B.S.A.A. West African Branch
Nigeria / Kijuju Border Town, Africa
Agent Sheva Alomar was unlike any local Kenny had ever seen. The Kijuju women he'd been in contact with had an exotic beauty about them; tall and lithe, large rounded eyes atop pronounced cheekbones and full lips, dense tightly curled hair held in place by brightly patterned handkerchiefs. He would see them in the markets, some of them toting children or animals with a hand, while the other held in place a large water vessel on the top of their heads, heading back to whatever village they came from. They wrapped their bodies modestly in colorful sarongs thin enough to not restrict airflow which was crucial in the stifling climate.
But Agent Alomar was a very different kind of beautiful, with facial features more aligned with what the West would consider desirable with naturally pursed lips, slightly angled eyes set in a round face framed by red spectacles. A slick gray business suit and matching short skirt hugged a toned, curvy body; definitely not skinny by any stretch of the imagination unlike the other Kijuju women. Her skin was not nearly as dark either, closer to a mocha tone than the predominantly dark brown shades around these parts. Even as she spoke, her voice carried a hint of a British accent mixed with a little bit of Swahili, meandering between the two accents like she couldn't make up her mind. Kenny wondered if she was in any way bi-racial.
"Have you noticed any kind of suspicious activity going on and around the workplace?" They were about ten minutes into the interview and she had wasted no time into getting straight to business. Kenny liked this about her. "And by suspicious, I mean unrelated to work that could possibly be against the law."
Kenny looked up in thought, past the eggshell white ceiling, past the fluorescent lights that threatened to burn holes in his retinas. "To be honest," Kenny reached around to scratch the back of his head, "it's hard to tell what's illegal and what isn't around here." Agent Alomar smiled in appreciation of his joke based on the truth. "But not that I can recall. But take my word with a grain of salt, ma'am. I'm an intern, a field researcher, which means I'm too busy taking photographs and prepping field samples and writing reports to take notice of what's going on around me."
"And what is it you're studying out there?" Agent Alomar didn't make eye contact with Kenny, instead scribbling intently at the paper in her hands hidden from his view by a the clipboard it was attached to.
"Botany. My division is focused on equatorial fauna for pharmaceutical research. We've been unable to explore this region of the globe until recently due to political unrest."
"The area is still in unrest," Agent Alomar said dismissively, "how were you able to get set up here, and under whose authority?"
"I'm not able to answer that question," Kenny admitted. "That is something you will have to speak with my supervisors about,"
"Of course," Sheva concurred. "Under ideal circumstances, we would like to have your girlfriend give her own testimony on what she has witnessed but as you previously mentioned, she is on a field study and will return on Monday - is that correct, Mr. Feng?"
"Yes. I will see to it that she contacts you the moment she gets back."
"Then I have no more questions for now." Sheva stood up from her seat, running her hands down the back of her thighs once to smooth out any wrinkles in the skirt. Kenny noticed she placed her clipboard face-down on the table where they sat. He stood up to meet her extended hand and shook it. "Thank you for coming in to speak to us. We'll be in touch if there are any further questions, and likewise, if you remember anything else please don't hesitate to get in contact. You have my information now." She nodded at the breast pocket in Kenny's dress shirt where he placed her business card when they first met.
As Kenny walked through the rickety wooden door closing the "interview" room off from the rest of the building, he couldn't help but shake the guilt that had immediately followed his realization that he had in fact just lied to the authorities; a first in his relatively young life. He tried to rationalize the guilt; the B.S.A.A. weren't a law-enforcing organization after all. They were an international militia formed to combat bioterrorism. It simply couldn't be the same as lying to the authorities, could it? Deciding that he wasn't a lawyer, found solace in that simple fact and continued on his way through the dirt caked floor of the lobby and out onto the sidewalk, into the dry African heat where his Tricell-funded escort was waiting to take him back to the base.
