Project: Manticore (Resident Evil/FEAR)

The rain had not stopped since dawn. It beat against the stained-glass windows of the law office with a slow, relentless rhythm, the occasional roll of thunder echoing through the Arklay Mountains beyond.

By comparison, the atmosphere inside the conference room was oppressive. Everyone was silent. A polished mahogany table stretched the length of the room, surrounded by men in tailored suits wearing expressions of carefully rehearsed sympathy. Lawyers. Executives. Shareholders.

Men who saw profit line than a grieving son or the man who lost his life and served them faithfully.

At the head of the table, beside the executor, rested a single framed photograph.

Professor James Marcus. Virologist. Visionary. Co-founder of Umbrella Corporation.
But for the boy at the opposite end of the table, Father.

Jonathan Marcus sat quietly at the table, his hands folded in his lap. He never once looked away from the photograph.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the executives.

Some avoided looking at him. Others whispered among themselves. All of them were tense.

Everyone understood what today's meeting truly meant.

It wasn't simply the reading of a will. It was something that could fracture the company apart at the seams. James Marcus the same amount of ownership to the company as the last remaining founder and how it is allocated per his will could potentially change the hierarchy of the company.

His gaze settled upon the lawyers seated to his left.

They represented Oswell E. Spencer.


His father's oldest friend.


His business partner.


And possibly the man who had ordered his death.

Officially, James Marcus had died in a laboratory accident.

However, no body was ever recovered. According to Umbrella's biohazard team, his remains were too hazardous to retrieve and had therefore been burned.

"If you're ready, Master Marcus."

Jonathan inclined his head.

The executor, another life long friend of his father Jefferey Mettler broke opened the envelope and unfolded the will.

"As stipulated within the Last Will and Testament of Professor James Marcus..."

The room fell silent.

"...his residence, personal effects, privately registered patents, research journals, and liquid assets shall pass in their entirety to his only son, Jonathan Aurel Marcus."

Jonathan nodded once.

The executor turned another page.

"Regarding Professor Marcus's ownership of Umbrella Corporation..."

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

"...certain legal complications have arisen."

Jonathan wasn't surprised.

He had expected this from the moment he was informed of his father's death.

"Following Dr. Marcus's death, the Board of Directors invoked Article Twelve of Umbrella's Corporate Continuity Charter."

One of Spencer's lawyers slid a folder across the polished table.

"The clause provides that, where a controlling shareholder dies leaving no legally emancipated heir capable of exercising voting rights, said voting rights shall temporarily revert to the remaining executive founders to preserve corporate stability."

Jonathan opened the folder. Spencer hadn't merely prepared for Marcus's death. He had also prepared to take everything Marcus had earned through his role in the company.

"The Board subsequently approved an emergency restructuring."

The lawyer's voice remained perfectly calm.

"Dr Marcus's forty percent shareholding has been reduced to six-point-three percent."

Silence.

"The remaining shares have been redistributed amongst the existing shareholders."

The lawyer continued speaking.

"The estate will receive financial compensation equivalent to the market value of those shares, payable over a period of ten years."

Then came the final paragraph.

Should the beneficiary initiate legal proceedings contesting the restructuring, all compensation shall immediately become null and void. Furthermore, the remaining six-point-three percent shall become subject to judicial review.

Jonathan closed the folder.

Spencer had trapped him.

Contest the decision, and Jonathan risked losing everything. Accept it, and Umbrella walked away with his father's life's work while paying him for it.

Nobody in the room spoke.

Several executives at least had the decency to look ashamed. Others looked relieved. One or two even appeared amused.

"You are, of course, free to seek independent legal counsel," one lawyer said politely.

"We merely ask that, should you accept the settlement, you sign the enclosed affidavit confirming your intention not to pursue litigation."

He stood.

"We shall await your decision."

The lawyers departed as professionally as they had entered. Not one looked back.

The remainder of the will passed without much incident.

Some patents were left to his father's subordinates.
Some of his money was allocated to donations for certain people and organizations. Other funds were donated to an institute in Switzerland—the same one James had graduated from—in the form of scholarships and charitable contributions.
Some was allocated to research grants.

Most of the attendees departed shortly afterward.

Eventually, only Jonathan and Jeffery Mettler remained.

The old solicitor slowly removed his glasses.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Jeffery nodded.

"I did."

"They altered Father's will?"

"As far as the law is concerned, the will remains exactly as he wrote it."

Jonathan looked toward the rain-covered windows.

"Why?"

Jeffery remained silent for a long moment.

"Because Spencer is dangerous. And people who refuse him tend to disappear quickly and quietly."

Another silence followed before he sighed.

"I have grandchildren, Jonathan. My wife is ill. I've spent forty years building a comfortable life. But it's not enough. And I do not know how long I have left. I cannot afford to risk what little I have, even for James."

He paused.

"So I decided to bet on the winning horse."

Jonathan didn't answer.

"I am sorry. I truly am."

"But there are some battles you cannot win."

Jonathan rose from his chair.

Jeffery cleared his throat.

"There is... one final matter."

Jonathan stopped.

"James instructed me that these documents were to be disclosed only after everyone else had left."

He produced another folder.

"The properties listed here were purchased privately."

Jonathan opened it.

His eyes widened.

