Zarbok – holy hell! All those injuries? That's insane! Lucky your uncle is a doctor! I can understand what you mean about enjoying fighting against an equal... even though anyone could bowl me over with ease -.-' Its so much.... better....than just wiping out someone who doesn't even deserve to be an opponent. Heh heh heh, you'll find the answers soon enough Thanks for the review!
Rain – yay! I'm glad you liked this chapter! I agree, the t-shirt is cool. Everyone should have one. Ergh, Alice shouldn't exist. I think the story was fine without her! Besides, they cut out so many of the original characters it can barely be called Resident Evil. Anyway, before I launch into a big rant, thank you!
CassSpaz – I understand about school. Thankfully I'm finished until sometime early February. I love summer holidays. Skippy the Kangaroo... in real life, he's terrifying. Honestly. Several children have been scarred for life because their parents forced them to eat Skippy Cornflakes. There's something about the way he grins at you… I'm glad I got the grief-quota up to scratch. Thanks for reviewing.
- ( Breaker )-
Harold Corwin leaned back in his executive's chair, surveying those around him with satisfaction. Incredible satisfaction. He felt like the king of the world. All his gambles had gone the right way – all the risks he had taken that had cause eyebrows to raise had been proven wise.
He was beyond a risk taker. He was now an entrepreneur.
Allowing a certain young police officer, Leon S. Kennedy, to join the anti-Umbrella group had been the cause for several snide remarks from his inferiors, especially as he had an unknown relationship with the infamous, viral-hating Redfield's sister. But now look: he was a step closer to destroying Umbrella, and into the bargain he got rid of the only people who knew what HCF truly was and wanted to take it down.
All in all, well managed, he decided.
The looks of stupefied shock on the faces around were so very, very pleasing. They had doubted, they had ridiculed, but now they all had to agree; Harold Corwin is indeed far-seeing.
Corwin gave a contented sigh. All was right in the world.
He rubbed the arms of his leather chair contentedly. He liked this 'power chair'. His wife had bought it for him at the beginning of the year. It still had the new smell about it. But what he liked most was how intimidating it made him look – like a villain off the Saturday morning cartoons his grandson liked to watch.
The video feed they were receiving showed a cream house in the early morning light, in the middle of light forest. The view was taken from inside a tree, so branches and foliage obscured a perfect shot. A woman's face took up the foreground – her hair was tied behind her ears severely tightly, and she wore light tan fatigues as to blend in with the leaves.
"Ada, could you make out what they were planning?"
The female spy's voice came through muffled over the speakers. "Yes. They're taking Rebecca Chamber's body to the police, and then regrouping in the mainland, leaving Claire Redfield and Sherry Birkin behind somewhere. They all seem determined to succeed. I don't think you have anything to worry about, sir."
Corwin smirked. This was too good.
"What about the dead girl?"
"They don't know who killed her, sir."
He cocked his head and studied the image of the house. "Do we?"
A pause. All the people present leaned hungrily towards the speaker.
"Negative, sir. There is nothing to say who did it on behalf of whom, and no why confirmed either. The only lead is that Sherry Birkin says it was a woman."
"Well, that cuts down half the population," a voice muttered.
"If you find out who is responsible," Corwin said, pointedly ignoring the other speaker, "tell us immediately. If it is an outside source and not a random murderer, we need to know straight away so we can distance ourselves from AVO. We don't want to have the person inadvertently led onto us."
"Yes, sir."
"Continue to monitor them, Miss Wong, but do not – repeat, do not – get involved in anyway. No helping, no being seen. Do you understand?"
"Yes. Sir."
"Have fun."
The transmission was cut. Now the feed would be watched only by security in a thick-walled room down the hallway, who would contact Corwin quickly if anything untoward happened. Like if Umbrella found out they were involved.
Caroline Foster is right, he acknowledged grudgingly. With Umbrella being funded by the governments worldwide, it won't be long before they can afford to hunt us down and smoke us out. Best not to even indicate we're around here.
