A typical Tuesday evening at hand, with Shakahnna Warren reviewing the many different dishes of Chinese food that were displayed in front of the them in the living room. Chisholm was continually complaining about the lack of healthy options in those servings, and Donnelly going on about how he was unable to relax after such a hard day at work.

It was between bouts of "Surely you see the need for some veggies in that because..." from the younger man and "Those guys keep acting like a bunch of..." followed by expletives from the older one that the redhead noticed that the television set was on. Contrary to her wishes, agent Donnelly had placed the channel on the evening news. She could've protested, but it quickly occurred to her that it would take less hassle to let him watch the news program which was only going to annoy his surly attitude further, than it would to argue with him over the choice of channels. Besides, the more experienced cop would start commenting about the day's events to himself, get irate, and switch the station via remote control soon enough, if experience was any indication.

"Here be's a broccoli, in sweet and sour sauce, even!", the young woman grinned as she picked the food out of the container with a fork.

Still smiling, she licked the red sauce off the vegetable before pointing it in Chisholm's direction, who winced at the offering, appearing unimpressed.

"You be's the one who keeps going on about wanting veggies!", the teenager countered his silent stare.

At least it was enough for the young man to not protest further as he bit the broccoli off the fork and investigated further, adamant that he was going to find something that was both nutritious and tasted good at the same time. So it was while she was digging further into the container of sweet and sour rice that Shakahnna's gaze passed by the television screen, and stopped there when the Umbrella logo appeared behind the newscaster who was speaking to the camera from his seated point of view.

Remembering what the young woman had informed them both about that pharmaceutical company's horrific and illegal activities, the two men there also took notice, Donnelly increasing the volume as the male anchorman continued talking. With the digital name identifying him as Ben Bertolucci, the journalist explained that an accident had caused an explosion at one of the local Umbrella plants, leaving six employees dead. Bertolucci went on to mention the names of six men, none of which sounded familiar to the redhead, until their six faces were then shown in black and white. The young woman's eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and sadness when she recognized the men that Albert Wesker had shot while on the warpath to reach, interrogate and then execute Claymont. Not surprisingly, the real reason those men died wasn't being made public.

"The families of the deceased were notified of the tragedy this morning", the journalist continued when his visage returned to the screen, only to then be replaced by earlier footage of a hysterical woman and two small kids who were hugging her legs.

And just when Shakahnna didn't think she could feel worse about what she had seen Wesker do, she just did.

"Fred was too young!" the identified widow of one of the dead men cried into the screen, "He was just 33 years old, for god's sake! How can something like this happen in some company that's supposed to be the safest to work in?! Why isn't anyone held accountable for this?!".

Shakahnna's eyes widened and throat felt uncomfortable as the woman's further statement was muted and the news program returned to Bertolucci in the studio.

"The matter of the handful of employees who were also in processing plant number four is also somewhat of a mystery", the young journalist continued, nonchalantly loosening the tie around his collar, indicating he was more interested in what he had to say than in his appearance.

"Go figure, huh?", Donnelly threw a quick glance towards his housemates, "Just when you didn't believe in a divine God, this happens".

He didn't notice the sidetracked nod that Chisholm gave while still watching the news, or the lack of response from the teenager, who he had expected to be glad at the report, as the older man himself returned to the program.

"This reporter personally tired to make contact with several of the survivors from plant four, but found all of them to have vacated their homes, as well as their families", the journalist explained, the surprise still readable on his face, "So why would they opt to leave their work and their home? That's the million dollar question".

Another shift by Bertolucci in his chair. Obviously not the station's regular anchorman, his informal dress and manner made it clear that he was more at home working for the newspapers.

"Unfortunately, that mystery doesn't seem to be close to being solved as I was also able to make contact with one ex-Umbrella employee from plant four, in his new home outside Raccoon City", the journalist continued, "This employee, who will remain nameless, expressed his wishes to not be disturbed about this tragedy. He also wished his whereabouts to be kept secret, which as a journalist, I am obliged to cater to. Thus, the contact information for this person has already been destroyed. Perhaps this nameless ex-employee feels ashamed at surviving this sad event when many others did not. I personally didn't get the opportunity to ask him, but regardless, it's clear that his departure from Umbrella and lack of cooperation is leaving more questions than answers here".

A shuffle of some paper on the desk in front of him before Bertolucci cleared his throat and resumed talking.

"In somewhat related news", the young journalist went on, "And this just hasn't been a good day for Umbrella Inc, ladies and gentlemen, or for Raccoon City as a whole, vice-president Claymont, one of the company's highest-ranking officials, suffered a fatal heart attack. Connections at Umbrella say that Mr Claymont was taking part in a meeting when news of the explosion in processing plant four broke within the company, and sources say he broke down in tears over the lives lost, before collapsing in the conference room. The 57-year old executive was declared dead on arrival at Raccoon General".

