December 5th 1995

The following day, back at the Raccoon City Police Department, Wesker was not at his desk first thing in the morning like he preferred to be.

"Who on God's green earth gave you permission to question the suspect while he was hospitalized?!", officer Stan Kim barked as the single lamp overhead shone a yellow light that hurt the eyes of everyone in the small, windowless interrogation room in the basement of police headquarters.

Everyone's eyes, that is, except Wesker's. The Umbrella operative was still quite comfortable as his eyes were consistently covered with the sunglasses. Three officers from the Internal Affairs Division, all of them dressed in suits and ties, hovered around the table and chair that was occupied by the lower-ranking officer. His blue apparel was a sharp contrast to their gray, white and black ones, respectively, as Wesker didn't bother looking up any more, preferring to keep staring ahead across the table and towards the only other chair that was there, though that one was empty.

"No one, _sir_", he finally replied, "I just thought I could get some information out of him as far as what other robberies he might've committed, with or without accomplices. Suspects like Marc Black rarely ever pull one job only".

None of his three interrogators answered.

"As I'm sure you gentlemen know", Wesker added.

"So you went in there, as a doctor was examining him and what?", Kim asked the same question for the fifth time so far.

"I demanded that he tell me when was the last time he had pulled other jobs like it, _sir_", the same blank expression hiding behind the sunglasses.

"How far were you from him as you asked him that?", one of Kim's associates questioned in his turn from another part of the room.

"About a yard from the bed, _sir_. That is when he grunts in pain, reaches forward and pulls my sidearm out of its holster. He says nothing".

"Are you sure about that?", Kim went on, placing his hands palm-down on the table and leaning his face closer to Wesker's,

"Because we _are_ asking Dr. Bechet these same questions, as I'm sure you know. So I'm guessing that he's confirming your version of events now, right?".

"He should be, assuming he's not lying or experiencing blackout,_sir_".

"You better hope so", the third interrogator told him.

Wesker already knew to not volunteer information, and thus not bothered saying anything else unless he was asked a new question. Having been on the receiving end of such inquiries for the last twenty minutes now, the Umbrella spy was getting rather bored, nonverbally wondering how much longer this event was scheduled to last. He reasoned that his real employers would use their contacts within the department to pull rank and send him back out of the interrogation chamber so he can do both his jobs, for Umbrella and for the RPD, but he just did not know when that would be.

Coinciding with his train of thought, the only door leading in or out of the room opened from the outside and the police chief himself entered with two uniformed assistants behind him.

"Gentlemen", chief Irons declared, addressing the three IAD officers,

"It seems that this question and answer session is over. Dr. Bechet has been singing the same tune as officer Wesker here, and the good doctor has no reason to lie, seeing as these two hadn't even met till yesterday evening".

"So that's it?", Kim asked the chief, "Our investigation's over and he's back on duty? I don't like the idea of that, sir. Not after the gross negligence he displayed".

"I understand your concerns, detective", the older and more heavyset chief replied, "And I assure you that officer Wesker _will_ be reprimanded severely for his lack of judgment. But this is no longer a criminal matter, it's a departmental discipline issue now".

The three IAD detectives didn't seem to enjoy hearing the chief's statement, but they also knew they had to accept it.

"Officers", chief Irons turned to the two assistants behind him, "Help these detectives in any way they need so as to make their trip back to their headquarters as uncomplicated as possible".

The statement was extremely polite, but the underlying meaning that he was ordering the detectives out of his building was clear. Getting the hint, all three IAD detectives said nothing more as they picked up their jackets as well as suitcases before heading outside. One of them thanked the chief for his time and was answered in kind before they left the room, followed by one of the two uniformed officers. As the first of Irons' assistants walked out with the IAD officers, the other, a female officer in uniform who wore straight brown hair down to the back of her neck, stood at attention behind the police chief and with her hands crossed at her lower back. It was only then that Wesker stood up, with a slight grin on his face, as Irons closed the door behind himself to make sure the three remaining individuals were alone.

"Thanks for the assistance, chief, especially after the doctor backed up what I said", the younger officer expected to walk out of the place and head back upstairs.

"Shut up!", Irons surprised him by an angry tone of voice as his path was blocked by the older superior, "What the hell did you think you were doing last night?".

The surprise didn't stay on Wesker's face for long. Having regained his composure within an instant, he stared into the chief's eyes from behind his own dark glasses.

"Was just out sightseeing, if you must know, boss", his sarcasm was obvious, "Why do you ask?".

"Umbrella wanted to acquire Marc Black, and alive, you moron!", Irons barked back, "Do you have any idea how many cages you rattled by that stupid stunt of yours?!".

"First off, _boss_, you're obviously upset, but I'd be real careful about calling me any names", Wesker crossed his arms in front of his chest yet again, "Second, what is this new obsession with recruiting scumbags? Is our rank and file getting to be so braindead that we need to scrape recruits off the bottom of the barrel?".

Irons didn't seem any less agitated, though he was careful to avoid the personal insults. No saying what another Umbrella employee could've done to him and gotten away with it, seeing as to how their employer had almost total control of his city, and Irons wasn't sure if he was irreplaceable in the eyes of his superiors.