An independent electronics research laboratory located on a plot of land in Saint Michaels, on the exact opposite side of the city from where James worked.

A warehouse on Prague Avenue.

Industrial land in Ohio.

Agricultural property in North Dakota.

Another plot of land in Haiti alongside mining rights within that land.

None of it belonged to Umbrella.

None of it would appear anywhere in the company's financial records.

Jeffery watched Jonathan read.

"I never understood why he bought an electronics laboratory."

Jonathan did.

His father hadn't bought it for himself.

He had bought it for his son.

Unlike James Marcus, Jonathan had never been captivated by the biological sciences. Machines were his passion.

Robotics.

Artificial intelligence.

Global communication system.

Eventually interplanetary travel.

Their dinner conversations often became debates over whether humanity's future lay in biology or technology. It was one of the few times they could spend together without work or school cutting into it.

James always argued in favor of biology.

Jonathan always argued in favor of engineering.

The laboratory wasn't merely a contingency in case Spencer ousted James from his company.

It was a gift. A way for Jonathan to move on without Umbrella.

Jeffery handed him one final folder.

"There are also several companies registered in your name."

Jonathan skimmed the list.


A courier company.

A laundromat.

A small electronics retailer.


Nothing impressive. But each generated a modest profit. Enough to stand on their own.

Jonathan smiled faintly.

Jeffery suddenly cleared his throat.

"There still remains the question of guardianship."

"I'll petition for emancipation."

Jeffery frowned.

"You're only fourteen."

"I now own six percent of Umbrella and several businesses."

"I can employ people to look after me. I think I'll manage."

The old solicitor chuckled despite himself.

"You sound just like your father."

"I certainly hope not."

Jonathan said with a small smile.

For the first time that afternoon, Jeffery laughed and it was filled with an underline of sorrow since this would probably be the last time we met. As much as Jonathan understood his actions, there was no going back from this.

After he left, Jonathan wandered through the empty mansion until he reached his father's bedroom.

He found the three carved keys hidden exactly where James had once shown him.

If there was one constant among Umbrella's three founders, it was their love of puzzles and their obsession with the number three. Jonathan still remembered attending a party at the Ashford's' estate over five years earlier. He had been only nine years old at the time. He had tried to enter the fitting room to change his clothes, only to find it locked and requiring three disks to open. Not only had he been forced to scour the mansion in search of the disks, but he had also needed to rotate them in a specific order before the door would unlock.

Part of him wonders if the company charter requires them to make such tedious puzzles to block access to certain places. Some of which seems random while others most definitely go against Building Codes and Fire Safety Regulations.

Three wooden carvings unlocked a hidden compartment.

Inside was a combination safe.

Jonathan placed the documents inside and shut the door.

He then leaned back against it.

His mind replayed the events of the afternoon.

He would let Spencer enjoy his victory.

Jonathan had no intention of challenging Umbrella in court.

In fact, by removing most of his shares, Spencer had done him a favor in the long run. Jonathan knew what happened behind Umbrella's closed doors. He knew about the T-Virus, his father's magnum opus. Derived from the Progenitor Virus discovered in Africa, it had been created by combining it with leech DNA, producing a virus with highly mutagenic potential capable of turning ordinary people into superhumans provided it bonded perfectly with the host, in theory. If it failed, however, the host's body would die, only to reanimate with little more than its most basic instinct: the desire to feed. In layman's terms, it turned people into zombies.

That was why he disagreed with his father's views. Why rely on an unstable, unpredictable biological agent when machines could achieve the same result or an even better one? A gun could kill a man far more efficiently than a zombie ever could. Unlike a zombie, it wasn't going to infect people with a volatile contagion capable of snowballing into a catastrophe no one could control.

And now, free from Umbrella's shadow, he finally had the opportunity to put his doctrine to the test. And he had the means.

The collective technological legacy of ARMACHAM Technology Corporation otherwise known as the ATC. In another universe, it had been a corporation eerily similar to Umbrella. They developed medicine, weapons, cloned soldiers, robots, and were dabbling in psionic abilities, no matter the cost. In the end, it all blew up in their faces. Jonathan possessed the knowledge they had gained from those experiments, guilt-free, because he had never committed those atrocities himself. He also had the capital to build that corporation from the ground up. In his own image. A better, smarter, and more ethical version of ARMACHAM.


AN: Should I make it so MC knows the plot of Resident Evil or not.

Jonathan collapsed onto the couch, exhausted.

The past few days had been nothing but running around making arrangements. Meetings with Child Services. Discussions with his school to extend his leave and arrange for his coursework to be sent home. Paperwork for his new businesses. Conversations with the few friends he still had.

He knew he couldn't build his company in Raccoon City, not if he intended to make any meaningful moves. Umbrella's influence infested nearly every corner of the city. Even the secret properties his father had left behind might not be truly safe. Umbrella had eyes everywhere.

So he needed intermediaries. People who could act on his behalf without leading anyone back to him. Most importantly, he needed someone to draw attention away from himself.

He began searching through his father's contact list, looking for people who owed James Marcus enough that not even Umbrella could buy their loyalty.

The list was disappointingly short.

In his later years, James had burned more than a few bridges because of the choices he had made. Even before then, he had never been particularly sociable, spending most of his time with Spencer and Ashford.

