"He shall smite the wicked"
The criminal does not make beauty; he himself is the authentic beauty.
-Jean-Paul Sartre
Umbrella was rotting at its core. Everybody from the black-ops division to the wackos in bioengineering knew that. Soon, they'd all either be dead or unemployed. Years of carefully laid plans were going down the toilet, all because of Raccoon City.
"Agent" Ada Wong wasn't exactly helping to make things better, either. But she delighted in the mayhem she was creating. It was a personal vengeance against the people who'd ruined her life.
She'd been their puppet for years. But Ada had a chance to make everything right again. Those fools. They'd given her the means to exact her revenge without even knowing it!
Ada hadn't always hated Umbrella. In fact, she used to be a regular employee of the month. She'd worked for Umbrella's spy bureau. The spies were quite important. They turned the tables on eco-activists and silenced would-be defectors. The corporate dirty work—that was their forte. As if Umbrella wasn't dirty enough.
Working for Umbrella had been tough, but rewarding. Ada was a damn good agent. Maybe even the best. When the Raccoon City facility went rogue, they'd sent her to retrieve the G virus. She'd gotten it all right, but it had almost cost her life.
Almost? Who was she kidding? It had cost her life! Her life and her heart as well.
Ada remembered the day she handed over the G virus sample to those plastic execs at Umbrella HQ.
"You've done well," they'd told her. They smiled their fake corporate smiles, and acted oh-so-grateful. "Excellent work, Agent Wong. And you said you found this sample in Birkin's daughter's locket? Amazing. Well, you deserve some sort of reward for you hard work. You've been badly injured, haven't you? Most of your original cybernetic augmentations were destroyed, right?"
Had all the bandages bulging under her blouse been that obvious? Did her limp give it away? Yes, she'd been hurt, she'd admitted. Practically crippled, in fact.
"We're going to give you an opportunity, Agent Wong. A great opportunity," they'd said with mock sincerity. "We can heal your body, and make it better than before. The boys down at R&D have cooked up a little something called a 'cybernetic enabler.' We want you to be the first test subject. Imagine getting your full range of motion back, plus more. Much more. All we ask for in return is a small sum of days and favors on your part."
How could Ada have said no? She had nothing to lose. Why waste any more of her life waiting for her stupid dreams to come true? Revenge was the only thing that mattered.
After the first operation, she'd headed off on her own and joined up with other Umbrella spies who were secretly planning to defect. They'd made further changes to Ada's cybernetic spine and brain stem, claiming Umbrella had done a half-assed job the first time.
Since the second procedure, Ada hadn't exactly been herself. Had she always loved killing this much? Had it always been so easy? Ada couldn't remember. In fact, there were lots of things she couldn't remember.
Her parents, her childhood memories were slowly turning into a cloudy blur. Ada even found her memories of Raccoon City becoming dimmer and dimmer. It was as if someone was trying to force any recollection of that night from Ada's mind. But that was too improbable. Ada told herself that her mind simply wasn't adjusting well to its cybernetic augmentation.
Like last night. She'd been tailing an Umbrella executive named Nigel Aaronson when she'd been distracted by…something. Ada had followed…somebody to the river, and ended up jumping in. Then she'd broken into someone's apartment, and done…what? And why the hell couldn't she remember?
Did the rogue spies not want her to recall the details of her nighttime "excursions" in case she was caught by Umbrella? That would make sense.
But no amount of tampering could ever make her forget him. Now, what was his name again? Leo…Leonard…something with an L. She'd probably remember everything as soon as the new enhancements had adjusted.
But for now, Ada was in Paris, absolutely positive that she'd pulled the wool over Umbrella's eyes. The spies had plans for the future, and Umbrella wasn't part of them. They wanted out from the corrupt organization—a chance to build their own league of professional mercenary spies. So, they'd sent her here to do what she did best: kill. So what if she was abusing Umbrella's cybernetic "gift"? They'd abused her first.
The plan was perfect. Umbrella would never suspect their loyal spies of sending an assassin after their top execs. Moreover, they'd sent an assassin who would stop at nothing to avenge herself.
