It was getting dark now. At eight or so o'clock in the very early night, it was reaching complete darkness on the streets of Raccoon. Dorian wasn't even mad in the slightest; his cat-like eyes didn't need to see to perceive. They were based on sound and senses of surroundings. It was fairly cold, though, cold enough for Dorian to roll up his collars and pick up the pace.

Umbrella has far too many secret facilities than they can handle. B.O.W. Factories, Containment Departments and Training Facilities. Some armouries were constructed just to use up the leftover buildings. This Umbrella armoury wasn't as hidden than the secret facilities are usually, must be why it's an armoury and not used for classified research. This one was on the outskirts of a local suburb.

On the outside, the armoury represented an average office building, four or five floors of emptiness with two serving as the ones that deal arms to Umbrella personnel. An office building with eight feet stone wall and security measures consisting of a card reader and a numeral pad weren't suspicious at all.

Dorian was on the clock still. He went to call Scam to get his order ready, and he wasn't there, his number rang seven times before nothing. Bitter silence. Dorian sooner kill the person who dares to leave him hanging, but it wasn't the time to be egotistic. His order was waiting for him, and Scam's approval wasn't mandatory.

Being the only Umbrella armoury in Raccoon the security system would be on, and if triggered it'll make one hell of a racket, something of which no one needs right now so hopping over the wall wasn't worth it. The keycard and pin were the way to go for now.

Treading slowly on the tarmac, then the gravel, Dorian came to the secure double doors of the average office building and rang for Scam again. The line was dead after ringing several times into nothing. What an outrage, he thought.

Something is wrong. The metal shutters were up behind the barred windows, the hidden cameras were scanning the grounds, and yet the turrets at the gates were still inactive.

To deactivate the security system was something only the facility manager or an Umbrella Council member could do. That's one of the perks of being the U.S.S. general, Dorian can do anything he wants.

Dorian bypassed the security system with his PDA but allowed them to stay online and just opened the doors in the way. His order was all he desired. The thick metal doors slid open and let Dorian through.

The interior was tidy, the weapon display counter was organised, and the armament rack inside the kiosk was stocked. There wasn't many chairs or seating in the main room, nor there was anything on the walls.

There used to be a good selection of paintings decorating the room; the art used to be something so spectacular that they could even make Chief Irons dribble. Scam was seen behind the counter inside the kiosk. He watched Dorian survey the room before coming to the board to be served.

Tim Scam looked like he hadn't slept in days, smelt even worse up close. Bags were starting to show under his eyes with slight signs of stress. Despite that, the dark-haired young man in fancy black formal wear sounded as young as vibrant as Dorian does on his best days. Scam's body movements were quite timid, and that just wasn't good enough for an arms dealer. More approachable on the phone than in person.

"General Savage," Tim cupped his hands, "how can I help you?"

"Why haven't you been answering my calls, Scam?"

"I had to keep my communications silent. A thousand apologies, sir, I did see you arrive, but please understand me when I say that I-"

With one wave, Dorian interrupted Scam's babbling. "A number of apologies you have to say means nothing to me. Now what's going on here and why is the security system online?"

"An agent from WOOHP has been sent to Raccoon City to find me. I've seen how they can track people like me over communications and through third parties. I'm not safe using the U.S.S. or the Umbrella network."

"Don't be such a coward. Their agents aren't anything special."

"I'd figure ol' Jerry sent in his some spies after me." Tim sighed. "That'll be nice." He coughed loudly.

Dorian folded his arms with a snarl. "You can't expect me to believe you're the type to get frightened of a bunch of prepubescent spies."

"Normally I wouldn't because we know WOOHP agents do not kill. No firearms are to be issued by order of the guardian, but the one after me is the only agent that has the authorisation to kill. They call him the Red Baron or the Rad Russian." Tim coughed loudly into his hand. "He's ruthless and tough to kill. It's hard to get any sleep with him around on the prowl. Sly Russian dog is far too cunning for my taste."