"You have no idea how lucky you are that you're so valued. For whatever reason that is, I don't know", Irons changed the subject, still furious over the obstacles created in his true job for Umbrella by the new undercover operative, "If it wasn't for our employer's intervention, you'd be in a jail cell, looking at life right now".

"Thanks for the speech, so you got anything to do for me besides hurting my eyes by forcing me to look at you? These sunglasses are only _so_ thick",

Wesker's hands went to rest in his trousers pocket.

"I came to deliver you a message", Irons' mouth twisted into an enraged glare as he was forcing the limits of his self-restraint, "Our bosses decided that you'd be doing a better job for us as a higher-ranking member of the RPD rather than a footsoldier. They have plans for you to move up the police corporate ladder".

"Really, I suppose I should be flattered", the younger man replied,

"Through the academy and up to, what, lieutenant or captain, all within a few months?".

"Captain should be good enough", the chief let him know, "At least that way, you'll eventually be set up with your own command and be out of this building, and thus out of my hair".

"At least the hair that's left", Wesker grinned again. He wasn't sure whether he was intentionally trying to bait Irons into a fight or not, but he did decide that it was best to not draw any more attention to himself, at least for some time. If his employers were truly displeased about his actions at the hospital the previous day, then he had enough to worry about without getting into a fistfight where he placed another Umbrella employee in the intensive care unit.

"This is all the information you'll need", Irons fortunately ignored the comment and withdrew a medium-sized envelope out of his uniform.

Without opening the packet, the police chief slapped it onto Wesker's chest before the younger officer took a hold of the envelope.

"It's information about a hoodlum who's terrorized Raccoon City for ages now. Has more rapes, robberies and murders to his credit than he can count", the chief informed him as Wesker withdrew the content of the envelope and looked at it.

Inside was the picture of a man who was somewhat younger than the undercover security guard, along with his name written on the image that described him as 'Ivan K. Bradshell'. Behind the picture was written an address.

"In another place and time, Ivan here would've been a good employee for Umbrella", Irons went on.

"Don't be ridiculous", the younger officer chastised him as he kept eyeing the picture, surveying any characteristics about the face that may come in handy for when he tries to find the person himself.

"Either way, this isn't another place and time", the chief added, "Ivan now is a tool that White Umbrella would like you to use. You go after him, take him into custody or kill him using whatever methods are necessary, and our contacts at the Raccoon Press will make you an overnight hero. White Umbrella will use that publicity to catapult you to captain status, thus giving you the chance to actually be useful for our employers".

"Such an angry man you are", Wesker shook his head in mock sympathy, "But that's OK. I'd be annoyed too if hookers raised their prices when they saw me approaching them".

Irons' eyes bulged as his teeth kept pressing against each other. He could barely hold on to the sides of his clothes in an effort to not strike his younger antagonist, but luckily for them both, he did not have the chance to lose his temper.

"With that in mind, this here is officer Francine Carnovaley", Irons motioned to the officer who was still standing at attention behind him.

It was only then that his assistant took two steps forward, putting herself in between the two men and making eye contact with Wesker as she nodded her head once in greeting.

It was also then that Wesker realized who she was. He recognized her as the woman that he and the two paramedics had rescued after she had overdosed in the run-down house a few days ago. Yet here she was, as a police officer, no less. It was obvious that she did not find him familiar, though, since she had been unconscious upon being brought to the hospital and left in the emergency room.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with her?", Wesker thought out loud without returning the younger woman's salute.

"Seeing as to how you can't be wholly entrusted to carry out Umbrella's missions to the letter, she's your partner till you prove you can be counted on", Irons spoke from behind her.

"Very funny, fat boy", the younger man shook his head, "Umbrella knows I work alone. And if they didn't, they do now".

"I promise you that it'd be easier to go along with this plan than it would be to fight us on it", Carnovaley spoke for the first time, still without moving and continuously staring into her new partner's eyes.

"Get real! I'm not...", Wesker started to snarl.

"Which would be easier?", the lady interrupted in a calm voice,

"Whining nonstop or going along with these pre-set plans? You _are_ familiar with your employers' track record in regards to us when we are unsatisfied with the assignments, no?".

As much as the undercover security guard hated having to admit it, he had to tell himself that she was correct. Regardless of how valued an Umbrella employee he thought he was, he'd never be freed to do his job if he barged into Claymont's office and demanded that he be given more discretion with how he did his job.

"You're riding in the back seat", Wesker replied after having thought about his predicament for a short time.

He then walked past both individuals and headed towards the door to leave the interrogation room.

"This guy will be off the streets by tonight", the officer promised to himself more so than to the chief.

++++++++++++++++++++

"Are you holding up OK?", were the first words out of Frost's mouth when he saw Wesker returning to his second-floor desk once he emerged from the cramped basement.

"Just fine", the older officer bluntly replied, his mind more on the information he had received earlier on than anything else.