Eventually, only three names remained.

Connor Abbot.

A charming, charismatic man who could sell a radio to the deaf and a steak to a vegan with nothing but his silver tongue. The man knew how the wealthy thought, how to steer conversations, and how to say exactly what they wanted to hear.

His greatest weakness, unfortunately, was his complete lack of self-control.

He had married into wealthy families three separate times, and every marriage had ended the same way. With an affair that cost him both his wife's fortune and the prestige that came with it.

His last scandal should have landed him in prison. Instead, James Marcus had quietly pulled a few strings. Jonathan still had no idea how the two men had become acquainted.

In short, Connor was a parasite. A social climber who attached himself to wealth and influence wherever he found it.

He was also remarkably predictable.

That made him useful.

Dress him in an expensive suit, pay him an outrageously generous salary, and give him no real responsibilities beyond shaking hands, negotiating with high society, and smiling for cameras. Give him enough freedom to indulge his extravagant lifestyle once business hours were over, and he would stay exactly where Jonathan wanted him.

Connor wasn't loyal to anyone but himself, and so long as the arrangement benefited him, he could be relied upon... to a point.

That made him the perfect figurehead for CEO.

The second name belonged to Nigel Morgan.

A former Umbrella accountant, Nigel had discovered discrepancies in his branch's financial records. When he reported them to his superiors, he was quietly dismissed without explanation. James had ensured he found another accounting position almost immediately.

Nigel harboured no love for Umbrella, but he retained a great deal of respect for James Marcus.

Professional to a fault and guided by unwavering morals, Jonathan had mixed feelings about him. Jonathan doubted a man like Nigel would approve of every decision he intended to make. Even so, his integrity made him invaluable.

Hiring him long-term would be inadvisable. Bringing him in on loan from his accounting firm during the company's infancy, however, was entirely feasible.

The final name was Madeline Von Grier.

Before her leaving for better pastures, she had worked alongside Jeffery Metlar as one of James Marcus's personal lawyers though her path crossed with James and Jonathan from time to time even after that.

Jeffery had been her mentor.

She had quickly surpassed him in every way.

While still employed by Marcus, she had founded her own law firm and built a formidable reputation. She was the very definition of "a shark of a lawyer".

More importantly, Jonathan knew her personally.She was the most competent, trustworthy, and ruthless lawyer he had ever met.

Unfortunately, she was also the least likely to accept. She already owned a successful firm, and after her son's death she had all but retired to become the primary provider for his widow and three children.

Convincing her to abandon that life would not be easy.


—------------------------------------------------------------------

Madeline Von Grier watched as her youngest grandchild accepted her diploma. Half a decade had passed since her retirement, and all of them were finally ready to leave the nest.

It was the end of one chapter of her life and the beginning of another.

Madeline itched to return to work. At fifty years old, she still had at least another decade left in her. Her daughter-in-law had remarried, and now that all of her grandchildren had graduated, her schedule and house had suddenly become empty.

Still, it wouldn't be easy. She had all but retired, passing most of her responsibilities to her partners and subordinates. A sudden shift in the firm's hierarchy would undoubtedly present challenges.

Fortunately, she liked challenges.

Her pager suddenly buzzed, making her frown. That usually meant either an important meeting requiring her presence or a VIP client requesting her specifically. She glanced at her granddaughter and decided it could wait a few more hours.

After all, family came first. Everything else can wait.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once the celebrations had ended, she made her way to the firm. Her newly freed schedule, combined with the sight of her grandchildren beginning lives of their own, had rekindled a fire in her.

She wanted to work again.

Just like the old days.

Parking in her reserved space, at Grier and Harrisons, she entered the building, ignoring the gobsmacked expressions of employees who were probably seeing her in person for the first time.

"Samantha, what do you have for me?" she asked as she approached her secretary's desk.

"Ma'am, earlier today a boy by the name of Jonathan Marcus stopped by. He said he was hoping to retain your services. He left his private number and asked that you contact him at your earliest convenience."

She handed Madeline a slip of paper.

Jonathan Marcus.

A name she hadn't heard in years.

He had only been around 9 years old the last time she'd seen him. An adorable little boy. Exceptionally intelligent for his age.

Perhaps a little too intelligent.

Curious, she decided to find out what he wanted.

"I'll be in my office. Let me know if Harrison stops by."

"Yes, ma'am."

Madeline entered her private office, which remained almost exactly as she'd left it before her 'retirement'.

She still visited from time to time to clean, sign paperwork, and occasionally consult on important legal matters but today felt different.

Walking over to the landline, she dialed the number Jonathan had left.

It rang for several seconds before someone answered.

"This is Jonathan Marcus speaking."

The youthful voice surprised her.

There was a level of composure and maturity in it that she found difficult to associate with someone his age.

"This is Madeline Von Grier. You wished to speak with me?"

"I did. May we talk in your office?"

"Certainly."

"Good. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The call ended.

—-----------------------------------------------
During those ten minutes, Madeline absentmindedly sorted through a few old files while reminiscing about the past.

James Marcus had been a workaholic.

Nearly every interaction she'd ever had with him had taken place inside an office. She had served as one of his personal lawyers alongside her mentor, Jeffery Metlar.

