Our office is a modest-looking rectangular room. The room boasts little more than four desks, a weapons locker, a radio, and a computer. The fact that this is our office is clearly emphasized by the S.T.A.R.S. emblem and the naturally chaotic mess left behind and not cleaned up after the squad was disbanded.
I didn't expect that photographs of our soldiers and numerous awards hadn't been removed yet. The latter were given to us in batches, as we performed our job "excellently" with a "plus" sign. This was my squad, which I personally trained and nurtured as if in a nursery. Naturally, no other result was possible. Only "excellent." No "good."
Surveying the room and, in particular, the photograph of our squad to the left of the emblem, I involuntarily swallowed. Glancing at Jill, I tried to distract her attention by asking her to check the cabinets for loot from our beloved chief. My partner obediently agreed, allowing me to discreetly approach my desk. Opening the right drawer, I cautiously looked at my partner, who was bent in a rather interesting pose. Provocative, I would even say so. As soon as she bent down and reached, her excellent figure made itself known. But there was no time to admire the beauty. I deftly opened the right drawer and took out a folder, extracting a small piece of compromising material from it. About myself.
An explicit photo of Rebecca Chambers. Her bare stomach, a simple green top, and a short skirt of the same color. She held a basketball to herself with both legs, and her hands were thrown over her head. Um… In general, this photo was the only thing I needed to hide before leaving S.T.A.R.S.
I lifted my coat to hide the photo in the inner pocket.
— Found something? — Valentine asked, as if she sensed something wrong with her female intuition.
— Secret data, — I answered calmly, inwardly addressing Orlov's memories. He kept much more dangerous data on his computer than I did, but he lived in a later time. The morality of my time had not yet managed to fall into the abyss from which he came. And my image, somewhat, does not allow me to store such things. I should think, maybe say that it was planted on me if anyone asks? For example, zombies. They are not intelligent yet; they are unlikely to deny it. As always, my brilliant intellect found a way to get out of a seemingly hopeless situation. But I hope no one saw this photo in my drawer and reminds me of it. Otherwise, they will choose death.
— Uh-huh, Chris also kept secret data in his drawer.
Damn it! My subordinate Chris ruined a universal argument against female suspicions with his failure. Fortunately, as a mentor, I am much more experienced than my student, so I pretended not to understand her jab. She even instinctively apologized, realizing that I was not Chris. I wouldn't keep dangerous magazines in my locker. Great, first you work for reputation, then reputation works for you.
A minute later, Jill spoke again:
— Wow, I found your pistols, — she cheerfully pointed to two white pistols against zombies.
The Samurai Edge 2 – the best thing that ever happened to me in this life. Our meeting was predetermined by fate itself; a single glance at the two pistols in the hands of the combat beauty lifted my mood to the heavens. True, I borrowed the weapons just as quickly, because the pistols are heavy and not suitable for Jill. They are just right for me; recoil will be zero, and combined with speed and reaction… Somewhere, a Tyrant wept.
— Mine, unfortunately, is out of order, — I recalled the legacy from Spencer Mansion, performing simple tricks with the pistols to get my fingers used to them. Then I attached them to special straps, as if returning children home. — But I'm glad I managed to get two instead of one.
— Yeah… Listen, are there any of your secret stashes here? — an unexpected question.
— I wasn't senile enough to hide weapons in our office. But, let me think, if I wanted to hide it somewhere, — I muttered thoughtfully, looking around the room. — Don't you think this cabinet is excessively moved away from the wall?
Saying this, I approached a large cabinet and helped it lean forward. It crashed loudly, for which I received a disapproving look from the S.T.A.R.S. fighter. Not for long; she immediately looked up and peered at the HK MP5. A German submachine gun that gained immense popularity in police shows. In the USA, a number of special units use it, and in the rest of the world, approximately fifty countries, plus or minus ten. A popular toy.
