Location: Teach Mharcus, Dún Bráonach, Ireland
Date: November 20, 2019
Time: 13:00 GMT
The noise of industry had faded weeks ago. The heavy lifters, the drills, and the shouts of Mateo Ortega's men were gone. The Spanish engineering team had done their job with military efficiency and left via silent extraction, their pockets full of cryptocurrency and their memories scrubbed of the location.
Now, only the hum remained.
Alen Wesker sat on the floor of the central server room, surrounded by a spiderweb of fiber-optic cables, crimping tools, and high-voltage testers. He was alone. The facility was 97% operational. It was no longer a tomb; it was a Tier-4 fortress.
He looked gaunt. Ten months of sleeping three hours a night and living on MREs had stripped the weight from him. His skin was pale, contrasting sharply with the dark circles under his eyes. He plugged the final hardline connector into the Bio-Organic Interface.
"Time to wake up," Alen murmured, his voice rasping. He typed a command string into his wrist unit.
> EXECUTE: SYSTEM_BOOT // PROJECT_HEARTBEAT
> LINKING: SAN_ANTONIO_PROXY // SECURE
> INITIALIZING: BIO_CORE
>
The room shuddered. Deep beneath the floor, the micro-hydro turbines in the black pond spun up to full capacity. The battery banks in the sub-basement engaged.
In the center of the lab, the massive glass silo containing the Bio-Organic Core—the preserved neural tissue cultivated by James Marcus—flared with a soft, pulsating blue light. The organic veins fused with the synthetic conduits, data rushing through them like blood.
The monitors on the wall flickered, synced, and then stabilized into a crisp, high-definition interface.
≪ System Online. ≫
The voice was no longer just in his earpiece. It was everywhere—surround sound, crystal clear, omnipotent.
≪ Diagnostics complete. Perimeter security: Green. Power grid: Stable at 98% efficiency. Satellite masking: Active. We are in, Master. ≫
Alen exhaled, leaning his head back against the server rack. "We're live. Good work, Trinity."
He stood up, his joints popping, and walked to the main console. On the screen, a map of the world appeared. Two dots pulsed: one here in Ireland, and one in San Antonio, Texas—Albert Wesker's old safehouse, the lab Alen had claimed years ago.
"Link status?" Alen asked.
≪ The encrypted tunnel to San Antonio is stable, ≫ Trinity reported. ≪ I have access to the Texas inventory. However, the VTOL prototype found here in the Marcus estate requires extensive overhaul. The engines are seized. ≫
Alen nodded, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. "I figured. Marcus built a jet for the 1960s. We need modern stealth."
He tapped the screen. "Initiate the transfer protocol. I'll have the Night-Wing from the Texas lab autopiloted to a neutral drop point in France, then I'll ferry it here later. For now, I need mobility on the ground."
≪ Affirmative. Night-Wing transfer logged. What is your immediate directive? ≫
The Target: The Shadow Village
Alen pulled up a new file. The screen changed to a topographic map of a mountainous region in Eastern Europe. Romania. Specifically, a secluded, snow-bound valley isolated from the modern world.
"We're going hunting," Alen said, his eyes narrowing. "I purchased a safehouse—a Victorian manor—twenty miles outside the perimeter of this village. It's off the grid."
≪ The territory of Mother Miranda, ≫ Trinity identified the location immediately. ≪ High-risk zone. Four distinct B.O.W. hierarchies detected. ≫
"Exactly."
Alen walked over to a secure refrigeration unit. He keyed in the code. The door hissed open, releasing a cloud of cold vapor. Inside sat a row of silver vials containing a volatile, greenish liquid. The Necrotoxin.
Synthesized in the Scottish Highlands with the help of his grandmother's notes and the data from Julian Fraser. It was designed to disrupt the cellular regeneration of rapid-mutation B.O.W.s.
"I need test subjects," Alen said coldly. "We're going to capture them. Lycans. Moroaica. Varcolac." He picked up one of the vials, turning it in the light. "I'm going to introduce them to this toxin. We need to refine the kill-rate. If I can perfect this, I can create an aerosolized agent that neutralizes the Mold instantly."
≪ And Mother Miranda? ≫ Trinity asked.
"She's the endgame," Alen replied, placing the vial back. "But not for assassination. Not yet. I need intel." He brought up a file on The Megamycete (The Mold). "My mother… Alex Wesker… she was obsessed with immortality. Transferring consciousness. But Miranda? She's trying to bring back the dead. I need to know if the Mold can truly resurrect the deceased, or if it just creates a copy."
Alen's hand trembled slightly as he closed the fridge. "If the dead can speak… I have questions for my family."
The Cost of Power
Suddenly, Alen gripped the edge of the console. His vision blurred. A sharp, electric spike of pain shot through his nervous system, radiating from his spine. He coughed, a wet, hacking sound that echoed in the silent lab. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his breathing to steady.
≪ Warning, ≫ Trinity's voice shifted, becoming softer, more clinical. ≪ Biometric scan indicates a spike in retroviral destabilization. The A-Virus aftershocks are returning, Master. Your cellular degradation is accelerating. ≫
Alen straightened up, wiping his mouth. "I'm fine."
≪ You are not fine. Your white blood cell count is erratic. I strongly recommend administering the vaccine prototype provided by Dr. Julian Fraser. ≫
"No," Alen snapped. He walked toward the equipment lockers. "Fraser's vaccine suppresses the virus, but it also dulls the enhancements. I can't afford to be slow in Romania. I need the speed. I need the strength."
≪ It will kill you, Alen. ≫
It was rare for the AI to use his first name. Alen paused while strapping on his shoulder holster. "We're all dying, Trinity. I just need to last long enough to finish the mission."
Departure
Alen moved to the vehicle bay. His Ducati, modified for rough terrain and equipped with thermal stealth cowlings, sat ready. He checked the saddlebags: Necrotoxin injectors, sampling kits, tactical gear, and enough ammunition to start a small war.
He swung his leg over the bike. The engine roared to life—a predator waking up.
"Trinity," Alen commanded over the roar of the engine. "Lock the facility down. Run the simulation on the Necrotoxin variants while I'm in transit. I want kill-vectors ready by the time I upload the first blood sample."
≪ Facility entering Lockdown Mode. I will monitor your vitals remotely. Please… be careful, Master. ≫
"Watch the sky," Alen said, pulling on his helmet. "And keep an eye on the BSAA. If Chris Redfield moves on the Village, I want to know before he lands."
The hangar doors opened. The cold wind of the Irish coast rushed in. Alen didn't look back. He revved the throttle and shot out of the tunnel, speeding onto the coastal road.
Next stop: Eastern Europe.
Status:
* Teach Mharcus: Online (Tier 4 Active).
* Health: Critical (A-Virus Unstable).
* Objective: Infiltrate the Shadow Village. Capture B.O.W. specimens. Analyze the Megamycete.