Prologue

The pain was brief, but intense. The good doctor removed the syringe and watched the stream of blood trickle down his patient's arm. Both waited in anticipation for several seconds before the patient finally interrupted the silence.

"Well, how much longer," he said calmly with a hint of impatience.

"I don't know. It might already be working. It might take a few days. There's a chance it may even need a trigger of some sort; a type of catalyst. It might be dormant. This one's different than the others. But your guardian angel recommended it. I don't think we should disappoint him."

The patient stood up and walked to the window at the other side of the small laboratory. He looked out at the surrounding forest of the Arklay Mountains. The doctor could not tell whether he was simply surveying it or casting a grim judgment on its inhabitants. He rubbed his hands along the window frame, perceiving it with his hand rather than his eyes. It was no wonder most of their colleagues assumed he was blind. No matter how many years the two had known each other, the man never ceased to unnerve the doctor. He needed to break the silence.

"So how when will the test begin?"

"Soon. Everything is on schedule. They really are quite perfect. I wish you could see them before their caught in our little spider web"

The doctor was doubtful. "What about your Judas? What's his name?"

The patient walked past a table, dragging across his hand: his antennae. "I have not arranged that yet."

"What?" the doctor said angry and surprised. "If he doesn't play ball, the entire test will be ruined. You know how important..."

"It is not wise to spring a trap early. If I had already informed him of our plan, he would have too much time to react. He might kill himself, or worse. No, I will not tell him until the night."

A small tube caught the man's eye. He walked over to the table. There was a small vial labeled G. "Is this what I think it is?"

"No," said the doctor, "but it will be soon."

"I can't wait to see how that turns out."

"It will work fine," the doctor said, storing the vial in a safe place. "I am more concerned with you screwing up this multi-million dollar test. Do not fuck this up."

The patient turned, a smirk appeared across the usually stone face. "Oh don't trouble yourself, William. You've known me long enough to realize I don't make mistakes. Everything will work exactly as I have planned. You'll see."

Chapter 1

Chris Redfield steadied his hand and focused his eyes on the target standing twenty yards away. The customized Beretta 92FS, otherwise known as the Samurai Edge, was lighter than most guns he had used. This caused him problems with aiming he never had in his military days. But he would have to ignore these inconveniences. He needed a perfect score. He held his breath and pulled the trigger.

Six shots were fired and all six hit bull's-eye. Perfect score! He had to have beaten Kenneth's record.

"Well done," said a familiar voice. "Your aim is admirable. Unfortunately, you have failed to make a perfect score."

Chris's joy instantly vanished. "What?"

Albert Wesker walked down the stairs from the observation room to the shooting range. "I commend you, but this is not the Raccoon Police Department. This is S. T. A. R. S. We are more elite than S. W. A. T. Your job will be to stop terrorists, not junkies. Terrorists can afford and will use bullet-proof vests. Torso shots are unacceptable.

Damn! After all this time, Chris realized he would not be accepted into S. T. A. R. S. Joining the Special Tactics and Rescue Service had been his goal ever since Mayor Michael Warren had requested its formation. He had yet to find his niche. The Air Force's policies were not flexible enough and the police force wanted him working offices. Chris needed to get back in the field and S. T. A. R. S. seemed like the perfect opportunity. But now that hope was lost. He saluted Wesker and prepared to store his weapon.

"Where are you going, Chris."

"Stowing my weapon and reporting back to the station, sir!"

Wesker grinned, "No need son. I'll have Burton report to them for you. Your aim is excellent. You just need to learn your targets."

Hope returned to Chris. "You mean I made the team."

Wesker was amused by the optimism of his new recruit. "Made the team? Why you're going to be the Point-Man; the marksman. No one else is that good of a shot. Just remember to shoot for the head."

Chris saluted his new captain. No other officer had ever made him this happy. Wesker was indeed a great man. He was middle aged but in better condition than most young men on the police force. His accuracy in the range was almost perfect: some even joked his few misses were made purposely. He was serious but kind. Everyone on the force loved him.

Almost everything about Wesker was easy to respect. He did, however, have two eccentricities. The first was that no one could place his accent. He was apparently local, but he sounded more like David Bowie's than small town Mid-Westerner. The second was his habit of wearing shades indoors. Most people on the force theorized that his eyes were too sensitive to the light. Burton claimed that was why his aim was so good. But this theory seemed false because every now and then he took off his glasses without any difficulties. He almost seemed naked without them. Quirks aside, Wesker was a man to be respected. Chris was proud to be hand-picked by him.

"You have the rest of the weekend off, Chris. I recommend you relax. Your file says you have a sister?"

"Yes sir."

"You should spend some time with her. Go see a movie or visit the park. You won't get many more weekends off. Consider this a welcoming gift from your new team captain. But before you go, feel free to visit the other members of your team. They should be in their offices. Now all we need is one more rear security expert and Alpha Team will be up and running."

"Thanks again sir."

"And Chris."

"Sir?"

Wesker gave another grin. "You show more promise than all other members of S. T. A. R. S. I look forward to serving with you."

"It's an honor."

"Now go meet everyone. I have to phone Mayor Warrens about my newest selection."