...
Karena, Rachel, Michaela, and Cristine were still holding their position inside the underground subway station, waiting for Allen and the others to arrive. The dim station was lit only by emergency lights, casting long shadows across abandoned platforms and derailed train cars. Every echo made fingers tighten around triggers.
Not long after, a transmission crackled through the comms.
"This is Vector, reporting to Mother Wolf."
"Copy that," Karena replied immediately. "Report. What happened?"
"Yes, ma'am. We've run into a problem," Vector said, his tone controlled but tense. "One of our helicopters was shot down by a sniper while it was airborne. We suspect this was Umbrella's doing. Fortunately, all team members survived."
As he spoke, Vector stood near the burning wreckage of the downed helicopter alongside Spectre and Beltway. The twisted metal was still smoking, the smell of fuel thick in the air. Whatever had taken the shot knew exactly where to aim.
Hearing the report, Karena clicked her tongue in irritation. This complicated things. Air extraction was no longer safe—not without dealing with the threat first. Still, she remained composed.
"At least no casualties...." That's what matters. Thankfully, she had prepared for contingencies. One helicopter had already been secured and stored using Pym Particles, kept as an emergency asset. Even so, this incident made one thing clear: any attempt to take off would be under hostile fire unless those snipers were neutralized.
"Alright," Karena said firmly. "Your new objective is to hunt down those snipers. Eliminate them. After that, find an alternative route out of the city."
"Yes, ma'am!" Vector responded without hesitation.
The transmission ended.
Vector glanced at Spectre and Beltway, a grim smile forming beneath his mask. They hadn't just lost a helicopter—they'd almost been killed.
"Looks like we've got some targets to settle scores with," Spectre muttered.
"Good," Beltway replied, checking his weapon. "I was getting bored."
With that, the team moved out, disappearing into the ruined cityscape. Somewhere in the shadows, Umbrella's snipers were still watching—unaware that they had just become the hunted.
Rachel, who was nearby, looked up at Karena. "Hey, did something happen?"
Karena nodded, her expression serious. "Yeah. We've got snipers watching the skies. For now, we won't be able to escape via air until those snipers are dealt with."
Rachel processed that quickly and gave a short nod. She turned back to her tablet, fingers moving rapidly across the screen. "Alright then. I'll help locate them and forward their positions to your team."
On the tablet, a rough map of Raccoon City appeared, layered with active CCTV feeds. Rachel began correlating heat signatures, unusual movement patterns, and blind spots around rooftops and high vantage points.
"Thanks," Karena replied, relieved to have her support.
"No problem" said Rachel.
But Rachel didn't stop there.
While continuing to track the snipers, she quietly opened several encrypted channels. Using a chain of spoofed emails and false digital identities, she began leaking carefully selected intelligence on Umbrella—lab locations, shell companies, financial trails, and fragments of evidence tied to the outbreak.
All of it was routed straight to the Pentagon.
If Umbrella wanted to play dirty, she'd make sure they were suddenly drowning in military attention.
The idea was simple: force Umbrella to divert resources and manpower to deal with the heat from the U.S. military, reducing pressure on the evacuation routes and buying precious time for the teams still trapped in the city.
Rachel leaned back slightly, eyes still locked on the screen. "That should keep them busy for a while," she muttered under her breath.
Rachel also contacted Ada, who was still on her way there, and sent her several files containing the same information but covering different routes. Rachel had asked Ada to sell the information so she could earn some extra money during her leave from work.
After all, she needed to think about her baby now.
Ada quickly replied to the message.
[Leave it to me. I know people who would pay good money for this information.]
...
Inside the Pentagon, several members of the federal committee began receiving a flood of anonymous emails linked to Umbrella Corporation. The senders were unknown, the addresses untraceable.
The contents, however, were alarming.
Each email contained detailed coordinates—suspected laboratory locations, logistics hubs, and classified facilities tied directly to Umbrella. If these documents ever reached the public, they would be more than enough to cripple the company permanently.