Another shift in his seat.

"Before we move on, also, I've just been told that a spokesperson for Umbrella is in the studio right now", the reporter continued, "So I'll pass you on to my colleague, Emily, ladies and gentlemen".

The image of the familiar female reporter replaced Bertolucci's.

"Thanks, Ben", Emily Corrie-Smith started, seated in another part of the news studio, next to an older and stockier man who was dressed in a 3-piece suit, appearing as comfortable as she was while resting on the simple, metal chair, "With me, I have Mr Hall, who is a spokesperson for Umbrella's Raccoon division. He's been discussing this tragedy with us today. Eugene, any words?".

"Thank you, Emily", Mr Hall cleared his throat as he turned his attention to the camera, "Umbrella wishes to inform all the citizens of Raccoon City that our prayers and thoughts are with the families of those loyal and hard-working colleagues who lost their lives in this tragedy".

He rubbed his forehead, appearing genuinely grief-stricken at this moment.

"It's also important for whatever employees are worried about their part in this accident to not be concerned", he added next, "Despite its large size, Umbrella is a corporation with the highest moral standards, after all, and we think of every one of our people as family members. That's why it's important for anyone who had anything to do with this accident to please come back home so we can talk about what happened. It's for the sake of the families of the victims, to give them peace with the knowledge of what happened, and also to make sure that such a horrible tragedy never happens again".

With that, the older man cleared his throat again and turned his attention back to the female reporter next to him.

"That's it, Emily", he continued, "Thank you for allowing me to address the people of this city. We're just looking to investigate the cause of this accident even while we're preparing for the funeral of one of our finest people, and our finest vice-president ever. We just want for witnesses who were there to come and speak to us while that occurs. As I said, there's nothing for them to worry about".

"Thank you, Mr Hall", Corrie-Smith replied as she shuffled some pieces of paper on the desk in front of her, even as her eyes remained glued to the TV screen, "Now, on to some of the other news for today...".

It was all she got to say before Donnelly pressed a button on the remote control and switched the channel.

"Gotta wonder what's really taking place, huh?", the older cop chuckled as he surveyed the list of shows that were available, "I hear that employees who survive an 'accidental explosion' always clear their homes and move to another city".

"Can't say I be's knowing", Shakahnna lied as she abruptly climbed to a standing position, leaving the food unfinished, "Chino, honey, I'm gonna be lying down for a while. I'm feeling more tired than I thought, and have got a bit of a headache".

"You sure you're OK?", Chisholm stood up next, "You don't look so well".

"Yeah, yeah, just need to rest a bit", she gave a fake smile next, not mentioning the most unpleasant feeling in her stomach at knowing the true reason behind that fake news story, "You stay and enjoy yourself, and I'll be back in an hour or two".

"Only if you're sure", the younger officer offered his hand.

The redhead kissed him on the cheek and tiredly proceeded into the bedroom, wishing it was really physically weariness that plagued her, but knowing that the real reason was an infinitely more difficult mental one.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Fuck you, Redfield!", Shakahnna's exclamation reverberated through the RPD floor as she angrily left the STARS office, already regretting having gone there to use the fax machine after having found the one downstairs to not be working.

Not surprisingly, she hadn't been there for a full minute, not even having finished the task of sending the required facsimile to the prosecutor's office, before she and the marksman went from throwing angry glances to each other, to exchanging snide remarks, and then finally loudly swearing. So Shakahnna ignored the several fellow officers she passed by, gripping the crumpled sheet of paper in a frustrated manner, and returned to her usual desk by Chisholm and Donnelly. It was one of those 'I could just fucking cry' type of days.

Of course, her frustration was only increased due to the redhead knowing that she and agent Redfield had more in common than they had differences. They both hated Umbrella, for starters, and their personalities were clearly those that couldn't keep their thoughts to themselves, even when among a large group of hostile listeners. And she knew that the marksman didn't know about Wesker or her own background in the labs, due to Valentine not having told him about the teenager's experience.

At least, she assumed and hoped that the older woman had not done so, Shakahnna not having thought to insist that the mechanic keep the provided information to herself. Then again, officer Valentine did seem clever, and considering that Redfield wasn't harassing her for answers on Umbrella, it was safe to make the assumption that his girlfriend had kept him in the dark for now. Which was good, because the teenager either wasn't ready or even able to provide any of the answers the STARS' marksman would be searching for. And as interesting as a new game of Dodging The Redfield would be, Shakahnna already had too much on her mind.