He climbed into the air-conditioned cabin of the limousine, while a burly security guard held the door open for him, boarding the vehicle once Kenny was seated. Kenny was surprised to find that he had a third companion in the car, Dr. Irving. Dressed in his trademark white suit, contradicted by a mop of tousled dark blond hair, Irving swirled a glass of whiskey in a hand absent-mindedly, waiting for Kenny to buckle up before speaking.
"What do they know?"
"They're leaving no stone unturned," Kenny mumbled without even looking at Irving. He folded his arms grumpily, not wanting to say another word to his co-worker that wasn't necessary. It hadn't escaped either of them that Kenny wasn't the least bit interested in putting an old friend in danger. True, he had wanted Chris Redfield to come into Kijuju to bust him and Jill out of Wesker's captivity, but knowing that that was exactly what Wesker wanted as well was a game changer for him. He was sure to keep the specifics from Irving and his other co-workers of course, but he knew Irving could sense his displeasure - which Kenny had accepted was his fault for not being able to hide his own emotions. He would never give Irving the credit of being able to read people. Irving tapped a hidden trigger from underneath his arm rest, causing a panel in the ceiling of the cabin to slide open, revealing a cavity from which a screen descended bearing an image of Wesker.
"The B.S.A.A. are involved now," Kenny reported to his boss. "I just got out of the witness interview. They are well aware the fabricated deal is biological in nature. They want to interview my 'girlfriend' next to get more information. I've bought us some time and told them she won't be back until next week. The plan will be in action by then, I presume?"
"Provided you complete your mission, yes," Wesker replied.
Kenny held his mouth agape with shock. "Haven't I done enough?! I've saved you from your own mistake of testing the Uroboros on Officer Valentine, the only person in the world with immunity to the T-Virus. I've gathered the data you needed from the Ndipaya people for their own genocide. I've planted false information on a fake bio-weapons exchange to set the B.S.A.A. up for slaughter. Are you going to have me kill a handicapped pregnant woman next?!"
"You've posed as an innocent bystander," Irving elaborated, "which compromises you as a source of information for the B.S.A.A. There is still information they have to know in order execute the weapons bust - details - and those details need to be delivered in as legitimate of way as possible."
"We can't just waltz into their office and place this information at their feet without them raising suspicions," Wesker continued, "so it must come from a reliable source ... like a reporter." Wesker gave Kenny a moment to absorb the cruel hint but Kenny was intent on playing dumb.
"So we're just gonna bribe a reporter? Journalists in these parts don't exactly have a high survival ..."
"Dorian Marquez, you fool," Irving interrupted, "your secret communications with the journalist is exactly what we need to deliver the specifics of operation."
"How in the world do you know about Dorian?"
Wesker shook his head in disbelief at Kenny's stupidity. "You have an aptitude for gathering information but you most definitely don't for keeping it a secret. Using a Tricell laptop connected to public internet servers?"
"Communications technology is hard to come by around here ..." Kenny weakly offered.
"We know everything you have communicated on that laptop, Kenny," Wesker boasted. "It has never been a secret that you remain loyal to my former protégé, Chris Redfield. It is no secret that you want him here to tear you and Jill Valentine from my grasp. Fortunately, his presence here is exactly what I want as well. I want that sniveling mole and his blasted organization crushed beneath my heel. That is why you and I work together so well."
"Leave Dorian out of this," Kenny tried to demand, but ended up sounding more like a plea.
"By the looks of things, you were the one who got him involved in the first place." Wesker said. Ignoring Kenny's protests, he continued. "The intel is being delivered to you as we speak. Get Dorian to forward it to Chris. Irving, what's the situation in Kijuju?"
"The Plagas are manifesting well among the local populace. We're looking at an 80-90% infection distribution by the time the operation commences."
"Excellent," Wesker declared, clasping his hands together loudly. The crunching of leather could be heard as his gloved fingers interweaved. "All we need is our reporter friend to give his B.S.A.A. contact the details and we can begin the operation. The first matter of business is dispatching Reynard Fisher."