"I couldn't believe I heard your name on the news yesterday", the younger man did not get Wesker's hint that he wanted to be left alone for now, and thus approached his work area, with concern showing on his face more than any other emotion, "What the hell happened in the hospital, Wes? Why did you confront the suspect to begin with? You had said you were just going to talk to the guy we had helped yesterday".

"Joseph, I really don't have time for this", the Umbrella spy finally interjected, wishing that Frost wasn't full of natural curiosity, "I have to go out on the patrol that I'm already late for".

"Anything you need me to do?", Frost asked, too stubborn for his own good.

"Not really, I just want to put the entire event out of my mind.

Besides, I'm good with IAD, so that's all that matters. Everything else can either wait or doesn't matter".

He did not wish to divulge too much information to his eager colleague, knowing that Umbrella expected him to arrest the target who was named in the envelope all by himself. Any non-Umbrella company while taking Ivan Bradshell into custody would complicate his employers' efforts to make sure that he alone got credit for the action, thus ensuring a large gratuity for their spy alone. Frost was also the kind of zealous officer who'd never allow him to confront a dangerous opponent by himself, insisting on coming along for the sake of his safety. So the less Joseph Frost knew about his plans for the day, the better off they'd both be, Wesker reasoned.

"I'll see you later on this afternoon when I get back", he addressed Frost one more time as he looked over his schedule.

It was then that he saw a list of dots and dashes handwritten in ink and attached to the surface of the young man's desk with adhesive.

"What the hell is this?", he asked, pointing down at the sheet of paper.

"That? Oh, it's morse code. I had it memorized from my days in the Navy Reserves", Joseph informed him.

"What is it doing here?", Wesker tried to not sound annoyed.

"I just put it there as a souvenir of my military experience, that's all. Besides, one never knows when one may need to use morse code, you know", the younger officer replied.

"Yeah, right", the older officer continued looking over his own desk till his spotted his schedule.

Not surprisingly, he had been assigned to car patrol for the day. That made sense considering he was expected to bring his target back into custody. That's assuming Ivan Bradshell actually survived by not resisting arrest, and it was much easier to transport someone back to the police station by tossing him or her into the backseat of a police cruiser than it was to make someone walk the entire distance. So grabbing the car keys that were waiting for him, Wesker turned away from his desk as well as fellow officer and headed outside.

"Did you do the write-ups from yesterday, at least?", Frost called out after him, but without following him this time.

"Fuck it, I'll do it when I get back", was the only answer he got.

"Are you _trying_ to get fired, Wes?", the more experienced cop raised his voice to be heard while Wesker kept distancing himself as he got closer to the stairs leading outside.

The shaded and less experienced officer smiled as he slowly shook his head. Poor Joseph, he still thinks that this bullshit matters, Wesker thought as he left the station. A dark and gray overcast of thick clouds greeted him as he stepped outside.

The ride to Bradshell's location was uneventful, with the only aspect for him to notice being that he had to keep his eyes on the road instead of constantly combing his surroundings, as he had been trained to do for as long as he could remember when working for Umbrella's security branch. His instinct was to scrutinize every person who appeared to not be heading towards some, specific destination but was instead standing around street corners. But for now, at least, Wesker had to suppress that impulse and just drive towards his objective. He was pleased with how smoothly the RPD patrol cars rode, at least, as he couldn't even feel the effect of navigating the vehicle over a speedbump.

"_Have_ to find out where these guys get their transmitions looked at", he uttered to himself as he approached the address which was written within the envelope that sat on the dashboard.

Seated on the front passenger seat next to him, officer Carnovaley looked to her left, almost ready to give a response.

"You’re not here, remember?", Wesker stopped her from saying anything even before she had, already not sure how she found herself in the front seat despite his last statement to her when they were in the interrogation room.

Driving by, they saw that Ivan Bradshell's address was a low-income, residential home above a vacant salon store. Other homes on that block were located on top of other places of business, most of whom were operating and people could be seen walking in and out of them. But Bradshell's home had the distinction of being one of only three on that street that rested above an empty business, which one assumes suited the criminal just fine.

He did not wish to park right outside the address, so Wesker kept steering the police cruiser until it was past the block and then turned a sharp left at the first intersection. He parked the car next to several other vehicles just around the corner.

After unfastening his safety belt, he took a hold of the envelope and reviewed its contents one last time.

He made sure to remember Bradshell's face before returning his target's picture back inside the thin package. Inhaling and exhaling once, the Umbrella operative then shut off the engine, withdrew the car keys and finally exited the vehicle. He saw that he wasn’t alone as his new partner had left the patrol car with him, because she slammed the front passenger door shut also.

"Uhuh", Wesker shook his right index finger in front of his face, "I go in alone. You stay here and wait for me to carry him out".

"That’s not what the orders were and you know it, Albert", she sighed, whether it was at frustration at not being able to follow her instructions from White Umbrella or annoyance at being told to miss the action was unclear.

"I. Work. Alone", he repeated, slowly and trying to sound as menacing as possible when he knew he wasn’t planning to threaten someone.

A long period of silence followed as both undercover officers locked eyes. Neither one of them looked away.

"When I drag this guy to jail, you can go bitch at the powers that be if you wish. But till then, you’re not following me up to that house. Unless you think that having us go at it now would help the mission at hand".