Besides, she tried to justify the lack of communication between herself and the STARS members as she approached the spot where Chisholm had his face buried in a thick file, it was probably a good thing she was winding Redfield up. That way, the other officers wouldn't realize that she, Chisholm and Donnelly were actually on the STARS' side, especially when she still believed that more than half the force was on Umbrella's payroll.

The feeling of self-justification only lasted a few more seconds, though, as she already hated the fact that she was on bad terms with those isolated STARS agents. But the frustration of not being able to do anything about it didn't change as she placed the sheet of paper on the surface of her desk, fighting the urge to contact Wesker and set up a meeting between her, him and the survivors from the Umbrella mansion.

Shakahnna sighed as Chisholm looked up to her at last, and Donnelly had returned to their place of work, holding a file of his own as the older cop was concentrated on his own case.

She didn't want to say it out loud, partly because of not wishing to be a burden to them, partly because Donnelly would've been happy to mention that he had warned her of this, and partly because she didn't know what to do if she left the RPD. But the real problem was the trouble she was having in keeping up with the workload. It seemed that for every 15 minutes of interaction she had with a colleague or a member of the public, an hour of very specific paperwork was required to follow. She didn't understand much of the terminology, and every time either of these two men explained something to her and she wrote it down so she wouldn't have to ask it again, another question came up that she hadn't encountered before, forcing her to bother them for help again.

Frankly, it was rubbish.

Of course, this was precisely the reason why recruits undertook six months of training before starting the job and further in-work training, which she had decided to skip by jumping into the figurative deep end of the pool. So it surely shouldn't have come as a surprise that she was having so much difficulty, and the job wasn't as simple as beating up a stereotypical criminal before going home for the night.

Thus, Shakahnna sat down at her desk and rubbed her face, insisting she wasn't going to be a little bundle of goth today.

And to make things worse, she still needed to find a fax machine that worked.

"Anything the matter?", Chisholm had raised his eyes off the surface of the desk in front of him, long enough to notice something was wrong.

Her facial expression while she locked eyes with him was enough of an indication that her answer was an affirmative one.

She was about to open her mouth to reply when the young man's workphone rang, causing him to stare at it, then back at her, all the while wondering if he should ignore it or not.

"Just pick it up, sweetie", the teenager offered, "It's nothing that can't wait".

"Hold that thought", the young man picked up the receiver and identified himself to the caller on the other end.

"This have anything to do with the screaming rant everyone on this floor's been overhearing?", Donnelly offered in his own turn as he remained on his feet and Chisholm continued talking in a hushed tone.

"Do you be's knowing where there's a working fax machine?", Shakahnna answered after a sigh.

"I think the one in the STARS office is fine", the older officer offered, and then understood the source of the problem.

"Anywhere else?".

"Not that I know of, no", Donnelly had to admit, "Why? They giving you hassle when you go in there?".

No answer from the redhead, which brought a smile to his face as Chisholm hung up the phone.

"Or is it the other way around?", the more experienced officer inquired.

"What's this?", Chisholm asked in his own turn.

"Your girlfriend here doesn't get along with the STARS guys", Donnelly answered on her behalf, "And that's a shame, too. I don't think they're that bad".

"Donnelly, you be's a shit. I never said they be'd that", Shakahnna countered, "Just because some of us don't be having a mutual hatred of Irons that Redfield has".

"Is that why you're such friends with him?", the rookie grinned in his own turn.

"Well, there's that", the older man went on, "And he slugged that pipsqueak Elran. Now, I never approve of violence against fellow colleagues, but if I was to approve it, it'd be against that toothpick first and foremost".

"It's not that I don't believe them", Shakahnna explained, "Not after that".

"Yeah, we know, Shak", Chisholm sympathised as Donnelly was too busy congratulating himself for his dislike of officer Elran, "There's no doubt they're telling the truth".

"But you gotta keep in mind that what they say and what everyone else here knows ain't the same thing", the older man followed through in a more serious demeanour, "There's no one to confirm the STARS' story, as far as everyone else here is concerned. If a certain someone hadn't confirmed everything Redfield and company said, and with fake witnesses and reports saying the contrary, we'd probably be acting the same way".

"Especially if our friends died and there was no one to say they met their end another way", Chisholm added.

"So no making friends with STARS for you two", the older cop followed through as he gathered up his paperwork, "You're better off going along with the masses here and helping Redfield from the shadows".

"Hey. Why do you be's special?", the teenager countered as he began walking off.

"Please, Shak", the male rookie stated as he continued writing something down for work, "What're they gonna do to him? Like him less?".