Viviane's scheme was utterly foolproof. Too bad it had cost Ada her soul to become part of it…
"So basically what you're saying," Nigel Aaronson asked slowly, "Is we now have two major problems to deal with?"
"Yes, sir…unfortunately," Nigel's young assistant answered, his voice equally solemn. "First off, there's the loss of our primary research facility in America. Although we did managed to recover some surveillance photos from the Raccoon City lab, after the Feds finished with the place."
"Feds?" Nigel raised an eyebrow. "Oh, of course they'd be involved—so long as our allies in the U.S. Government do their jobs and make sure they don't dig too deep." He sighed and turned toward his face toward a nearby window. Although Paris was a lovely city, Nigel longed to be done with this business and return to London.
Umbrella had been under international scrutiny ever since the tragedy in southwestern Oregon. The corporation was slowly being driven east, first out of North America; now they were being pressured to get out of Europe all together. On top of that, internal conflicts were slowly breaking Umbrella apart. The spies were developing their own agenda; the project on the island facility needed more funding; Umbrella's black-ops were still waiting to see their cut of last year's quarterly profits. In short, life was a bitch. Responsible for the corporation's dealings in the United Kingdom and most of northwestern Europe, Nigel Aaronson had to wonder where the next catastrophe would occur.
But being the proper British gentleman, Nigel never let his inner distress show.
"About these photos, Rolf?" he asked the younger man.
"There were intruders in the facility just minutes before it self-destructed," Rolf said seriously.
Nigel glanced critically across the table at his subordinate. "And this surprises you? Security was down for days before anyone discovered what happened. Anyone could have gotten into the facility."
"Anyone did get in, sir. Take a look," Rolf slid some pictures across the table. Nigel flipped leisurely through the stack, as if he was looking at someone's vacation photos.
One picture featured a young Caucasian woman in red leather. She was glancing nervously around a corner, her face partially obscured by her bangs. At her side was a child.
A child?
"That's William Birkin's daughter, isn't it?" Nigel inquired.
Rolf nodded. "Yes, sir. I think her name's Charlene…or maybe Shannon. Something like that."
Nigel moved on to the next photo. He gasped. "My God…"
Taken by a camera mounted on the ceiling, the photo had captured a chilling scene. It showed the main power room of the underground facility, where a strange battle seemed to be taking place. An advanced Tyrant prototype, the so-called "Mr. X," stood over a frightened woman. She was shooting at the monster with a handgun, and appeared to be losing. On the other side of the picture stood a man in a blue uniform. He seemed to be shouting something, and looked poised to take on the monster himself. Nigel recognized the man's uniform from the reports on the Raccoon City "mansion incident."
"An RPD officer was still in alive Raccoon City? But that's impossible!" Nigel fumed.
"No, sir," Rolf clarified. "Our records state that at least one new officer was hired to the Raccoon City PD after the mansion lab affair, a rookie named Leon Scott Kennedy."
"Suppose this Kennedy chap's still alive somewhere?" Nigel mused.
"It's quite possible, sir."
"Hmmm," Nigel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Leon Scott Kennedy. Rolf, we'll make sure to remember that name."
"Sir, there's still the second problem…the killings…" Rolf prodded.
"Yes, the entire corporation is up in arms over it." Suddenly agitated, Nigel stood and began to pace about the room. "I knew some of those people well," he said solemnly. Nigel wandered over to a large pier window that overlooked the street. "Rolf, would you mind if we finished this discussion tomorrow morning?"
"Not at all, sir," Rolf shuffled the photos into his briefcase and made for the door. Before he left, Rolf cast one last glance back at Nigel. For some reason, he felt uneasy about leaving the older man alone. But it wasn't like anything could happen…could it? As he quietly shut the door behind him, Rolf decided to check in on his boss later, just to be safe.
Nigel felt much older than fifty-three. Had he really been with the corporation for thirty years? Those young bloods like Rolf had no idea what they were getting into. Someday Rolf would regret his involvement with Umbrella, Nigel was sure of that.
Staring down at the darkened street below, Nigel recalled the violence and bloodshed of the past two months.