"Is he even worth the effort?" Kenny snorted. "I mean, he's not really a key player in any of this and the infected will probably get to him first anyway."
"He is the B.S.A.A.'s equivalent of YOU, Kenny," Irving said, nodding his head in his direction. "And not a very good one if he's taking the bait so quickly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the man has a death wish."
"Enough chatting," Wesker interrupted. "Irving, as soon as you arrive at the base, I want you to prep the operation site. The Uroboros attack is unlikely to wipe out all of the B.S.A.A.'s forces once they are in the area. They may retreat but we need them pursuing us, and we will give them a reason to."
"The data files were being copied over to the hard drive at the operation site," Irving said. "It contains sensitive information about the Uroboros project, and where the B.S.A.A. can expect to find us next. I will be there to personally 'run' from them, leading them like pigs to a slaughter."
"Throw in a photo of Jill as a test subject," Kenny said. "They won't think twice about coming after us to rescue one of their own. Even better if Chris sees it."
"Kenny, that's ... brilliant," Wesker said, his raised eyebrows betraying his attempt at concealing his amusement. "And here I was thinking we could never get along."
"You said it yourself, Wesker. We work very well together, if not for completely separate causes. And since there are no secrets between us anymore, then yes. I am using this as an opportunity to take you down permanently."
"Stick to the plan, and we'll see," Wesker taunted.
Kenny agreed, "Yes, we sure will."
XXXXX
Subway Metro
New York City, United States
It had been a few years since Chris had taken a seat on any subway car. As a younger man, he preferred to as opposed to standing but discovered that as he got older and trained harder following his battle with Wesker at Umbrella's Antarctic Base, his shoulders had gotten considerably broader to his own pleasant surprise. The next thing he knew, Chris was unintentionally displacing passengers just by sitting. He mentioned to Jill that it was probably as bad as sitting beside an obese person, who good-humoredly pointed out that having warm belly fat spilling onto one's lap was preferable to a large arm pushing one's entire torso out of their seat. Chris's thoughts drifted to Jill, who he still dearly missed. Her death was the only reason Chris could be standing here reminiscing about her. For the thousandth time since he saw her fall out that window, arms wrapped tightly around Wesker's waist, he became aware of the gaping hole she left in his life, not one easily closed by a sister, a friend, or a lover. There simply was no other Jill and that hole would never close ... or would it? If Kenny's claims were true, Chris owed Jill as much to see the lead through but his professional side kicked in and rationalized that if it were indeed a trap, the risk would not be worth the result; for the B.S.A.A. at least. But now, the B.S.A.A. had a reason to send him to Africa, right to Kenny's doorstep.
Chris had ignored Kenny's pleas for help over the last few years. From day one, he had always encouraged Kenny to live a normal civilian life. It was what Chris wanted for himself but never had, taking care of his own little sister, Claire. Even during the month's prior to the 1998 T-Virus outbreak in Raccoon City, he had always kept the boy - who was fifteen at the time - in the dark when it came to more "grown-up" matters. It was an inaction that nearly got Kenny killed along with the rest of the Raccoon City civilians. And now, again due to Chris's own inaction, Kenny had fallen right back into Wesker's clutches.
It was around Christmas time, around a year after Jill's death when Chris was coming back into the office from a lunch break. His toque and shoulders of his parka were covered in an inch thick layer of snowflakes after having walked a mere two blocks. He was just taking off his gloves, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the lobby's fine marble flooring when the mousey secretary poked her out from the giant desk where she sat.
"Mr. Redfield," she said, "there's a guest here to see you. He's in the waiting room."
"Thanks, Barbara," he replied and was about to carry on his way when he felt a tug on his elbow. The secretary had gotten out of her seat and motioned for him to stop.
"He looks suspicious," she warned, "and I wanted to have security remove him but he said he was a friend of yours and needed to talk to you urgently ... and he was polite about it. I've got Ron from security keeping an eye on him if he tries anything funny."
"What do you mean by 'suspicious'?" Chris asked.
