Location: The Richard Estate, Scottish Highlands
Date: August 11, 2017
Time: 11:29 GMT
The walk back to the estate was quiet, but the silence was no longer heavy with judgment. It was the silence of mending.
As Alen and Father Julian Fraser stepped through the heavy oak doors and into the Great Hall, the warmth of the hearth hit them. Isabella was kneeling on the rug, playing a quiet game with Ruby. Mrs. Xing was speaking in low, respectful tones with Amalia near the fireplace.
When Amalia saw them enter—saw the old priest walking beside her grandson—the lines of worry etched into her face seemed to smooth out. She smiled, a genuine expression of relief that took ten years off her age.
"I see you've spoken," Amalia said softly as they approached. She looked at Alen, her blue eyes shimmering. "I am sorry for hiding the truth about Julian, Alen. And for everything else. Fear makes liars of the best of us."
Isabella stood up and walked to him. She didn't care about his cold demeanor earlier; she saw the exhaustion in his posture. She took his hands in hers.
"I'm sorry too," Isabella whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I kept secrets because I thought I was protecting you. We all just... we want you to survive, Alen."
Alen looked at them—his grandmother, his wife, his new grandfather, and the child he had sworn to protect. The anger that had fueled him in the library evaporated, leaving only a bone-deep weariness.
He looked at Julian, who gave him a subtle, encouraging nod.
"Don't worry," Alen said, his voice raspy. He squeezed Isabella's hands. "I forgive you. All of you. And... I'm sorry for what happened earlier. For the threats. For the rage."
"Hush now, dear," Amalia waved a hand. "You are home. That is all that matters."
Alen forced a smile. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell them he was ready to start the real work.
Thump.
His heart didn't beat; it exploded against his ribs.
The world tilted violently on its axis. The smile slid off Alen's face as his knees buckled.
"Alen!" Isabella screamed.
He hit the floor hard. The impact jarred his system, and the A-Virus, which had been lurking in the shadows of his DNA, launched a catastrophic counter-attack.
"Gah!" Alen arched his back, a guttural sound of agony tearing from his throat.
The transformation was immediate and horrifying. The necrotic black veins, usually hidden or faint, surged to the surface of his skin with terrifying speed. They snaked up from his chest, wrapping around his throat and pulsing across his left cheek like living ink.
He rolled onto his side, coughing violently.
Splat.
A spray of dark, viscous blood hit the flagstones. It wasn't red; it was almost black, smelling of ozone and rot.
"Get back!" Julian roared, his priest persona vanishing, replaced by the virologist. "Don't touch the blood!"
Amalia and Julian rushed forward, kneeling beside the thrashing man. Julian ripped the hoodie open. Alen's chest was a map of agony, the veins pulsing in a frantic, deadly rhythm.
"This is not good," Julian hissed, pressing his fingers to Alen's carotid artery. "His heart rate is over two hundred. He suppressed the virus for too long with sheer will. Now that he's relaxed, the aftershock is killing him."
"We have to take him to the lab," Amalia commanded, her voice steel. "Now!"
"Margaret! Thomas!" Julian shouted for the estate staff. "Get the stretcher! Bring this man to the church undercroft immediately!"
Two burly groundskeepers rushed in. They lifted Alen's convulsing body. He was burning up, his skin radiating heat like a furnace. His eyes rolled back in his head, the whites consumed by hemorrhaging capillaries.
The Undercroft
Location: The Underground Laboratory, Beneath the Church
Time: 12:45 GMT
The cryo-chamber hummed with a low, menacing vibration.
Alen lay inside the glass coffin, stripped to his waist, hooked up to a dozen monitors. Every machine was screaming red.
Julian Fraser and Amalia stood by the main console, staring at the biometrics in horror. It had been an hour, and they had barely stabilized him.
"Look at this," Julian pointed to the microscope feed on the main screen. "This shouldn't be possible."
"I see it," Amalia whispered, adjusting her glasses. "The viral load... it's catastrophic."
"It's not just the A-Virus," Julian explained, his voice trembling with scientific fascination and grandfatherly fear. "His blood... it contains active traces of the Progenitor Virus. But it's a symbiotic relationship. His cells are directing the virus, not the other way around."
He pulled up another chart.
