Chapter 2

I do not own any of the Resident Evil characters.

(Flashback: Location-Outside the Spencer Estate)

Impossible, Albert Wesker gaped as he stared at the inferno that was once the Spencer Estate. A warm breeze blew across his face and he grabbed a flying leaf. He looked at it with a new wonder life that is. He wondered about how people mistreat it and take it for granted. He let go of it and it flew into the fire.

He silently thanked god he was still alive. But how? He grinned, Maybe not; maybe I'm dead. Another wind blew, changing direction and blowing a glowing ember onto his cheek. He felt it burning, but at the same time he did not. He was in some place in between dead and alive. But how was he even half-alive? "I should be toast."

He said aloud, and his voice came out perfectly smooth and calm. The feeling in his legs was slowly returning, and he looked down at them. A massive claw was lodged in his right leg, and he moaned. He grabbed onto it with his strong hands and pulled it free. Pain racked his body and he screamed as it came out with a slide. He licked his bloody lips, realizing he was lying on his back. "Damn near impossible."

"How'd I escape?" he thought again. The last thing he could remember was a huge roar, then a gigantic clap. After that he was running as fast as he could and then he s suddenly flying through the air. It was as if a gigantic hand had pushed him forward. "Wap!" It had been the self -destruct system, witch he himself foolishly set.

He laid back and grinned, the mesh monkeys had only managed to get his leg. He started to hum as his grin spread. The S.T.A.R.S. were dead, his samples were collected, and he had done it all himself! With no help from Umbrella.

If this doesn't prove myself to White Umbrella I don't know what will!

Suddenly his memories started to flood back into his brain. Black mailing Barry Burton, shooting Enrico Marini, retrieving the wolf crest, him shooting that bitch Ellen Smith. Yep, he did well.

He started to go over his victory speech when he froze. He had let out the 121's. He had stupidly released them, and now there could be one anywhere. He chambered a round in his gun and looked around, eyes wide. For one of the first and last times in Wesker's life, he was afraid.

The hunters were not to be trifled with, and the cerberus were still loose as well. He then felt a prick in his neck and slapped at it. "Damn bugs!" but it wasn't a bug at all. He then remembered the engine room. He had hit the self-destruction key and had run around deliriously. That was because of the Ma2's, Barry had taken his gun. He remembered thinking hopefully, crazily. "All of the S.T.A.R.S., dead ,blown into orbit while I escape, fly away a rich man."

Then the monkeys had come at him, and they slashed at his legs, sending him to the floor. "This can't happen," he had thought. Then one had jumped on his chest as the other three danced around him. Tyrant has come! The room swirled, a slow motion movie bathed in red. There was blood in his eyes.

He had grinned, waiting or it to gloriously slay his attackers, but it had come toward him. Then he took a very long nap, or at least it seemed long. It was only about 5 minutes though. Frantically thinking, "only five more minutes," but he couldn't move.

Coming out of his thoughts he touched his neck, were the Tyrant had impaled him. Smooth, perfect skin was what awaited his shaken hand. Albert Wesker then moaned, a deep pitiful sound from down in his gut.

Back in his memories he had awoken feeling fine, a man standing over him. A man in a long brown trench coat and a brown cap. He had chuckled, thinking of how much he looked like Dick Tracy. "Who does this guy think he is, Columbo?"

Then the man slapped him, making him stop chuckling. "We don't have a lot of time, get up." He had tossed a radio and Colt Python into his arms and ran off. Wesker followed, but he was gone. Only a hole in the wall greeted him.

Wesker had cursed, a secret passageway that Umbrella had kept secret from him. But how did that man know about it? Putting his questions aside, he ran as fast as he could down the cold, dark passageway. Somewhere he heard a loud explosion, one made by a bazooka, or perhaps a rocket launcher. Then he had suddenly been outside and bolting across the woods, not caring about the dogs, but only getting far away from the mansion.

Then he had been thrown forward, and here he was. Except for the helicopter flying away at the last moment, clearing the mansion's roof by a few feet and rocketing away. He cursed, searching his body. The samples were gone. He cursed again, starting to sob.

The S.T.A.R.S. had survived, and it was over for him. He could never go back to Umbrella again. He then gaped, his eyes widening. He screamed in horror, jerking up his shirt sleeves frantically.

It all made sense now, and he suddenly knew why he felt fine. He gritted his teeth and stared at the small hole in his arm. He had been injected with his virus. His glorious creation now flowed through his veins.

It was healing him and making him stronger. Then suddenly his radio crackled to life, and a small beep was heard. He put it to his mouth and whispered furiously, "Who the hell are you!" A voice responded, it was the same as the man in the mansion. It was smooth, and crisp. Even more calm and unsettling as his own. "I'm a friend of yours you could say, and an acquaintance of the S.T.A.R.S." Trent didn't say anything for a long while, and Albert Wesker asked desperately.

"What do you want?"

"Tell me Captain Wesker, how do you feel?" In a dark building some miles away, a shadowy figure leaned over a desk littered with pictures and figures. He was preparing the file on Caliban Cove, but who to send it to?"

Wesker licked his lips and smiled, " What do you need me to do?"

Trent grinned and replied, "Here's where I need you to go."

(Present)

Wesker put his shades on and walked off of the subway. Trent wanted him to go here, so he would. He was ever grateful to Trent for saving his life, and he truly loved his new abilities. He grinned, looking at the photograph of the man. David Trapp, hopefully you're expecting company. Because you're about to be in grave danger.