Which made Jonathan's decision to approach her rather than Jeffery all the more curious.

Jeffery was the sort of man who would continue working until the day he died.

So why her?

Has something happened?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Samantha stepped inside.

"Jonathan Marcus is here to see you."

"Send him in."

The secretary stepped aside as Jonathan entered.

Madeline studied him for a moment.

The little boy she remembered had grown into a handsome young teenager.

She could practically imagine her youngest daughter obsessing over him had they been the same age.

"Good to see you again, ma'am," Jonathan said, extending his hand.

"You too, Jonathan."

She shook it.

"Now then, have a seat. How is your father?"

Jonathan's expression immediately darkened.

"He passed away earlier this month."

Madeline's smile faded.

"I see."

"My condolences."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Whatever Jonathan wanted wasn't going to be simple.

"I'll get straight to the point," Jonathan said.

"I'm starting my own company, and I'd like you to head its legal department."

Madeline blinked.

Silence hung between them for several moments before she finally spoke.

"Why? If I remember correctly, your father was a major shareholder in Umbrella."

"He was."

"But after he died, Spencer took most of his shares."

Jonathan slid a folder across the desk.

"The lawyers representing Umbrella gave me this."

Madeline opened the document and quickly read through it.

With every page she turned, her expression darkened.

By the end, her blood was boiling.

They had practically robbed a grieving fourteen-year-old before the corpse had even gone cold.

"We can fight this," she said firmly.

"Those shares rightfully belonged to your father. Spencer can't simply…"

Jonathan raised a hand, gently interrupting her.

"I don't want to fight it."

Madeline froze, looking at him quizzically.

"It's too risky. Spencer will simply resort to more underhanded measures if we try to go the legal route. That's why I let Jeffery go."

Madeline frowned.

"Explain."

Jonathan glanced toward the office door.

"Is this office secure?"

"As secure as we're likely to be."

He nodded.

"Good."

"What I am about to say is best speculation."

Madeline leaned back in her chair.

"Go on."

" I think Spencer is somehow involved in my father's death. He started moving his pieces before I even knew my father was dead."

"He confiscated everything related to Umbrella while I was at school. His thugs turned our house upside down."

"He even convinced Jeffery to alter the will so they could take my shares."

Madeline's eyes widened.

"Jeffery did that?"

Jonathan nodded.

"He was terrified of what Spencer might do to him and his family."

"And Spencer offered him part of my father's shares."

She slowly leaned back in her chair.

"So... You intend to build your own company for revenge?"

Jonathan nodded.

"Spencer and Umbrella are untouchable right now. My only chance is to level the playing field."

Madeline folded her arms.

"That's an ambitious goal. Umbrella took decades to become what it is."

"I don't need decades."

Jonathan reached into his pocket.

"I already have the capital."

"The land."

"And a product."

Madeline raised an eyebrow.

"A product?"

A faint smirk crossed Jonathan's face as he removed a small device from his pocket.

It was a crude-looking contraption held together with exposed wiring and strips of duct tape.

He flicked it open.

The device unfolded to reveal a tiny LED screen on one side and a numeric keypad on the other.

Madeline frowned.

Jonathan entered a number.

Her office phone rang.

She stared at it before slowly picking up the receiver.

Jonathan lifted the strange device to his ear.

"Well?"

His voice came through the handset with surprising clarity.

"What do you think?"

Madeline simply stared.

Remarkable.

She had seen portable wireless phones before, but they were enormous, heavy, cumbersome things meant to be carried in cars by the elite due to their price.

Nothing like the sleek prototype sitting comfortably in Jonathan's hand.

"It's still a prototype," Jonathan admitted, turning it over in his hand.

"But imagine this being mass-produced."

It's light.

It's portable.

It has an LED display.

And I believe I can even incorporate a short-range messaging system. And it is only the beginning."

"You'll need more than phones to rival Umbrella."

"I know."

"This is simply the flagship product."

"The one that puts us on the map."

"I cobbled this together in three days using spare parts I found around the house."

He looked directly at her.

"Imagine what I could accomplish with proper resources and facilities."

Madeline remained silent.

The device was impressive.

Far more impressive than she'd expected.

Could it truly compete with Umbrella?

Not by itself. But if Jonathan could consistently produce technology like this. It might work. It would still be a challenge for such a company to compete against a corporate giant like Umbrella.

Fortunately for him, she liked a challenge.

"I might be interested."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Now..."

"Tell me your plan."


—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nigel Morgan was surprised when someone requested him by name.

He was even more surprised to discover that his client was Jonathan Marcus, the fourteen-year-old son of one of his former employers.

Most people would have dismissed the boy outright because of his age.

Nigel wasn't most people.

James Marcus had helped him secure another position after Umbrella quietly forced him out, effectively saving his career. It was a debt Nigel had never forgotten.

When Jonathan explained that Umbrella had stripped him of most of his inheritance, Nigel found it difficult not to sympathize.

The boy had already lost his father.

Now he was being forced out of the company his father helped build.

Still, sympathy alone wasn't enough to convince him.

He wanted to know whether Jonathan truly understood what he was trying to accomplish.

So he listened.

