The helicopter inched its way down from the sky, even as the rotor blades kept up their eardrum-splitting whirl. Soon, the air at ground level would be turned.
The man standing at the gate of the Takagi compound looked up at the sky. He knew what his orders were. Stand at his post, engage zombies if needed. Human survivors were to be escorted through the gate. He had a walkie-talkie, and an escort could be summoned from behind the compound wall. Yes, those were the orders of his leader, Soichiro Takagi.
But his other leader had other ideas. The man shook his head. Orders may orders, but it was time to pick and choose for a change. He held his rifle a little tighter. The wall behind him was solid enough, but it was not so high that he could not call out for assistance if he needed to...or wanted to. He braced himself as the helicopter touched down a few yards from him, doing his best to mind the gusts of artificial wind.
The helicopter finally went dead as the rotors gradually stopped. The door popped open, and the pilot came out. While the guard could have expected a lot of things, he was surprised to see that the pilot was a young female foreigner. She took a few steps closer, holding her hands in the air to demonstrate that she had no weapons. Her hair was cropped short, and her eyes were light.
"Ohayo gozaimasu!"
He winced; the pronunciation was a bit off, but that could not be helped. Holding his rifle barrel in the sky by one hand, he waved with the other.
"Otoko wa doko ka?" He was expecting the male soldier that he informed would be in the helicopter, as well as the boy stated to be his son.
The woman paused, then shouted towards the helicopter. It was not long before two more figures emerged from the helicopter; a foreign man dressed in military fatigues, and a Japanese boy dressed in a black school uniform. The woman pointed to the pair of newcomers, her facing twisting as she searched for the word.
"Kazoku!"
Perfect.
The guard motioned as the three drew close. Then, without giving a second's notice, he turned his rifle towards them and began to put his finger to the trigger.
"DAD! JILL! GET DOWN!"
The boy's voice thundered as he dipped down and shoved his companions to the ground a split-second before he let the bullet fly over his back. If the guard was completely at alert, he would have observed the window of the helicopter shatter. But he could not. The boy had already recovered and ran straight for him.
The rifle was an old one; the cartridge was still in the chamber. The guard was struck by sudden fear as his fingers frantically worked on the bolt, trying to clear the space to free up another round.
He was too late. The boy's punch went straight for his solar plexus, making him drop his weapon and double over. Then he felt the boy's hands on his head, and all too suddenly it was slammed against something. For a second he did not feel the pain in his nose, having had it broken across the boy's knee.
Even now, he did not regret what he had done. Nothing the boy could do to him would compare to what the monster inside was capable of...
"I hope you appreciate the trouble I am going through for you," Ichiro Shido loosened the tie around his plump neck as he took a seat on the sofa. He had designated the compound's bottommost storeroom as the one he wanted for his own space for planning and meditation, and Soichiro had been kind enough to grant permission for him to make use of it. Smuggling his own guest in had been harder.
Ichiro put a pipe, a long kiseru, into his mouth. He did not smoke anymore, but he had not gotten out of the habit of keeping the stem in his mouth. It was almost surreal to sit like this, almost as if this was a business meeting. As if his guest was not a decapitated head.
More specifically, it did not have its own body anymore. From the neck down, it was the body of a common B.O.W., with the arms and legs systematically removed.
The head itself had combed blond hair, yellow eyes, and dark splotches along the pale skin. But there was a different tone in Albert Wesker than before. He was not rasping and letting out the occasional rant as he had months past. He had a smirk, and even his eyes seemed a little less cautious.
"I suppose getting a new set of...'wheels' is out of the question for now?"
Ichiro waved his hands. "I trust you, Mr. Wesker. Just not your new biology, or your emotions. They can cross like railroads, I'm afraid. And it's really not my fault you look like that now."
Wesker tittered. "Don't tell me you got this idea from an old comic your son dropped."
"They're called manga here, sir." A pause. "And I have no interest in my son's recreation."
"I just want to know you value me as much as I do you." Albert's eyes turned a bit more flinty. "After all, none of this would have been possible without me. Without my cells, my blood, there would have been no reverse-engineering the virus. Without me, there would have been no turning Japan into your sandbox."
"For which I'm eternally grateful." Ichiro pulled the kiseru from his mouth and began to twirl it between his fingers. "I get what I want, you get what you want."
"Chris Redfield's head on a spike. And his son's."
There was a chuckle. "Meaningful silence would have been more dramatically appropriate, but I like your answer. I like your commitment."
Next up; Soichiro steps in to keep the peace...
