Author's Note: This is a revised version of the original Resident Evil: Dark Hour that was originally published on 07 December 2004.
ONE: NOTICE
There were hundreds and thousands of men and women—the majority of which were in business-like attire—planking the sidewalks of lower Manhattan with just as many cars criss-crossing its traffic-jammed streets. The hour was high noon, but the sun was absent that day. Instead, grey clouds covered the sky, blanketing over all of New York. The crowd of people was glum-filled as their briefcases hung beside them as if they were appendages attached to the person's body.
The buildings were tall and stark against the grey background of the sky; there was one building that was built short—a mere five levels off the ground—but was expansive, taking up almost half a block. This building housed the many men and women who served "justice" in Kevlar vests and armed with heavy artillery. They focused on the abnormal and often unsolved cases that could not be handled solely by the city's police department. They were the men and women of the Special Tactics And Rescue Service; and the building that housed them was the S.T.A.R.S. New York headquarters, the original establishment of S.T.A.R.S. since 1967.
The S.T.A.R.S. building was built eloquently with modern Greco-Roman architecture. Large Ionic pillars lined the building from all sides, extending to the very top ledge of the building. The windows were constructed tall and tinted heavily, so much that they were almost black. A whitewashed marble staircase led up to the large, oaken doors. The door itself was engraved with meticulously detailed depictions of unrecognisable stories.
Beyond the oaken doors lies the grandeur interior of the foyer, which then immediately leads to the reception and lobby room. The entire floor was tiled with off-white-coloured marble tiles—two-times waxed, of course—and planters lined the walls, all green and healthy. The ceiling was vaulted high, making the room feel even more expansive than it already was. Glass-made chandeliers drooped from the very top of the ceiling like icicles shimmering in the twilight.
There was nothing more in the main hall, save for the two elevators placed to the left-hand side of the room. The elevators on this floor only went up to the second floor, and then there was another set of elevators in the northeastern corner of the second floor; and that one went up to both third and fourth floors.
The fourth floor was where all the "action" takes place. It is the level where officers receive information, translate that information, and conference on operations and need to be executed. The only men and women inhabiting the fourth floor, however, were the elite commandos of the S.T.A.R.S. operatives: the "Knights of Justice". The only time any lower ranked officers would step foot on the fourth floor was for "Common Conferencing." Even then, those were few; the majority of the conferencing was held on the third floor, which was just one large room big enough to capacitate the quarter's seventy thousand employees.
The Knights of Justices were few, accommodating only five men and women nationwide. Among them are elites Albert Wesker, Angelina Smith, Ashley Whitman, Norman Fitzgerald, and Markus Hayman.
Finally, the fifth floor to the seemingly palace-like building: In order to reach the fifth floor, personnel would need a Level 005A key card to access the glass elevator located on the west end of the fourth floor. From there the elevator takes the personnel up to the fifth floor, opening up to an outstretched catwalk built from marble (but of course). The marble catwalk extended to the very end of the building on the east side where it met with the grand steel wall. Holding up the catwalk were Corinthian pillars that stretched down onto the fourth floor. Also, along the walk, portraits of old "Masters of Justices" are hung from the ceiling, as there are no walls or other flooring aside from the catwalk on the fifth floor—allowing vision of the floor below it.
On the grand steel wall on the east side of the building was the portrait of the current Master of Justice Mathis Albrecht, or Emperor Albrecht as some people liked to joke. His piercing grey eyes stared you down from across the walk, as you would exit from the finely furnished glass elevator. And as you left the elevator you not only had the eyes of Emperor Albrecht watching you, but also the eyes of twenty other Masters of Justices, all of which seemed to have the same malevolent stare and their hooked noses on which sat gold-rimmed bifocals. Albrecht, however, was the only Master since Oliver Spencer to not where the famed gold-rimmed glasses. His vision was keen like that of a hawk, with a matching nose. His lips were thin and crisp; the lines from his wrinkles were fine and well defined.
His brows were lowered; his hair was thin, slick, and silver in colour. His frame stood at a mere 1.62 metres (5 ft. 4 in.), however. He was a thin man, but still had the physique of a well-trained marine corps. Weak men never rise to the ranks of such positions as a "Master of Justice." Weak people are stale and only remain in their own surreality that they call life.
