Epilogue: The Puppet Master
One Week After The Raccoon City Incident
5:30 PM
Umbrella Corporate Headquarters, Austria
Rain was falling in the city, shading the sky gray and cool as the tiny droplets played a rapid beat against the plate glass window of Jackson Cortlandt's office. Some would have found the storm's melody irritating but not Jackson. To him, the rain's music was soothing, the sound of each falling drop like a warm caress across the shoulders. He sighed with simple pleasure.
Jackson sat in his high-backed leather chair watching the storm and, in turn, gazing at his own reflection. The days of his youth were long gone, there was no denying that, and the figure in the glass was bowed, thin and left with but a few wisps of white hair atop his crown. The suit he wore was finely cut but did nothing to hide his skeletal frame or the bags beneath his eyes. Indeed, if one had observed Jackson walking amongst a crowd not a one would have suspected that he was the most powerful man on Earth.
They would look upon me and see a man incapable of crushing a nut and yet it is that same man who wiped a city off the planet.
True, it had not been he who had ordered the nuclear strike that turned Raccoon into a cloud of dust but it had been his virus that led to that ultimate conclusion. Yes, the release of Birkin's G-virus had been an accident but one that Jackson and the other Inner Circle members had capitalized on – turning disaster into opportunity. The Tyrant and God viruses would have needed to be tested on such a grand scale later anyway. The spill in Raccoon had merely been a blessing in disguise.
All we had hoped to accomplish was to take the G-virus back from Birkin, Jackson thought with a smile, and yet we did so much more. Not only did we retrieve William Birkin's masterpiece but we carried out the Raccoon Project as well. A plan fretted over for decades, finally complete – or as close as considering the failure of Watchdog – and, thanks to the government's panicked response, all traces of Umbrella's involvement were wiped clean in the blink of an eye.
Of course, the pie was even sweeter than that. Knowledge had been gained, more than anyone had ever dreamed of collecting in one project, but dangerous players had been removed from the game as well.
The bloated, perverse Chief of Police, Brian Irons, was undoubtedly dead, his corpse probably rotting in one of his private torture chambers long before the missile struck. The company would save a great deal now that they no longer need to dole out the cash for Irons' weekly kickback.
Mayor Warren had perished too his kind action also saving the corporation a fortune in bribe money. The man had been responsible for gaining Umbrella much of the clout it had in Raccoon and while Jackson regretted the loss of a skilled politician working for his cause, he was also aware that Warren's demise had been necessary. The mayor had been growing far too bold of late, his ambition lending him courage he would not normally have possessed and that made Warren a threat.
A man who seeks to rise above his master must be knocked back down to his rightful place, Jackson reminded himself. Besides, I knew Warren. The man was a coward. He probably ate a bullet once he realized no rescue was coming.
Best off all was the news that William Birkin and his snippy bitch Annette were dead along with the rest of their city. That duo had been a pair of wolves nipping at his heels for years and Jackson was more than relieved to learn that the good doctors would no longer be present to trouble him or the rest of the Inner Circle. The fact that he had their research as well only made the flavor of Jackson's vengeance savorier.
With your life's work, William, I will become immortal, youthful and whole for all time. When it can be stabilized that is. In the meantime, your research and that of the Ashford's will make me rich and that is almost as good as immortality.
Time, however, was Jackson Cortlandt's enemy. He was healthy enough for a man of seventy, cancer-free and in possession of a strong heart but nevertheless he was growing ancient. Each morning found another hair missing and the bags beneath his eyes sunken in a little deeper. Sooner or later he would expire and that notion terrified Jackson, revealing that despite all the wealth and power he had amassed as the CEO of Umbrella Incorporated he was still impotent against the hand of Death.
Not if the virus can be perfected though, he thought with feverish hope, not if it can be mastered and I am a master. I play my fiddle and the world's leaders dance. The T-virus is merely a puzzle in need of unlocking and I employ only the brightest of minds. I will discover its secrets yet and then there will be nothing left to fear. Nothing but Jackson Cortlandt that is.
When Jackson had first come to work for White Umbrella fifty years ago, an industrious but untested businessman, he had had no idea of what the Tyrant virus would be capable of. Never in his wildest fancies would he have imagined that the strain could have the potential to grant everlasting life! Nor would he have dreamed that they would ever come so close to tapping that potential for immortality.
