What was once the most protected building on Earth now stood as the last barrier between mankind and the inevitable genocide. Misfortune culminated into the the conceding of the Umbrella Corporation's true motives, being an experimentation with the progression of life and tampering with anything genetic. Now, having dished more than it was capable of handling, Umbrella was to blame for the world's end, and the organization had reached its downfall; however, headstrong, the company fought to maintain its name. Its Chairman, Albert Wesker, had taken post at the White House in Washington, D.C. The President of the United States had evacuated shortly after the first T-Virus outbreak, when people began to turn into zombies for the first time. Since then, the White House had been taken over by Umbrella and used as a station for quartering and somewhat of a safe-haven. Confined by thick, sturdy barriers that separated it from the outside world, the most prized architectural structure in the Americas was free from threat—or so it seemed.
Fingers grasped metallic bars that circled the White House and its exterior setting. Blood spit from mouths and horrid groans were heard emitting from the crowd. Thousands of undead piled against the bar barrier and attempted to enter the vicinity, though to no avail because of the firmness of the blockading gate. Not even the strongest of zombies were able to penetrate through the massive gates that kept the undead out of the White House. Aiding in the defense of the gates were Umbrella operatives, each holding guns at the shoulders and firing in to the crowd quickly. Yells were heard from man to man, orders from generals to their initiatives and soldiers, and so forth. They were to defend the parameter and give their lives to ensure that Umbrella's higher officials be given the time and space needed to develop a cute to the T-Virus outbreak. Only time could tell when this would happen.
Inside the massively constructed, prestigious white building, several Umbrella executives sat in the Oval Office that once belonged to the President of the United States. Men dressed in suits, even scientists and a few women, sat at the brown, marbled desk and eyed a much more commanding figure standing before them. Dressed in an entirely black cat-suit-like costume, black army boots covering his feet and black gloves covering his hands, not to forget the black sunglasses that shielded his eyes and helped in creating a lavish image of himself with blond hair slicked behind his head, stood the Chairman of the Umbrella Corporation: Albert Wesker. Tone, more muscular than anyone in the room, and easily suppressing his superhuman abilities, the Chairman stood with his massive arms folded across his chest. His facial region bore a countenance of sheer distaste. The atmosphere in the room was gloomy, as most people either looked fearful or worried, though they listened as the domineering figure parted his lips and spoke sternly.
“Time is now of essence, and running short at that. We have our men on the front-line, defending what's left of this nation with as much of an iron fist as they can muster, though I am saddened to say that their efforts prove useless. The undead are outnumbering, and we have little time before they infiltrate this vicinity and wreak havoc amongst those inhabiting it. I, for one, will not stand for failure. I'm led to believe that I've developed a serum to fight off the T-Virus and its excruciating toll that it takes on its victims. Having bonded with the virus successfully myself, I'm weighted with an eagerness to test this serum on the infected, as well as the non-infected. I take no motion for objections.”
A frown formed over his lips now. His devious glare shot from person to person, then his body turned 180 degrees to face a large window that gave them an image of what was taking place outside. Blood shot into the air as soldiers shot the heads of the undead, and flying, bird-like, demonic creatures were shot down with rifles and other weapons of the sort. Animosity raged throughout the nation's capital.
“The end is drawing near, though I refuse to see it. I want agent Delacour brought to this location, for she is of more use to us now than any other agent we have out there. Bring her to me. Dismissed.”
He finished strongly, arms still folded across his chest, and then watched as people got up the exit the room. When everyone had left, he, too, left and made his way toward his main office, once belonging to the fearful President that had abandoned his people. Wesker gladly took presidential glory as the Chairman of the most advanced and tyrannic corporation in the world: Umbrella.
With the hours that progressed, he sat still, newly located in a much more lavish setting. Portraits displayed against the walls, vegetation planted in pots and whatnot, and educational books resting against shelves, this was the idealistic setting for a President. Still, Umbrella's Chairman took no interest in his warming surroundings, for his anticipation rested in Malice's arrival. Pleased, due to Umbrella's knack of always getting done what he requested, he smirked, just a little, when he noticed a soldier enter the room to inform him that Malice had arrived. Almost a year had passed since Wesker and Delacour had come in to contact with one another, the last event being a space travel to an Umbrella base located above Earth's atmosphere.
Arms extended outward, resting against the desk and folded at the hands, the smirk he previously displayed had died off and now he looked serious. Soon enough, the catsuit-bearing, beautiful Umbrella agent entered the room and her facial expression told a tale of surprise. “Wesker?” She inquired unhesitatingly. His browline lowered a bit, teeth clenched together and posture commanding, still. His cleared his throat, trying to hide a small, devilish smile that seemed to want to crawl over his features.
“Surely you didn't think that I would just, merely, forget about you. After all, you're of more value now than ever before, Malice.”
The epic reunion had finally come.
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