"And look here. RNA fragments of T-Phobos. Antibodies for the C-Virus. He has been infected with the deadliest pathogens known to man, Amalia. He survived them all. But the A-Virus is different. It attacks the cellular structure directly. His regeneration is fighting it, but it's an endless loop. He's healing and dying at the same time. His organs will fail within twenty-four hours."
"We can make a vaccine," Amalia said desperately. "We have the equipment."
"We have the equipment, but we don't have the data," Julian countered, slamming his hand on the desk. "I need to know how the A-Virus interacts with a host of this caliber. If we guess wrong, the vaccine will act as a catalyst and turn him into a Tyrant."
He took a deep breath.
"We need her. My former student."
"Rebecca Chambers," Amalia finished. "She was infected during the New York outbreak. She developed the 'Daylight' vaccine prototype. She understands the A-Virus better than anyone alive."
"But we can't contact her," Julian shook his head. "After what Glenn Arias did to her, the BSAA has her under lock and key. Chris Redfield watches her like a hawk."
"I heard Ada can find anyone," Amalia murmured.
"You called?"
The voice came from the shadows of the ventilation alcove.
Ada Wong stepped into the sterile light. She looked immaculate, despite the chaos of the morning.
"Hello, Miss Amalia. Padre," Ada nodded coolly. "Isabella sent me a message. 'Code Red.'"
She walked past them to the glass wall of the isolation room. She looked down at Alen. The black veins made him look like a piece of cracked porcelain.
Ada's eyes widened imperceptibly. She had seen Leon infected with Plaga. She had seen Derek Simmons mutate into a fly-monster. But this... the sheer violence of the struggle inside Alen's body was terrifying.
"This is worse than I thought," Ada admitted softly. "He's fighting a war in there."
"Can you get to Rebecca Chambers?" Amalia asked, grabbing Ada's arm. "We need her expertise. We need her vaccine data."
"I know where she is," Ada checked her watch. "Chicago. The Alexander Institute. But I have to move fast."
"Take this," Julian handed her a sealed, reinforced vial of Alen's blood and a tablet containing his biometric scans. "Do not tell her who he is. Do not mention Wesker. Just tell her... tell her he is a survivor."
"Don't worry, Father," Ada tucked the vial into her tactical vest. "I know how to keep a secret."
She turned, her grappling hook gun clicking into her hand. "Keep him alive until I get back."
The Consultant
Location: Alexander Institute of Biotechnology, Chicago, Illinois
Date: August 11, 2017
Time: 18:00 CST (Central Standard Time)
Professor Rebecca Chambers was tired.
The lab was quiet, the only sound the hum of the centrifuges and the scratching of her pen. Since the New York incident, she had buried herself in work. It was easier to deal with molecules than memories.
She paused, sensing a shift in the air pressure.
"I know you're there, Ada," Rebecca said without looking up from her microscope. "You don't need to hide in the shadows. The BSAA patrol passed three minutes ago."
Ada stepped out from behind a row of server banks. "Sharp as always, Professor."
Rebecca swiveled her chair. She looked older, wiser, but still had the same kind eyes. "What do you want, Ada? Is Leon in trouble again?"
"Not Leon," Ada placed the silver briefcase on the table. "A friend. He needs help."
Rebecca looked at the case, then at Ada. She saw the rare urgency in the spy's posture.
"What kind of help?"
"Look for yourself."
Ada opened the case. Inside was the vial of dark blood and the tablet.
Rebecca picked up the tablet. As she scrolled through the symptoms, her brow furrowed. Then, her eyes went wide.
"These are A-Virus symptoms," Rebecca said, standing up. "But... aggressive. Accelerated. Who is this? Is this another outbreak?"
"One patient," Ada said. "He survived the infection, but the aftershocks are tearing him apart. He needs a stabilizer. A version 2.0 of your vaccine."
"I need to analyze this," Rebecca said, already moving toward her bio-safety hood. "Give me the blood."
Ada handed it over. "Make it quick, Rebecca. He doesn't have much time."
Rebecca entered the sealed zone. She donned her hazmat gloves and pipetted the blood onto a slide. She ran it through the spectro-analyzer.
Ten minutes passed.
The machine pinged. Rebecca looked at the results on her monitor.
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She nearly fell off her stool.
"My God," she whispered.
It wasn't just A-Virus.