Simmon sat at his desk, scrolling through the data with a deep frown.
"What is this?" he muttered. "These coordinates… they look like routes. And this list—these items are highly classified."
Morgan, standing nearby, glanced at the screen and immediately stiffened.
"These are key transit routes used by Umbrella personnel," he said. "And judging by the patterns, they're also being used to transport sensitive assets."
Simmon's eyes lit up.
"Then this is an opportunity," he said eagerly. "If we block these routes, intercept the shipments… we might obtain concrete evidence. Enough to bring Umbrella down for good."
Morgan shook his head slowly.
"Doesn't this seem suspicious?" he replied. "The risk is enormous. What if this is a setup? What if we move in and find nothing?"
"Even so," Simmon answered without hesitation, "we have to verify it. Ignoring this would be a mistake."
His confidence wasn't unfounded.
Moments earlier, Simmon had received a text message from Ada Wong.
She confirmed that the G-Virus had been secured. Along with it came another message—explaining that the email intel originated from a trusted hacker contact of hers.
Ada, however, demanded payment.
Without hesitation, Simmon authorized a two-million-dollar transfer for more detailed information.
Seconds later, another package arrived from Ada—this one far more damning.
High-resolution CCTV footage showing Umbrella personnel moving along the listed routes.
Clear timestamps.
Vehicle identification numbers.
Cargo transfer logs.
And a refined list of critical assets being transported under extreme secrecy.
Simmon leaned back in his chair and smiled.
"This is enough," he said. "I'm calling for a vote. We'll launch an investigation and deploy command units to these locations."
Morgan watched him quietly, suspicion lingering in his eyes. He didn't understand why Simmon seemed so certain—almost too eager.
But he let it go.
"Do whatever you want," Morgan said. "I've got more pressing matters—securing detained researchers and evacuating civilians from that disaster zone."
If Simmon really does find something, Morgan thought, I'll deal with it then.
.....
Raccoon City
Ada closed her device and allowed herself a faint smile.
"Business was good," she said softly. Another two million dollars had just been wired into her account.
"You look pretty happy. Did something good happen?" Allen asked. He was sitting in the back seat, holding Claire close while gently massaging her thigh, trying to help her sore muscles relax.
"Well… yeah, you could say that," Ada replied casually. "I just made some extra money selling information to Simmons about Umbrella." She leaned her head against Allen's shoulder, clearly relaxed.
Claire glanced at Ada, curiosity written all over her face.
"How much did you get?" she asked innocently.
"You could say it was decent," Ada answered. "Two million dollars."
Claire nearly choked on her own breath.
"T-two million?!"
Ada nodded and casually turned her phone so Claire could see the transaction list, the numbers displayed clearly on the screen.
"Damn… that's a lot of money," Claire muttered. She couldn't help feeling a little envious of how easily these women could make absurd amounts of cash, even in the middle of a disaster like this.
.....
Back at the Pentagon
After the vote, the federal council finally agreed to deploy Guard Forces to the Raccoon City disposal zone—the exact coordinates Simmons had proposed.
"This is General Cade Wilson, who will be in charge of the capture operation," Simmons said, introducing him to Morgan with a thinly veiled, mocking tone. He had successfully taken control of the mission. It wasn't surprising—Cade Wilson was one of his supporters, fiercely loyal and dependable.
"A pleasure to work with you, General Morgan," Wilson said with a confident smile, extending his hand.
Morgan accepted the handshake calmly and gave a short nod.
"What about the documentation?" Morgan asked coolly. "You know I won't allow outsiders to be involved in a classified operation like this. No offense, General Wilson, but those are the rules."
"Haha, of course," Wilson replied casually, pulling out a folder. "Here are the documents."
The light chuckle that followed sounded less friendly and more like a quiet jab. Simmons noticed—and felt a small sense of satisfaction. Morgan did too, and it immediately soured his mood. That laugh was far too deliberate, far too smug.