Carnovaley seemed to relent in her desire to accompany him, but her facial expression alone told him that he hadn’t heard the end of this. So she checked her weapon, but stood still as she leaned slightly against the vehicle and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Finally moving past the line of automobiles, Wesker suddenly jumped in his place as the car next to him screamed with its anti-theft alarm. The blaring siren was loud enough to be heard from at least a hundred yards away, so being just next to the vehicle was more than he cared to be hearing, especially for a car that wasn’t even being physically touched. Suppressing the desire to use his Desert Eagle to silence the alarm, Wesker continued walking towards the address of his intention.

He did not seem to attract much attention from pedestrians, which was fine with him, as he appeared to be an officer who's on foot patrol or one who's on car patrol but who had stopped to run an errand.

Once at the front door, he discovered that it was locked, as expected.

No doorbell was found, and since the living quarters were on the second floor, Wesker did not have much trouble guessing that a staircase was behind this first bolted entrance that met him.

So withdrawing his Desert Eagle pistol, the officer balanced himself on his left leg as he was about to confront a rather dangerous criminal or, if Umbrella was mistaken about Bradshell's location, about to apologize after terrifying an innocent civilian. He delivered his right leg through the door in a front kick, aiming for the area just next to the doorknob. The wooden door burst open with an eruption of bolts.

A blaring noise following that of the broken door emerged from inside the small building. Wesker didn't know how, but he felt himself being thrown three steps back before he landed hard on his back, feeling as if a giant invisible monster had punched him hard in the chest. Clearing his mind as his legs rested on the sidewalk and upper body lay on the street next to it, he suddenly found it difficult to concentrate as residents who were passing by were either frozen in shock, gasping or simply screaming.

Lifting the back of his head off the hard asphalt, Wesker groggily climbed back to a standing position as he surveyed the ground near him since his right hand was empty. He spotted his firearm lying by his feet, where it had landed as it was dropped, so he briskly picked it back up with his right hand. At least the glasses hadn't been knocked off his face, he thought, not finding it odd that he was concerned about the shades even at a time like this.

It was only then that he saw the 3-inch wide hole around the solar plexus area his uniform. The attire fabric had been ripped apart by a large-caliber bullet, but the kevlar vest that waited just behind his uniform made it so that he only felt a burning sensation in his chest, as opposed to having a giant hole blown into his upper body.

Wesker ignored the small crowd gathering around him and peered through the open doorway before he carefully walked through it, weapon at the ready, but still aimed towards the sky. Once inside, he caught sight of the staircase that led upstairs to a second door, and a sawed-off, 12-gauge shotgun that was strapped to the handrail and aimed at the door. A fancy contraption of wires attached from the door to the large firearm's trigger was designed to kill anyone who attempted to open the door itself, and the trap was fancy enough so as to not be easily put together and taken apart on a regular basis.

"He doesn't use the front door, Wes, you idiot!", he admonished himself for not driving around the back of the block to see if this house had a back door to it also, which he now was sure that it did.

Infuriated at his lack of preparation as much as his target’s brazen ambush, the officer rushed upstairs, climbing two and three steps at a time till he was just outside the second door that led to the apartment.

Wesker flattened his back against the right part of the wall that followed the staircase, thus having the second closed door to his own right side. Switching the firearm from his right hand to his left one, he then bent his right arm at the elbow before sending it towards the middle of the door.

The door did not break open as a jolt of pain traveled from his right elbow to the rest of his arm, and then to the right side of his chest. Screaming, Wesker retained the arm in the same fashion and delivered a second blow into the middle of the door, ignoring the increasing pain that occurred from the new impact.

The door broke open with a gentler thump, but was forced open nonetheless. A subsequent trap from inside the apartment blasted a shotgun round through the opening at anyone who might’ve been standing in the doorway. Hearing and feeling the bullet shoot through the open doorway, and thus missing him while he kept his body flattened against the wall, Wesker finally found his opportunity to strike. Moving away from the wall and facing the opening, he gripped his weapon with both hands and pointed it inside.

"FREEZE, MOTHERFUCKER!!", was the only order he could think of yelling as he spotted the same man from the picture, but who was now in the living room.

"FUCK YOU, COP!!", Bradshell screamed back in a rage as he was desperately shoving several thick sachets of cash into a backpack.

With the backpack only containing half the money that he wanted to put into it, the younger felon hastily zipped up the bag as he used his left hand to withdraw a pistol that had been tucked into his belt.

Two shots fired from Bradshell’s weapon, one slamming into the edge of the doorway while the other went through the area where Wesker had been standing a fraction of a second after the officer dove to his right again and flattened his back against the wall for the second time.

Inhaling, Wesker replaced himself in the doorway as he took aim and fired at his opponent once while he exhaled. He was disappointed that his shot did not hit the target as the criminal was already bolting towards the back of the apartment.

Bradshell scrammed towards the door at the back of his home, carrying the backpack on his shoulder with the right hand and waving the gun with a left grip. While aiming at the middle of the fleeing man’s back with the barrel of the Desert Eagle, Wesker was ready to pull the trigger a second time, thus ending the hunt where he stood.