For nearly two hours, Jonathan laid out his plans. He brought a nearly 100 page proposal with required metrics. A budget. And a plan outlining 2 whole years of company he intends to create with contingencies in case of market shifts, economic downpour or even if war breaks out. It was way too comprehensive for someone his age to write. Yet he answered all follow up questions confidently and he understood the subject matter making Nigel reluctantly agree that it was his own brain child.

Then Jonathan showed him the prototype.

Nigel turned the compact telephone over in his hands, studying every angle.

The workmanship was rough. Wires were still exposed, and strips of duct tape held parts of the casing together.

It was hideous but he saw what it represented. Portable, lightweight and affordable cellular phones years ahead of anything currently available to the public.

Jonathan explained how he intended to improve the design, reduce manufacturing costs, and eventually produce enough units to make them accessible to ordinary people instead of only wealthy executives.

Combined with the blueprints Jonathan showed him and the sheer amount of resources already at his disposal, Nigel realized the boy wasn't simply chasing an impossible dream.

His plan had merit. It may not surpass Umbrella but he had the potential to create a franchise not dissimilar to the likes of Microsoft, IBM and Macintosh. At least.

"I'll be honest," he said.

"When I walked in here, I expected to spend an hour talking a grieving child out of throwing away what remained of his inheritance."

Jonathan smiled faintly.

"And now?"

"I think you have a chance. A chance to shake the world. But I'll be clear. It will be an uphill battle even with your resources. Your age alone will close several doors. People wont take you seriously."

"I already have a plan for that. What I need from you is to manage my books. I cant keep track of every little thing so I need a skilled accountant to do it for me. I want to retain you on loan from your firm until my company can stand on its feet and until you can find me a more permanent replacement. You will be well compensated. I assure you."

"Very well. I accept."


—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Connor Abbot had been preparing to file for bankruptcy once again after his luxury car dealership ran into serious financial trouble.

Then Jonathan Marcus approached him with an offer.

Ordinarily, Connor would have laughed the boy out of the room.

Or, at the very least, tried to ingratiate himself with the young billionaire before profiting from the inevitable collapse of yet another naïve business venture.

Instead, the more Jonathan spoke, the less Connor focused on the boy's age and the more he focused on his vision.

His plans and ambitions.

The confidence with which he answered every question.

The business plan was solid. Solid enough to make Connor wish he'd thought of it himself.

Then again, he'd never had Jonathan's resources, nor was he knowledgeable enough to invent something like the folding phone.

Even after losing the majority of his inheritance, Jonathan was still a billionaire, and unlike most heirs Connor had met, he wasn't content to sit back and let someone else build his fortune.

Most second-generation millionaires and billionaires invested the bare minimum into their businesses before disappearing to indulge in expensive hobbies, lavish vacations, and every vice money could buy.

Their companies inevitably stagnated or were bought out by larger corporations.

Some simply collapsed.

Jonathan was different. He knew every detail of his proposal. Every expense. Potential problem and their solution. He had thought of it all.

Whenever Connor raised a concern, Jonathan answered patiently and confidently.

Then came the prototype.

Connor turned the folding telephone over in his hands.

It wasn't attractive. The casing was crude. Wires were still visible, and strips of duct tape held parts of it together.

But its current appearances didn't matter because Connor saw what it represented.

He dialed his office number.

His assistant answered immediately.

A few moments later, he called his favourite bookie.

That call connected just as quickly.

Connor didn't know much about the technology behind the device and he didn't need to.

What he understood were the minds of businessmen, wealthy socialites, and everyone in between.

People like them valued convenience and aesthetics almost as much as status.

Now imagine offering them a phone that was smaller, sleeker, and easier to carry than the bulky bricks currently on the market.

They would buy it without a second thought.

Connor looked up from the prototype.

"Are you sure it needs to be affordable for the masses?" he asked. "If you keep the price high, the wealthy will see it as a luxury product. Demand among them would be even higher."

Jonathan shook his head.

"I understand your point, but I have a better idea."

Connor gestured for him to continue.

"We sell the standard model to the general public."

Jonathan picked up the prototype.

"But alongside it, we release premium versions aimed at wealthier clients."

"Different casings, Limited editions, Exclusive colours and materials, additional features. And voila." he flourished the prototype.

"We get the best of both worlds."

Connor's grin slowly widened.

"I see. So not only would wealthy customers buy the premium models, they'd probably start collecting them."

Jonathan smiled.

"Precisely."

"So, Mr. Abbot..."

"What do you say?"

Connor laughed.

"Kid, if all I have to do is stand around in a dapper suit, shake a few hands, and kiss a few backsides, I'd be a fool to turn you down."

He stood and extended his hand.

"So long as you hold up your end of the deal..."

Jonathan rose to meet him.

"You have my word."

The two shook hands.

For Connor, it was a chance to rebuild both his career and his reputation.

But for Jonathan, it was simply another piece falling into place.

Jonathan picked up the soldering iron and made a few finishing touches to the circuit board.


He had purchased several electronic components on his way back from recruiting Connor, making sure to pay in cash at a questionable little shop tucked away in a Chicago alley. The chances of Umbrella tracking such a minor purchase were slim, but it never hurt to be cautious.


He was working on his latest invention.


A simple surveillance drone.


It was a far cry from the machines that had existed in his previous life. Then again, he currently lacked access to the specialised components needed to manufacture one properly. Creating those components from scratch would take time.