But we have. All we need is a few more years to refine the research. Just another three or four.
We've already come so far. The T-variant is table, we've proved that but it's too short-term. If only we could prolong the effects…but that is where Birkin's work will shed some light. The God virus is the key we've been missing all these years.
"Mister Cortlandt?" The voice came over the intercom on his desk, disrupting the storm's soft song. It was a young voice, sweet and feminine though oddly tinged with unease. Jackson recognized it instantly.
"Yes, Amy," he said to his secretary, turning from the window to thumb down the speaker button on his phone. "What is it?"
"The…the three you asked to see you, sir," Amy replied hesitantly. "They're here now, Mister Cortlandt. They came together."
Together? Jackson thought, wrinkling his already creased brow. I was expecting them hours ago…and individually at that. Odd, that trio can hardly stand the sight of one another, why would they arrive together? No matter, a stern lesson in punctuality is all they need and with the information they're carrying I would forgive them almost anything.
"Send them in." Jackson said shortly. The door to his office cracked open then to admit two men and one woman.
The first man to enter was something of a legend among the B.O.N.E.S. teams. James Cooper, Special Agent Hunk, Mister Death – the only member of Umbrella Special Forces to be the sole survivor of every mission he was sent on. Everything about the man screamed military: his utilitarian crew cut, his grizzled, bearded face, the gray fatigues he wore, even his rigid posture.
Jackson knew Hunk's past well, knew just how lethal the man could be, the lengths he would go to to survive, and yet he had no fear of him. Hunk was a true soldier not a mere thug or mercenary like the rest of his comrades on B.O.N.E.S. and he was as dedicated to Umbrella's cause as any one of its researchers. Still, it was difficult to completely trust a man that was viewed as vulture his own teammates, someone who got off on dealing out death while escaping it himself.
A killer is what he is though and that is what they are trained to be. Besides, Hunk is loyal, we erased the details of his past and so he is now our deadliest hound. My very own ace in the hole.
Jackson felt less secure when his eyes settled on the woman behind Cooper though. Her beauty was unarming as was the red dress she wore, slit up one side to reveal a long, creamy leg. Her almond eyes were colored a deep brown and a hundred secrets danced beneath their surface. She smiled at the Umbrella director, flicking back strands of short, glossy hair.
Ada Wong…what do I make of you? You're a spy, a black widow, a lover who brings her partner to ecstasy then opens his throat with a knife. You're a vulture too, in love with death and addicted to danger.
Hunk's allegiances were all but written in stone – he owed Umbrella all he had – but not Miss Wong. She worked for the company now but was still a freelancer at heart. She would go where the money called loudest and be on the other side of the fence before you knew she was gone.
Ada was as much a mystery as the man who stood next to her decked out in an expensive black suit, tie and shoes polished to a gleaming finish. There was a superior smile smirk on his pale face, curling thin lips beneath a pair of Aviator shades. That smile knew too much for Jackson's comfort.
So, Jackson thought, folding his hands in his lap, the freak thinks he deserves some finery now does he? That's rich.
The words dripped with contempt but of the three it was Albert Wesker that made his pulse race. Wesker – or is it Smith now? You've been using that name since I ordered you revived as if it were a cloak for you to hide your dealings beneath. Why do you need to hide exactly, Wesker? What do you have left that could be kept hidden from me?
"Excellent work, Major Cooper," Jackson said to Hunk first, deciding to forego the lesson in punctuality. "I am pleased to see you safely returned to us and with the G-virus in tow no less. I was…saddened to hear about what happened to the rest of your team."
"Thank you, sir." Hunk replied plainly. "They knew the risks, sir."
"That they did." Jackson said softly. "Nonetheless, I will see you are well-rewarded for your efforts. With the retrieval of that sample you may have advanced our research by twenty years."
Hunk only nodded. He would have done the same had Jackson ranted, raved and berated him for hours. James Cooper was every inch the soldier. It was reassuring, Jackson thought, to know there was at least one person he could count on to follow their orders to the letter.