At least, that’s what he thought. As he was about to fire the service weapon, Bradshell darted to his left instead of keeping on his straight path towards the back door. While the suspect suddenly dove in the left direction, a second bullet fired out of the officer’s firearm and tore a large hole in the door that he was previously running for.

The felon, on the other hand, ran into an adjacent bedroom, with Wesker several steps behind him.

"You can’t get away! Turn yourself in now!", the officer commanded as he chased his prey deeper into the residence.

He did not get a reply. Instead, he only saw Bradshell soaring head-first through the only window in the bedroom.

Slowing down from the rush forward, Wesker lifted his right arm to protect his face from the explosion of glass as his opponent disappeared through the now-broken gap.

"Well, that sure was unexpected", the older pursuer sighed.

He needed a moment to ponder if he wanted to jump through the window also, especially as he heard Bradshell’s continued footsteps on the ground below. But he ultimately decided against it, since even Umbrella’s orders were not needed to be followed at the risk of one’s life and limb if it was not totally necessary.

"Stop wasting time, Albert", he turned around and rushed back towards the front door, hoping that his enemy did not have too big a head start.

Running back downstairs and onto the sidewalk, he ignored the surprised pedestrians who were still gathering around the broken front door and bolted to the nearest end of the block, looking to turn the corner and make his way towards the back of Bradshell’s house.

It was only as he dashed around the corner that he heard Carnovaley’s voice screaming "FREEZE, POLICE!", even though he still could not see her or Ivan Bradshell.

He finally spotted his parked police cruiser and his newly-acquired partner pointing a 9mm Glock pistol before he then heard a burst of gunfire.

What sounded like repeated explosions of firecrackers followed. Carnovaley was squatted down behind the hood of the car as her arms were extended over it, her firearm discharging repeated at Bradshell, who was firing at her with his own weapon as he ran towards her position.

"IVAAAAAAAAN!!!", was the only word that escaped Wesker’s snarled lips as he leveled his own Desert Eagle and took aim at his enemy while he continued running towards the criminal.

Wesker fired once, twice, and finally three times, without even being able to count the numerous shots exchanged between his fellow Umbrella operative and their opponent. The entire event felt like it was being played in slow motion, but in truth lasted less than five seconds.

Bullet holes riddled the hood and windows of the police car as one 9mm round had found its mark in Bradshell’s right thigh. Knowing that none of his three rounds had struck their target, Wesker then caught up with the felon while the wanted criminal was still several steps away from the mangled patrol cruiser.

A hard tackle caught Bradshell from behind by the waistline, forcing the young offender to fly forward before he landed face-first on the solid pavement with his shaded pursuer still pinned on top of him. The younger man retained the grip on his handgun despite the blow, even as the backpack flew out of his other hand. Opting to raise his left arm and aiming the firearm in the general direction above and behind him, Bradshell felt Wesker as the officer wrestled for control of his left wrist. The Umbrella operative’s left hand seized his opponent’s left wrist as he maintained his right hand’s hold on the handle of the Desert Eagle.

The criminal’s weapon discharged once as Wesker had made sure it was pointed towards the sky and away from him. The officer next felt Bradshell’s right arm clawing at his thigh in an effort to distract him away from the felon’s left hand. Growing tired of the competition for control of the other man’s weapon, Wesker finally swung the Desert Eagle into the back of Bradshell’s skull, bringing his right hand down on the other man’s head with as much force as he could afford.

The wanted offender screamed in pain, the left hold on his own weapon weakening, though not letting go of the weapon. Wesker used his superior strength to lastly grab the barrel of Bradshell’s gun and twisted it out of the criminal’s hand, even as the younger man managed to pull the trigger two more times before he had lost all control over it.

With his own weapon in his right hand and his opponent’s handgun in the left one, the pseudo lawman sent Bradhsell’s own weapon slamming into the back of the criminal’s head, this time knocking him unconscious. Satisfied that his rival was no longer moving, at least for the time being, Wesker proceeded to stand up on his own two feet, feeling glad that the mission was over.

"Stupid son of a bitch had a harder head than I thought, Car", he grimaced as he holstered his Desert Eagle and used that freed right hand to withdraw a pair of handcuffs out is his uniform.

He didn’t hear Carnovaley’s response as he bent down to secure the unconscious suspect’s wrists behind the man’s own back.

"How about if you see if the patrol car’s working to drag this deadweight back to headquarters, since have to radio for a car if it’s not", Wesker added as he completed handcuffing Bradshell.

Still no reply from his partner.

"Car?", Wesker looked up to where he had last seen her a few seconds ago as he stood back at his full height, wondering why she was being silent.

His eyes widened when he saw Francine Carnovaley lying prone on her back several yards away, with her eyes open and a large pool of blood behind her head.

"_Car?!_", the officer raised his voice as he quickly ran towards the spot where she lay on the ground.

Nearing her, he only had to look down into her open and unresponsive eyes to realize that she had been shot in the head.