He thought of Gianni DeMiccioni, an influential man who'd been with Umbrella since the company's founding. Gianni had been the first to die; the first to have his blood used in a bizarre declaration of vengeance. Then Bethany Clarkston, a top official at Umbrella's corporate center, was found dead in her summer cottage. An American scientist who'd assisted in Umbrella's experiments in the Arklay Mountains was then murdered in New York City. Soon after that came the slaying of Umbrella's Asian director, Mamoru Tusinnaki, in Tokyo. In late August, the body of Athenia Kristopholis, regional supervisor of Southern Europe, was discovered on a cruise ship.
And just this week, the most scandalous murder yet had taken place in Nice, France. An ex U.S. senator from Oregon had been vacationing in southern France with his family. One evening he took a stroll on the beach alone and never came back. He was found the next morning, his throat slit ear-to-ear. This time the Chinese writing decorated the sand around the body. No one could decipher the connection, but Nigel knew why he'd been killed. When the first "incident" in Arklay took place, Umbrella bribed the senator so he'd allow the unorthodox experiments to continue.
And now, Nigel Aaronson sensed that his time had come. He knew that Umbrella's actions wouldn't go unpunished forever. He'd been a spiritual man in his youth, but he doubted that this "Calligraphy Killer" was some form of divine intervention. Nevertheless, Nigel knew that someone was wreaking a terrible revenge against Umbrella and nothing—not penance, not atonement, not even God—could stop it.
Nigel paced over to a tall bookcase and picked out a copy of the King James Bible. Perhaps even now, he could still find some solace and consolation within these pages? The copy was very old. Its binding was terribly cracked, and the gilded pages had begun to yellow and fall out. If Umbrella hadn't somehow acquired it, the antique Bible would probably be sitting in a museum somewhere.
He gingerly set the heavy Bible onto a nearby table and opened it to the Book of Job. Nigel picked a random passage and read it aloud, his voice sounding small in the vast room.
"'And a spirit passed before my face; and I heard a faint breathing; and the hair of my flesh stood up.'"
As if on cue, the pier window behind Nigel blew open. The biting night wind blasted in, sending papers and curtains flying. Without even turning around, Nigel spoke to the intruder that he knew was there.
"I'm a sinner, old before my time. I won't put up a fight," Nigel's voice was even, unemotional. "For all the evil I've done, I don't deserve to live."
"Neither did any of the others," melodic, feminine voice answered.
A powerful kick to his back knocked Nigel against the table. The old Bible fell to the floor. Its binding split completely apart and the yellowing pages spilled all over the carpet. A few more gusts of wind, and most of the book would be flying out the window. A real pity, too. It was such a lovely volume…
"Just do it quickly," he murmured. "That's all I ask."
A strong pair of hands jerked Nigel to his knees. He heard a sound like a knife being unsheathed. As the cold steel sliced his throat open, Nigel hardly felt the pain.
Instead, he felt like he'd finally been set free.
Only a little time was left before that imbecile Rolf came to check on Aaronson. Ada laid the old man's corpse down on the carpet with care. He'd been the first one to accept death bravely and with honor. She was impressed. Men of such dignity were hard to find.
A sudden coldness enveloped Ada's mind. She moved mechanically, like a puppet. Getting to her knees, she pulled a roll of linen out of her small backpack. She unrolled the cloth, which held her brushes. Suddenly, something on the floor caught her eye. It was one of the pages from the ruined Bible. In fact, it was the very page Aaronson had been reading from before she'd burst in. Thoughtlessly, Ada picked a small pointed brush from her set, and dipping it in her still warm "paint", made a few deft strokes on the page. His last words would be the man's only epitaph.
She tossed the paper toward the open window. The wind quickly caught it, and the dislocated page from the Book of Job sailed out into the night. Rising to her feet, Ada walked over to one of the large room's bare walls. For a moment, she just stared at the wall with blank, glazed-over eyes. Something wasn't right here. It wasn't Ada's choice to do this. She wanted revenge, but not this way. All this murdering was sick...evil. They'd warped her mind, made her into a killer without a past or a future. She wanted to get away from Umbrella, get away from the spies, and remember everything she'd been forced to forget.
