In a world where change is inevitable and continuous, the need to achieve that change without violence is essential for survival. ~Andrew Young
Albert Wesker studies his reflection in the mirror before him. The face that stares back at him is entirely unrecognizable. His facial features normally chiselled is now soft and aged, much like the rest of his otherwise athletic physique. Only his once reptilian eyes, having since returned to their natural shades of dark blue, remains untouched by the finely crafted prosthetics. Even they are protected by contacts designed to limit light exposure.
Everything that once marked him as unique now lays hidden, enabling Albert to appear as just another nameless, faceless VIP of high business society.
Two years has passed since Albert made escape with Ada's assistance, from the B.S.A.A. labs in Queensland, Australia. It has been nearly as long since the world last set eyes upon him.
Upon returning to a makeshift safehouse, Albert was forced to face the horrible truth. Everything he had ever known and relied upon was destroyed.
The local military and the B.S.A.A. had since located and demolished all of his labs. Destroying, in the process, all of his precious research data. The Pharmaceutical Consortium by contrast had liquidated the majority of his domestic and international bank accounts. Then there was his physical work, his research, first stolen by Alexander, then ruined in a moment of utter madness.
With no readily available resources, or vast financial means and eyes certain to be watching his every move. Albert Wesker had little choice but to begin anew.
With the remains of a failed test subject, and some of his own tissue samples, Albert created an illusion of his own demise.
The B.S.A.A. eager to put the humiliation of his escape behind them, fell easy prey to his ploy. The media too, was more than happy to indulge them and their supposed victory.
Soon, news anchors and journalists everywhere were telling sensational tales of poetic justice: Infamous bio-terrorist killed by his own weapons of mass destruction! Death, as they eagerly claimed, was by viral infection. Autopsy reports were promptly sent to all the right people with further confirmation that vast amounts of PG67A/W had, indeed, been found on his mutated remains.
Most speculated Albert Wesker had met his end at the hands of a hitman. Reparation, they assumed, for his role in Tricell and Umbrella's catastrophic downfall.
With the death of Albert Wesker many began to believe the war on bio-terrorism was finally nearing its end.
For Albert Wesker it marked the end of Oswell Spencer's twisted legacy, and the beginning of his own true destiny; a terrifying and exhilarating notion.
With his previous life now forfeit Albert was quick to take on a new identity. After thorough research, he decided to pose as Sebastian Ross; a high-ranking scientist who once served in Umbrella's Arklay lab. In life, he was a quiet man, a veritable hermit who had little use for human interaction. In death, he was all but forgotten. What few relatives or associates that personally knew the man were also dead. Killed off during the T-Virus outbreak of Raccoon City.
With great care, Albert took to rewriting Sebastian Ross life story. Twisting the truth, so that he had, indeed, survived the T-virus outbreak. Mindful of possible exposure, Albert made sure the man had received subsequent punishment for his role in Umbrella's illegal BOW research. Through forgery, and pieces of evidence, it appeared that Sebastian Ross had served his sentence in full. Having convinced his jailers that he turned a new leaf, the former researcher had been released on good behaviour. Thus, ensuring no one would bother questioning why a man of his age was looking to start a new life.
Taking advantage of the fact no pharmaceutical company would ever hire Mr. Ross due to his tainted past, Albert, under his new guise, proceeds to reinvent his work.
Despite a lack of endless funds and illicit contacts, 'The Organization' slowly begins to take shape. This time as a lawful and perfectly legal pharmaceutical corporation; everything, Oswell Spencer despised.
Vengeance, never looked more inviting, or daunting.
It has been a year since Sebastian Ross was first reintroduced to society; nearly six months since his former enemies first took notice. Tonight, marks Mr. Ross' first foray into the public eye. Having procured a very rare invitation to a highly publicized TerraSave fundraiser soiree, Albert knows all eyes will be on him. Watching, waiting, for any sign of illegal or questionable intent.
Only, there will be none found.
With a soft sigh, Albert straightens his tailored Armani suit one last time. With no allies, no hidden funds available, and nowhere to hide, there can be no room for errors. His disguise must be impeccable.
Mr. Ross is readily welcomed to the grand hall of TerraSave's fanciful soiree. No one even casts him a second glance. To them, he is just another up and coming VIP. Another wealthy old fool, looking for a pat on the back, because he is about to dump vast amounts of money into a world-famous charity.
Unfortunately for them, he is not here to make donations.
It takes no time for Albert to catch sight of his former foes. There is Jill Valentine, looking far healthier, despite her now cropped brown hair. She moves among the rich and famous, charming everyone she meets with a disarming smile and a few well-chosen words.