"Oh, fuck, how did this happen?", he thought out loud as he reached for the small radio set strapped on his left shoulder before pressing the familiar button and howling into it, "Officer down! Gunshot wound _to the head_! EMT to my location NOW! Do you copy my location, operator?".

A short buzz over his radio receiver first.

"Copy your location, officer Wesker. EMT en route", came the reply.

Ignoring the crowd that was gathering around both fallen individuals, the officer kneeled down next to his new partner, first placing his right index and middle fingers on the side of her neck.

No pulse.

"Come on, Car!", he exclaimed, dropping Bradshell’s weapon on the ground next to him, not considering the surrounding crowd that might’ve had a chance to pick it up.

He proceeded to administer CPR as the distant sound of an ambulance was heard rushing towards him.

"Everyone here better let the EMT’s through to me as soon as they’re here!", he barked at the crowd around him even as he kept looking down at the body he was trying to resuscitate, "I will personally shoot ANYONE who delays their reaching of me!".

+++++++++++++

The countdown on the camera started at the number 3. Following that was the number 2, then the number 1 before the lens was focused on the news reporter who was seated behind his desk.

"Welcome to Eye On News, I'm Peter Jacobs sitting in for Emily

Corrie-Smith tonight. Big news we're following for you tonight is the apparent death of a Raccoon City police officer earlier today on the streets of the city. Officer Francine Carnovaley, shown here in her police department photo, was shot and killed when she and her partner traded gun fire with a suspect. That suspect, Ivan Bradshell, was taken into custody. The entire police department, as well as the city, seems to be in a state of shock tonight while mourning the loss of this 27-year old, four-year veteran of the force, in what is the first death of a law enforcement officer in the line of duty in about two and a half years".

Jacobs stopped for an instant as he switched his seated position, looking away from the original camera and staring into the lens of a second one, as instructed.

"We go live now to reporter Lu-Anne Lee outside police headquarters where police chief Irons is scheduled to give a press conference to hopefully answer some questions about this tragedy. Lu-Anne?".

"Thank you, Peter", the second reporter answered as another camera that had been parked outside the police station focused on her.

She was standing outside on an overcrowded sidewalk with a handheld microphone aimed up towards her chin as photos were being taken of the front door behind her.

"Chief Irons _is_ expected to be out here any minute now to shed some light on what happened earlier today with officers Carnovaley and Wesker, that being the deceased officer's partner who had also come into contact with this dangerous fugitive and who had taken him into custody after incapacitating him. Preliminary reports state that these two officers were out on routine patrol when they apparently spotted Bradshell as he was entering a house. It seems that either one or both of these officers recognized him as being on the Raccoon PD's most wanted list and tried to apprehend him. That's when, it seems, Bradshell pulled out a gun and gunfire was exchanged between all three individuals".

Reporter Lee stopped briefly amid bursts of flash as pictures were still being taken.

"It should be noted, Peter, that we're not sure of the condition for officer Wesker. We think...".

She stopped mid-sentence amid whispers of her fellow journalists.

"It appears as if police chief Irons is coming towards us right now, Peter, so let's listen in".

Irons stepped out of the front, main door of the RPD station, followed by Wesker as the former was dressed in his usual suit while the latter had the official police uniform on. The pair was surrounded by fellow officers as they stood at a newly-erected wooden platform and waited for the hushed murmurs to totally quiet down while more pictures were taken of them. Irons relaxed while Wesker rigidly stood at attention with his right wrist clasped in his left fingers behind his back, his face revealing no emotions behind the sunglasses as his jaw was firmly shut.

Irons first cleared his throat in front of the sturdy microphone to test out its effectiveness.

"We regret to inform that officer Francine Carnovaley was pronounced dead on arrival at Raccoon City Hospital at 11:27 AM today. Cause of death was a gunshot wound above the left eye. We will take questions now, at least the ones we _can_ answer".

"How is officer Wesker?", one reporter raised his voice to be heard.

More pictures followed.

Irons took a glance behind him, taking sight of his fellow Umbrella operative, before turning back to the small crowd.

"I'm happy to say that officer Albert Wesker was able to escape injury while taking this murderer down", the chief let everyone know, "Any other questions?".

"Was the suspect hurt?", another reporter asked.

"Bradhshell only experienced minor injuries to the face and chest while struggling with officer Wesker after officer Carnovaley had been shot.

He is currently at RC Hospital, under guard, obviously, waiting for his arraignment tomorrow in front of a state magistrate. He will then be charged with first degree murder, possession of an illegal firearm, being a fugitive from justice, along with several previous charges of murder, robbery, burglary and the sale of controlled substances that were in place pending his apprehension. We plan to ask that he be held without bail".

"Which officer recognized the suspect?", a third newsman questioned once Irons was finished.

"Perhaps I should let officer Wesker answer for himself", the chief motioned behind him.

"That would have been me", Wesker dryly replied as the chief motioned him towards the wooden platform, "Just recognized this son of a bitch from memory. Though I wish I hadn't now".

More pictures taken of his face as his eyes hid behind the sunglasses and every word he uttered was recorded, filmed or written down.