Time he simply didn't have.


This model was little more than a proof of concept so he could isolate the components he needed and have the eggheads at the lab create it for him.


Speaking of the lab, now that Jonathan had secured a public figurehead for the company, Madeline had been travelling between the various businesses he owned.


She informed their management of the change in ownership while acting on behalf of the LLC through which Jonathan controlled called Horizon Industries. Meanwhile, she and Nigel were combing through each businesses with a fine-toothed comb.


The laboratory had been their first target.


After examining its accounts and operations, they gave Jonathan the all-clear to begin funding its expansion. New equipment was ordered, underperforming employees were dismissed, and more talented recruits were brought in to replace them.


Madeline also presented every employee with an ironclad nondisclosure agreement designed to protect Jonathan's intellectual property. Once the agreements had been signed, Jonathan began providing the researchers with blueprints for several pieces of technology, including the mobile phone and the digital camera.


Kodak already possessed technology capable of producing a digital camera, but the company had refused to commercialize it for fear of hurting film sales.


Jonathan had no such reservations. Kodak wanted to stick to their older models. Armacham will not.


Each design was patented under a different pseudonym to prevent anyone from connecting them directly to Jonathan Marcus.


Nigel, meanwhile, had negotiated an agreement with an independent production plant. The facility would manufacture the necessary components and assemble the finished products, at least until they could construct a dedicated manufacturing plant on Jonathan's land in Ohio and bring it fully online.


Jonathan was currently working from his home, a three-storey suburban property his father had purchased years earlier.


Tall hedges separated the house from the road, while a reinforced gate protected the entrance. An electronic lock, a recent addition which prevented anyone without a registered keycard from entering the grounds, while newly installed tinted windows prevented anyone from looking inside.


After Umbrella personnel had forced their way into the property, Jonathan had decided that the house's security required a drastic upgrade.


The original security guard, Mark, had been a pot-bellied, ageing man who had nevertheless tried to stop them. Umbrella's men had injured him in the process.


Madeline responded by filing a lawsuit against Umbrella for unlawful entry and assault.


She also used the incident to renegotiate part of Jonathan's inheritance agreement. His monthly stipend would now increase proportionally with the value of the shares Umbrella had taken from him effectively almost doubling what they had to pay him.


It was petty.


It was spiteful.


But it was also deeply satisfying.


A final middle finger to Umbrella before he accepted the rest of their agreement.


Mark walked away with a comfortable retirement fund, while Jonathan gained the satisfaction of making Umbrella bleed, however slightly.


Now he needed proper security.


Surprisingly, Nigel had been the one to suggest a solution.


He knew several Vietnam veterans who had fallen on hard times and desperately needed stable employment. Since Jonathan required trained guards for both himself and the company's assets, Nigel reasoned that former soldiers would make ideal candidates.


They were currently being vetted.


With any luck, Jonathan would have a complete security team by the end of the week.


Connor, meanwhile, was in Haiti, negotiating with government officials regarding the land Jonathan owned there.


The talks had encountered several setbacks. Understandably, many Haitians were suspicious of an American corporation suddenly attempting to establish major operations within their country. It was an open secret that a lot of the troubles that persist in the country could be attributed to foreign influences, America being one of the major culprits.


Fortunately, Armacham had earned a measure of goodwill by hiring local workers to construct both the factory and the mine.


Preliminary operations could begin within a month or two.


Until then, a renovated office building on Port-au-Prince would serve as Armacham Technologies' temporary headquarters.



—----------------------------------------------------------------------------


Brandon Whitlock, director of the Arklay Systems Laboratory, now renamed Horizon Labs, couldn't remember the last time he'd been this excited.


The past few days had been nothing short of chaotic, but for the first time in years, the future looked promising.


The laboratory had spent years operating on a shoestring budget or rather, receiving just enough funding to keep the lights on until its new owner finally took control.


The new owner had wasted no time.


His legal counsel and accountant arrived within days, informing Brandon of the change in ownership before thoroughly examining the laboratory's finances, personnel, and ongoing projects.


Once they were satisfied, the funding began flowing.


New equipment was ordered. Additional laboratory space was approved. Outdated machinery was scheduled for replacement. More importantly, Brandon had been given permission to recruit additional researchers. For the first time in years, Horizon Labs was growing.


Then came the blueprints. According to the lawyer, it was patented by another employee and they wanted his lab to streamline the final designs. He given the specifications as well as an outline of what the brass wanted them to accomplish.


The first set detailed a portable folding telephone unlike anything currently available on the market.


The second outlined a digital camera which didn't need film reels.


The more he read, the more unbelievable the designs became. The phone came with a short ranged instant messaging system similar to emails. He could see the applications. One could send or receive messages to and fro without relying on a computer being nearby. The notification sounds also made it easy to know when a message arrived instead of constantly checking their inbox ever so often as is the case with emails.


Another revision described an integrated camera to some of the models. Not only had they created cameras which can store images digitally which was both portable and ultimately cheaper than normal cameras since they wont need to to buy film roles, they found a way to implement a smaller version of it into a phone albeit with reduced capabilities compared to a dedicated camera.


Brandon had no idea who had designed these devices, but whoever they were, they were years ahead of the competition.