"Patience is the key, guys!", the older man called from a distance as he got further away, "Keep that in mind, eh?".

"Yes, patience, for all of us", Chisholm cleared his throat as he intentionally placed his elbows on the files on his desk, "Cops and cabin-dwellers alike. So, anything else on your mind, Shakkie?".

"Just looking for a fax, sweetie", she gave him a smile, "Any suggestions?".

She was about to suggest the idea of leaving the Police headquarters and visiting a shop in downtown Raccoon City called Advanced Graphics, which she knew from experience would allow her to use a fax machine for a small fee. The 50 cents she'd have to use to get the task done wasn't a problem, of course, not considering the allowance she was being paid weekly from the mayor. The main question was whether taking ten minutes to go there and another ten minutes to return would be a good use of the time, considering how much still needed to get done.

What other option was there? To go back to the STARS office? Talk about uncomfortable silences.

Her decision made, the teenager stood back up and was about to inform Chisholm of her intention to go outside, and wished to ask him if he wanted to come along, though she suspected he was too busy for a social walk. But the need to ask was still there, just to be sure.

At least she would have done so, but a folded newspaper that was resting on another officer's unoccupied desk caught her attention.

What was so important about this particular newspaper which stopped the redhead in her tracks?

Without saying anything, Shakahnna left her work area and proceeded towards the latter desk, with officer Chisholm's eyes following her the whole way. And without knowing why, she unfolded the black and white newspaper there, holding her breath as she began reading the headline.

"Local businessman murdered in home invasion robbery?", the teenager began reading in a whispered tone.

"Shak?", Chisholm asked as he stood up in his own turn.

"Ted Robakowitz was the victim of what appears to be an armed robbery last night", the young woman didn't hear him as she kept reading, "Alyssa Ashcroft reports that around 1AM, the home at 540 Euston Drive was invaded by what appears to be an armed robber? Mr Robakowitz was reported to have an alarm system, as well as bars on every window, in addition to a metal doorway, but the robber seemed...".

She stopped reading, barely able to believe the words printed.

"The robber seemed to have burst through the side wall to make his way to Mr Robakowitz's bedroom, where the victim was found with his head crushed where he slept?".

She stopped reading again and looked back to where Chisholm was standing in front of his own desk, concern obvious on his face.

"Mr Robakowitz, who serves as executive lab consultant for Umbrella Inc, was declared dead at the scene, and Police are appealing for witnesses", she learned further, "Police also learned that he apparently confronted the robber before his death, with neighbours reporting hearing gunshots from the crime scene. An intruder who was only said to be a 'blur of black' by a sole neighbour who looked out her window was later seen to be hurrying away. Police guess that that Mr Robakowitz opened fire with a legally-owned handgun, which the robber took with him before absconding from the residence. The question of how the victim died remains, as does the method in which the intruder broke into the house, but preliminary reports indicate that this is a random act of violence which the Police are...".

Shakahnna stopped reading completely, folding the newspaper as she exhaled heavily. Looking back to where officer Chisholm was, she gave him a sad smile as she realized that her day had just gotten even more complicated.

"Uh, honey, I need to leave", she declared.

"What? Why?", a worried Chisholm inquired, stepping around his desk to come closer, "Are you feeling sick or anything?".

"Uh, no, I'm good, just, I need to run", the teenager uttered as she quickly met him halfway and kissed him on the lips, "Just, tell the brass I'm feeling under the weather, OK?".

"But, I mean, anything you need me to do?", the young man offered, more anxious than before.

"No, no, and I'm fine, really, just can't be here this afternoon because, well, something just came up", she said as she grabbed the jacket and quickly marched towards the floor's exit, leaving Chisholm in his work environment, and feeling that he was better off there.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Weskie?", Shakahnna asked out loud as she pushed the cabin door open, looking through the small living environment.

She recognized every piece of furniture, as well as their layout. Surely, the cabin's sole occupant hadn't changed a thing in the last several weeks.

The redhead walked into the living room and casually closed the door behind herself, and called her friend's name again, carefully listening for any hint of movement anywhere. Unfortunately, the place seemed deserted, which made her wonder why the only door to it wasn't locked.

Then again, no one knew of this location, the teenager reasoned, and not like Wesker had to worry about the sporadic hiker in the woods finding it by accident, not since the murders in Raccoon City were said to be especially prolific around the forest. And lastly, it wouldn't have surprised her if Wesker started keeping his door unlocked on purpose nowadays, as she doubted he had much to fear after being physically reborn with strengths most couldn't imagine. Shakahnna pitied any burglars who had the misfortune of breaking in here, as the man in the sunglasses might've murdered them, or worse yet, sat them down and discussed the importance of the justice system.