*********************

"It's too bad about that chick, but what's done is done, Al", Irons went on as he was addressing Wesker in the privacy of his own office, "There's no need for you to be taking this personally, but if anything, her death only endeared the idea of you as Raccoon's newest boyscout to the sheep who watch TV and read the newspapers. That's exactly what your bosses wanted".

The chief of police leaned back on his special armchair as a massive desk separated the two men.

"Swell, am I done now?", the younger officer, "As much as I admire your compassion towards those who are dead, I'd rather be somewhere more friendly, like the inside of a hunter's cage".

"Cute boy, you are", the chief chuckled, "Umbrella _must_ be keeping you around for your charm".

"Up yours, _chief_", Wesker's voice remained calm as he turned to head towards the door that would lead him out of the office.

"Don't take your wrath out on your superiors just because you got your partner killed, boy", Irons guffawed, freezing the younger man in place as he had gripped the doorknob and was already halfway opening the door.

He had enough stress for one day. He was thus going to make Irons pay for that comment.

Wesker slammed the door shut instead, locked it, and turned back to face his older antagonist.

"Listen, Goodyear, _you're_ the one who made me take a drug addict with me!", the tone of his voice was a few degrees higher, but he still refrained from screaming.

They had to keep up with the pretense of Irons being in charge for the sake of all the non-Umbrella employees, after all. But it didn’t mean that Wesker liked it.

"And don't even try telling me that you did not know how far gone that girl was. She had the most bloodshot eyes I've seen in a long time, even if I _hadn't_ helped carry her overdosed body to the hospital a short while ago. It's one thing if Umbrella is desperate enough to have her running around in a job where drugs are available without any supervision, but to give her a gun as well?! Were you _waiting_ for her to die or kill someone else?".

"Like I said, you did your mission for the day", Irons' own tone of voice became colder as he was faced with the accusation.

The chief rested his elbows on the desk as he leaned forward on it.

"Now get your ass home and don't make the news till _we_ deem it appropriate for you".

"That was NOT the apology I was expecting", Wesker's demeanor returned to its usual, cool one.

The younger officer casually walked over to the chief's desk and leaned forward to face the older man before gripping the back of Irons' head with his right hand.

Irons gasped in surprise and tried to free the powerful hold on his head, first by twisting his head and next by gripping Wesker's right wrist and desperately attempting to pull the forearm off. When neither tactic worked, the chief instinctively reached for his service pistol as it was resting on his belt holster, a move that was expected by the younger operative and easily countered. Wesker reached down and gripped Irons' forearm before the older man had a chance to touch the weapon, and then pressed the chief’s face into the flat, wooden desk. He shoved the face downwards with enough force to cause pain, but was careful to not leave any markings, for the same reason of appearance that he made sure to not be heard outside of the office.

As the older Umbrella employee moaned and gasped in anguish, his second, free hand uselessly clawing at Wesker's right arm, the younger man brought his face down to within inches of his purported superior.

"You're to be more careful around me from now on, right, _boss_?", Wesker demanded, speaking to the back of the other man's head.

"Aaaaaaammmmmfffffff! Get ooooooof!!", was the only reply.

"I'm sorry, chief", Wesker calmly looked back up, staring ahead of him as his arms kept his adversary's face pressed against the desk, "I just couldn't hear what you were saying. What was that? You apologize for being such a waste of space?".

"Umbrella will have your head for this, you asshole!!", Irons was getting louder.

"Doubtful, chief", the expressionless young man replied as he kept his shielded eyes on the wall ahead of his own face, "I would even go so far as wagering that you are nothing more than a lackey for our respectable employer, one to be used and then discarded when no longer convenient to have around. After all, if you had been doing your job of keeping the RPD under control, why would they be so eager to have _me_ promoted and in a position of power in this department? And I still don't hear that apology, chief".

"Fuck yooouuuaaaaaAAAMMMFFF!", was Irons' comeback as Wesker pressed his face into the desk even harder halfway though the statement.

"Why don't you take a guess as to which one of us can keep this up longer, chief?", Wesker followed through.

"I'm sorry, allright?! I'm SORRY!!", Irons finally cried out.

"It wasn't so hard to admit it, see?", the lower-ranking pseudo-officer released the grip on his head and let him jerk his head back up.

Irons was still recovering from the recent trauma when Wesker turned away from his desk for the second time and walked back towards the door. He was unlocking it to leave by the time he heard Irons talking again, this time with a normal voice.

"You little NOBODY! Do you really think you'll get away with this??"

"And please remember your declining status with Umbrella and my rising one before you debate taking your pathetic revenge on me or my own colleagues", the shaded officer added as he exited.

"Some big fucking heart you have, right? That you care so much about some crackhead whore. Must mean you care about every person who you fail to rescue when working at Umbrella Security, even the ones you brush off as a statistic while on the job", Irons angrily spat from behind him.

Wesker's facial expression didn't change. It only took him a short moment to stop in place and consider what he had just heard. Whatever might've troubled him stayed in his mind only and away from his face, even if Irons had been able to see his eyes during the one instant he froze, which the RPD chief did not.

