So far, so good.

Wesker settled back into his seat at the warehouse office, miles outside of the city. Perhaps less so for Umbrella, he thought. They had done an admirable job of keeping things quiet thus far. Then again, the people of Raccoon City were practically trained to look away when their little economic miracle did things it shouldn't. They'd been taught not to question their prosperity, their luck. Raccoon City was an idyllic paradise for many - why upset the status quo?

It wouldn't last. The infection had bubbled up quietly within the hospitals and homes around the city, but it had been mostly managed. That…hadn't been a sustainable solution. Now people were beginning to be attacked in businesses. On the streets. One concert, one football game, and the cascade would begin in earnest.

The military would be called in. Ironically, the people that William had been trying to sell the G-Virus to would attempt to manage its extraction. He wondered if Sergei would take the opportunity to flex the Tyrant program out in the field. It seemed likely. Oswell Spencer was a man with a long memory, and he held on to grudges.

Speaking of the old guard…Ashford had remained in that back office almost a full half hour, only heading for the checkpoint twenty minutes before she was due there. Ada Wong had yet to check in with her handler. They'd need to get her full report sooner than later, especially given that Ada's primary target was now heavily infested.

Marigold had been looking for a small, quiet space where they would not be disturbed. That indicated that she'd be…reaching. She had mentioned how deeply unpleasant being in proximity to the NEST was earlier. What had she been trying to accomplish? I don't think I got to Doctor Birkin. I shouldn't have been able to…hear that. Those had been the words Marigold had used outside, late last night. She had checked in, just moments earlier, sounding oddly drained.

She very well may have used the side trip to take a long, hard look into the NEST. Which meant…

Which meant that she would have intimate knowledge of what was happening to those locked down there. She'd been quite literal when she had said that she needed to see it for herself. If that were the case, Ms. Wong might have been quite interested in observing the process.

Wesker couldn't begin to count the value, the sheer number of useful applications of having that information. Of having the means to access it.

Still, this was a risky mission. With Sergei's position unknown, detection remained a serious risk for Marigold. He had designed the route as a practice run to see if she would panic, and to see if she could cooperate out in the field; not for an all-out brawl.

At least, for the most part.

HCF had also begun to notice the increased operational efficacy that Wesker's work was bringing to the table. The carefully edited notes provided on Placidia seemed to make them just nervous enough to balk at at the prospect of attempting to control Placidia themselves. In spite of their nervousness, obscured behind bland corporate pleasantries, the board seemed to have elected a candidate amongst themselves to debrief the newest 'agent', nonetheless, once this debacle had been settled. Under heavily controlled conditions, of course. Depending on how the next few days play out, he might redeem himself with the organization and take the place he had originally been promised.

It was…convenient. Marigold had managed to tie herself into HCF's perception of the success of the entire viral recovery operation with about 10 minutes of impromptu negotiations.

Well, he'd known she was no shrinking violet, and she was a powerful ally, provided he could break her in to suit his needs. Lively as she was, he'd finally worked out the true purpose of her suppressants; her power came at a cost, and certain drives were massively heightened under specific circumstances. That meant that there was a control mechanism available, something more tangible than the power dynamic he had carefully cultivated between them.

The reaction to William's initial infection supported his theory in inverse. William, who had always been highly sensitive and poor at covering his tracks. High empathy, low social comprehension. The work had been everything to William, and the risks he had taken to keep control of it had been sloppy. Marcus's fragmented mind had almost overwhelmed her, and it had been a fragmented thing.

Golgotha was a different beast entirely. If she were to try something…but no. The timetable was too tight for her to get anywhere near the NEST, and even with the hour or so in the police station…she had said it had caused her pain to sit down the street from it. This safehouse, which had been the angle, all along…and it would play directly into the strategy for the next few days.

And the next few days would change everything. The package Ashford carried for her next checkpoint was the lynchpin to shifting Umbrella's recovery operation to Wesker's control. The target would be more than willing, if the price was right. Wesker's choice of messenger would be deeply informative of the dire straits Umbrella was about to be in.

