"Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him." –Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"Fathoming You"

Prologue

1996

The quiet and sleepy Raccoon City was just a typical town, full of the usual suspects for petty crime and the occasional armed robbery. Lest we forget, the good people who slaved away, blue collar and all, who were the very blood and backbone of this place. The streets were clean, lawns mowed, and cheerful gestures given in passing. The only real excitement would be the Fourth of July celebration. The city was never one to be ridden with scandal or news beyond the mayor getting his hand caught in the church till to pay off the transvestite prostitute he mistook to be a woman..

The city thrived, despite poor choices by its political leadership. The Umbrella Corporation kept the economy flowing to the point that other towns looked on in envy at the diamond that was Raccoon City. Chief Irons and his police force kept the peace. A special task force, S.T.A.R.S. was formed within the police department, which served to protect the city and keep trouble from spilling into it from the mountains surrounding the proverbial 'Pleasantville'. Not many knew of all the deeds those brave souls performed over the years, though they maintained their quiet vigil without desire for praise or thanks. Duty, bound these men and women.

Sadly, in a few years from this present time, the city would be wiped off the map. What a waste... May God have mercy on those responsible for their greed and selfishness as the memory of this city travels further and further into the back of the public's mind.

'What remains when we die?'

In Denver, a place that luckily would escape such a horrid fate, is where our story really begins. The infamous Dick Valentine was recently arrested on charges for theft-what a surprise… His only phone call to be made would be chosen with the intentions to not save his own hide. No, the chase was finally over for Dick. There wasn't a defense attorney within one-hundred miles that would represent him at this point, not without being selected by the state. Such thoughts swam through the fifty year old man's mind as he strode alongside the two guards appointed to escort him to the telephones. The orange jumpsuit stood out against his pale flesh and graying hair, hanging from the thief's body more like a bed sheet than a jumpsuit. The shackles, as he knew them, made their soft clanking sound with each step taken. It felt like an eternity before they reached the end of the cellblock, with all of the catcalling and yelling from various criminals. The taller guard unlocked the door before them, and Dick step through into the chill air-conditioning.

Approaching the phone, he awkwardly lifted it from the cradle and began to dial. Sighing deeply, he waited patiently for a pickup on the other end of the line. 'Please be there.' He thought, crow's foot adorned eyes shutting weakly as each second passed and drew closer to no answer. Finally, someone picked up and a familiar voice chimed on the other end.

"Wesker."

A tired grin formed on the man's chapped lips, steel gray eyes opening. "It's been a long time, Albert… It's Dick."

Silence on the other end, and then a sigh. The sounds of swift movement are followed by an unmistakable slamming of a door. "You're supposed to call John if you needed work, Dick." The sentence was laced with ice and anger. Typical Wesker reaction to anything out of place.

"I… I know, Albert…" Dick said with a sigh, pausing. "I just didn't know who to call. I'm back in prison again."

More footsteps, and finally the sound of another door opening. Traffic filled Dick's ear, as he realized that the other man was outside. Probably was a bad idea to call a cop for help, but he was desperate. "Can't help you there, but I ca-.. How did you even get my cell number? "

"I'm Dick Valentine: I can get anything!" The older man chuckled a bit, though became somber rather quickly. "No, I didn't call for you to bail me out… It's my daughter that I'm concerned about. I won't be weaseling my way out of this one… I want her to have a good life." His voice finally cracked, a rugged palm rising to smooth the hairs upon the top of his head. Nervous foible the old man would have until his last breath. "I thought I could do that for her, but I messed up. I finished this last job, but I'm not leaving prison this time. Guess when these idiots needed a fall man, I became their guy."

Another sigh, muffled sounds of entering a vehicle follow after. "And where exactly do I fall into this?"

"I need her out of Denver… I'm sure my indictment will mean the end of being with my daughter. Not without bars between us." A cough suddenly overtook the aging man.

"Why hasn't Denver PD picked her up yet if you're so concerned?" The voice on the other end asked, echoes of an engine starting easily heard.

"I talked to one of them; they're supposedly going to go check on her in the morning. I told them she was in danger but they think I'm lying. I think there are more than just a few in Arvada's pockets. Please, Albert… Just get her out of here." Rambling now, desperation was mounting.

"Considering what I owe you… I will." A pause on the other end. "Does she know?" Albert asked, throwing the shifter into reverse as he backed out of the parking lot.

It was time for Dick to pause, and with a sad sigh he replied. "No, she doesn't. Never want her to know." Too much to digest, and it filtered through every note in his voice.

Clicking the turn signal for left, Wesker gazed out to the cloud formations beginning to dominate the sky. It would be raining soon. "I'm heading that way now. I'll need her phone number." Finally turning left, he sped on past the RPD, leaving a tubby and confused Chief Irons only able to scratch his head and munch on his Twinkie in confusion as to why the captain was taking off long before quittin' time.

"Eh.. It's the usual Denver code... and eh.. Five, five, five, four, seven, three, one. You lived only about four miles from us at that time. It's the same code as then."

"You don't remember it." Deadpan tones.

"Well… Don't use the house phone much. Jill usually does that." Dick said with a shrug out of habit.

Ah, Jill Valentine… She was just a teenager when Wesker had first met her. She probably was a lost soul by now, like every other young woman in this world who isn't pregnant or snorting cocaine before thirty. Albert was not entirely fond of this… but it was better to tie up loose ends for the sake of Umbrella and himself. Dick was quite the thief and had put himself in a unique position: a position where Wesker owed him more than the lion's share and then some. In Dick's terms, this was a settlement and it was a shame to see the old man fold to save his child from thugs and their promises of money that didn't exist. The blonde wouldn't complain, though pondered the idea of drugging himself with ether every time this girl possibly would want to talk about…anything.

"I'll be there in five hours. Arrangements will have to be made to handle moving her things in the coming weeks." Another stop made, red light.

A sigh of relief washed over Dick's end of the line, the old man smiling a bit. "You're a good man, Albert. I hope she can get a job at the Umbrella plant or something. Be a secretary, ya know?"

"I might know someone who can give her a job, though we will have to see." Albert replied bluntly, finally tugging his sunglasses off to view the dimming road.

"I'll never be able to repay you for this." Dick uttered, finally hanging up the phone. 'Tonight, I'll finally be able to get some damn sleep…' He thought, as he and the guards made the long trek back to his cell.

Dialing the Valentine residence, an annoyed expression had painted itself over Wesker's features. 'Probably should have left my damn wallet in Raccoon…' He thought, grumbling a bit while the phone rang on. No answer, just the machine. "It's going to be a long night." The blonde muttered, closing the phone to focus on driving.