~Prologue~ Hundreds of deaths. You killed hundreds of people. And now you have a chance to make things right. Prevent more deaths. He turned away from the window, gazing at the coffee-stained sheet. This time. It wasn't me. It wasn't my fault. I didn't kill these people. It was them. He stared hard at the report; his gaunt face a mask of disgust. The untouched plate of food was beginning to attract flies. He'd have to take care of that. He slammed the table with his fist, sending the plate flying. Fools! Do they know what they're using? They experiment with it like it were a. a. a toy! Do they know what it does? He rifled through photos of the Raccoon City incident, his eyes burning. So much death. He paused on a picture of two girls, both barely indistinguishable, mangled, dead lumps! And how do they use this? Have they seen what it does? The door rattled. "Sir? Are you in there?" "Come in." A young woman came in, looking nervous. "Sir? There are reporters downstairs. They want to speak with you." She noted his expression. "Sir? Is everything alright?" He nodded. "I'm fine." He looked up, and looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. "Send them away. I don't want to talk with them." She nodded. He picked up the pictures again. "And send someone to clean this up."