The last thought brought a smile to her face, but one that was quickly replaced with worry as she slapped the folded newspaper on the couch.

"Weskie!", she called out louder, this time landing next to the paper in a seated position.

She slapped the cushion in a frustrated matter, feeling annoyed that she was ready to give him an indignant speech, and the recipient of her crossness wasn't even here. It seemed she had left work, and Chino with it, while her responsibilities were increasing with every passing hour, and all of it was a wasted effort.

Shakahnna was considering the options of either returning to the city centre or waiting here for some more time, when a black blur whooshed into the living from outside. She instinctively turned around to see that the door was flapped open. The redhead then almost jumped in surprise when Albert Wesker was standing several feet away from her at his full height, his hands resting in pockets as he smugly looked down at her from behind his sunglasses.

"You called?", the older man offered.

"Hey Weskie", the girl smiled back first, before remembering the reason for her surprise visit, "Aaaah! Where did you be's coming from?".

"I was patrolling the forest, and heard you calling my name", the former RPD captain game a quick explanation, "Not that I do not enjoy your company, miss Warren, but something on your mind?".

"You must be the only person in the world who regains his confidence by going out and committing mass murder!", she shot back while rising to her feet, waving the folded newspaper in his face, as if that would explain what she was talking about.

More curious than anything, Wesker took a hold of the paper and unfolded it before summarizing the contents of the front page. The pleased look on his face spread to a wide grin as he then handed the newspaper back to her.

"I repeat, what is wrong?", he asked again, "What leads you to believe that the mysterious assailant is me?".

"Doesn't it be you?", Shakahnna inquired the obvious.

"I don't know what you're talking about", he didn't try to hide the fact that he was lying.

"It is you!", she pointed her right index at him, "And look at the fucking smile on your face!".

"Now, miss Warren", he continued smiling as he withdrew his hands out of the pockets and cracked his knuckles, "Are you accusing me of taking pleasure in the death of a fellow human being? Surely, there must be dozens or even hundreds of individuals in this city alone who can force their way through walls and who have a problem with Umbrella employees".

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!", was the only response she uttered as she crashed back onto the sofa cushion, prompting him to appear as if this was the most fun he had in a long time.

"To be fair, Robakowitz was a special case because he couldn't be hit where he worked", the grin finally disappeared as the usually-serious expression returned on Wesker's face, "Umbrella's sixth underground laboratory beneath the city's university was, and still is, too well-secured to be attacked directly, even by me".

He paused for a moment, disliking that he had to admit to a physical limitation.

"So it took quite a bit of work to find the right person to interrogate regarding Robakowitz's current address", Wesker recalled, "After that, it was a figurative piece of cake. I'm actually surprised Umbrella was so careless so as to allow this journalist to get a hold of the story, considering all the kills so far have been kept out of the public eye. Must be getting sloppy on their part".

"Right, Weskie", the young woman rested her forehead in her right palm, "What's the count? Which number was this guy?".

"If you must know, after Claymont, it's 39", he informed her with more than a little pride in his voice, "Robakowitz was number 37, however. Two other co-chief financial officers were put out of their misery last night".

"Oh, jeez…", Shakahnna looked back up to his towering frame, "But Weskie, you can't keep this up".

"I beg to differ, miss Warren", he sauntered to the kitchen, and returned a few seconds later with a cold, plastic gallon container full of water, "As the old saying goes – first this city, then the world. But I have not even covered 10 percent of my estimated targets yet, so I will not be travelling abroad anytime soon".

"But after what happened in that safehouse!", the redhead protested again, and stopped as she felt angry at her own naivety due to thinking that those people were the only ones Wesker would wish to annihilate.

"Miss Warren, many more high-ranking members of Umbrella need to be disposed of before the company even begins to feel that Raccoon City is too expensive a town to be operated in", came the curt reply as the older man sat on another couch and began swallowing long gulps of the water.

"With you, everything's always so black and white", the teenager finally uttered in a calmer fashion after a pause of several seconds.

"Not everything, miss Warren", Wesker was quick to counter, being more distracted from his intake of water by this conversation than he thought he should, "Just this topic. But here, yes, it is black and white. I will not deny this. The more of them I kill, the safer this city becomes. And I still await for you to give me a better solution to the Umbrella epidemic".

A silence hung in the air for several more seconds.

"What about the families?!", she irreverentlyreplied, "What about all those people who live with the people you're doing this to and who don't know what's going on?".

Another gulp of the water by him, no longer finding the need to counter her points right away, so Wesker took his time and emptied the container before placing it on the floor and next to his feet.

