Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Resident Evil, and so on, so forth.
Author's Note: I don't know if anyone else tried to do something along these lines, but I'm gonna give it a shot. Please read and review.
The sleek ebony helicopter moved shakily through the violent Antarctic winds, yet by looking upon the faces of the inhabitants of the mode of transport, one would presume it was a relatively peaceful flight. Five men altogether, excluding the pilot; all strong and dressed similarly in black combat uniforms, including a radio and M93R handgun. However, one man stood out against the rest; a man of cropped golden hair, and red eyes covered with thin, black sunglasses. His manner was fitting for one used to the field of combat; and indeed, Albert Wesker had years of training of both the physical and mental kind. He had lead Raccoon City's S.T.A.R.S. into danger of a fatal sort many times, and had danced on Death's borderline in a more impressive fashion when he betrayed Umbrella to meet his own ends.
'Well, let the ends justify the means,' Wesker thought to himself, feeling arrogant pity rather than guilt. If anyone can understand this better, it's the men behind Umbrella; the ones who dispose of anyone and anything to keep themselves on high. Ever since the whole Alexia incident, reports came flooding in of the power of the T-Veronica Virus, and drool began to fall and eyes glaze as viral companies internationally craved sole power over it. But this was Wesker's chance to really play the political game; he went to Antarctica once already, intent on taking that bitch Alexia with him to extract the virus from her body. But she was smarter than he thought she'd be.
'Stronger, too…' The thought crossed his mind as Wesker ran one gloved hand over his cheek, the bruise of Alexia's back hand attack still lingering. He was lucky to escape the base at all; especially with Chris and his brat sister playing with the computers, causing the entire base to blow up. One of his men managed to retrieve the kid, Steve Burnside, but his body died under heavy examination, and didn't produce a suitable virus for examination.
'So, now I'm back in this Hell hole.' Wesker gritted his teeth as he let his head fall back against the metal wall, thinking that this trip would be useless, but it had to be done. Alexia's body was the last place to look, her body the resting place of the most powerful virus yet. But she was destroyed in the blast and by that bastard Chris, but there was always hope that something was left of her. Anything.
Wesker wanted to come here alone, but he couldn't search alone; he needed good, strong men. Looking around, Wesker already knew that some of them had other plans in mind; they knew the game they were playing and the wealth there was for the taking. Yet they thought Wesker was oblivious to their plans. Fools; Wesker already decided to kill each and every one of them before returning home, including the pilot. He would fly to his own domain with whatever he found and offer it to the highest bidder; no strings attached.
Suddenly, the helicopter lurched downward, causing a series of gutter curses, and relieved laughing. It was the first man-made noise to break the silence in hours; since takeoff. And now, once again, words were resurfacing as the helicopter landed with a good thump on the icy terrain. But this wasn't the time for conversation. It wasn't part of the plan. They had to get in and out of there as fast as possible, aware for any surviving virus carriers still stumbling about.
Turning around in his seat, the pilot offered the five men a smirk. "Welcome home, boys." Clasping a lever on his control panel, the helicopter doors slide open, revealing the ruins of a metallic base, beginning to show signs of a blanket of ice and snow. Wesker didn't acknowledge the pilot, or any of them, in fact. This was purely business. His business. Standing up, he checked the chamber of his handgun once more just for good measure. Finally looking up at one of the men closest to the door, a smooth talking Puerto Rican by the name of Maize, Phillip Maize, Wesker nodded for him to get his ass out the door.
'Just for safety measure; don't want any more backstabbers.' One by one, he filed the men out, leaving the pilot with a last few words merely consisting of something along the lines of: "Keep your ass here or I'll hunt you down." Though, it can't be assured that what he really said was that polite…
Jumping out of the helicopter, Wesker felt the cool wind slapping itself violently across his face and body. They needed to find shelter; they needed to get in the damn base. The sooner in, the sooner out. Preparing his handgun for any unexpected visitors, Wesker spoke quickly to the five men before him: blond locked pretty boy Thomas McGuire, Phillip Maize, German/English mercenary Wilhelm Black, brown hair-blue eyed Edward Cage, and finally, an energetic Scotsman that merely went by 'Will.'
"I'm splitting us up into three teams; two men to a team. You each have your maps and radios; we'll keep in touch should we see anything. Maize, Cage, you two take to the floors on the east side of the base and outdoors gate; Black, Will, I'm leaving you to the Spencer Mansion replica and the areas surrounding it. McGuire," Wesker quickly eyed the young kid, purposely choosing him as his partner because he was a big enough pansy to go down quickly. No threat there. "We'll check the airport and transport wings."
All five men nodded and went off to their own tasks. McGuire approached Wesker, fingering his handgun.
"Ready to go, Boss?" The young kid was eager; he wasn't on this mission to betray him, only to get a bit of name for himself. Well, he should have known better than to play with fire. Wesker didn't acknowledge his comment with a response because that would only encourage the kid to talk even more. Walking past him, Wesker headed to the remains of the base, knowing that this mission would only be a failure. No one could survive this mess. He heard McGuire follow, keeping silent verbally as Wesker hoped he would. They walked in silence for a few moments before coming upon a single door marked: Employees Only. Jingling the handle, the former S.T.A.R.S. leader found it to be inoperative; pushing against the door, it barely budged.
"Uh, Boss, the map here says that this isn't the best root to-"
"I hired you to help me find Alexia, McGuire, not to give your damn input." Wesker hissed; he knew this base inside and out; the controls and secret passageways. Smashing his shoulder against the door, it finally creaked open, flinging into the left wall with a loud 'crack.' Holding up his hand gun, Wesker strained to listen for any movement.
"Boss-"
"Quiet!"
A scrapping noise; like nails on a chalkboard…or metallic floor. Slowly stepping into the room, Wesker dragged McGuire in behind him, before closing the door to block out the sound of the wind. Both men pulled out their flashlights instinctively, especially now that the scrapping sound was more striking to the ear, no longer drowned out by wind and snow storms. Before them lay a darkened hall way, no longer in the condition it was meant to be. Lights and fire extinguishers were scattered all over the ground; broken glass and bullet holes.
Wesker could practically smell the fear of McGuire; the poor kid obviously didn't expect to actually find anything alive. He didn't really know the horror behind Umbrella; not yet, anyway. Wesker's viral senses were sharpened and he could practically smell what approached. A Hunter. Yet it was wounded, but it knew they were there, and it was coming.