Here is the polished, expanded, and novelized version of Chapter 130. It maintains the cold, clinical, and aristocLocation: Forward Operating Base Alpha (Trevor Manor Sub-B
Location: Forward Operating Base Alpha (Trevor Manor Sub-Basement)
Date: July 16, 2020
Time: 23:15 Local Time
The laboratory did not smell of death. To the uninitiated, the scent of formaldehyde, ozone, and copper might have been nauseating, but to Alen Wesker, it smelled of progress.
It had been eight months since his arrival in the Carpathians. Eight months of silence. Eight months of the "Ghost" pulling strings from the dark.
The sub-basement, once a dusty relic of George Trevor, was now a cathedral of biological research. On the far wall, six containment tubes held the suspended animated forms of the village's nightmares: a Lycan, a Moroaica, and the massive, severed arm of a Urias.
But tonight, the focus was on the stainless steel operating table in the center of the room.
Alen stood over the dissected corpse of a Samca. He wore a modified, sleek black hazmat suit with a high-collar rebreather, his face illuminated by the harsh white surgical lights. His movements were fluid, precise, and terrifyingly calm.
He held a laser-scalpel in his gloved hand.
"Incision depth: 4.2 centimeters," Alen dictated, his voice cool and devoid of emotion. "Exposing the thoracic cavity."
With a wet tear, the chest spread open. There, wrapped around the creature's heart like a parasitic vine, was the Cadou. It pulsed sluggishly, reacting to the light.
"Fascinatingly primitive," Alen murmured, leaning in. "Miranda's methodology is crude. She forces the nematode to bond with the host through trauma, rather than symbiotic integration. It is not evolution; it is merely... infection."
He reached in with forceps, clamping the parasite. The Samca's corpse twitched—a post-mortem reflex. Alen didn't flinch. He severed the connection with a swift cut.
"Sample extracted."
He dropped the squirming parasite into a beaker of liquid nitrogen. It froze instantly, silenced forever.
The Breakthrough
Alen stripped off his bloodied gloves and walked to the main console. Freya, the massive Arctic Wolf, lay sleeping in the corner on a heated mat, her white fur a stark contrast to the sterile grey of the lab. She lifted her head as he passed, then settled back down, accustomed to the macabre routine.
"Trinity," Alen commanded. "Establish the secure uplink to the Scottish Safehouse. Priority One encryption."
<< Affirmative, Master. Connecting to Amelia Richard. >>
The main monitor flickered, resolving into the image of an elderly but sharp-eyed woman. Amelia Richard sat in her own lab, surrounded by notes. She looked tired, but her eyes held the same dangerous intellect as her grandson's.
"Grandmother," Alen greeted. He didn't smile. He simply nodded, a professional acknowledging a peer.
"Alen," Amelia replied, adjusting her glasses. She scrutinized his face on the screen. " You look pale. Paler than usual. The A-Virus?"
"Manageable," Alen dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. "Focus on the data. I have sent the finalized sequencing for the 'Sepulcher' prototype."
Amelia looked down at her tablet, scrolling through the data Alen had transmitted. Her eyes widened.
"I see it," she whispered. "My God, Alen... or should I say, 'Grandson.' This structure... we didn't just create a vaccine. We created a frequency jammer."
"Precisely," Alen said, clasping his hands behind his back. "The Cadou parasite acts as a biological receiver. It binds the host's consciousness to the Megamycete—the 'Black God' beneath the village. That is how Miranda controls them. That is how she gifts them power."
Alen walked to the whiteboard, where complex diagrams of mycelial networks were drawn.
"Our serum does not kill the host," Alen explained, his tone clinical. "It targets the synaptic bridge. It severs the connection to Miranda. The host remains mutated—a 'Half-Mold' hybrid—retaining some physical enhancements, but their mind returns to them. They become free agents."
Amelia took off her glasses. "You've reverse-engineered a biological god, Alen. This... this is brilliant. And terrifying. It's 60% effective in simulations."
"Sixty percent is acceptable for a field test," Alen stated. "I have refined the Necrotoxin for the failures. But I need a subject for the cure."