More than anything, Ada wanted to be with him. She wanted to remember his name, his face, his smile…
A sudden pain shot up Ada's cybernetic spine, along with the realization that if she resisted, she'd be killed.
Leon walked quickly through the deserted streets. It was a very blustery night, and it looked like a storm was moving in.
He thought of Claire, and how much he feared losing her and Sherry. Leon certainly didn't feel the same way about Claire that he did about Ada. Nevertheless, he cared for her, and wanted to let her know before anything happened. Something like his dream?
He tried not to think about the nightmare, but it lingered in the back of his mind, just like the dull throb of his headache. Bracing himself against another powerful gust of wind, Leon pulled Viviane's note from his coat pocket. The address she'd given him was for a very upscale part of town. A few more blocks…
Just then, a piece of paper flew against Leon's leg. He was about to toss it aside when he noticed the papers' gilded edges. It was a page from an antique Bible—the Book of Job, to be exact.
Leon scanned the street and noticed more pages scattered about. But where were they coming from? Another page floated down. This time Leon saw it was from an open window. The large pier window was on the third floor of an old townhouse, all the way across the street.
But why would somebody leave such a big window open on a night like this? Leon looked back to the page he held in his hand and noticed something else. Several lines of text had been underscored in what looked like red paint. Leon looked closer. No, it wasn't paint…
It couldn't be…blood?
Somewhere in the night, Leon heard shouting and the sound of gunfire. An enraged voice shrieked, "She's jumping out the window! Shoot her!"
Leon looked up just in time to see a female figure leaping from the open pier window. For a moment the woman seemed to hang suspended in the air. The specter-like figure spread its arms wide, like some avenging spirit, belonging neither to heaven or hell. Then, as quickly as she had appeared, the spectral woman melded into the night.
Leon stood in the street for a moment with his eyes fixed on the open window. He suddenly remembered the old gilded paper, and Leon fervently read the underlined passage. It gave him little comfort.
The line read: "And a spirit passed before my face; and I heard a faint breathing; and the hair of my flesh stood up."
Leon picked a direction and ran in it. It didn't matter where he was running to. He just wanted to get away from what he'd just seen. He'd gone about two blocks when he realized that the bloodstained page was still clutched in his hand. Disgusted, Leon tossed it aside. Eventually, as his heart resumed its normal rhythm, he stopped to see just how far he'd strayed from his original path. Within ten minutes, Leon stood before an imposing mansion on the corner of a well-to-do street.
This was the address Viviane had given him. And what a place is was. The manor was a Gothic revival, surrounded by tall trees and an iron fence. The place looked deserted, but a few lights shone in the windows.
The whole complex had a sinister air about it, which made Leon all the more apprehensive. But he couldn't let this opportunity slip away. He had to do this—if not for himself, then for Ada. She would have wanted revenge against Umbrella in the worst way, had she lived.
Leon wondered, if Ada had survived, would he be going through any of this now? Or would they be far away from all this pain, just the two of them, together…?
Stop this! There's no use in torturing yourself! Leon thought angrily.
Somehow, bravery—or, rather, bravado—prevailed, and Leon soon found himself in front of the mansion's great door, feeling rather out of place. Should he knock, or was there a doorbell…?
But as Leon glanced around, utterly clueless, the door opened with a creak.
"Ah, I've been expecting you!" Viviane stood in the doorway, her amethyst gown shimmering in the hallway light. She welcomed him like an old friend, her perfect smile and violet eyes gleaming.
Just then, a huge thunderclap rocked the night air. The sky opened up, and fat raindrops fell to the pavement with a vengeance. Again, Viviane flashed her apologetic smile, as if she were somehow responsible for the weather.
"Perhaps we should continue this indoors?" she said with a short laugh.
"Umm…yeah, sure."
"I am glad you decided to come," Viviane said as she practically yanked Leon through the mansion's doorway. "I rarely entertain visitors, so please excuse me if the house is a little messy."
