Sanders stared down at the thoroughly lifeless Wesker.
Killing... didn't feel like a big deal, and there wasn't much guilt.
Perhaps because the one he'd killed was Wesker.
A two-timing, anti-human, final-boss figure—after offing him, Sanders even felt a sense of relief.
As for Wesker being subdued by a bunch of 'grunts,' don't forget: these 'grunts' were elite soldiers bought with a fortune.
In the original Resident Evil 3, twenty Delta Force elites, ambushed, still managed to take down five Tyrant-103s with them—proof these 'grunts' pack serious punch.
The roles of hunter and prey had flipped.
Wesker was in the open, Sanders in the shadows, and Wesker never expected to be targeted by a transmigrator—no dramatic turnaround or comeback possible.
[Anomaly Albert Wesker terminated. Subject died in human state; Host awarded 10 points.]
'Oh?'
Hearing the system, Sanders marveled inwardly—cleaning up anomalies actually granted points.
The system went on:
[If Host or Host's soldiers kill or contain an anomaly, points will be awarded based on its ability, attributes, and combat strength.]
'Hmm… worth exploring,' Sanders judged.
By that metric, Wesker—still human—earning 10 points was generous; it could've been five.
After a moment.
Sanders handed the pistol back to the Omicron operative, left Wesker's apartment, stepped into the ninth-floor corridor, and told the Lieutenant:
'Take the body and everything connected to the target.'
'Yes, sir.'
The Lieutenant then directed his men to pack up, sanitize the scene, erase every trace.
They rode the elevator to the lobby, linked up with Teams C and D, and swiftly exited the luxury complex.
The tied-up security guard would regain freedom only when the next shift arrived at daybreak.
———————
...the Hive.
The most iconic underground research facility in the Resident Evil series, four levels in total.
Level 1: logistics, cargo, transit—linked to Raccoon City Police and General Hospital.
It also housed a rail station and a freight tunnel to the southern suburbs; Alpha drove in through that tunnel.
Level 2: living and recreation for staff—dorms, lounges, cafeteria, entertainment.
Level 3: work areas.
State-of-the-art isolation, containment, labs, and test ranges for bio-chem and high-tech weapons R&D.
Level 4: cold storage—viruses, vaccines, samples, B.O.W. by-products.
Right now.
In the Level-2 cafeteria, seven hundred Hive employees sat at tables—engineers, researchers, armed security, even contracted janitors—all eyes wide with dread; Alpha and Omicron ringed the room with rifles ready.
HUNK's Alpha had seized the narcoleptic Hive at 05:17, wheeling every sleeper to the cafeteria.
After dealing with Wesker, Omicron and Sanders reached the Hive at 05:52 via the suburban tunnel.
Omicron helped Alpha move the unconscious; two Alphas escorted Sanders on a 'tour' of the main levels.
Mind-blown.
After the tour, those two words summed up Sanders's awe.
Mature holo-projectors, dazzling culture tanks and isolation pods holding immature Tyrants, Hunters, and other B.O.W.s.
Best of all, in the Level-3 high-tech weapons center, he saw the railgun from the Resident Evil 3 remake.
Umbrella's 1998 tech already outstripped the world he'd left behind.
And the facility's clean, obsessive-compulsive-friendly design was the cherry on top.
Around seven-thirty.
William Birkin's family and the other seven hundred staff woke, drifting from stunned to confused to terrified.
Blackout, then waking to company black-ops—anyone would panic.
Only William Birkin knew the score.
With g-virus unfinished and his wife and daughter beside him, Birkin stayed relatively calm.
Learning Birkin and the staff were awake, Sanders waited in a small Level-2 conference room and sent HUNK to fetch the scientist for a private talk.
———————
...07:45.
Inside the conference room.
A long table, six chairs, one holo-projector.
Sanders and Birkin sat opposite each other.
Sanders, on the right, studied Birkin.
Thinning blond hair, unshaven stubble, collar yellowed, white coat wrinkled—an unkempt, dispirited look.
Yet Birkin's eyes burned bright, hinting at brilliance beneath the mess.
"..." (x2)
Silence.
Sanders expressionless; Birkin the same, though cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
Guilty conscience.
Fear of death is human; game-Birkin may be a boss, but this one was still mortal.
He'd reached out to the U.S. military and Simmons solely to protect his family.
"Mr. Sui, please tell Mr. Spencer: in three months I'll finish the g-virus and hand it to him first. Don't harm... my family."
Birken, lacking confidence, spoke first.
Sanders planted his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, and said coolly, "Dr. Birkin, I think you misunderstand. Honestly, I can't stand that old geezer Spencer either."
???
Birkin had braced to lose his life's work, but those words left the genius at a loss.
"Heh." Sanders chuckled. "Dr. Birkin, I won't say too much, but know this: soon the company will answer to me alone.
You're a vital asset; I'll protect you and your family—why would I harm you?"