September 30, 1998, 5:00 PM, Raccoon City
The ride back from the villa was wrapped in tense silence, the roar of motorcycles filling a void neither of them wished to face. Eddie dropped Yoko Suzuki near her small rented apartment, an anonymous place on an anonymous street. Before she stepped off, she handed him a small metallic device, heavy and cold to the touch. It wasn't just a simple drive. It was a digital parasite, a ghost rig designed to latch onto Umbrella's network backbone and drain it, one byte at a time.
"It's ready," Yoko said, her calm voice carrying a note of pride. "But I'll need to be at the terminal to guide it. It's too complex for remote activation."
"I know." Eddie took the device, its weight a promise of vengeance. "Be prepared."
He watched her enter the building, a solitary figure burdened with stolen memories. At that same moment, elsewhere in that doomed city, Ada Wong was vanishing into the shadows, a panther hunting for her next prey, her mission far from finished. She wouldn't give up. Not until she had what she came for.
---
September 30, 1998, 7:30 PM, Arklay Underground Laboratory
In a sanctuary of cold and silence, Ozwell E. Spencer stared at a holographic display. His skeletal fingers, like the talons of a raptor, traced slowly along the glowing lines of Eddie's research data. A faint hiss, the sound of his assisted breathing, was the only soundtrack to his contemplation.
The data was incomplete, bait. But even in its mutilated form, the brilliance was undeniable. An approach to cellular immortality that was at once brutal and elegant.
"Alex was right," Spencer murmured, his voice a dry whisper like dead leaves. "A rough diamond… but stained with Marcus's blood. A pity… a pity…" He shook his head, the motion barely perceptible in his wheelchair.
It had been his order. He had unleashed his two most loyal hounds, Wesker and William, against his old friend and mentor. If Eddie ever discovered the truth, loyalty would twist into hatred. And hatred was a variable Spencer could not afford.
"Do you want me to dispose of him?"
Sergei Vladimir's voice was a deep rumble that barely disturbed the air. He had appeared behind Spencer, silent as a block of granite materializing from nothing. He would not hesitate. If Spencer gave the word, Eddie Cai would become nothing more than another closed file.
"Not yet." Spencer waved a tired hand. "Let him work. A talent like that is too valuable to waste." Until he uncovers the truth, he thought, keep him alive.
His eyes shifted to another window on the screen. An incoming communication from the French branch. A thin, cruel smile curled his lips. Those arrogant Parisians, always eager to challenge his authority, to embarrass headquarters.
"They've sent their specimen," he said, a shadow of disdain in his voice. "A butcher, not a soldier. But I suppose even butchers have their use."
On-screen appeared the image of a massive cryogenic container being unloaded from a cargo plane. Beside it, a team of technicians in white suits, led by a stern-faced man whose codename was Grim Reaper. Inside the container, locked in a frozen sleep of drugs and ice, rested their masterpiece. A Tyrant clad in a black coat, his face a mask of scars and sutures. Project: Nemesis.
---
Arklay Underground Laboratory, William Birkin's Private Room
Annette had perfected the antidote. The formula was stable, effective. A small, bitter triumph in a collapsing world. Driven by an unease she couldn't define, she made her way to William's private quarters.
The place was a mausoleum of dust and abandonment. Clothes thrown over a chair, dirty dishes forgotten on a desk. William didn't live here anymore. He lived in his lab, a monk obsessed with his sacred genetic Grail.
Annette frowned, a wave of disgust and sorrow washing over her. As she moved to tidy up, an almost imperceptible reflection caught her eye. Behind a wardrobe, a wall panel was slightly misaligned. Curiosity urged her forward. She opened it. Inside was a small metal box. And within the box, a leather-bound diary.
She opened it. William's handwriting was frantic, almost fevered.
"April 1998. Spencer gave us the order. Albert and I. We were his blades in the shadows. To steal the research results of our mentor, Dr. Marcus."
"The old man suspected nothing. We killed him silently, then took everything. Every single page. His legacy is now ours."
The words struck her like a fist in the gut. The diary slipped from her fingers, thudding against the floor. Air fled her lungs. Her husband. The murderer of her friend's uncle. The man who had killed his own mentor. Inhuman.
A wave of nausea and guilt engulfed her. Eddie. His kindness. His trust. And she… she was the wife of the murderer. Whose side should she take? Her husband's, or her friend's? Confusion gripped her heart like an icy vise.
Da! Da! Da!
Footsteps in the corridor. Someone was coming.
Without thinking, driven by a new, sharpened instinct, Annette moved. She snatched up the diary, returned it to its place, closed the panel. With a leap that only yesterday would have been impossible, she caught the edge of a ventilation shaft three meters high and pulled herself inside, vanishing into darkness just as the door to the room swung open.