Resident Evil : Bloodlust

Prologue

The destruction of the wretched Illuminados' military facility was beautiful, not that it quite compared to that of their ridiculous rural hometown's demise. Both the village and the stone castle were razed, the last remaining residents dying dumbly beneath it. Did they think they could save it? Of course, as long as their leader still existed...but Saddler was already dead. That meant it was working.

A smile came upon the face of the enigmatic man, a sickly smile that insinuated thrill, satisfaction, and wonder at the thought of it all. And in spite of all the mishaps and events of the past, the strands of sanity still ran strongly and smoothly. But he was also aware that the wondrous potion, for lack of better terms, gave him a somewhat more violent and sadistic behavior. No worries there, it suited him. Nonetheless, he was still pretty much in control, as always.

He ran a black gloved hand through his short blond hair, not a single gray, he noticed, gazing at the broken shards of glass on the ground. His experiments got him just far enough, but...new things were coming up, additions to his many, many plans. HCF had done him well, even though it appeared more like they needed him. They did sort of fund him. However, time to reminisce was running short; it seemed that his guinea pigs were arriving, just where they should. And it seemed even HCF was invited, too. It was hilarious; they funded their own doom. In the long run, though, he'd need loyal recruits...and test animals, for the most climactic moment of his schemes.

Wesker darted for his office, maintaining his poker face; as far as his progress portrayed, he was still a rotten HCF employee...and to those working for him in the shadows, the lost ones, he was the one who'd raise Umbrella atop of a new foundation, to regain its former glory. All fools...if they could only see, only know that the truly strong do not need anyone. Indeed, they use them.

Chapter 1

Shawn-

I'm happy to know that you are as active as always. Shawn, I've heard that you are soon going all the way to Europe on your next mission. I was kind of hoping we could meet again before then, but I guess I will have to just wait.

I want to get something off my chest, particularly about us. Ever since you came back from that one job two years ago, you haven't been quite the same. When I finally got to see you, I noticed a kind of look on you, as if everything ceased to interest you. Is it something I did or said? Not that I'm mad or anything, but I thought that you'd be happier to see me and all.

Maybe it's none of my business. But if you need someone to talk to, about anything at all, your job, your problems, I'll always be right here waiting. Please come back safe.

Love Always,

Constance

The train hummed lightly, sparing Shawn the silence he needed. After reading the letter, he glanced out his window. There was a majestic view; mountains, valleys, rivers. He was finally there. After flying to a U.S. embassy in France, he rendezvoused and departed to a village in Romania via train. The trip seemed tedious, but to Shawn traveling was enjoyable. However, this was no vacation. Shawn knew that what he was tasked to do was of utmost importance. Sure the sightseeing was fun and sure he wanted to go home already. However, once he'd arrive at the small base, he'd be "James Bond" again. There, he would be briefed on his exact objectives.

Shawn's thoughts drifted back to Constance's letter again. Things have been different after that incident. Never had he imagined things could get so grim. The recent "cannibal" attacks scattered at random spots out in the mid-west, those dead people, the moans...

BUMP-

The train jumped slightly, waking him from his horrifying reverie of an operation gone awry.

"Enough of that. That's all over now." He thought about her and his loved ones. Could the same happen to them? Would they be...

He shook off that thought, too. Thinking negatively wouldn't keep his girlfriend and family out of harm's way now would it? He took a deep breath and got up. Dressed in ordinary civilian clothing, a gray sweater and some jeans, he blended pretty well among the other passengers. The only difference was the pain-in-the-ass briefcase he had to lug. Stuffing the letter into his pocket, he brushed his dark hair away from his eyes. He had to keep reminding himself that once at the base, he wouldn't be Shawn Brown anymore.

He glanced at the mirror hanging on the wall of his compartment. His twenty-six-year-old face looked frail and weathered. His brown eyes appeared sullen, his chiseled features adding to his glum aspect. He was generally a well-built, average man in person, having a balanced personality. When with friends, he was funny, witty, caring, and daring. Somehow, he changed into a person who was quiet, depressed, and sometimes cold. It would take time to repair himself so that he could enjoy life again.