"First off, miss Warren, a majority of the vermin I'm euthanizing no longer live with their families, as Umbrella is their family", he tried not to grin as he finished his statement, "What? Did you think that one could become such a high-ranking member of a company that personifies evil by caring for loved ones during their free time? If I remember correctly from the files which were obtained after dear old Claymont literally lost his head…".

He stopped talking momentarily, noticing the angry scowl he was receiving from his friend for remembering that event so lightly, especially as it was so emotionally traumatic for her.

"Well, this man literally had a group of destitute individuals who were taken off the streets and made to live in his safehouse as his twisted idea of a family", he decided to ignore the irate look so he could make his important point, "It was a surprise even to someone who had learned of all his doings, to have a woman and three children living under threat of death if they leave their 'home', just so this vermin could have the image of a home in his safehouse every time he moved to a new city".

"That does not be changing the families who were on TV!", Shakahnna almost screamed back.

"Doesn't it?", the former RPD agent objectively replied, knowing what she was referring to, but not caring, "It's odd that you seem more worried about the collateral damage left behind by the few dead guards who were not being honest with their loved ones in the first place, than you do with the fact that I found and rescued Claymont's last 'family' two days ago since they had been moved away from the safehouse so as to give him peace of mind while he gathered his documents and vacated. Where his past wives and children were is beyond my knowledge, though, and it's not unreasonable to assume they are no longer even alive".

"Honestly, I hadn't even thought about them", the younger woman admitted while rubbing her face.

"It's alright", Wesker retook the empty water container while standing up and heading back towards the kitchen, continuing the conversation from there, "I can imagine how difficult these recent events are for yourself and Chisholm".

Returning to the living room, he returned to a seated position on the smaller couch as he withdrew the 50-calibre Desert Eagle and nonchalantly began cleaning it.

"Ah!", a smiling Shakahnna pointed at him, a new thought having just entered her mind, "I got you on a point! The whole innocent until proven guilty thing!".

The older man rolled his eyes from behind the shades.

"You did tell me at one point that it was the reason why the justice system was as it is, no?", the rookie eagerly followed through, "Because otherwise, the lack of due process would endanger an innocent person from being punished. And that means you're a shit!".

The comment caused a smile to appear on his face, rather than prompting him to think about the implication of his actions.

"Miss Warren, you should know more than anyone else that I have no problem sparing the rank and file if they do not get in my way", Wesker continued staring at his weapon as it was cleaned further, "The assault on Claymont's hideout should've proven that. So unless you believe that these senior executives or their defenders who insist on standing their ground are innocent, or that they should be arrested and given their day in court, just what exactly are we conversing over here?".

"I don't know! Just…", she stopped and slumped back in the sofa, "Just try to limit your hit list of names. Maybe death and stuff is OK for you to be frolicking with, but I don't like it when people die. Even if I know it's the best thing for others around them and all that pish".

"Maybe after Raccoon City's sanitised", Wesker stood back up to his full height, reholstering the handgun before he walked to a nearby cabinet and withdrew more ammunition for it, "I do hope you will not think ill of me if I should have to leave now, though. There are two more advisers who should be disposed of before sunset. But I would enjoy a longer get-together later, in addition to your opinion of how life is as a gun-carrying member of the RPD".

"Guess I would too", she informed him as she lazily stood up in her own turn, "Be's a lot I can tell you that doesn't involve yelling. Chino's probably be'd having kittens. Or more fucking triplicate forms to do".

"Here, tomorrow at sunset good for you?", he politely opened the only door to his cabin and held it there for her to walk through.

"Nah, patrol duty", she recalled, "So make it sunrise the day after".

"Will clear my schedule", the taller man followed her outside and locked the door behind them both, "I'll be able to use a slight rest by that time anyway".

She bit back the urge to cringe at his words, wondering how much higher the number of dead would be by that time, especially if he had physically worn himself out to warrant a rest. If it was 39 now, would it be in the triple digits the next time she saw him?

Not that he appeared worried about the prospect. On the contrary, Wesker seemed happier now as he marched off towards his next target than he ever was as an agent of the RPD.

At least one person here was happy as a proverbial clam.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

She hated being there. And she hated staring at that damn mirror even more.

Elena Warren wisely kept those thoughts to herself as she received the fax that arrived a few minutes ago. Surely, the piece of paper she began reading must've been a summons that ordered her to report to Umbrella's best-known, but least visited, headquarters. There, she'd have to sit down and be made as comfortable as possible, whether she wished for a fan, something to drink, or whatever other luxuries one could use before answering numerous questions that were fired at her by strangers from the other side of a 1-way mirror. It was the act of seeing her own reflection when she conversed with those heads of Umbrella that annoyed Elena the most, as being in that floor meant that one was safe. After all, no one was ever executed while there, as Umbrella preferred to send such permanent orders against subjects within those employees' own work environments or homes, depending on which would have the best outcome as an example for others. But within that large conference chamber, the source of the stress was having to explain one's self to employers who never thought one was worthy of seeing the people one was talking to, and rarely ever being given a compliment.