Viviane led Leon through the entryway into the main hall. The brightly-lit room was huge, almost overwhelming. The hall contained enough curiosities and relics to rival the Smithsonian. A massive staircase at the back of the hall undoubtedly led to the other floors. Above the stairs was a stained-glass window. It depicted an archangel slaying a demon with a spear. A rather grizzly, violent subject but still executed perfectly. Paintings hung on the walls, portraying mostly religious or mythical figures. Leon noticed that various doorways radiated from this central room, which was obviously the heart of the entire mansion.
"Wow…" Leon gasped.
"It is not much," Viviane shrugged. "But I call it home."
Another clap of thunder shook the night, rolling like a death knell. The storm was raging outside, but the mansion's walls were thick. Leon felt halfway comfortable here.
Turning to his elegant host, Leon said, "This place is really nice…But why am I here?"
"You Americans are so impatient," Viviane chided. "But I suppose I do owe you an explanation."
"I'd say so!"
"Viviane," another voice interrupted. A tall, bronze-complexioned man came into the hall. Leon didn't see which door he'd entered from, but he was walking toward them swiftly. "Viviane, I must speak to you…in confidence." the man spoke with a Greek accent. He seemed very solemn, and eyed Leon distrustfully. Viviane excused herself to a far corner of the hall, where she spoke quietly with the tall man. Pretending to show interest in a painting of the Annunciation, Leon eavesdropped as best he could on their conversation.
"She just got back," the Greek man continued. "Should I send her to your office?"
"No, Dimitri. Tell her I'll meet her in the west parlor. Strange…I sensed a bit of hesitation on her part. She was almost resisting."
"This could be something…serious?" Dimitri said.
"Not to worry," Viviane murmured. "I have a plan." She paced back toward Leon, a worried look clouding her face.
"What was that all about?" Leon asked innocently.
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," Viviane said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "This way, please…" She motioned toward the staircase.
Viviane's private office was opulent, almost more extravagant than needed—quite like the woman herself. She offered Leon a seat in front of a huge mahogany desk. Viviane seated herself behind the desk, and immediately began shuffling through a pile of papers.
"I'll be a moment here," again, she flashed her apologetic smile. Leon took a moment to examine the luxurious office. Judging from the large windows and marble fireplace, the room was probably originally a bedchamber. A small fire burnt in the fireplace, giving the office a warm, homey feeling.
Yet another thunderclap cracked in the sky. The storm seemed to have no intent of blowing over.
"Ah, here they are!" Viviane said suddenly. "The surveillance records we've been keeping on you."
"Just who the hell are you? Why are you keeping records on us?" Leon demanded.
"A valid question," Viviane replied coolly. "I was an Umbrella spy, but no longer. I now follow a different vocation."
"An Umbrella spy," Leon echoed. Just like Ada had been…
"Yes, but for years I've been planing a secret uprising amongst the spies. Umbrella lured us in with promises of power and wealth. So far, I'm one of the few spies to achieve that goal. Other operatives were used for medical experiments, and heedlessly sacrificed on countless missions. I figure that it's time to take revenge against Umbrella. I've turned many of the spies to my cause, sending them on secret missions all over the world, with the purpose of destroying Umbrella from inside."
"So you're the one behind those calligraphy murders…?" Leon asked cautiously.
Viviane smiled. "Now if I told you that, I'd have to kill you. Don't bring it up again," despite her grin, Leon could tell that she was deadly serious. "Anyway, one of our main…activities has been trying to locate the S.T.A.R.S. and any survivors of Raccoon City. We're very close to pinning down the location of Redfield and his comrades. But we still need information on what happened in Raccoon City—information we hope you can provide. Help us, and we'll reunite you with the errant S.T.A.R.S." Viviane held out her hand cordially. "So, do we have a deal?"
"You have got to be kidding me," Leon snarled. "I have absolutely no reason to trust you. Hell, I'm beginning to wonder why I even came here tonight. Yeah, I was in Raccoon City. I won't deny it. But what makes you think I'm gonna tell you about all the stuff I saw there? And how did you find out I was in Raccoon City, anyway?" he demanded.
Viviane smiled knowingly. "Ada told me."