He turned his cold eyes to Ada and sneered. "You, Miss Wong, I am less pleased with." Jackson's tone was a hiss, the rattle of the serpent's tail before it bit. "We sent you in after losing contact with Major Cooper and yet you still failed in your task. Lucky for you the major was able to find his way out of that buzzard's feast after all or we would have squandered a very important opportunity." Placing his elbows on his desk, Jackson studied Ada Wong coldly over steepled fingers. "You failed to secure a sample of the G-virus so, tell me, what did you accomplish in Raccoon to earn your fee?"
If she was discomforted by the sight of Jackson pushed so close to rage – as she should have been – the woman gave no sign of it. Rather, she smiled sweetly.
"As you must know by now there were survivors of the Raccoon Incident." The spy spoke in tones as smooth and alluring as freshly spun silk. "One of those survivors was a police officer – Leon Kennedy. Trent has recently discovered that he escaped the city with Redfield's sister, Claire. I met him as well and I believe I made a certain…connection…with the man that could be of use in hunting down the rogue S.T.A.R.S."
Jackson said nothing, only scowled at the woman in open disgust. A spy…and a slut too by the way she speaks. How exactly did you make this "connection", I wonder. Did you sleep with the man in the middle of that bloody necropolis? I wouldn't be surprised in the least if you had, my dear, I have read your file after all. I know the lengths you'll go to so you can survive as well.
"How do you plan to use this…connection, Miss Wong?" Jackson asked roughly. "No one knows where this man – or the others that made it out with him – is. Yet. Your 'connection', as it stands, is worthless."
"I'll find him." Ada replied with solid confidence in her eyes. "I'll find him and when I do I'll make sure I'm very, very convincing in my interest to renew our friendship." She flashed a sultry smile.
Jackson snorted, reviled by the woman's lack of shame. I don't doubt you will be at that, Miss Wong. I almost pity the poor fool, you truly are a poisonous thing aren't you?
"Very well," he conceded at last, "feel free to use your ties to this young man to get whatever information you need in hunting down the rest of his friends. Pair yourself up with Agent Hunk, you'll be working together on this." So I know there's someone around to keep an eye on you. "Assemble a team – take whoever you need. I want this band of radicals found and snuffed out as soon as possible. Understood?"
The two nodded but that secretive, damnable smile never left Ada's lips. Jackson felt his unease with the woman growing. If she did turn out to be a threat he would have to call upon Cooper and take steps towards her permanent removal. It was a shame to lose a valuable gaming piece but sometimes there was no help for it.
"Wesker," Jackson said the name with equal parts admiration and suspicion as he turned to the man, "I hear your mission in Raccoon was a resounding success. The loss of Major Da Silva and his squad was regrettable but I'm sure we'll have no problem in find worthy replacements. Tell me, what were your findings on Puppet Master?"
"The project was a success." Wesker replied cold and stale. "It appears that the more advanced T-carriers are capable of excluding certain targets from their aggression. I witnessed both the Forest Keeper Hunter series as well as the Tyrant Devourer come into direct contact with Da Silva's men and bypass them completely. The research staff did an excellent job of programming the creatures to recognize and avoid B.O.N.E.S. personnel. They can be controlled, sir."
Jackson came close to smiling at that little tidbit. The main flaw with the Tyrant virus was that it made its host utterly unpredictable, the mutation bringing with it a beastial wildness. The carrier became lethal, fearless and nigh unstoppable but at the price of control. That much had been revealed after the debacle at the Spencer Mansion and the implications had been disastrous for Umbrella as a whole. No one would pay a penny for soldiers that were just as likely to tear their own ranks to pieces as those of the enemy.
Not now though, Jackson thought with a small grin. We've progressed by leaps and bounds since the Spencer affair. Puppet Master has shown that with proper genetic coding the carriers can be held on a leash of sorts. They have gone from mindless animals to focused killers, living weapons.
We will have to start the bidding in the billions when we finally put the T-virus on the mark – and G as well. How much would man pay to be invulnerable?
"The recovery of the T-variant will help Puppet Master as well," Wesker continued, "at least in human subjects the mutation will be more controlled." He flashed a grim smile. "I'm living proof of that much."
Jackson could only nod for it was the simple truth. Wesker was more than just proof though he was a proto-type. The first and only host of the T-variant strain, what the project staff was calling Genesis for it had begun a man's existence once more.