Sighing to herself, Mrs Warren unfolded the piece of paper and began to read what she expected to be the date and time of her own appointment in front of the company's senior leaders. Instead, she gasped in surprise upon realizing that it wasn't a summons at all, but a warning, one that was informing her that her job performance needed to improve as soon as possible.

"Mrs Warren", she read the letter to herself in a hushed tone after she settled down at her desk, in the privacy of her office, "As you are aware, for the past nearly twenty years, Raccoon City has been a town that thrived and lived by Umbrella's will alone. But it is feared that Umbrella's hold on this area is lessening due to the incompetence shown by many of our labs here. While your reputation as a leader of the late Vice-President Claymont's calibre precedes you, we have still to see that leadership in action".

Elena stopped reading for an instant, disliking the direction that this letter started with.

"The problems you were handed after the disaster at Raccoon City forest have only worsened under your charge", she continued after breathing in and out once, "We now count more successful escapes of subjects from the lab, and we trust we do not need to remind you of the potential for damage of even a single such event. In addition, the number of serious accidents in the laboratories has increased almost tenfold".

She ceased reading again, but this time because she was getting angry.

"To conclude, Mrs Warren, you have exactly one month to prove to us that you are entitled to retain your position here", she neared the end of the letter, "As the leadership of experienced and loyal subjects like you is necessary, especially in this difficult time when the actions of a certain mysterious assailant continues to cause some apprehension with us, your potential as the head of industry needs to be verified".

Elena angrily crumbled the sheet of paper between her hands, having been insulted further by being called a mere subject of Umbrella before the letter's conclusion.

This was worse. It wasn't even a summons to appear before the head leaders. Instead, it was a warning from afar, as if her presence wasn't deemed appropriate to inform her that the work she did was unsatisfactory.

She didn't need any special knowledge to predict what would happen if the people behind the 1-way mirror didn't see what they deemed to be an appropriate improvement. Being demoted would be a blessing at that point. But even as she instinctively came up with ways to improve the work standard around here, a small piece of her mind asked if this faxed warning was really because of the seniors' changed opinion of her, or because of their own worry over their safety. It seemed that Umbrella's main headquarters were starting to distance themselves from the Raccoon City's labs. Was this because their high-ranking members were scared of this mysterious serial killer who seemed to attack their kind?

Elena didn't know, but regardless, she would have to be more strict from now on, starting by holding guards personally responsible for escapes. That would mean more executions at work tomorrow if anyone else succeeded in the nearly impossible task of getting out of one of the cages alive.

And as for that serial killer, she had her own ideas as to the assailant's identity. She would be investigating that problem when the ones closer to her work were resolved.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Michael, dear!", Elena Warren opened the door to her husband's office within the Warren mansion without knocking, her smiling expression was met with an equally friendly one from him, but only for an instant.

The mayor's face quickly turned to one that was serious and worried when he realized that this wasn't a social call from his wife, and that Mrs Warren's intentions did not appear pleasant or honourable. Still, though, she was smiling, which made him worry even further, as it meant she was about to have fun, probably at his expense. It had been like this ever since his spouse had been promoted at the Umbrella facilities as a socialite.

"Uh, hello, dear", he tried to suppress his discomfort as he stood up from the chair behind his desk, "Monica didn't mention that you were here. What a pleasant surprise".

He disliked having to lie, as his day had been going well until now, and he previously thought he had several more hours before needing to see her. Then again, simply wishing that he was as happy with Elena as the day they were married was a waste of time. They had stopped being content together so many years ago, that the negative relationship was now the norm, and the only time the city's mayor even came close to enjoying himself with his wife was when they had company over, or were in front of cameras. At least then, she acted like she enjoyed being with him, and gave him respect, and that temporary feeling was nice, even when false.

"I advised darling Monica to take the rest of the afternoon off", Elena mentioned after closing the door behind herself, "I'd rather not have a member of your staff hearing you when you're like this".

The man's body tensed further at what she said, as all it could mean was that he was in for one of her really bad temper tantrums. He thought that she at least paid him the courtesy of limiting his humiliation to between the two of them, without his secretary witnessing the event. What he did not know, though, was that his wife had sent the clerical assistant away due to wanting to preserve the image of the mayor as someone who was a strong leader for this city, and not Umbrella's lackey. But she wasn't going to waste her time by pointing out that fact, not when she had more important things to do, and she might as well get this nagging question out of her mind while she was already at home on official business for her employer.