— We should check the computer too, — I nodded, heading towards the legacy of mammoths. It's high time to update the equipment; the TV, for example, has been technically obsolete for two years. The computer is even older; it was just put there and left. I waited for it to boot up for about a minute and a half, managing to count the numbers from one to a hundred a couple of times. But it still started, which was pleasing.
Let's check network access; a regular one isn't needed, Umbrella's corporate one… I won't log into the system under my own credentials, only under someone else's… Of those that come to mind, it's all sad. Few access rights, and preferably not to stumble upon the Red Queen, whom I've spun on zeros and ones. I promised to delete her. I will delete her. Mercilessly, and with great pleasure, I will format her. Savoring the process of destroying her servers like the best wine in the world.
Access obtained, and everything is fine so far.
Now we are looking for useful archives and, surprisingly, find them in the Spencer Memorial hospital. Access to the data was deliberately left open; "my" rights are insufficient. So, someone wanted even junior NEST employees to have access to this information?
What's interesting here? Is the antidote ready yet? Seriously? What else is there in terms of data… Ah, approximately ten percent of the infected have shown resistance to the T-virus. But this is already "classified information," left by a certain Nathaniel Bard.
NEST-2 had a whole department that he headed.
— Found anything interesting? — my partner asked enthusiastically, moving closer. Too close, and she's been running around too much. There's a shower on the floor; she should go there, become a little more "feminine."
— Antidote, — I answered. — We can avoid a tactical strike on Raccoon City if it's perfected. Judging by the information left behind, it's effective. But this is just from the category of: "take my word for it."
— If this strike even happens, — Valentine assured encouragingly.
— We should ideally get at least one sample, — I nodded. — If it's given to the government, then… What?! They've already detected us?
— What is it? — she shifted her gaze from me to the screen. — A video call request?
— We won't answer yet. In general, there's an antidote for the T-virus only, but that's not a solution to all problems. There's also the G-virus here. And the "Calvary" virus surpasses "Tyrant," — I nodded to myself. — It's based on completely different principles, and it was developed by an acquaintance of mine. If a sample leaks to the masses, then our respected Dr. Bard's antidote will be useless.
— Calvary? How many did Umbrella invent anyway? — the girl exclaimed indignantly.
— Not many… — I evasively offered. — It all started from the Progenitor, a kind of foundation of all foundations. Then came the branches, for example, the common T-virus causes tissue necrosis as a side effect, while Calvary restores dead cells and even… resurrects the long-dead. A great threat if it spreads.
— Shit…
— Yeah… There's also an improved T-virus, "Progenitor" type. A more perfect version of the regular one, but it also has its drawbacks, — I've already moved on to the topic of the strain within me. True, after making adjustments, it became more susceptible to absorbing other strains. I should rename my virus to… Absorber. A-virus? Or already P-virus, for infinity? Real food for thought. — The mortality rate is over ninety-nine percent without the possibility of becoming a zombie. Also, to get infected with it… You need a sample from a test tube. The virus is not transmitted by natural means, like a bite or blood transfusion.
— That hole… Do you have the Calvary virus too? — Valentine asked with doubt, but didn't jump away as if I were a leper.
— Calvary? — I tilted my head. — No, otherwise I would look like a monster with tentacles. I have that very improved "Progenitor" type virus, which I managed to study in detail. It poses no danger to society, so its presence or absence in my case means nothing. Well, except that I'm from that one percent.
— You've set yourself up well, — she chuckled. — Can this be trusted? Just in case Umbrella makes more unique soldiers…
— They won't; the mortality rate is too high, — I embellished a little. To create Nemesis, it took a lot of people to be killed, which, interestingly, went unnoticed. It's another matter if Spencer decided to conduct a secret experiment with me as the main character… No, I'm not unique; there are others… Perhaps a limited number of Umbrella employees were infected with this strain of the virus, and since there's no news about any of them, the result was disappointing. Which is logical. My laboratory research showed that the virus seriously kills a person, not makes them stronger. I am an exception. Well, or there is someone else, which is unlikely…
— I see, — she stretched. — Are you going to answer?