Genesis had still been in its experimental stage when an Umbrella clean-up team that was surveying what was left of the Spencer grounds had recovered the body of Albert Wesker. No one had truly expected the strain to work but the project needed a test subject and who better to fit the bill than a man the rest of the world considered dead and gone? The results of that experiment, first started as some low-level virologist's hypothesis, had been remarkable. A modern day phenomenon.
Not only had Genesis restored Wesker to life, it had – advanced him, improving upon billions of years of evolution in moments: he became faster, stronger and more agile than man could ever even hope to be! There were some side-effects, of course, leaving Wesker somewhat more monstrous than he had been – and not just the strange coloring of his eyes either, the man was as frigid as an ice-storm now and twice as calculating as he had ever been – but it was a small price to pay for all the benefits gained. No, Wesker was not less human really he was better than human.
He is proof of more than just the potential of what the T-variant can do as well. He is proof that science can undo the hand of God.
Nevertheless, Jackson did not trust the man as far as he could throw him. Albert Wesker was a man of cunning; a creature of plots and such a creature did not garner trust. Jackson was even more wary of the man now that Genesis had become such a troubled project. Shortly after Wesker's resurrection someone had smuggled the only other sample of Genesis out of the lab, requiring additional samples to be replicated at the facility in Raccoon and the outbreak had complicated the matter of its transfer.
Surely the theft had to be an inside job but Jackson's list of suspects was small. Only the development team had access to Genesis – barely twenty men and women – and the whole thing smelled of Wesker's hand somehow. If anyone could make something vanish without a trace, Jackson would stake his money on Albert Wesker.
Why though, that's the question. No matter, we'll find the party responsible in time. I'll speak with Trent about it, he's helped route out traitors in the past.
"Excellent work," Jackson said to Wesker, "I trust you've turnover the sample along with the Puppet Master data to the appropriate divisions."
"Actually, sir," Wesker replied, his smile showing all-white teeth, "I haven't."
"You haven't?" Jackson snarled, feeling his hackles rise. What new game of yours is this? "May I ask why?"
"You may." Wesker nodded after a moment and Jackson glared at him. As if he needed the…the…mutant's permission! "You see, Jackson, the nature of our business relationship has changed. Mostly thanks to your own personal senility and for that I suppose I should thank you."
"MY SENILITY?" Jackson boomed, slamming his fists down atop his desk. "How dare you!" His voice was so loud it grated his throat raw. "What is the meaning of this insolence, Wesker? Who the hell do you think you are?" Jackson began to pant, his lined face burning with high color.
"I think I'm the man holding all the cards," Wesker said plainly, no longer smiling, "and you're the man who put them in my hand."
Jackson bounded to his feet, fingers curled into fists. "Stop babbling!" He roared. "Explain yourself at once!"
"You underestimated me, Jack," Wesker said, taking a step forward, "or perhaps you underestimated all of your pets running around Raccoon. You knew what they were capable of but even you didn't expect them to be that lethal – not against B.O.N.E.S. soldiers at least."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Jackson spat.
A chill began to creep into the old man's blood as Wesker neared. Albert had never dared defy him like this before, not so bluntly. Something was wrong here. Hunk and Ada spread out, boxing him in behind his desk. Something was definitely wrong.
"Don't I?" An eyebrow crept up over the ridge of one tinted lens. "I know that Watchdog was supposed to be carried out by U.B.C.S. supervisors yet you planted Owens in Rico's squad to collect the same data. Why?
"I think it's because you knew a bunch of unwashed soldiers of fortune would be no match for your playthings but not a tried and true mole like Scott Owens, a real pro. He was the trick up your sleeve, wasn't he Jack? He'd bring you the report on Watchdog, I'd deliver the write-up on Puppet Master and Rico would drop the sample right into your hot little hand. That way, all the goodies would be spread out, keeps them from being de-centralized and allowing certain people to get ideas about…extortion into their heads."
"That's nonsense." Jackson growled though the lie sounded weak on his lips. "They were expendable, all of them. That's all they were."