"You took Tuesday off earlier this week", she curtly accused, as if doing so without her permission was something he should feel ashamed about, "Imagine my surprise when I learned that, Michael. Where were you?".

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, angrily waiting for his explanation as her husband became even more anxious and tried to not stutter.

"Now, dear, I mean…", Mr Warren began talking before he stopped, carefully picking the right words to not worsen the trouble he was in, "I don't want to make you mad. I know I usually take the second Wednesday to be with the kids, but you know I'll be tied down with the budgetary meetings next week. So I took a day out with Joanne and Shak this week, that's all".

He involuntarily held his breath, waiting to see if she would accept the truth and calm down, or become more irate at learning it. As usual, it was up to other factors to decide how much leeway she would give him.

Several seconds passed, with perplexity first appearing on his wife's features, which was then replaced with curiosity. Fortunately, whatever was on her mind her appeared to have distracted her from the wrath that was pointed at him.

"You were with them both?", Mrs Warren questioned next.

"Uh, yes", he nodded his head several times with a cautious smile, glad for the turn of events, "Yes, I was. Had a relaxing morning to take my mind off things, then spent the afternoon with the two girls".

"Was the second one with you at 2:15?", she quickly asked back, this time approaching his workstation as if something very crucial was dependent on his answer.

"Well, yes, dear, she was", he rushed to remember while stroking his forehead, and hoping he wasn't making a mistake, "Neither girl left until almost dinnertime. Joanne was mentioning her school while Shak talked about the new job she…".

"Are you absolutely sure she didn't leave your side at that time?!", she angrily interrupted while pressing her right palm against the surface of the desk and slightly leaning towards him, "Even for half an hour?".

The hapless fellow stammered under the inquiry, but soon felt better about his ability to remember his adopted daughter's location for a certainty, now that he had more time to think about it.

"Sweetheart, she didn't", Mr Warren was calmer as he reassured his wife while sitting back down on the chair, his body somewhat more relaxed now that she didn't seem so determined to harass him, "Both girls were with me the whole time, I promise. Why? What's so important about that?".

"Shut up", she quietly shot back as she stood back up to her normal height.

She did not mention that this past Tuesday was when one of her colleagues had his holiday home broken into at 2:15 in the afternoon by the mysterious serial killer. It was only a few seconds later that his security entourage responded to his screams for help, but even by that time, they found his severed head lying several yards away from the rest of his body. No one was seen leaving the crime scene, except that a large hole was present in the brick wall of the victim's garage, where his camping equipment was kept, and which he had been surveying in preparation for a vacation when attacked.

For quite some time now, Elena Warren had been following the theory that the red-headed girl was the one behind the killings, probably due to possessing abilities that they didn't know she had. Such a theory also supported the reason why Wesker had been so obsessed with experimenting on her, doing so even the day before he was finally destroyed in his own schemes. But if Shakahnna had an alibi for that particular event, then Mrs Warren's entire assumption was destroyed, and that made her feel out of control. Having a suspect to deal with had given her a degree of assurance even if those murders were taking place, but that was gone now.

Of course, she would confirm what her husband was saying. But Michael had always been much too weak-willed to try anything behind her back, and there was nothing to suggest his attitude changed now. So if what she expected to be proven actually occurred, and the annoying redhead turned out to be elsewhere during the killing, then Mrs Warren was as clueless to the identity of the assassin as everyone else.

A flood of ideas entered her mind, even as she was staring in her husband's direction, but ignoring him at the same time. She thought that the carnage against Umbrella was maybe being carried out by a disgruntled member of STARS. But then, how was a member of STARS making his or her way past brick walls and the most heavily-defended labs without being injured? Or knowing the work and home locations of so many of Umbrella's staff members?

Maybe the assassin was using explosives to force entry, she told herself, even while she remembered that none of the surviving security personnel reported hearing explosions.

Elena Warren gritted her teeth. No, the Umbrella staff were only lying about not hearing explosions being used to force entry into the targets' area, and that was either because they were lazy or scared. It had to be. Surely, the only solution was to increase their punishment for failure so as to prompt them to be more diligent at their post. She was sick of all the incompetence and insubordination that surrounded her everywhere.

It was around this time that she noticed her husband speaking to her again, but she paid no attention to him, instead turning around and irritably marching out of the office. Her one positive variable had been removed from the equation, and wasting time with her husband was definitely not going to help her feel better.

She just wished she knew what would.