Ms. Valentine has them all wrapped around her finger. Fool girl, doesn't even realize it, William notes. The phantom researcher is smirking, or so Albert envisions in his mind's eye.
He notices Dr. Rebecca Chambers chatting with the former US Marine, turned BSAA agent, Second Lieutenant William Coen. It comes as no surprise that William, Billy as he is better known, has been taken into their cause. The man was a perfect addition to their growing team; as great a heroic fool as the rest of them.
Sheva Alomar is there too. Of all the members who make up the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, it is this quiet woman who has truly earned his respect. Claire Redfield did well in choosing her to be their contact years ago.
Ms. Alomar briefly meets his gaze. The scrutiny he witnesses in her eyes leaves Albert certain that she has seen through his guise. She glances away, and the tension lifts. He should know better than that.
'Well, what do we have here. Representing Umbrella, are we?'
Albert's blood runs cold upon hearing the familiar voice of his arch nemesis, Chris Redfield. Briefly, he debates whether or not the muscled man before him is just another phantom of his mind. The over-powering stench of aftershave and cheap cologne tells him otherwise.
Just when blind rage and hate threatens to consume him a single thought pulls Albert back to reality. There could be no room for error. Mr. Ross had never been a man prone to losing his temper. In fact, he was known to be a man of outstanding self-discipline and control.
Sebastian Ross had also been a British expat. A businessman, whose family once lingered within London's high society, until scandal and bankruptcy forced them to seek a new life oversea. The long hours spent working with a speech therapist were about to pay off.
Biting back a snap reply, Albert faces the soldier with a calm that he does not feel. There can be no room for error, he reminds himself.
'I am of the understanding that TerraSave, and your associates the B.S.A.A, welcomed all who are sincere in absolving their past crimes. Have I been mistaken in this assessment?'
'That supposed to convince me you're now one of the 'good guys'?' Chris snorts. The oversized ape had done his homework after all.
Unconvinced and undeterred, Chris glares at him with folded arms. A pitiful attempt to dominate over Mr. Ross diminutive, doughy figure. It takes all Albert's willpower to keep from attacking the soldier outright. He had come too far to ruin it all in a heated moment of rage.
'Would never dream of it,' Albert instead replies in smooth tones. 'Although, it seems to me, there are many amongst your numbers whose conscience aren't nearly as spotless as they'd like us to believe.'
Chris eyes narrow in response.
Taking his cue, Mr. Ross politely continues. 'Is it not true that Second Lieutenant William Coen was once court-martialled for another man's crimes? If I recall correctly, he was to be sentenced to death was he not?
And what of Agent Sheva Alomar; survivor of Plant 57 outbreak, and recovered child soldier. Then of course, there's Agent Valentine-'
'Jill is nothing like you!' Chris growls, cutting him off.
Albert inwardly sighs; still ever hot-headed fool. 'The point I'm trying to make, Agent Redfield, is that no one, not even you, are truly without sin.'
The soldier's face flushes in anger and for an instant Albert is certain Chris is going to swing a fist when Ms. Valentine intercedes. 'Is everything alright?' she asks; entirely civil and professional to a fault. A pity her fool-headed boyfriend had never picked up her penchant for manners, Albert muses.
'Quite. I was just expressing my appreciation, to our-compatriot, of the gracious nature of the B.S.A.A. and their associates, TerraSave,' Mr. Ross begins in cordial tones. 'It is not often that one is allowed the opportunity to redeem themselves of past mistakes.
I am indebted to your superiors, as it were.'
Taken aback by the sincerity of Mr. Ross' gratitude, Jill's expression softens.
Ever naive and so emotional, they truly are a perfect match, Albert muses in disgust. Having grown tired of their company, he politely part ways; ever mindful to remain entirely in character.
Albert Wesker hears Claire Redfield's voice well before he sees her. The immense relief felt at knowing she had shown up catches him by surprise. It had been two years since their paths last crossed; not long enough, he tells himself. The lie is too blatant to acknowledge.
Claire is talking with Sheva about duty, so it sounds. For an instant he remains put, listening to what he can while pretending to study an elegant water sculpture that decorates the back of the great hall. In his mind's eye, he envisions the biker wearing her Valkyrie vest, favourite jeans, and boots; hair tied up in its trademark pony-tale.
It is not long before Sheva walks past him wearing an expression that is carefully neutral. This time, there is no doubt the soldier has taken note of him. Ms. Alomar has always been astute.
Spotting his opportunity, Albert glances over to where Claire now stands. Had it not been for her familiar features, he might not have recognised her. Clad in a simple black slip gown and heels the biker is a sight to behold. Gone is the trademark pony-tail as long auburn hair tumbles past her shoulders. As always, Claire wears no make-up; aesthetic perfection requires no further decoration.
