway, and followed him out. The beating that followed was primal. Alen didn't use his powers. He used his fists until the Boss moved no more.
Silence returned to the night.
Alen stood over the body, his breathing heavy. He pulled a C4 charge from his pocket, set the timer for 30 seconds, and tossed it into the bar.
He walked to his bike.
BOOM.
The explosion turned the building into a fireball, lighting up the desert night. It incinerated the bodies, the evidence, and the past.
Alen stripped off his blood-soaked hoodie and tossed it into the flames. He stood there for a moment in his t-shirt, watching the fire reflect in his blue eyes.
The sadness was still there. But the warmth was gone. The part of him that Shi Yang had nurtured—the gentle student—had died in that ambulance.
Alen Wesker got on his bike and rode into the dark. He was colder now. And the world was about to find out exactly how dangerous a cold Wesker could be.
Mission Update:
Target: Black Tusk PMC (Texas Cell).
Status: Eliminated.
Casualties: Total.
Alen Wesker Status: Unstable / Grieving.
Humanity: Decreasing.