The blood was a biological miracle. It was saturated with Progenitor Virus markers—the original source of all B.O.W.s. But the virus wasn't mutating the host into a monster; the host was commanding the virus. The immune system was flawless, adaptive, aggressive.
His cells aren't resisting, she realized. They are dominating.
She looked at the RNA sequencing. T-Phobos. C-Virus. He had survived them all.
"Who is this man?" Rebecca muttered to herself, staring at the swirling DNA helix on the screen. "He's not just a survivor. He's... perfect."
She felt a strange pull. A scientific curiosity mixed with something deeper. If she could save this man, his blood could be the key to curing everything. He was the antibody the world had been waiting for.
She worked feverishly. Using her existing vaccine base, she synthesized a new compound, tailored specifically to bond with the unique Progenitor receptors in the sample. She added a metabolic suppressant to calm the cytokine storm.
Two hours later.
Rebecca walked out of the containment zone, holding a silver canister containing a glowing green liquid.
She met Ada at the door.
"You've done it?" Ada asked.
"Yes," Rebecca said, handing it over. She hesitated. "Ada... who is he?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because," Rebecca looked at the blood sample she had kept. "I've never seen physiology like this. He's walked through fire. If he survives... tell him I want to meet him."
Ada smiled enigmatically. "I'll pass the message along. But for now, let's keep him a ghost. It's safer for both of you."
Ada turned to leave.
"Ada!" Rebecca called out.
"Yes?"
"Save him," Rebecca said firmly.
"I intend to."
The Awakening
Location: The Village of Glen Sannox, Scottish Highlands
Date: August 14, 2017 (Three Days Later)
Alen floated in darkness.
Then, there was a pinprick of light. Then, pain. Then, air.
He gasped, sitting up violently.
He wasn't in the cryo-chamber anymore. He was in a medical bed in a private recovery room within the estate.
He looked down at his chest.
The veins were there. They hadn't vanished. Black, spider-web lines permanently etched into his skin, running from his heart to his neck. But they weren't pulsing. They were still. Scars of the battle.
"Welcome back to the land of the living."
Alen snapped his head to the side. Father Julian was sitting in a chair, reading a Bible.
"What... what happened?" Alen croaked. His throat felt like he had swallowed glass.
"The A-Virus tried to collect its due," Julian closed the book. "You were dead for two minutes, Alen. We brought you back."
"How?"
"Rebecca Chambers."
Alen froze. "What?"
"We had no choice," Julian said calmly. "Ada went to Chicago. She brought back a synthesized vaccine based on your bloodwork."
"You gave my blood to a BSAA consultant?" Alen tried to get up, anger flashing in his eyes. "Do you have any idea what you've done? If Chris Redfield finds out—"
"Chris Redfield knows nothing," Julian interrupted sternly. "And neither does Rebecca. She saw the blood, not the man. Ada handled it. We blinded the data."
Alen fell back against the pillows, breathing hard. "You took a massive risk."
"If we hadn't, I'd be digging a grave for my grandson today," Julian said. "I chose the risk."
Alen went silent. He traced the black lines on his chest.
"Here," Julian handed him a bottle of pills. "Supplements. High-grade inhibitors. You'll need to take them daily. The veins... they are permanent, I'm afraid. A reminder."
"I can live with scars," Alen muttered.
"Good."
From the doorway, a shadow detached itself. Ada Wong leaned against the frame, arms crossed.
"You look terrible," Ada said.
"And you look like you enjoyed this," Alen retorted, though there was no real heat in his voice.
"I enjoy success," Ada smirked. "Rebecca was... intrigued. She asked about you."
Alen looked at Ada sharply. "And?"
"And I told her nothing," Ada said. "But she saved your life, Alen. Maybe fate has plans for you two."
Alen grunted, swinging his legs out of bed. He felt weak, but the power was there, humming beneath the surface. Controlled. Focused.
"I need to get to work," Alen said, standing up. He wobbled, then steadied himself. "The Connections are gone, but the data I took from the ranch... I need to decrypt it. I need to know what Blue Umbrella is planning."
"Rest first, warrior," Julian said. "The war will still be there tomorrow."
Alen walked to the window, looking out at the mist-covered Highlands. He touched the Celtic cross around his neck.
He was alive. He was scarred. And he had a debt
to a woman in Chicago he had never met.
"No," Alen said, his reflection staring back at him—black veins and blue eyes. "The war starts now."