She is a Valkyrie among mere mortals.
Albert takes great care not to let his gaze linger too long, for he is entirely aware of his clumsy disguise. Still, it is difficult to look away. Recalling his reasons for being there, Albert soon approaches the biker with all the pomp and stance of a VIP.
'Now this is, indeed, a most unexpected sight. The self-righteous and pious Claire Redfield, reduced to begging from the rich to feed the poor.' He begins. Such a statement is entirely out of Sebastian's character; the man had always been soft spoken in nature. Still, Albert is unable to resist. It had been too long since they had exchanged teasing barbs.
Claire's blue eyes widen slightly; a strange look crosses her features as she steps back. Her response, or lack thereof, is entirely unexpected. For once, she is without a quick quip, or sharp comeback.
Immediately, Albert registers he had nearly blown his cover. 'Are you quite alright?' he tries again. This time careful to intone just the right amount of concern in his voice.
The younger woman is quick to regain her composure. Albert feels Claire's eyes watching him intently; taking in his disguise and clearly searching for something more. There is no denying the flicker of hope in her gaze when their eyes meet once again, or the relief felt to the realization of what it meant.
If Claire Redfield has not already figured out his identity, she would soon enough.
'Does it really matter if their motives are less than noble, if it means innocent lives can be saved?' Claire retorts in cool tones.
Once, Albert had mocked her with those very words. He tilts his head in reply, as a hint of a smirk plays on his lips. Oh, you have not changed a bit, Dearheart, he silently muses.
'Forgive me, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Claire Redfield,' she apologizes, as if suddenly recalling her manners, or perhaps, the game they must play.
'I am well aware of who you are,' Albert drops the accent, earning a hesitant smile from Claire.
'You should not be here,' Claire warns in low tones. Scanning the room with her eyes, she maintains the appearance one casually taking in the party. Her concern is amusing to behold, as if he had not already taken great precautions to ensure his ruse would not be compromised.
'A pleasure to see you too, Dearheart,' Albert retorts in soft tones, upon noting her soft sigh of relief. Claire's cheeks warm to his teasing words. It is an oddly welcoming sight to behold. Disguises aside, nothing has changed between them.
'Don't get me wrong, the get up is brilliant. But, Albert, what are you doing here?' Claire hisses under her breath. Straight to business. He expected nothing less from her. This too is a relief.
'I have a business proposition. One that I believe you will find most interesting. A favour, for a favour, as it were.'
Folding her arms, Claire casts him a cautious look.
'Tell me Dearheart, have you ever heard of the t-Phobos virus?' Albert casually asks.
'Care to explain?' Claire's question is a demand. Naturally, his question met with doubt and suspicion. Clearly, it is too much to ask for a little cooperation.
'What is there to explain? Would I have asked if I already had the answers?' Albert snaps back in quiet tones.
Claire takes pause, his words carefully considered. 'Tell me about this business proposition of yours,' she directs instead. A wise move, considering their current location. Still, the matter is of a sensitive nature, one that requires further care.
'Might I suggest, we discuss this elsewhere? Perhaps, somewhere a bit more private.' It is a calculated risk, but Claire has proven herself trustworthy in the past.
Mistaking his invitation, the biker scoffs in disbelief.
'Do, try to contain yourself.' Albert retorts in disgust, rolling his eyes. 'If you are incapable of behaving in a professional manner, then I will find another to do business with.'
Without warning, Claire slips her fingers through the crook of his arm. Startled, Albert shoots her a questioning look. 'Alright, let's go.' She says in resignation.
It is the closest Albert will get to an apology.
'Part ways with your allies first. It will not do to have them worry.' Albert instructs, relinquishing his arm free of Claire's gentle grip. 'When you are done, meet me outside. I will arrange for our ride,' he concludes. The biker rolls her eyes, but gives him a nod of acknowledgement. She is as eager as he to leave the party.
Upon departing for the exit, Albert feels Claire's watchful gaze on him. Glancing back, he catches sight of her saying her good-byes to Sheva across the room. Their eyes meet, albeit briefly, before Claire promptly looks away.
Interesting, wouldn't you say? William's phantom murmurs in his thoughts.
Indeed, it is most curious. Whatever it could mean, if it means anything at all, Albert does not allow himself to consider it further.
His thoughts have already moved on to more pressing matters. A new, terrifying, threat was on the verge of making itself known to the world. One, that would ensure the resurrection of Oswell Spencer's research.
Such a possibility must not be allowed.