The patent paperwork for the phone listed the inventor as Ray Cep Shaun. While the camera was credited to Glen S Fleur. The phone variant with the integrated camera was credited to both of them.


Brandon frowned.


He had never heard these names before but they sounded foreign. Perhaps Horizon had overseas branches.


Either way, Brandon wanted to meet them.


His colleagues and employees were equally impressed by their capabilities. Though some thought it was fake. Some just because of the names of the inventors. But not him. The notes were too detailed and comprehensive to be fake. And he would not stand in the way of innovation just because someone had a unusual name.


Brandon made a mental note to ask his superiors about them.


—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Byron Adams had been born into a small farming community.


By the time he turned eighteen, the Vietnam War was in full swing, and he had been drafted despite his objections.


He returned to the United States with a bullet wound in his abdomen and memories that haunted him every night.


Instead of receiving a hero's welcome, he was vilified.


Vilified for fighting in a war he had never chosen. Even by his family and most of his friends.


The years that followed were difficult.


He drifted from one job to another, never staying anywhere for long. Every time he thought he'd found some stability, something went wrong.


So when Nigel Morgan, an old friend contacted him with a job offer, Byron didn't hesitate to listen.


Nigel was offering him and several other former soldiers like him steady employment.


A lucky few would become personal bodyguards to the founder of Armacham Technologies.


It sounded almost too good to be true.


Still, it was better than another dead-end construction job.


So when Byron was instructed to report to a suburban property in Raccoon City alongside five other veterans, he arrived early.


The house itself wasn't particularly extravagant.


Large, well maintained and Secure.


Tall hedges surrounded the property, while an electronically controlled gate blocked access to the driveway.


A pair of security cameras tracked every visitor who approached.


Someone had invested serious money into protecting this place.


Nigel greeted the veterans at the entrance alongside a stern-looking woman they soon learned was Armacham's chief legal counsel.


They led him a small conference room where table has been set


Byron raised an eyebrow and looked at Nigel.


"That serious, huh?"


Nigel nodded while Madeline merely smiled.


"Yes. I suggest you read through all the documents carefully."


The room fell silent as the veterans read and signed the paperwork. Once everything was signed by the lawyer, Madeline began talking.


"I'm sure you're all wondering why you've been brought here," he began.


"You are the finalists selected to be the personal bodyguards to the founder of Armacham Technologies. And guard his private residences."


The veterans exchanged puzzled looks.


One of them finally spoke.


"I thought Connor Abbot owned Armacham."


Nigel smiled.


"Officially, Yes. Connor Abbot may be Armacham's Chief Executive Officer...but he isn't the company's true authority."


A door opened somewhere on the second floor.


The conversation immediately died.


Footsteps echoed through the hallway before descending the staircase at an unhurried pace.


Every pair of eyes turned toward the sound.


A teenage boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs.


He couldn't have been older than fourteen.


The boy calmly crossed the room and took the empty seat between Nigel and Madeline.


He folded his hands neatly in front of him before looking at each of them in turn.


"Good evening, gentlemen."


"My name is Jonathan Marcus."


"And I am the founder of Armacham Technologies."


This was the founder of an entire company?


Nigel smirked as he looked at Byron.


"Bet you didn't expect this did you?"


—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The route to Prague Avenue was quiet.


Situated near the outskirts of Raccoon City, the road saw little traffic at the best of times.


Jonathan sat in the back seat of the company sedan. His chauffeur was behind the wheel, while his newly appointed Head of Security occupied the seat beside him.


"Must've been quite a shock," Jonathan said with a smirk.


"It was," Byron admitted.


"Well, I'm sure you understand the need for the deception. If people knew I was behind Armacham at fourteen years old, they'd never take me seriously. More importantly, it would alert certain people I'd rather keep in the dark."


Byron nodded.


"Fair enough."


After several minutes of silence, he glanced out the window.


"So... why are we here?"


"We're checking one of the properties my father left behind."


"And I need you there just in case."


Byron frowned.


"Just in case of what?"


Jonathan smiled faintly.


"You'll see."


"Or rather, hopefully you won't."


That answer did little to reassure Byron.


The rest of the drive passed in silence.


—---------------------------------------------------------------------


The car eventually rolled to a stop.


The warehouse looked abandoned, faded paint peeled from the walls, weeds had started to grow on crevices and the roof was getting rusted.


Yet despite all this the records he had on this place told a different story.


According to those documents, the warehouse had received shipments and regular deliveries until only a few weeks before James Marcus's death.


Someone had been using it.


Jonathan unlocked the front door with a heavy brass key.


The interior looked exactly like an ordinary warehouse.


Shelving.


Building materials.


Steel beams.


Assorted machine parts.


Nothing unusual. Though it did look noticeably better than the exterior.


Until Jonathan noticed the pillar.


Mounted at its centre was a bronze plaque engraved with a short poem.


Three iron brothers, tooth by tooth,

Must turn together to reveal the truth.

The first gives strength, the second speed,

The third completes the hidden deed.

Alone, they grind but open none;

Together, three must move as one.

Set them right and make them spin,

Then the stone will part and let you in.


Jonathan sighed.


Byron looked at him.


"You've seen something like this before?"


Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose.