"And Ruby?" Amelia asked suddenly, shifting the topic. "She asks about you. She is safe here with Julian and Mrs. Xing, but she knows you are hunting monsters."
Alen's expression didn't change, but his fingers twitched slightly at his side. "Ruby is secure. That is all that matters. Emotions are a distraction, Grandmother. We are discussing the mission."
The Theory of the Black God
Alen brought up a holographic map of the village. It showed the fungal root network spreading underground.
"I have a theory," Alen said, looking at the glowing red lines. "The Megamycete... it is not a deity. It is a Server."
"A server?" Amelia asked.
"Think of it like a computer network," Alen explained, his voice dripping with analytical arrogance. "The Megamycete is the Hard Drive. It stores the genetic data and consciousness of everyone who dies in this valley. The Mold is the Internet, the connection."
He tapped the location of the Ceremony Site.
"Mother Miranda is the System Administrator. She has Root Access. She can read, write, and delete data."
He pointed to the four crests representing the Lords.
"The Four Lords—Dimitrescu, Beneviento, Moreau, Heisenberg—they are VIP Users. They have elevated privileges, granted by the Admin. The Lycans? They are merely guest users with limited bandwidth."
Alen turned back to the camera, his blue eyes glowing faintly.
"If I cannot destroy the Server yet... I will hack one of the VIP Users. I will inject the vaccine, sever their connection to the Admin, and turn them into a firewall against Miranda."
Amelia was silent for a moment, processing the sheer audacity of the plan. "You want to weaponize one of her own children against her."
"I intend to cure them," Alen corrected. "Their weaponization is merely a byproduct."
"Who?" Amelia asked. "Heisenberg is too volatile. Dimitrescu is too powerful. Moreau is... too far gone."
Alen zoomed in on a location on the map. A house sitting behind a waterfall, shrouded in mist.
House Beneviento.
"Donna Beneviento," Alen said.
Amelia's eyes widened in shock. "The Dollmaker? Alen, are you out of your mind? Her exposure to the Mold is hallucinogenic. She attacks the psyche, not the body. With your mental state... with the trauma you carry... she will tear your mind apart before you even get close."
"I am aware of the risk," Alen replied coolly.
"You are not well, boy!" Amelia snapped, her grandmotherly concern breaking through. "The A-Virus amplifies your aggression, but it makes your mind vulnerable to instability. If she gets inside your head..."
"She is a victim," Alen interrupted, his voice sharp. "My intel suggests she retains the most humanity. She hides her face. She speaks through a doll. She is driven by grief, not megalomania like the others. Beneath that hood, there is a human woman. I need to know if she can be salvaged."
"And if she can't?"
Alen walked over to the incinerator chute. He pressed a button, and the Samca corpse slid into the fire. The orange glow reflected in his sunglasses.
"Then I will verify the lethality of the Necrotoxin."
The Departure
"Alen..." Amelia's voice was soft now. "Be careful. You are walking into a nightmare."
"I am the nightmare," Alen replied. "End transmission."
The screen went black.
Alen stood in silence for a moment. Then, he moved to the armory locker.
He stripped off the hazmat suit. He dressed in the tactical turtleneck, the combat trousers, and the heavy boots. He strapped on the shoulder holster containing the Samurai Edge.
He picked up the silver case containing a single syringe of the "Sepulcher" Vaccine. He placed it in his inner pocket, next to his heart.
Finally, he threw the long, black ballistic duster over his shoulders. He placed the wide-brimmed fedora on his head, tilting it low to cover his eyes.
"Trinity," Alen said, his voice deep and resonant. "Burn the remaining biological samples. Sterilize the lab. I am going out."
<< Destination, Master? >>
Alen walked to the Shadow Elevator. He checked the action on his custom M&P R8 revolver.
"House Beneviento," Alen said. "I have an appointment with a ghost."
The elevator doors hissed shut. The Hatman was descending into the mist.
Status:
* Alen Wesker: Deploying.
* Inventory: Sepulcher Vaccine (Prototype), Necrotoxin Rounds, Hallucinogen Dampeners.
* Objective: Infiltrate House Beneviento. Neutralize or Cure Donna Beneviento.