Today was going to be a good day.

6:58 a.m.

The tiny parking lot was sandwiched between two older restaurant chains. Neither of them would open for several hours.

A single car sat out in the cool morning sun. Marigold had slowed to a light jog as soon as she had cleared the alley, slowing to a stop as soon as she saw it.

It had felt good to run outside again. She'd used to run out on the moors for hours just to bleed off her nervous energy. Over the last few months, she had ached for a proper trail under her feet.

Marigold had also nearly forgotten just how frail most people were in her hands. The terror in the eyes of those two mercenaries remained fresh. Miss Valentine, as determined as she was, had only really held back from trying to detain her further due to the show of force. Hopefully, she wouldn't try to follow.

The car in the lot flashed its lights once. Marigold took a deep breath, held it, and let it go. She strode towards the car, something grey and nondescript and still somehow astonishingly ugly, with a silver H on the grill. When she was three steps away from the passenger side, she heard the click of the locks disengaging. Everything's bloody automated, she grumbled, not particularly caring if Wesker heard her. That would keep being unnerving for at least a while longer. All of it would.

She reached for the door, sliding into the passenger seat. "Please tell me you brought coffee," she said without preamble.

The man in the driver's seat watched her settle in with detached amusement. He had a thin, hard face, with blond hair that was going grey fast. Marigold would have put his age in the early forties.

The mercenaries at Kijuju had had a similar look to them. They carried a watchful, casual affectation like a second skin. Marigold herself once did a similar thing as standard practice, slipping back into her brash socialite mask whenever eyes were upon her.

The man looked her over flatly, then rolled down his window - this one had a crank, and that was somehow immensely comforting - and tossed the half-full paper cup in his hand outside. He flicked his other hand toward the center console. "That one's yours. Hope you take it black." He studied her face. "Interesting choice they made, sending you here."

Marigold met his stare with a calm smile. That little tussle back in the alley had done her good, and watching mercenaries attempt to intimidate her was practically nostalgic. "I trust we have your attention then? We do understand how valuable your time is." The old executive cadence was a welcome mask to slip back into. Marigold reached into her bag and withdrew the letter that HCF had provided her with. "That's an account in your name, with thirty percent of today's fee just for making this meeting. Also a few…requests…for your time over the next few hours."

The mercenary took it carefully, and read over the short letter enclosed therein. He cracked a hard smile as he read, then re-read to make sure he'd understood the offer. Marigold helped herself to the remaining coffee. How long had it been since she'd had any?

The diner. The one down the street from the station. This city was going to suffer horribly very, very soon. But if she got caught in Raccoon City by Umbrella again, she would almost certainly be killed, captured, or worse. Wesker had all but promised it would happen should she try to run off. Given how the government was their primary buyer, going to the Family wasn't a good outcome either.

She'd told Jill the truth. She would have to see today through. "Do you have the availability for the next few hours?" Marigold Ashford asked. "I'm afraid the timeline is a bit tight."

Nikolai Zinoviev looked at the woman in the passenger seat of the shittiest rental he had been able to get his hands on and chuckled. "My team is still getting set up. We have a little time. And, yes," he waved the letter vaguely in her direction. "I think your people have divined the value of a few hours." He leered at her. "This is, how you say, a trust exercise, I think."

"A third for when I complete the pickup, and the rest when I'm delivered back to my driver." The woman - Placidia, from his orders from Umbrella to report on sight - was solemn. She looked too young for this sort of work; except, for the cold, cold look in her eye, and the flecks of drying blood on the knuckles of her gloves.

Ah, yes. If trouble arose (and according to his directives, trouble would arise), the woman would look after herself. They'd get on just fine.

Nikolai started the car. "Where are we headed, then?" If Umbrella was shutting down their crown jewel of a town, then they wouldn't be able to pay him much longer. The offer in the letter was sumptuous, to say the least. He'd see where this went.

After all, in Nikolai's experience, a payday this high to drive around Miss Daisy here was just a taster for what was waiting for him, out there in greener pastures.