Albrecht believed that in order to succeed in life one needed power because power is life and life is nothing without power, as indicated in the motto emblazoned beneath his portrait (as it is also found on all of the heraldry found hanging in the building): "Obedience Breeds Discipline. Discipline Breeds Unity. Unity Breeds Power. Power is Life."
And beneath the engraved motto sits a small podium elevated two feet from the ground, and on that podium was a hand scan. Security is taken seriously in the complex of the New York S.T.A.R.S.; simple keys or cards will not firmly secure what is most important to an organisation.
There was then a sudden ping from the other end of the room—from the elevator. The chiselled steel doors slid open and from the brightly lit elevator stepped out a tall and slender man with a coat draped over his shoulders and a cane to support his seemingly feeble frame. The man glided across the catwalk past the glaring faces of old Masters and approached the small podium where the hand scan was. He took his right hand from his pant pocket and placed it on the cool surface of the scan. The scan read over his prints and identified him as Sir Edwin Chamberlain.
"Good Sir," came a voice from around him. "What brings you to me quarters?" the ghost asked.
"Albrecht," the man replied, his voice raspy and old, but it still had a tinge of fierce strength in it. "You god damn fool. Allow me to pass now, for I will not be made a fool of." He had a slight English accent that would send chills down any fortified man's spine.
At that note, the wall in which Chamberlain was standing before began to rumble then rose from the ground and disappeared into the ceiling.
Chamberlain swiftly moved past the podium and into the vast office of Mathis Albrecht. The office was neatly ordained with artefacts from the world over; most noticeable was the six-foot high glass cabinet that was filled with priceless stones and crystallised plants and insects. The floor was carpeted with a deep red-coloured tapestry, and in the centre of the room the S.T.A.R.S. insignia was embroidered in the carpeting.
"This is very serious," Chamberlain began, not allowing Albrecht to give a formal welcoming. He walked across the room, approaching Albrecht's polished desk, then resting both hands on top of it.
"What is it?" Albrecht queried, staring into Chamberlain's equally, if not more piercing eyes.
Chamberlain lifted his body, taking his cane in hand and flipped the top open and out came a thin roll of paper. He took the paper from its place and handed it over to Albrecht. The Master of Justice took it in hand, unrolled the ream of paper and read it in a soft whisper.
"'There has been an incident at the London-based laboratory on date 20th December. It has come to my attention to make use of this incident by allowing the co-ops task force S.T.A.R.S. to take order. This operation is to be kept on a low key. The exact location of the facility shall not be revealed to any persons other than Sir Edwin Chamberlain and Master of Justice Mathis Albrecht, S.T.A.R.S. Dispatch the elite. The information obtained by the men and women of S.T.A.R.S. is vital to our corporation.' Signed Umbrella, Incorporate Headquarters, London."
"I did not want to fax this over or discuss it over the phone for obvious reasons," Chamberlain said, turning his back on Albrecht. "There have been a few defects in the force since Raccoon, you know. The majority of them are S.T.A.R.S. members."
Albrecht got up from his leather chair, not taking his eyes off Chamberlain's back. "So they want me to send in my best men to only get killed by those biofreaks?"
Chamberlain, at this, turned immediately. "Do you not understand, man? The research that has been going on in London is top of the line! It rockets above Birkin's T- and G-viruses! It is said to even be above Ashford's Veronica type! They have experimented with animals, of course. And results are superb. But these prototypes have learnt to think together, as a pact. Their brain mass has amassed!
"Their power is great. This is the perfection of the Progenitor. And what better way to test their intelligence and their durability than by pitting these prototypes against man's elite? This is your notice Albrecht. Accept now or be denounced from the Knights of the Round Table. It's your call."
Albrecht was in awe; he was taken aback by this remarkable breakthrough in bio-weaponry. Was this truly possible? An army of bio-enhanced monsters who can think for themselves? This would of course wipe the "Tyrants" off the market. It must be done. It will be done.
If all went well Albrecht would be one of the beholders of the new B.O.W., he would obtain true power; and power is life.
