Mission 4
MEMORANDUM FOR THE RECORD
FROM: Directorate of Operations, Central Intelligence Agency
TO: Agent Alen Richard (Designation: "Valkyrie")
DATE: 13 January 2011
SUBJECT: Permanent Assignment & Program Transition
Effective immediately, the joint MI6/CIA Black Operations Program, codenamed WINTER LIGHT, is formally dissolved. All assets and operational guidelines are fully absorbed by the Special Activities Center of the Central Intelligence Agency.
Agent Alen Richard, having served with outstanding distinction and exceeding all performance standards in Operations WINTER HARVEST and WINTER GHOST, is hereby offered a permanent, full-time position within the CIA's Special Operations Group.
Your unique biological resilience and proven record in contaminated environments are now classified as a Tier-1 strategic asset. Your service record is being erased from all other databases and will exist only under TOP SECRET/UMBRA classification in our secured servers.
Welcome to the Family, Agent Richard.
Internal Corruption & A Growing Suspicion
April – July 2011
For four months, Alen adapted to his new, "official" role. But his instincts, sharpened in the shadows, told him something was wrong inside the Agency itself. During his downtime, using clearance levels Simmons himself had approved, Alen began a quiet, personal audit.
Late one night, in a quiet data room cubicle, Ingrid Hunnigan found him.
"Alen, you've been logged into the fiscal archives for six hours. That's not exactly light reading."
He didn't look up from the screen, which showed a tangled web of fund transfers.
"It's not. Mission funds for Operation Copper Kettle. Twelve million. Disbursed, spent, and accounted for. But the mercenary company it was paid to? It was shut down three years ago."
Ingrid's professional mask slipped, showing real concern.
"Alen… that's a dangerous rabbit hole."
"He's dirty, Ingrid," Alen said, his voice low and steady as he finally turned to her. "Simmons. It's not just money. It's weapons shipments to war zones that don't exist, secret renditions… and whispers. Whispers about a 'C-Virus.'"
Ingrid's face went pale. She glanced around the empty room before leaning closer.
"I've heard the whispers. Everyone at my level has. But Derek Simmons isn't just a senior agent; he's the National Security Advisor. He's untouchable without solid proof. If you keep digging, he won't need a reason to make you disappear. Please, just be careful."
Before Alen could respond, his terminal flashed with a new priority message:
IMMEDIATE REPORT TO BRIEFING ROOM 4. – D. SIMMONS
Mission Brief: Operation FROZEN CORE
TOP SECRET // NOFORN // EYES ONLY
DATE: 8 August 2011
LOCATION: CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia – Briefing Room 4
Simmons stood before a digital map of Siberia, his smile not quite reaching his cold eyes.
"Agent Richard. Good. I trust you're settled in?"
"As I'll ever be, sir," Alen replied, his tone neutral.
"Excellent. Then let's get to it. Operation FROZEN CORE."
Simmons gestured to the screen, which zoomed in on a train cutting through a violent snowstorm.
"This is the Tsar's Express, a private train owned by a group of former Soviet scientists. They've taken Umbrella's worst work and tried to turn it into their own business."
He turned to face Alen, his tone heavy.
"The cargo is a biological agent of extreme volatility. We believe it's a weaponized strain of the so-called 'G-Virus.' Your mission is to lead a Direct Action Cell, fast-rope onto that train, and secure two things: all research data, and most importantly, a live tissue sample. This sample is the crown jewel, Agent Richard. Failure is not an option."
Simmons placed a hand on Alen's shoulder — a gesture that felt like a snake tightening its grip.
"This intel comes from the highest levels of government. The nation's security depends on this success. You've faced worse. I have every confidence."
As Alen turned to leave, Simmons added a final, chilling line.
"Oh, and Richard? Total comms blackout once you're in. The storm will handle that. You'll be completely on your own."
The Ambush on the Siberian Express
DATE: 8 August 2011
LOCATION: Trans-Siberian Railroad, Siberia
The insertion was a nightmare of roaring wind and freezing cold. The helicopter, a shadow in the storm, fought the gale as Alen and his six-man team fast-roped onto the roof of the speeding train.
"Valkyrie Actual to team, form up! Breach on my mark!" Alen's voice was calm, cutting through the storm.
They cleared the train car by car with lethal precision, silenced shots dropping guards before they could raise alarms. Finally, they reached the reinforced main cargo car. Inside was a mobile laboratory, cold blue lights reflecting off steel. In the center sat a fortified case, humming softly.
It was too perfect.
As the team's tech specialist moved to bypass the lock, a figure dropped silently from the ventilation shaft above. She wore a red dress — absurd and terrifying against the steel and ice. Carla Radames, her face an exact, mocking copy of Ada Wong's.
"Right on schedule," she purred, her voice full of cruel delight. "Simmons sends his regards."
Before they could react, a metallic orb clattered to the floor, hissing as it released a silver aerosol — a C-Virus bomb.
"Gas!" Alen shouted, but it was already too late.
His men didn't just die; they twisted. Bones snapped and reshaped, flesh ballooned and tore as new limbs burst through. Their screams broke off, replaced by the guttural roars of J'avo.
Alen stumbled back, clutching his chest. Fire surged through his veins, his vision blurring. But unlike his team, he didn't mutate. The Progenitor virus in his body fought the invading C-Virus, triggering brutal shock but stopping the transformation.
Carla tilted her head, watching with fascination.
"How interesting. You're resisting it. The good doctor's notes were right about you."
One of the J'avo, mindless and enraged, slammed into Alen. Dazed and in agony, he lost his footing. The cargo door, already weakened, gave way. He plunged into the void.
The world became a blur of snow and darkness. The last thing he saw were the train's lights fading into the storm before he vanished into the ravine below.
Carla rushed to the opening, scanning the storm. Nothing but white.
"Simmons," she reported, irritation in her voice. "The sample is secure. The team has been neutralized. Richard fell from the train during the struggle. The fall was a thousand meters. He's gone."
"A regrettable loss. Secure the package and destroy the train. Leave nothing behind," Simmons's voice replied, cold and satisfied.
Carla retrieved the case containing the G-Virus sample and planted explosives. Moments later, she escaped as the entire train erupted in a fireball, erasing all evidence.
After-Action: The Official Story
DATE: 9 August 2011
LOCATION: CIA Headquarters, Briefing Room 4
The room was silent as the grainy helmet-cam footage showed the tragedy: the gas, the horrific mutations, Alen's fight, and his fall. Then static.
A collective sigh rippled through the room. Ingrid Hunnigan stood in the back, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wet with tears.
Derek Simmons addressed the crowd, his face a mask of false grief.
"A dark day," he said, his voice heavy. "We've lost a heroic agent and a loyal team to the horrors we fight every day. Their sacrifice, though tragic, will not be in vain. We will redouble our efforts to ensure such a loss never happens again."
He paused for effect. Inside, his thoughts were triumphant. The sample is secure. The curious Agent Richard is gone. And no one will ever suspect the truth. A perfect failure.