Location: Sector 9 (Deep Mountain Range), 18km North of the Village
Date: August 9, 2020
Time: 14:15 Local Time
The Ceremony Site was silent, save for the wind whistling through the ancient megaliths like the breath of a dying giant. Beneath the frozen soil, however, a biological internet was screaming.
Alen Wesker walked the perimeter, his tactical boots crunching softly on the permafrost. To the naked eye, he was the "Hat Man"—a dark, ominous silhouette against the grey sky, coat tails snapping in the gale. To the biological sensors of the Megamycete, he was nothing. A void. A null variable.
His Cognitive Dominion was active, emitting a localized white-noise frequency that jammed the fungal network in a fifty-meter radius. He was walking directly over the roots of a god, and the god couldn't feel his footsteps.
"Analyzing root structure," Alen murmured, his voice low and vibrationless.
He tapped the side of his sunglasses. The Reality-Lens Perception engaged.
The world overlay shifted. The grey snow faded into a wireframe grid. Beneath the dirt, he saw them: the massive, pulsating veins of the Megamycete (the Black God). They glowed with a sickly white luminescence, branching out like the nervous system of a buried titan, feeding data and nutrients to the village below.
"Standard distribution," Alen noted, tracing the lines with his eyes. "Feeds to the Castle, the Factory, the Reservoir... wait."
He stopped.
Among the tangled web of roots, there was an anomaly. A single, thick vein—arterial in nature—did not feed into the village. Instead, it bypassed the localized network entirely, stretching north, deep into the jagged, uncharted peaks of the mountain range where no human could survive.
"A hardline," Alen whispered, his interest piqued. "Where are you going?"
He turned his back on the village. The hunt had changed direction.
The Long Walk
Time: 19:00 Local Time
Five hours later.
Alen had traversed miles of hostile terrain. The air was thin here, the oxygen levels critical. The cold bit through his duster coat, temperature dropping to -30°C. Most men would have succumbed to hypothermia hours ago.
Alen simply calculated the caloric burn required to maintain body heat and adjusted his pace.
He stood at the mouth of a hidden cavern, concealed behind a waterfall of frozen ice. It was invisible from the air and inaccessible by road. A perfect blind spot.
"Distance from origin point: 18 kilometers," Alen recorded. "Why hide a root this far out, Miranda? What are you hiding from your own children?"
<< Master, >> Trinity's voice crackled in his earpiece, << Sensors detect a massive concentration of dormant mold within that cavern. It is not a natural formation. It is a Super-Colony. >>
"I am going in."
Alen drew his Smith & Wesson M&P R8. He checked the cylinder with a flick of his wrist. Eight rounds of the finalized E-Necrotoxin. Lethal to anything fungal.
He engaged the laser sight, the red dot cutting through the darkness.
The Sanctum of Spares
The interior of the cave was a cathedral of biology.
The walls were not stone; they were calcified fungal matter, glistening with slime and pulsing with a slow, rhythmic beat. The air was thick with golden spores, but Alen's rebreather filtered them out, his breathing steady and mechanical.
He moved with the slow, predatory grace of a panther. No sound. No wasted movement.
In the center of the cavern, surrounded by a lake of black ichor, stood a massive, crystallized structure. It looked like a flower bud made of diamonds and flesh, rising ten feet into the air.
Alen approached the edge of the pool. He zoomed in with his Reality-Lens.
Inside the crystal cocoon, suspended in amniotic fluid, was a figure.
It was a woman.
Pale skin, six raven-black wings sprouting from her shoulders, a halo of gold mold behind her head.
It was Mother Miranda.
But she was motionless. Her chest did not rise. Her brain activity was zero. She was perfect, pristine, and utterly hollow.
"Well, well," Alen said, his voice echoing softly in the chamber. He holstered his gun, a cold, humorless smirk touching his lips. "You are more paranoid than I gave you credit for, Miranda."
<< Is that... her? >> Trinity asked, processing the visual data. << Did you find the target? >>
"It is a clone," Alen analyzed, walking around the structure, studying it like an art critic. "A biological backup drive. If her primary vessel in the village is destroyed, her consciousness will upload via the root network to this location. She would resurrect here, miles away from the threat, fully restored."
He looked at the sleeping monster with clinical disdain.
"She thinks she has conquered death. She has merely created a save point."
Alen pulled out a combat knife and a cryo-container. He stepped onto the crystallized roots. With surgical precision, he sliced into the outer layer of the cocoon.
Hiss.
The crystal wept a milky fluid. He extracted a sample of the amniotic fluid and a piece of the clone's tissue.
"We have her genetic blueprint," Alen stated, sealing the canister. "Trinity, deploy the Stealth-Drone. Set it to 'Silent Watch'. If this cocoon shows even a 1% increase in thermal activity, I want to know immediately."
<< Drone deployed, Master. The trap is set. >>
The Debrief
Alen walked back toward the cave entrance, the adrenaline fading into the cold reality of his condition.
As the combat readiness dropped, the pain returned.
He leaned against the cold rock wall for a second, his hand going to his chest. Beneath the black turtleneck, black veins pulsed rhythmically on his neck—the A-Virus fighting a war against his own biology.
"Status on the Beneviento project," Alen asked, forcing his voice to remain steady, refusing to show weakness even to an AI.
<< The analysis is complete, >> Trinity reported. << Donna Beneviento's blood compatibility with the prototype vaccine is at 79%. It is risky, but viable. We have enough synthesized material for two doses. It will be the final batch. >>
"And the Necrotoxin?"
<< Scan data from the cocoon has been integrated. The formula is now 99.9% lethal to the Mold. We are ready. >>
Alen pushed himself off the wall, straightening his coat. He resumed his walk, his posture rigid.
<< Master, >> Trinity added, her voice dropping in pitch—a simulation of concern. << Your vitals are fluctuating. The black veins are visible on your neck. The constant use of Cognitive Dominion is accelerating the cellular degradation. You are burning the candle at both ends. >>
"The mission comes first," Alen snapped, his tone brooking no argument. "How is the asset? The wolf?"
<< Subject 'Wolve' is stable, >> Trinity replied, referring to the injured Vârcolac pup Alen had captured and sedated for study weeks ago. << Mobility is restored, but she cannot sprint. She is currently sleeping in the kennel sector. >>
"Good. Keep her sedated if necessary."
Alen stepped out of the cave, back into the blinding white snow. The storm had returned, erasing his footprints as fast as he made them.
He looked back at the hidden tomb one last time.
"I found your weakness, Miranda," Alen whispered, the wind carrying his vow away into the whiteout.
"You believe you have an escape route. You think if you fail in the village, you can simply wake up here and try again. You think you can continue your madness, sacrifice more lives to bring back a dead daughter."
He adjusted his hat, the shadow covering his face. His blue eyes glowed with lethal, calculated intent.
"I am going to close your account. Permanently."
Alen turned and began the long trek back to the manor. The Architect had found the blueprints, and now, he knew exactly where to place the demolition charges to bring the whole house down.
Status:
* Discovery: Mother Miranda Backup Clone (Sector 9).
* Action: Surveillance Established / DNA Secured.
* Alen Wesker: Cellular Degradation Accelerating.
* Objective: Initiate Endgame.