The train came to a halt. At that moment, Shawn grabbed his things and attempted to open the door, a "how to speak Romanian" book held in his mouth. He stepped out of his room and got off the ramshackle box they called a train. For a second he wondered how one of America's top agents ended up riding this thing, but then just mentally shrugged.

The mission was carried out by the President himself. As a matter of fact, another renowned agent was just recently sent somewhere near Europe to rescue Mr. President's daughter, Ashley, who was kidnaped just a little while ago. When the agent reported back to HQ, he was just leaving some nearby island with the girl safe and sound. Now, according to him, some man named Albert Wesker was behind the kidnaping. It was Shawn's job, among others, to intercept his path based on some unknown, yet supposedly reliable source.

Shawn's thoughts trailed off as a smiling man approached him. Feeling rather ambitious, Shawn took the book from his mouth and flipped through some pages. What he meant to say was "Good morning, how are you?" From the way the man raised his eyebrow in confusion, he assumed he may have said something a little off.

"Maybe I should just play mute for a while . . . " Shawn thought to himself.

He grabbed hold of his things again; he had to wait for a man named Randolph. He sat on the nearest bench, rubbing his hands together. The frigid air of the Transylvania Alps sent chills all over him, yet the pleasant view made it all worthwhile. Someone then just blocked his view. It was that foreign man again.

A second time, Shawn grabbed his book, hesitated, and wondered what he had told him the first time.

"Geez, I hope I didn't give the guy the wrong idea . . . "

"You can put that book away, Shawn," said the man with a strong accent. "I know why you are here, so let's get right down to business."

"...Randolph, huh?" he thought.

"'Where should I stay?'" Shawn asked him, a code given to him by his superior. Surely enough, the man replied with the correct response.

"'Well, at the Owl's Inn, of course.'"

"So, where do I stay, Randolph?" Shawn asked, grinning slightly.

"Right this way Mr. Brown," signaled Randolph with equal the grin. He helped him with the luggage and they started for a car. After throwing the stuff in the trunk, they got in and headed east.

"Uh, isn't the rendezvous point north of here?" questioned Shawn quizzically.

"Sure," responded Randolph, who at this time was already driving. "However, if I were to do that, we'd be running smack into a rather enormous mountain range. You should study Romania's geography more, outsider."

"Oh, right, I just forgot."

Randolph glanced at Shawn through his rearview mirror.

"So, have you heard the rumors?" he asked.

"...What rumors?"

"There's been a number of murders recently up in the Alps. It began happening ever since your president ordered this operation. They said the victims were sucked dry of their blood, not a single drop in them."

"And what would you know about this 'operation' anyway?" inquired Shawn with curiosity.

"Don't be so suspicious of me, Mr. Brown. I just overheard some of your people speaking about it. Nothing big. Besides, the mere fact that I've been sent to escort a U.S. agent through the region is probably enough to convince me of that."

"So, I should be careful of vampires is what you are saying. I'll keep that in mind, Randolph." The Romanian man smirked, his face and long brown hair the only things visible on him. And even then, Shawn never took a good look at his eyes, being as he wore what looked almost like a large top hat.

"Mr. Brown, you humor me with your smart talk. You know vampires are only legend...don't you?"

"I wouldn't count on that," replied Shawn with a more somber expression.

"? You mean to tell me you believe in the paranormal?"

"I have seen plenty to say that a few vampires may not be too far-fetched."

"Well, Mr. Brown, I'll be sure to keep that in mind," mocked Randolph.

After a half-hour drive, they reached a secluded area filled with strange looking weeds, lots of mud everywhere, and a bigger view of the mountains in the background. With an unsettling feeling deep in his gut, Shawn left the car and took his briefcases. Randolph then called him over.

"Listen, there's an inn down in town called Red Horizon. That's where you're staying. Just continue following the trail up ahead and you should get there. Blavoc is a peaceful spot, so you should be able to relax there easily. Oh, and be careful, about those cultists, too."

"Don't worry," Shawn said with a clever look on his face. "I always bring garlic and holy water in my briefcases."

"Smart-ass Americans..."