"Bring your turrets online and get some sleep, for Christ's sake. You're falling apart."

"I don't want to make it too obvious. I kept the defences to a minimum so I can make it look like I'm unaware, that way he'll come in without any problems. Then after that, the turrets will come online and kill him. Getting the turrets up and some hours of sleep isn't a bad idea. I can always spring up my trap later after I catch a few Zs."

"Before we descend too far into your personal affairs I came for my order."

"Okay. Time for business." Tim stretched his fingers and checked around behind the counter for something under the display. He took some time coming and going but came back with a large wooden box. "I have everything you asked for right here, sir. Is it for now or to go?"

"I have no time for the packaging. I require the arms right away."

"That's fine with me, sir. Guess we'll skip the target practice." Tim opened the wooden box and took out the P90 that was resting inside. The magazine was empty and sat next to to the thick black silencer beside the weapon. "I must say this bad boy is a fine piece of German engineering."

"It is up to spec?"

"Laserex model with a silencer to boot. Damn straight.."

"Excellent," Dorian smiled.

Tim set down the P90. "There's been a slight miscalculation..." Tim frowned.

Dorian's smile fell upside down. He leant on the counter. "What did you miscalculate?" He strummed his fingers on the glass display repeatedly. "You do realise this 'miscalculation' will hurt your payment."

"Fair enough… I have all the ammo and arms but the matter of explosives… Anyway, here's your P90 IR."

Tim handed Dorian the P90 and then took out two small wooden boxes, a burlap pouch and a larger wooden box. Dorian was getting used to the size and weight of the weapon and had already adjusted the sights and stock to his preference. The green laser sight was something to behold, it never left a trail and was invisible to the human eye. He attached his silencer to the barrel. Tim was getting hot and bothered watching him, he coughed and wiped his hands on the white rag hanging from his front pocket.

Dorian put his P90 on the counter. "Is this everything?"

"Yes, it is," Tim answered. He took out a jet black shiny Beretta 93R from the smallest box and placed it next to Dorian. "You have expensive taste, sir. This model of the Beretta family is a rare find. Selectable three round rapid fire capability doesn't come by often."

"That's why I like it."

"And last but not least… My favourite." Tim opened the last small box slowly, savouring every moment of the brand new smell. Inside was a gold-plated .50AE Desert Eagle, with a mod to increase the barrel length by a few inches rested under it. They were shiny and in perfect condition.

"My my… Is it coated with aluminium nitrate as I asked?"

"Best money will buy."

"Excellent," Dorian smiled.

"That just leaves the specialised ammunition," Tim smiled and opened the last box. This one was the largest of the three. Inside were rows of stacked magazines loaded with 5.7x28mm, 9mm and .50AE. Pre-loaded with their respected rounds and ready to go. Six of each in total, it completely packed the container in neat rows. "Ta-da..."

"Jolly good," he exclaimed.

"FN 5.7x28mm, 9mm JHP and .50AE FMJ. In that exact order." Tim closed the wooden box and placed a black belt on top of it. "I took the liberty of finding the right gear to hold all the munitions. Hope it fits."

Dorian cackled like a deranged child in a candy store. It was heaven filling each pocket and satchel of the belt to the brim with loaded magazines for his new toys. More toys included more bloodshed per second.

"You have the right weapons to tackle a small army, but what's with the Desert Eagle? A single shot from that could put down Oscar."

"Oscar?"

"Never been to the zoo?" Tim shrugged. "Never mind."

"I need a personal weapon in case I run into any rogue tyrants. It's happened before with T-001, and I don't want any surprises. I'm starting to take a shine for magnums now anyway. Gets monotonous using U.S.S. handguns, the idea of a cannon in the palm of my hand might make a lasting impression on armoured targets."

"Like Tyrants?"

"Nothing but. And before the matter of payment are we forgetting something…? Like my grenades?"