Finding a group of kamikaze idiots with nothing to loose had been the best present Corwin had ever received. Even better than his chair. And Ruth – the girl had proved useful, in the end.
It would almost be a pity that they would all probably die sometime this evening.
"You are pleased, Harold?"
The man turned to the fragile scribe. Hewitt had been a friend of his father, a sharp-minded individual who had proved his worth over and over again throughout the years with his analytical skills. Corwin's respect for Hewitt was shown by allowing the man to address him as 'Harold', the only man to call him by his first name.
"Yes, Hewitt. I am indeed very pleased."
"It has all turned out very well for us. Though I question your choice on the tracker; Ada had an incident with Leon Kennedy that almost proved fatal. I hope history will not repeat itself?"
"Ada's memory of what happened in Raccoon City has been shaky since she awoke from surgery. The post-trauma of nearly dying seems to have wiped the slat clean. My suspicions tell me the boy is already dead."
Hewitt nodded slowly. "Let us hope you are right, Harold."
The sharp-witted Caroline Foster joined the group. "It will be excellent if Umbrella's research can be stopped soon. I just hope this doesn't blow up in our faces. STARS had better live up to their reputation."
"And Umbrella had better live up to theirs," came the snide, sarcastic voice. "It would be a shock if they suddenly grew brains."
Corwin knew without looking that it belonged to Simon Taylor, a nineteen year old whiz-kid who knew gadgetry and mechanics back to front. As well as having a cutting attitude towards Umbrella, the boy was one of the reasons HCF was still in the running. His computer encoding and technological inventions were the stuff miracles were made of. He also had some novel ideas when it came to designing treadmills, not that he'd ever done any working out.
But that didn't make his snotty, ratty persona any easier to deal with.
"Thank you, Taylor," said Corwin, with just a touch of 'speak-when-you're-not-wanted-again-and-you'll-find-yourself-squashed-under-the-bleachers', "Don't worry, Caro. After talking to Williams, I am certain they will not disappoint."
They glanced towards the aging, lisping gentleman who was responsible for stringing STARS along so diligently.
She nodded curtly.
It was a shame, Corwin had often mused, that Caro had such an all-knowing and condescending approach to life. If she wasn't so difficult to get on with, she could have made it big on screen as a TV actress; she had that type of muted, cookie-cutter appeal and was, Mrs. Corwin claimed, 'a scream'. But somehow, the researcher's attitude could cut through concrete. Gradually, over the years, it had changed motherly features into something that could be only be described as 'harpy-esque'.
Caroline Foster had joined the company two years after it had been started, and had proved to a very valuable asset. Not only was she brilliant at micro-biology, but she could also devise the plans and health schemes that made Harold Corwin Fitness so successful. Foster was also the reason HCF's employees were in such could shape.
Excluding the most stubborn of couch-potatoes, even the greasy-haired scientists with linen-skin could run in the middle distance.
"Where's Doctor Wesker?" she asked, looking around. "I'd have thought he would want to see how this turns out. After all, it is about -"
The rest of her words were drowned out in Mister Corwin's mind as his eyes quickly roved the faces in the room. There were all the high-ups from science, security, tactics, equipment and even the dietary nutrition– except for one.
Typical, he snarled, I take my eye off the man for one minute and he defies me.
A couple of enquiries provide reason to believe the gleefully cruel ex-captain has been gone for a couple of hours. There is little doubt in Corwin's mind as to where the man has gone and for what reasons. For the next hour, whenever somebody talks to him, his answer will be a roar.
"Bloody Wesker!"
- ( End of Breaker ) -
(next chapter will not be a breaker... this is just to show what's going on there... I told you a man with an ego the size of the Titanic couldn't keep out of the story for long... Don't hurt me if my next update isn't very fast. Please. Many things to juggle. It'll be easier it I have both arms.
If I don't update in the next week, Merry Christmas to all)