I nodded silently, establishing a connection with a second NEST employee.
— This is S.T.A.R.S. — he blurted out immediately in one breath. An elderly man in a lab coat, looking tired, a scumbag by nature. As far as I remember, even his colleagues hated him, apparently for rudeness, but now his voice carries a hint of politeness. Facing death, each of us appears in a completely different light.
— Yes, you've come to the right place, — I nodded, adjusting the broadcast camera so that it pointed at my partner's face. It's a bit dark in the room, and I was standing a little away from the lens's reach; they shouldn't have seen me.
— Thank God! I need your help…
— No panic, — Jill asked in a calming tone, stopping him with a gesture. — Just explain the situation.
— Umbrella wants to kill me! I know too much, and I… I created a vaccine for this strain of the virus. And that's why they will definitely kill me… They are covering up all traces. If they also find out that the vaccine is effective… — he shook his head. — I sent a request to the government, but they haven't answered me yet. If the request was intercepted or there are their spies among the authorities… I need protection! And help with evacuation, — his voice trembled, his hands trembled, and fear was read in his eyes. — Understand, the existence of this city depends on my salvation.
— We understand, — Jill nodded. — We will help you. But first, tell us everything you know about Umbrella and the virus. We need to understand what we are dealing with.
— Okay, — the man took a deep breath. — I'll tell you everything I know. But first… Can you protect me?
— Yes, — she answered. — We will protect you.
The man exhaled in relief.
— Okay, — he began to tell his story.
An incredibly boring story from an elderly scientist began.
If I was just bored, then judging by Jill's tense face, she experienced physical pain.
— I see… — Valentine agreed out of politeness, leaning against the table in front of the lens. She listened to a lot of useless information; even I yawned a couple of times, engrossed in the doctor's story. He shouldn't go to lecture halls; he himself is, in a way, a weapon of mass destruction. A stuffy terrorist. It took him five minutes to drone on about the symptoms of infection and virus containment measures. — Where are you, who is with you?
— I'm alone in the hospital, — he hesitated, but added anyway: — And there are infected here. When the epidemic first started, I ordered my employees to accept everyone for free… The hospital is overcrowded with infected people; we managed to isolate many of them. But you should still be careful.
— Okay, we'll head to you immediately, — with these words, Jill ended the broadcast and looked at me expectantly, seeking either refutation or support for this statement.
— The vaccine – it's unknown how it will manifest. Past versions crippled or killed, not helped at all, — I shook my head until my neck cracked. — But I agree that this could be a good chance for a better outcome.
— Then, I suggest we split up… — a cautious proposal. — Someone distracts the bruiser… and someone saves our doctor. If you're right, and the train is functioning, then we can evacuate him from the city.
— Interesting, — I tilted my head thoughtfully. — I can take on Nemesis for an hour or two, but he's not the only problem in this city. U.B.C.S. — many of them are closely involved in Umbrella's dark dealings. And a couple of their divisions are already in the city. There are many of them and…
— Advise to shoot first, then ask questions? — Valentine arched an eyebrow provocatively.
— Incorrect. Shoot silently, run faster. These days, zombies flock to noise like pilgrims to holy sites, — I chuckled, accompanying it with a characteristic raising of my hand.
Still standing with my arms crossed, I turned away from Jill, carefully considering everything, and then looked into her eyes. Slowly extending my hand in a handshake gesture, I continued:
— As soon as we encounter the bruiser, our paths temporarily diverge, — I chuckled, tensing the hand the girl shook.
— Yeah… And where are the radios here? We should maintain communication, — a sweet desire to stay informed about each other's well-being. I nodded at this, heading towards the box where the junk was lying.
Well, the number of unexpectedly useful hands has decreased, and I'll also have to act as a human shield for my partner. But the result is worth it. The vaccine will help us in the fight against bioterrorism, or rather, delay it. Well, and an extra sample won't hurt me… I'll get up-to-date information, then I'll pop into the second NEST.
The downfall of my beloved Umbrella is getting closer.