September 19, 1998 – 04:00 AM, Underground Laboratory
The low hum of machinery was the only soundtrack of progress. On the holographic screen, a double helix of DNA rotated slowly, its protein bonds assembling and stabilizing with a precision that, just a week earlier, had been impossible.
Eddie watched, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Beside him, Annette Birkin pointed to a section on the screen.
"The enzymatic catalyst you used was too aggressive. It destabilized the peptide chain. Try a lysine-based variant. It should create a more flexible bond."
It was a brilliant insight. One that would have cost him days of trial and error. With Annette, the path had become smoother, almost effortless. It was undeniable: the woman was a genius in her field, trapped in the shadow of an egocentric husband.
When this is over, Eddie thought, and Yamata finishes her training on Rockfort Island, I'll bring her here. With two virologists of this caliber, I'll create a masterpiece.
He was about to isolate the final genetic sequence when a red alarm flashed in the corner of the screen. An anomaly. He focused the analysis on that section. It was the sequence derived from the progenitor flower, the Stairway of the Sun—the true source of the virus's power. The key to cellular immortality. But there was a side effect, one Spencer's reports had neatly omitted.
The virus did not just rewrite the immune system. It attacked the endocrine system. The simulation showed a complete collapse of testosterone and luteinizing hormone production. On the screen, words appeared with brutal clarity:
REPRODUCTIVE FUNCTION: TERMINATED.
Impotence.
A glacial chill spread through Eddie's veins. Spencer, that decrepit old bastard, wouldn't care. A son? A dynasty? Useless concepts compared to eternity. But for Eddie, they meant everything. He loved sex. He loved the power it gave him. And he wanted children—heirs to his genius, his empire. He would not be an immortal eunuch. A crippled god.
"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth. This flaw had to be erased. At any cost.
---
September 20, 1998 – 11:00 PM, Unknown Conference Room
The air in the room was cold, thin. A young woman sat at a table of polished obsidian, motionless like a porcelain statue. She wore a red silk cheongsam that clung to her body like a second skin. Her black hair was cut short, geometric in its precision. Before her, three holographic figures floated in the dark, their faces distorted by transmission: a corpulent man with the air of a ruthless businessman, a gaunt man with an ascetic look, and an older man whose face remained mostly in shadow.
"Agent Wong," the businessman rasped, his voice like gravel. "We have a task for you."
The woman, Ada Wong, did not move a muscle. Only her eyes shifted, cold and calculating. "I'm listening."
"The G-Virus. Developed by William Birkin. We want it."
"Raccoon City is a hornet's nest," Ada replied, her voice calm and velvet-smooth. "The Arklay Mountains are crawling with bioweapons. The price for that kind of risk has… increased."
"You are not negotiating, Agent," the older man interjected, his voice a cold hiss. "We have not only your file. We have your history. Every alias, every safe house, every face you've ever worn. If you fail—or refuse—you will become a ghost with nowhere to hide."
Ada's eyebrows arched ever so slightly. A threat. She disliked threats. "The deadline?"
"Four months," the businessman said. "You start now."
"My fee will be double the standard," Ada tested.
The gaunt man, silent until now, finally spoke. "We'll pay you five times the standard," he said, his tone calm and precise. "Just make sure you don't fail. Consider it an investment in your continued anonymity, Miss Wong."
"Deal," Ada said without hesitation. She cut the transmission. The holograms vanished into nothingness.
In the room, the gaunt man stood. An aide emerged from the shadows. "Lord Simmons, the family meeting is about to begin."
"I see," Derek Simmons replied, adjusting his tie. "Wait for me downstairs."
Back in her safehouse, Ada Wong opened a holographic map of Raccoon City. A red point pulsed at the location of Umbrella's underground laboratory. Her eyes scanned a contact list. They stopped on a name:
JOHN CLEMENS – DECEASED.
A shame. He had been a useful puppet. She needed another.
Her fingers flicked through Umbrella's personnel files. Scientists, guards, executives. All predictable. Then she stopped. An unclassified profile, recently added.
EDDIE CAI.
The photo showed a young blond man, arrogant, with a smile both charming and irritating. She read the notes: Relative of James Marcus. High IQ. Narcissistic tendencies. Susceptible to flattery and sexual manipulation.
Ada's lips curled into a slow, predatory smile.
"Interesting," she murmured into the silence of her apartment. It seemed she had found her new toy.
"Hello, Eddie Cai. Let's see how smart you really are."