Wesker laughed. "No, Jack, I don't think so. You see, I've been listening in on your board meetings with the rest of your – what's the name for your cute little cabal again? Oh, yes, the Inner Circle. I found out something interesting. You were actually against sending in the U.B.C.S. to handle Watchdog, didn't think a few squads of rapists and murderers would last long enough against pure-bred Umbrella monsters." Wesker's grin was malicious. "You wanted to square those beasts off against the cream of the crop, elites – Army Rangers."
Jackson staggered, feeling suddenly faint. His chair clattered to the ground as he backed up into it. How did Wesker know? There were only four members on all of the Inner Circle and none would have been so foolish as to trust this monster with its secrets. How much does he know? How much?
"Unfortunately for you," Wesker went on, "the rest of those geezers shouted you down. The U.B.C.S. still went in but that didn't stop an old cat like you. You pulled some strings, planted that mole, called up your buddies at the Department of Defense and what do you know? The Army Rangers are heading in instead of the National Guard! Sure, I bet Sidney and the others were suspicious of the government re-action but there's no way they could pin anything on you. Once again, Jackson Cortlandt walks away smelling like a rose."
"How…How do you know this?" Jackson's voice was a deathly whisper.
"Indirectly." Wesker answered simply, taking a seat on the edge of Jackson's desk. "None of your pals are dumb enough to share anything with me – being the second class citizen that I am but your friend…I think his names is Gables, well, he was a soft spot for pretty girls – especially ones that are willing to crawl beneath the sheets with him – and he likes to talk about all kinds of things after riding those poor girls. Even matters he should keep private. Right, Miss Wong?"
Ada smiled softly, nodding. "He was quite forthcoming. All I had to do was ask."
"Don't be too hard on him, Jack." Wesker said. "You'd have told her the first time you had a dirty dream if you had been the recipient of her charms too. Especially if you were as fat and bald as Gables."
"This means nothing!" Jackson snarled at Wesker though his eyes were fixed to the whore. She had become Eve to him, the destroyer of Paradise. "All the U.B.C.S. personnel died in Raccoon. Da Silva died in Raccoon. Owens died in Raccoon. They're all dead. Dead, dead, dead! Watchdog failed."
"Ah, a dangerous assumption," Wesker murmured, "especially considering this."
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and slapped a heavy black object down in front of the Umbrella director. It was a mini-computer, the small screen glowing and filled with text, the heading read: Concerning Operation Watchdog. Jackson could almost hear the blood draining from his face.
"You have it," he mumbled, disbelieving, "you have it all."
"That's right." Wesker nodded. "All of Owens' findings are on that little beauty." He snatched the device back. "As for the variant sample, I've stored it somewhere safe and the G-virus too – though in a separate location. Of course, with Owens dead I'm the only one with the Watchdog information, oh, and let's not forget the technical data for Puppet Master as well."
"This doesn't mean anything," Jackson glowered defiantly. "I can take it all from you – you and your slut there. I don't know what you have planned but you don't know who you're trying to screw with this time. I've buried everyone who's ever come after me before! You think this is the first I've ever been extorted before? Oh no, not the first but those that have tried it before have all been dropped to the bottoms of very deep rivers in many small pieces! I have resources and contacts you can't even imagine! I – "
"I had hoped it wouldn't have to come to this." Wesker sighed. "Sadly, you've proved to be just as stubborn as always. Agent Hunk, if you would be so kind?"
Faster than the eye could follow, Cooper drew a silenced pistol from the back of his waistband and pulled the trigger. Glass shattered behind Jackson as the bullet hit the pane dead center, the crash making the old man jump. A thousand shards of broken glass tumbled down forty stories, glimmering in the starlight like snowflakes.
"Wha – " was all Jackson managed before Wesker seized his neck in one hand, fingers digging into his windpipe without mercy. Coughing and choking, Jackson clawed uselessly at his wrist.
Lifting Jackson out of his seat as if he were a child, Wesker began to drag him back. The Umbrella head scratched and kicked and squealed but it did him no good. He was inevitably pulled backward to the dark chasm where his window had once rested.
Foolish old man! His mind screamed at him. You thought you could trust Cooper and look where it's gotten you now! Trust and you leave your back open for the dagger. Trust is just another name for death.