"Alright, General Morgan," Simmons interjected, masking his amusement. "As fellow high-ranking officials, I expect you both to cooperate for the sake of this mission."
"Hmph. You don't need to remind me," Morgan snorted.
At this point, his resentment toward Simmons had reached its peak. Watching how easily Simmons manipulated the situation only hardened his resolve. He already had a plan forming in his mind—one that involved sabotaging Wilson's operation from the inside.
And cooperation? Don't even think about it. You'll have to step over my dead body first, Morgan thought.
With little delay, an elite military guard unit equipped with advanced weaponry was swiftly deployed. They entered through the Arklay Mountains, using the same hazardous routes that had once been sealed off during earlier containment operations.
The weapons they carried were anything but standard issue. Every piece of high-end equipment had been sourced from Allen's company—hardware so advanced it bordered on experimental. Simmons had been forced to acquire them through Ron Davis, the overweight arms dealer he absolutely despised. Worse still, the prices were outrageous—each unit costing nearly as much as a main battle tank.
The inflated cost wasn't accidental. Ron Davis had deliberately monopolized the supply, exploiting the urgency of the situation and squeezing every possible dollar out of the deal. As a result, Simmons could practically feel his budget bleeding dry with every signed transfer.
Among the deployed assets were heavily modified Humvees, each mounted with electromagnetic cannons—weapons capable of ripping through reinforced targets with raw kinetic force. The low hum of charged coils echoed through the mountain passes as the convoy advanced, the sound itself a warning that this was no ordinary operation.
If this mission failed, the cost wouldn't just be political.
It would be financially catastrophic.
...
Elsewhere, within one of the secluded mansions in Raccoon City, Spencer received an update from his network of informants. According to their intel, Raccoon City would be completely wiped out by missile strike within the next twenty-four hours.
He showed no reaction. No anger. No surprise.
He had expected this outcome for a long time.
To Spencer, the city was already a failed experiment—its fate sealed the moment Umbrella lost full control. Whether it burned slowly to infection or vanished in a flash of fire made little difference to him.
Moments later, another message arrived.
This one came from Alex—the person he regarded as his daughter.
The information was more troubling.
She reported that someone had leaked the coordinates of Umbrella's transport routes, and that federal forces were already mobilizing to raid the site.
Spencer's eyes narrowed slightly.
There was no need to think long about the source of the leak.
In his mind, there was only one possible culprit.
Albert.
Spencer had intentionally withheld information about Albert still being alive from Alex. It was a calculated move—a test. He wanted to see whether she could still be trusted, whether she would act independently or betray him if given the chance.
Instead, Alex had done the opposite.
She warned him. Clearly. Precisely. Without hesitation.
That alone pleased him.
Combined with the accuracy of her report on federal troop movements, it confirmed what Spencer wanted to believe:
Alex was loyal.
He leaned back into his chair, exhaling slowly.
"A shame," he murmured to himself,
"that Albert could never be like Alex."
Without delay, Spencer reached for the phone and dialed a secure line.
"Yeah, boss. You got new orders?" Sergei's voice came through, calm and ready.
"Yes," Spencer replied evenly.
"Take care of the federal forces. They've discovered the transport route and are already en route."
"Understood. I'll handle it personally," Sergei answered without hesitation.
"Good," Spencer continued. "After that… find Albert. Drag him to me. He's hiding within Tricell. Can you do it?"
There was a brief pause.
"Of course, boss," Sergei replied simply.
The line went dead.
Spencer set the phone down and slowly rose from his seat, preparing to leave the mansion. As for Sergei bringing Wesker to him alive—Spencer held no strong expectations. Albert had always been exceptionally skilled at disappearing when it mattered most.
Still, that was precisely the point.
This wasn't just an order.
It was another test.
A test of how long his wayward 'son' could continue hiding from him.