"My father and his business partners had an unhealthy obsession with hiding important places behind ridiculous albeit simple puzzles."


He pointed toward a metal panel beneath the plaque.


Byron crouched beside it and slipped the tip of his combat knife beneath the cover.


With a metallic pop, the panel swung open.


Inside sat several interlocking gears.


Three spaces were empty.


A heavy iron lever rested beside them.


"So..." Byron said.


"The riddle?"


"It means we need to find the missing gears."


Jonathan sounded far less enthusiastic than the discovery deserved.


"Let's spread out."


Finding the gears took longer than either of them expected.


The first lay hidden inside an old supply crate.


The second had fallen beneath a rusted workbench.


The third proved the most difficult, wedged inside a narrow recess in one of the warehouse walls.


By the time Byron pulled it free, both of them were covered in dust.


He handed it to Jonathan.


"So what now?"


Jonathan examined the gears before turning back to the riddle.


"'The first gives strength.'"


"That has to be the largest gear."


Byron stated.


He slid it into place.


"'The second gives speed.'"


"And that's the smallest."


Jonathan replied.


"And now the final one.."


The final gear locked into position with a clunk.


Jonathan wrapped his hand around the iron lever.


"Ready?"


Byron replied, his tone flat.


"No."


Jonathan pulled the lever anyway.


The gears began turning.


Metal groaned beneath the floor.


The warehouse trembled.


A deep mechanical rumble echoed through the building as a large section of the concrete floor slowly slid aside.


A staircase descended into darkness.


Neither man spoke.


Finally, Jonathan reached into his coat, removed a flashlight, and switched it on.


"Let's go."


Byron stared into the opening.


"This is how horror movies start."


Jonathan chuckled.


"It'll be fine."


"Just don't touch anything."


"You know what's down there, don't you?"


Jonathan hesitated.


"Maybe….I just hope I'm wrong."


—-------------------------------------------------------


The staircase led far deeper underground than Byron had expected.


At its end stood a reinforced steel door with a keypad. Jonathan input 1974. His birth year and a common password his father used for keypads such as this.


Behind it was a laboratory.


Emergency lights cast the room in a dim amber glow.


Most of the equipment appeared dormant.


The facility was operating on little more than backup power.


Jonathan located the generator controls near the entrance and threw the switch.


The lights flickered.


Machines hummed back to life.


Air circulation restarted with a low mechanical whine.


The laboratory was surprisingly modest. It could function even with a single researcher.


Just a compact research facility equipped for advanced biological and engineering research.


Near the rear of the room stood a large empty observation vat in contrast to the other pieces of tech in the room. It looked old.


Beside it sat a computer terminal.


Jonathan crossed the room and pressed the power button.


The monitor slowly came to life before prompting him for a username and password.


He entered his father's username. Then the password James had always used, one he only shared with him. It was the credentials he used in his personal devices outside of Umbrella known only to himself and Jonathan.


Access granted.


The system contained hundreds of research files.


Most detailed work on the T and Progenitor Viruses.


Others consisted of James Marcus's personal journals, documenting his expedition into Africa and the discovery of the Progenitor Virus.


Another folder immediately caught Jonathan's attention.


It contained research notes regarding Umbrella's medicinal herbs.


According to James's theory, prolonged exposure to the Progenitor Virus had altered certain plant species, producing the herbs Umbrella now cultivated.


Green herbs stimulated the body's natural healing and reduced pain.


Yellow herbs temporarily enhanced physical performance but had to be combined with green herbs to prevent cardiac arrest.


Red herbs amplified the effects of other herbs and likewise required green herbs to stabilize the user.


Blue herbs neutralized toxins, poisons, and even the earliest stages of t-Virus infection.


Jonathan continued browsing.


Then he froze.


One file stood out from all the others.


Project Prodigal Son


The title alone was unusual.


Then he noticed the date.


September 6th, 1974.


The day he was born.


Jonathan immediately attempted to open the file.


ACCESS DENIED


Encrypted.


He tried every password James had shown him but had luck.


James had protected this file far more carefully than the rest.


Glancing over his shoulder to ensure Byron was still exploring the laboratory, Jonathan quietly inserted a floppy disk into the computer.


Then another.


He copied the encrypted file onto both.


Whatever Project Prodigal Son was, his father had gone to extraordinary lengths to hide it.


"Boss."


Byron's voice echoed through the laboratory.


"I think you should come see this."


Jonathan slipped both floppy disks into his coat before walking over.


Inside a refrigerated storage unit sat several neatly labelled glass vials.


His stomach tightened.


Even without a background in virology he knew exactly what they contained.


Progenitor Virus samples.


Well at least it wasn't infected test subjects.


That would have been far worse.


"What's in them?" Byron asked.


Jonathan didn't take his eyes off the refrigeration unit.


"Something we are absolutely not touching."


"We should talk to Madeline and come up with a plan on what to do with this."


Byron nodded immediately.


"Good. Because this place is giving me the creeps."


Jonathan couldn't argue with that.


He took one final look around the laboratory looking for anything he might have missed.


Then the two men shut down the generator, sealed the entrance behind them, and left the warehouse.


Jonathan kept his hand in his coat pocket, protectively gripping the Floppy disk,


His thoughts were currently dominated by a single thing.


Project Prodigal Son.