70:00 until viral outbreak

He pulled on the tail of the crane and the wings flapped down, making an audible whooshing noise as he did so, accompanied by the sound of the crinkling paper. He pushed on the tail and the wings flipped back to where they were originally. He did this several more times as he stared at the still smoking wreckage of the mansion. The area was crawling with countless scientists, security personnel, and executives.

There were the scientists, gathering samples of what they could find of the B.O.W.s released at the mansion, watching one of them pulling the charred remains of a hunter out from under a chunk of wall. The security personnel, with their big guns and loud dogs, patrolled the area looking for anyone unlucky enough to wander this way or have survived this travesty.

The executives were the ones just milling about talking about figures and losses and damage control.

Pull, flap.

Push, flap.

Pull, flap.

Push, flap.

Then there was Doctor Ian Taylor. Nobody really was sure what he was doing there or why, but nobody questioned it. He looked important and his stare was unnerving. Always playing with that damn origami crane and looking at things around him like he was asking himself 'what's in it for me'?

He was the kind of person that didn't eat because he liked food. He ate because he'd die if he didn't, which was evident in his gaunt, skinny frame, sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks. His hair was a mop of brown curls on top of his head, but he was clean shaven and no taller than five and a half feet.

He stood by the wreckage of what used to be front of the mansion. Occasionally, scientists would drop a sample and that would attract Ian's baleful stare. The scientist could do nothing but slowly pick up the sample and look away.

One of the scientists came up to Ian a short while later, "Sir"?

Ian slowly looked over, still pushing and pulling on the piece of origami, "Did they find it?"

His voice was just a whisper, but there was something absolutely eerie about it.

"No, sir, but we did discover that there were various other mutations. There's the standard zombie, but also mutated dogs as well. We discovered a mostly intact MA-121 as well," said the scientist.

Pull, flap.

Push, flap.

"We're looking for the tyrant model," Ian said calmly.

"Yes, I know, sir, but we also have useful data on…"

"How useful is the data, really?" Ian asked, turning slowly towards the other scientist.

"Well, uh…"

"Tell me what data could be gathered here that can't be gathered anywhere else," Ian said slowly.

"The tyrant, sir, but we're almost certain that the tyrant was completely destroyed in the blast."

Ian reached slowly into his lab coat. The two security personnel flanking him looked at each other.

"And do you think that the data of mindless, hungry animals will make up for the loss of the tyrant data?" Ian asked.

"No, sir, but…"

"What do you think the tyrant data is worth?" Ian asked.

"It's priceless, sir, considering it's been the only working tyrant model that was able to produce combat data, but like I said…"

Ian pulled out the Colt .45 from his lab coat and turned it on the scientist and pulled the trigger. Blood and gray matter exploded out of the face and head of the other scientist, his face turning into a mess of macerated flesh. He simply jerked backwards and then crumpled down into the burnt grounds of the mansion. The gunshot caused a murder of crows to erupt from the nearby trees, cawing and screeching loudly. The rest of the sight became eerily quiet as Ian slowly put the Colt back into his lab coat and pulled out a swatch of cloth from his pocket and wiped his face from the spatter that had found itself ejected his way.

"I can only stand so many excuses," Ian said seemingly to himself, the whole while he had been holding the crane origami gingerly in his left hand, careful not to damage the seemingly precious work of art.

The dead scientist was carried away shortly after and work resumed. Ian didn't care what they did with the body. He was in charge here and everyone here was beneath him in every way. He didn't care if there was a thousand intact hunters, a million zombies, or if they found the mutated plant, or anything. None of their data could compare to the data that the tyrant offered.

He couldn't help but feel angry at Wesker and the S.T.A.R.S. members who were able to fight against or witness the tyrant in combat. He continued to play with the origami crane, working its wings up and down.

"I wonder if it was fast?" he asked himself. Of course, nobody responded.

"Did it attack a single time, hoping to kill its prey with a single blow or did it attack multiple times in succession?"

Again, no one responded, but he continued to play with that piece of origami.

"The data suggested in initial testing that the tyrant would evolve enlarged organs and the heart would sit outside of the body. Can you imagine?"

None of the other scientists dared get close to Ian when he talked to himself and after he had gunned down another researcher for simply just offering up what he could.

"Sir!" was the shout from the other end of the complex. "Sir, over here!"

Ian turned and started to work the origami crane faster and faster as his heart hammered in his chest. He was going to be so angry if it was another waste of his time. He was panting, sweating, and almost crying by the time he had reached where the researchers were standing.

Beneath a large bookshelf was a rather large, grotesquely mutated arm with rough, scaly skin covering it, the fingers having become sharp, razor edged claws. Ian bent down to touch one of the claws and drag his finger over it, cutting the tip of his index finger on the still very sharp talon.

"Find the rest of it," Ian said breathless, "Find the rest of it and report back that we have the data ready to create the new working models.