Disclaimer: I do not own the right to Resident Evil, or any of its characters mentioned herein. Those rights belong solely to Capcom and affiliated companies, in addition to the Writers and Designers who spilled their own heart into souls into making them possible.

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"The deed is done, sir."

The grey-haired mane bobbed up, a pale form swiveling in its leather seat. The old man leaned forward against his ashen desk, folding his hands delicately atop the frame. In the doorway his assistant lingered, wrapped in the fine threads of a corporate executive. He was stringy, squeamish, and rat-like, but he always got the job done. He never once came as the bearer of bad news, and it was a fact that brought great pleasure to the doctor. He had gone through so many assistants before he'd found this boy, to such an extent that he had almost given up. Was competence too much to ask for?

"The results?" He sharply retorted.

His assistant stiffened, but a serpentine smile curled itself across his pasty cheeks. "Of the fifteen specimens subjected to testing, only three expired as a result of the substance. Eight experienced some form of cellular mutation, and a complete annihilation of all sentient thought. They were, in essence, more examples of the aptly-termed 'Zombies' formed by the T-Virus, but devoid of the pesky effects of rigor mortis. They move and operate at completely mortal levels of activity.

"Additionally, the remaining four experienced immense cellular and muscular mutation. Subjects' speed and strength were roughly doubled under the initial three observations, with continued observations still underway. While size and some minor deformations in the body were noted as a result, in addition to the loss of all body hair, overall changes in appearance were at a minimum. Unless compared to one Albert We—"

"Get to the point."

The jittery assistant squirmed and nodded, his beady eyes lowering as his hands wrung themselves together. His foot began to nervously tap against the marble flooring. "The top percentile is, to date, the most human-like of all experiments. Mental testing is still underway, but…it would appear you have your weapon, sir." Slowly, a shuddering hand extended towards the computer on the doctor's desk. "Images and test results should be wired to you shortly. That is all."

The elderly man smiled, reclining back in his chair with a loud, agonizing creak. His assistant fidgeted at the noise, but he cared little. Tugging a cigar from his pocket, he carefully tapped it against his leg, and pulled it up before his lips, allowing it to hover there, harmless. Everything was proceeding just as planned.

"And the Redfield matter? They're the reason we have to work in such…squalid…conditions."

"A specialist has been sent in to deal with the matter, sir. He had a long history with the company before its official collapse, and was more than eager to comply. Shall I have his dossier faxed to you, sir?"

The doctor chuckled softly, allowing his heavy lids to slide quite gently shut. The cigar poked its way between his cracked old lips, and he slid both hands behind his head. He had no need to light it. "Yes, I think that would be most appropriate. I like the way things are progressing…good work, Jelsen. I think I foresee a raise in your future."

"Th-thank you, sir. I…think I will take my leave now, if you've no further need of me." The ratty man nodded to himself, delusion plastered across his face. The doctor waved him off, and he scurried out into the halls, leaving the doors to glide slowly shut behind him.

Endgame had begun.