"The thing about the miscalculation is the fact I have the grenades just... not all of them."

Dorian sighed. "How many do you have?" Tim nudged the leather satchel with WWII-era grenades closer to him. There were only three in plain sight. "I asked for six!"

"Granted, I honestly stand out arranging to purchase rare goods but not the vintage variety. When I asked for stielhandgranate, this was all my source had at the time." Dorian took a grenade from the satchel and grasped it with both hands. "Good thing too. He asked me twice about being serious or not because it is a strange grenade to call for present time. He wouldn't sell at first but when I mentioned your name he caved." Tim placed his hands on the counter and leant on it. "I had to barter pretty hard for these, you know… I have plenty of other grenades…"

"Good for you. I want these because they do not roll when they land, plus I can throw them further. Two qualities I like." Dorian took the belt and checked the length. His chest and waist were a firm forty inches, and the belt looked too big at forty-six. "This had better fit," he muttered.

With the appropriate belt fitting around Dorian's waist and chest, he had room to spare, and it felt perfect. The straps were snug when they clipped together over his chest, and there was a beige holster for his M93R under his left armpit, and another for the magnum handgun at the back of his hip. Plenty of pouches and pockets for spare magazines and loose ammo for on the go reloading.

While the P90 slung over Dorian's shoulder well enough, the few grenades had to be carried in the open beige sack the arrived in and were tied to his belt. There was no secure way to carry them loose. Dorian tugged his jet black blazer back on.

"Locked, cocked and ready to rock 'n' roll." Dorian grinned. "Now all that's left is payment? Correct?"

"Unfortunately so," Tim smiled.

Dorian rotated slowly towards Tim with a focusing glare. He looked mean only from his serious posture and attitude, wasn't clear if he had other intentions or he was going to pay for the gear. Judging from the city's situation, Dorian could simply kill him and move along without any questions being thrown his way.

The confusion in the city's infection would cover his murder up. People need to make money, even a B.O.W, and he did stain his reputation by underperforming...

Tim feared for his life. Behind his still brown eyes, Tim was scared of the fact he might not get paid. Money was his whole world… He heard his heart beat loudly and extremely slow for some reason, like two quick beats every few seconds. Then Dorian slammed his left hand on the counter, breaking Tim from his empty stare.

"What's wrong with you?" Dorian asked. "I've been tapping the counter, and you were just staring at the space behind me… What gives?"

"I'm sorry?"

Dorian sighed. "Forget it."

"Shall I put it all on your tab?"

"Not this time. Are you interested in a little trade?"

"Depends really. The gear was expensive, mind you."

"How about an evacuation out of the city in return?"

Tim scoffed. "That's not enough."

"So a guaranteed reservation doesn't tickle your fancy? Oh well, at least you have your sources. I'm sure one of them are willing to get you out the city alive..."

"Are you implying my sources have no way out of the city? Please..."

"Do they?"

"You don't need to know that." Tim smiled.

"A smart human like you would realise that their life is more valuable than money. Pity I wasn't able to exploit that for myself to avoid payment. Though if I wanted the money I'd just kill you and take it back..."

So in some sense, I was right. "Do you have to say shit like that? It breaks my heart." Tim chuckled. "We're friends you and me."

"Your idea of friendship costs time and money, and that's something I will not participate in. Just put it all on my tab."

"Will do."

"I see a very long future of service to Neo-Umbrella in you, Scam. Play your cards right, and you'll be where I am today." Dorian and put on some black leather gloves. "While you're engorging yourself over my payment you'd best evacuate the city at your earliest convenience. Code XX is in on the way."

"Damn," Tim mumbled. "I expected as much."

"Better call up your source, Raccoon City is not long for this world..." Dorian turned away and unholstered his M93R. It was loaded win anti-personnel rounds. Good for fleshy zombies and humans. He pulled back the hammer and turned off the safety. "I have a mission to attend to." He began walking through the automatic double doors and was out of sight before they could close.