Location: The Lemanissier Ranch, Outside Amarillo, Texas
Date: July 29, 2017
Time: 21:30 Hours
The engine of the motorcycle ticked and hissed as it cooled, the metal contracting in the silence of the garage. The air was thick with the smell of high-octane fuel, burnt rubber, and the sharp scent of plastic explosives that clung to Alen's clothes like a second skin.
Alen sat on the bike for a moment, staring at the concrete wall. The adrenaline from the massacre at The Last Drop was gone, leaving a cold emptiness in his chest. He had killed them all. He had burned their bodies to ash. But Shaolin Master Shi Yan Xing was still dead. The revenge hadn't brought him back; it had only quieted the noise.
He got off the bike, his boots heavy on the floor, and walked into the ranch house.
The interior was dim. Mrs. Xing and the girl, Ruby, were asleep, exhausted from the day's trauma. Only one lamp lit the living room.
Isabella was awake. She sat on the sofa, nursing her bandaged arm, her eyes red and wide. She had been waiting, counting the seconds, terrified that the man who walked out would not be the one to return.
"You came back so late," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Alen stopped in the doorway. He didn't move to hug her. The distance between them was filled with secrets and blood.
"I told you before I left," Alen said, his voice cold. "I took my revenge. Black Tusk is gone. They will never bother you again." He paused, his blue eyes locking onto hers. "From now on, Isabella, you keep no secrets from me. Secrets brought this sadness to our doorstep."
Isabella nodded, fresh tears spilling. "I understand. I promise." She wiped her face, trying to compose herself. "And… the little girl? The one you brought here?"
Alen glanced toward the hallway where Ruby slept. His expression softened a bit.
"Her designation is E-017," Alen explained. "She is a clone of Eveline—the bioweapon responsible for the Baker incident. But unlike the others, she is stable. She has no psychokinetic powers. To The Connections, she was a failure. They wanted to kill her and use her biology to create the next monster."
Isabella gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my God… that's terrible."
"I rescued her," Alen said firmly. "From now on, she is my adoptive daughter. She isn't a weapon. She's just a child."
Isabella studied him. She saw the exhaustion etched into his features, but also a strange energy pulsing beneath his skin.
"Alen," she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Ronda told me… she told me you were in a life-or-death fight with Brandon Bailey. She said… did you inject the virus?"
Alen looked down at his hands. The black veins had receded, but the power was still there, humming like a charged wire.
"Yes," Alen admitted. "I didn't have a choice. Bailey turned into a monster. I brought the sample to research a vaccine, but I ended up using it as a last resort. I regret it… but maybe my antibodies killed the virus inside me. I'm facing aftershocks, but I will survive."
Isabella looked at him with deep concern. "I know, God help me… I can't do anything for you. I am so sorry for what happened. I might never forgive myself."
"Don't," Alen interrupted. "Regret is a luxury we can't afford right now. I'm fine. But we have serious matters to discuss."
He walked to the window, looking out at the dark Texas plains.
"We are leaving Texas in nine days."
Isabella blinked. "Leaving?"
"I will sell the livestock," Alen said matter-of-factly. "But I will not sell the ranch. We keep the land. But we—you, me, Ruby, and Mrs. Xing—are going to the Scottish Highlands."
Isabella's eyes widened in shock. "Scotland? Are you sure? Who lives there? Why there?"
"My adoptive grandmother lives there," Alen said, turning to face her. "Amalia R. Richard."
He said the name with respect.
"She runs a large private research hospital in the mountains. She helps the villagers, but more importantly, she is a world-renowned expert in both virology and mycology. She taught my mother everything."
Alen paced the room. "My main reason is the Mold. I need deeper knowledge. Amalia can help me understand it better. I need to create an effective neurotoxin—a weapon specifically designed to kill fungal-based organisms. We will live there until I find us a permanent, hidden place. America isn't safe for us anymore."
Isabella nodded slowly, processing the plan. "I understand. I can do that."
Alen stopped pacing. He stood in the center of the room, his silhouette sharp against the lamplight. His face changed. The weariness vanished, replaced by a cold resolve. He looked less like a man and more like a machine that had finally found its purpose.
"The Connections are dead," Alen declared, his voice lower. "All of them. Including the founder, Brandon Bailey. To the world, he might just be missing, but I put them to sleep forever. They will not see the dawn."
He looked at his hands—the hands of a killer, the hands of a savior.
"And I will do the same thing to every group that engages in bio-terrorism," Alen vowed. "They will face the same fate I gave The Connections. I will hunt them down before the government, the BSAA, the DSO, or Blue Umbrella even wake up."
He looked at Isabella, his eyes glowing with intensity.
"This system is corrupt. You know that very well. The agencies are slow, bureaucratic, and compromised. I was trying to stop them… but now, I accept what I am."
Alen clenched his fist.
"I am just a cog," Alen said, his voice hollow but firm. "I'm a cog in this broken machine. My role isn't to be a hero. My role is to confront these curses. I will keep killing them… I will keep destroying these groups… until I rust away and perish."
It was an acceptance of a grim fate. He wouldn't seek happiness. He wouldn't seek glory. He would simply function as the world's antibody until his body gave out.
Isabella shivered. He sounded so final. So detached.
"Okay," Isabella whispered, her voice shaking. "I understand. I will prepare everything. Passports, clothes, new appearances. And I will clean the underground lab. We will be ghosts in nine days."
"Good," Alen said. The fire in his eyes faded, leaving only exhaustion. "Now… we should sleep. We have work to do."
He walked past her, heading toward the couch. He didn't go to the bedroom. He couldn't.
"I need to sleep," Alen muttered to himself as he lay down, closing his eyes against the day's memories. "I have to forget what happened."
But as darkness enveloped him, he knew he never would. He was a cog now. And the machine never stopped turning.
Mission Update:
Status: The Connections (Destroyed).
Next Objective: Relocation to Scotland.
Alen Wesker: Philosophy Shift — The Cog.
Timeline: T-Minus 9 Days.