"A hooded zip-up collar and ill-fitting jeans," the secretary described. "Looks like he hadn't washed them. I was concerned he could be a hobo. About yay tall." She leveled a flattened hand to the height of Chris's shoulder. "He's a little thin, Asian."
Chris couldn't place the description after thinking for a few seconds. "It doesn't sound like anyone I know," he admitted. "But how would he know my name?"
"Would you like me to have him escorted out, sir?"
"No, that won't be necessary yet," Chris said, raising a palm. "Out of curiosity, I just wanna see this guy first."
"Alright, sir, just be careful." She grabbed her trench coat from the coat rack and threw it around her shoulders. "I'm out of here for the holiday season. Susie's taking over for me until I get back."
"Thanks for the head's up, Barbara. Take care of yourself."
The elevator doors across the foyer opened just in time for Chris to step in without breaking his stride and took the long ride up to the twelfth floor, eager to put a face to this alleged 'friend' of his. After what seemed like hours, the elevator finally reached its destination and with a sharp ding, the doors slid open to reveal Ron, just as Barbara had said, standing at the entrance of the waiting area. He nodded towards the guest, hidden from Chris's view behind a wall. As he rounded the visual obstruction, Chris caught his first view of the visitor just as the secretary had described. However upon looking at his visage, he recognized the face instantly. The two of them didn't speak but instead, Chris looked over his shoulder to Ron and with a single nod, dismissed the security guard.
He took a seat across the coffee table and leaned forward towards Kenny, elbows on his knees, face resting behind folded hands. Kenny sat, shoulders hunched, head down, eyes downcast. They sat in silence for a few moments, each trying to read each others' thoughts with only body language to go by.
Barbara was right; Chris had never seen Kenny like this. He was thinner than usual, tired and weak looking. A dark hoodie and jeans drooped loosely from an almost skeletal frame. A mop of disheveled black hair took the place of what would have otherwise been short cropped hair.
After a few long moments, Chris broke the silence.
"What happened to you, Kenny?"
He looked into Chris's eyes and for the first time in Kenny, Chris saw madness. "Wesker's after me," he said quietly.
"No he's not," Chris assured him in the gentlest way he knew how. "When we last met, I told you to go off and make a life for yourself. If you came to me, the only place I can send you is jail."
"Then send me to jail, Officer Redfield." There were bags under Kenny's bloodshot eyes. Chris's first thought was that he must have been on some kind of drug but aside from cigarettes, Kenny had always been straight laced as far as he knew. In addition, Chris had also dealt with his fair share of drug addicts in his lifetime but judging from the signs, Kenny was suffering from sleep deprivation and perhaps little malnutrition.
"I did the normal life. I went back to university to finish up my degree. I was a week away from graduation when the phone calls started." Kenny gripped his knees tightly and began rocking slightly back and forth. "It's exactly like it was before the Spain incident, before they kidnapped my friend. Wesker used her as leverage to get me to join him. They're doing it again, Chris. Only this time I don't know who they're going to threaten. God damn it, if they hurt Cranky or Kiennen ..."
"Your brother is safe," Chris said with conviction. "Your son is safe. And you wanna know why? Wesker is dead. I'll forward your contact information to Claire. She's with a human rights organization called Terrasave and she'll be able to help you."
"I'm not putting your sister in danger, Chris. You're the only one who can help me and that is to take me in!"
"I refuse to put you behind bars!" Chris almost yelled. Realizing the volume with which he spoke, he lowered his tone a notch. "You're a good kid, Kenny. You've always been. And I know circumstances have forced you to make the wrong decisions in the past. But I'm telling you that you are finally free. I saw Wesker die."
"You saw him fall. The explosion at Umbrella's Antarctic facility didn't kill him, what makes you think a fall would? Did you see his lifeless body? Did you see his cold, dead eyes from behind his shades?"
Chris faltered, "I ..."