Death, Jackson had feared it every waking moment of his life but never before did he think it would happen so abruptly, so violently. He had always thought of death as a sneak, an assassin that would emerge from the shadows of old age and claim him. Now he saw that death was a rabid beast, ready to bite the flow of a man's life in two at any moment.
There was fear in the Umbrella director as Wesker dragged his dangling feet across the floor but underlying it was a sense of supreme irony. He would die now, dashed to bits on the pavement below, when eternal life was so close at hand. He had the God virus within reach. It was not fair. They could not do this to him!
Stop, he willed Wesker silently as he tried to speak but could manage only a gurgle, stop. I was supposed to be immortal. Stop!
Jackson's eyes were wide and pleading but Wesker paid the man no heed as he thrust them out over the edge. Rain pelted the director, each droplet a stinging slap to the face. Empty air reached out below Jackson, the darkness below seeming empty and infinite. If he fell, he would fall forever. Behind Wesker, Ada and Hunk watched with cool, implacable faces.
"You see, Jack," Wesker said not flinching an inch as Jackson clutched at his wrist, digging in his fingers, "we don't need you. I could just as easily hand over the samples and information to Sidney or Reston or even Ada's good friend Gables but, well, you do a pretty decent job of running this ship and my stance is that if it's not broken don't fix it. Now, I'm willing to propose a deal and I hope our current…situation shows you how serious I am."
"I made you," Jackson choked out through Wesker's crushing grip. "I can destroy you again."
The fingers around his throat began to slacken. "Oops," Wesker grunted, "seems all this rain is making my hands slippery. If you insist on wasting all this time making idle threats my arm just might give out. You're pretty heavy for an old guy, Jack."
Jackson wanted to howl. He was Jackson Cortlandt, CEO of Umbrella Incorporated, a man whose ill temper made the leaders of the world quail – and now he was nothing more than a helpless old man being dangled out a window and mocked by the very monster he had created.
"Alright!" He gasped after a moment. "Alright. What is it that you all want from me?"
"A chance to retire, sir." Hunk said, appearing at Wesker's side. His eyes were strangely sad, a bizarre look to see on the face of a man who had spent the better part of his life guarding his emotions behind a mask of stone. "I want a chance to hang up my gun and walk away. I want to disappear, sir, to start clean."
Traitor, Jackson glare at the man, all you deserve is a quick death – let that show you my generosity!
"My goals and those of Miss Wong are not so simple as those of Major Cooper," Wesker said, "but they are no less related and require the assistance of a man of your station. Now, you can either help us and if you do I assure you that the research on the G-virus will go forward and you will outlive the stars, or," his grip loosened, "your blood can decorate the parking lot below. It's up to you, Jack."
What choice do I have? Jackson wondered as he dangled there, suspended over a pit of doom. I should have let him die – I should have had them all killed but it's too late now. He wants my power, my influence…everything…and I'll give it to him. Oh yes, I will. Anything to survive, anything! I was supposed to be immortal!
"Anything you want," Jackson wanted in a rush, "it's yours. It's yours."
"Good boy, Jack." There was no humor in Wesker's smile as he hauled the director inside and tossed him casually into his chair.
Jackson could do nothing but stare ahead mutely. In an instant he had surrendered all he was to a madman, to a conspiring monster, all to eek out a few more years of life. The most powerful man on Earth now sat powerless, a frightened, impotent old man too horrified to even sit up straight. The king had been dethroned and a Lord of Insanity now ruled.
The puppet master, Jackson realized with cold dread, now finds himself a puppet and learns that his strings have been clipped and he lays helpless.
Wesker's haunting laughter echoed in his skull.
Author's Note: At last, the conclusion! I'd like to express my endless thanks for all the fans of this story who inspired me to keep on trucking each and every chapter. Your feedback is what keeps me going so please give it here as well. To all my Readers, I hope you've enjoyed this work and please know that the story doesn't end here. I'm conflicted about what to write next though, I have ideas for a sequel which will bring Zeke, Pierce and Eddie back into the picture but I also have plans for another Raccoon outbreak fic, taking place at the same time as this one and featuring a new original cast with some cameos by the characters of this. Let me leave it up to you, my Readers. Which one would you like to see more? Do you want Zeke and his crew back or would you rather see a new adventure? Let me know. Read, enjoy and most of all, review!