"Then why won't you believe me?!" Kenny cried in desperation. "Please Chris, I'm begging you, please! Take me into custody. I've got a scar on my lower back where I've got the Shadow Technology implanted at the base of my spine. I've got a Plagas Queen dormant in my body. The B.S.A.A. can have it all. Use it against your war against bio-terrorism. For fuck sakes, please don't let Wesker get to me again ..." Tears were forming in Kenny's eyes now. He tried his best to blink them away but only succeeded in forcing them to roll down his face.
Sighing with resignation, Chris finally agreed to help the eager, ambitious, hard working teenager he once knew, who now, nearly a decade later, was a lost man with an estranged son in desperate need for assistance. "I'll be right back. I've got something to give you that might help. Wait right here."
Patting him on the shoulder, Chris got up from his seat and headed into his lavish office. He walked around his oak desk and pulled open the top drawer. In it lay a pistol loaded with six rounds of tranquilizer darts. He took the pistol in his hand and quietly made his way back to the waiting room, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps. With a marksman's aim, shot Kenny in the neck with a dart as the youth cried into his hands. Chris felt a sharp pang of sorrow as he pulled the trigger. Kenny's body froze with the impact of the dart. He turned to Chris, meeting his stern gaze with wide eyes, shocked at the betrayal. With the last of his strength, Kenny pulled the dart from his neck, a trail of blood following the needle. As his body began collapsing into the seat, his last attempt at communication with Chris was a raised middle finger, before sleep enveloped his consciousness.
"I'm sorry," Chris said, as Kenny's reality faded to darkness. "But you'll thank me for this later." He caught Kenny as his body collapsed toward the floor to prevent any injury as he fell into unconsciousness. After laying him on the floor gently on his side and pulled a cell phone from his pocket, auto-dialing a number he hadn't called in a few months.
"Claire?" he spoke to the receiver after a few rings, "I've got a bioterrorist victim who could use Terrasave's attention. He'll be waiting for you when your people get here." Kenny never thanked Chris for his actions because his unconscious form never made it to Terrasave's New York Headquarters.
Now just a few months later, Chris realized that Kenny was right. And here he sat now on the train amongst loud teenagers and crying babies, on his way to the B.S.A.A.'s New York headquarters to get him out, and if Dorian were to be believed, Jill as well. The same cell phone he used to call Claire back then was the same phone that vibrated in his back pocket now. It was Dorian the journalist who didn't want a second to start talking the moment Chris accepted the call.
"I have details on the weapons deal, Redfield," Dorian spoke excitedly. "I'm talking dates, locations, and individuals involved."
"Name your source," Chris demanded.
"Kenny," Dorian replied. "He wouldn't lie to either of us."
"I have to say, Marquez," Chris said, "you're the first journalist who's ever harassed me with threats, and then help but hardly any questions."
"That's because I believe there is something huge going on in Africa with Tricell in the bio-terror black market," Dorian explained, "and I need the B.S.A.A. to kick their doors down because the story of the decade is going to be hiding behind those walls. That, and I would also like to help my friend, currently trapped there."
"And Kenny," Chris said, putting the pieces together, "is giving me this information through you to bail him out from Wesker's control, even suggesting that Jill is alive. It's all coming together now."
"I'm telling you, Redfield, I'm being spoon-fed this information. And I need to get it to your people."
"Are you still at the hotel?" Chris asked.
"Yeah," Dorian confirmed.
"Perfect, I'll phone for an escort to take you to HQ. Get ready now, and I'll be talking to you soon." Chris snapped the phone shut with trembling hands. He had been to and even organized mission briefings before without so much as blinking. But this time personal stakes were involved; Jill Valentine, his professional partner for over a decade. Kenneth Feng, the former hard-working RPD intern who idolized the Raccoon City STARS unit. Albert Wesker, the former STARS captain who had back-stabbed his own team and brought the terror down on Raccoon City. He repeated his earlier thought that everything was coming together, but couldn't shake the dreaded feeling that with Dorian just vomiting information at the B.S.A.A., it seemed almost too easy ...