*********************

"You wanna talk about what's happened out there?", the question was amicable and genuine, as opposed to the constant pretense he had to put up with while undercover for the last four months.

Wesker looked up from his desk to see Joseph Frost's saddened face returning his glance as the more youthful man was casually seated on the surface of the desk itself.

"Not particularly", the older man replied, knowing he couldn't and wouldn't tell his co-worker the truth anyway, "I don't see the point. Just yearning to pack up the weaponry and go home. It's been too long a day. And don't start with me about how I'm behind in the paperwork either".

"I wasn't gonna mention that", Frost shook his head, as if his colleague should've known better than to think the paperwork was foremost on his mind, "But I don't understand what's going on with you, Wes".

"How so, youngster?", was the reply as he stood back up from his desk with both the Glock and Desert Eagle as well as all their ammunition in a cardboard box.

"What was said in that conference wasn't true, I _know_ it wasn't",

Frost followed him as he started walking away, "You two didn't recognize Bradshell while on routine patrol. You don't even _do_ routine patrol with a partner, you drive alone. I know you and Francine were sent after Bradshell on purpose".

"Maybe we were, so what?", he kept looking straight ahead as he made his way towards the exit, always avoiding eye contact with the young man, even if his face was hidden behind the glasses.

"If you knew you were being sent on a dangerous assignment, why the hell wouldn't you ask for my help?", Frost demanded, his voice getting more instigating, "For someone who's so adamant about others calling you if they need help, you don't call us when the shoe's on the other foot? You should've had _every_ person here gunning for Bradshell instead of just you and Francine. You don't trust us, is that it?".

"Joseph, just let this one go, please", Wesker kept his monotone steady.

He was sure that the lack of looking at the younger officer was getting on Frost’s nerves by now, but he just couldn't think of what else to do.

Confiding in him was clearly not an option, nor was telling Frost that he wasn't informed of Bradshell to insure that only Umbrella operatives got credit for the arrest.

"Fine", the more experienced officer sighed in disappointment, "Then go home and brood all night long. At least you won't be alone with the goddamn media hounding you and asking for interviews".

Wesker kept his mouth shut rather than state the fact that the last statement mentioned was the only factor his true employer cared about.

"One hell of a poster boy you became all of a sudden", Frost added as the older officer made his way down the steps, "You're the flavor of the month for this city until they get bored and find something else, huh?".

Wesker didn't respond as he headed for the main exit on the first floor, and his colleague didn't follow him downstairs.

It was too bad that the young man was so inquisitive after one colleague that he was familiar with was now dead and another one refused to inform him of what truly happened. But either way, the Umbrella infiltrator knew that Frost would never find out the truth as his real employer was too well hidden within the RPD, and that was ultimately all that mattered, at least for now.

*********************

It was one of those rare instances when he was dreaming but, at the same time, knew that it was only a nightmare and not a real experience.

Wesker found himself wearing what felt like were unusual clothes, since it was not the navy blue of the Raccoon PD or the khaki of the Umbrella

Security outfits. Instead, he was dressed in blue jeans and an untucked T-shirt, but always with his customary sunglasses on his face. The first idea in his dozing mind was that he could not remember the last time he had such casual attire on, but he didn't get to wonder about that thought for long because the monsters soon appeared.

They were normal at first, or at least as normal as such unnatural creatures could be. Hunters tried to claw at him with their massive arms. He threw them back with the ease that he realized could only occur in a hallucination when it comes to dealing with those attackers. Next came the giant bees, as large as an adult human's fist and wrist, trying to sting him by the dozens.

One effortless wave of his right arm pushed all of them back. Large cockroaches that were the size of his leg, dogs whose bodies had been ravaged by one virus or another as well as frogs that stood as tall as his torso came third, but those didn't even try to strike against him. They instead held back, surveying their prey cautiously, as if they were afraid to charge, but not afraid of Wesker himself, but more scared of taking away quarry of a more powerful fiend. Then, all the hunters, bees, roaches, dogs and frogs simply disappeared, melting away into the foggy background of his mind's eye.

That's when any sense of normalcy ended.

The old creatures had been ones that he had seen many times while on the job, and also ones that he had to battle with too often. His former colleagues in the labs had sworn that it was not possible to create the ultimate biological weapon and the best defenses against it without repeatedly experimenting on live animals and even creating new ones like the hunter. As an Umbrella employee, Wesker knew that loyalty was given to his employer first, as nothing mattered more than the mission of making sure his country's government was the only one to have the weapon and its antidote.

It was easy to imagine the horrors that dictators or warmongers could inflict if such power fell into the wrong hands, so any research into biological weaponry by those groups had to be bested. That's why the government allowed Umbrella to have full autonomy, after all. But still, Wesker's subconscious worried about even the remote possibilities of a virus being used for an improper reason by either his employer or by someone else if it was to ever be stolen. It didn't take much of an imagination to visualize what would happen to a human being if he or she came into contact with the same virus that turned a regular dog into a brute that consumed flesh incessantly. And that was even without the previous experience as a scientist for his company.

Hence, beasts that he had never seen in real life before, not even while as a member of Umbrella Security, were brought forth into his nightmare. People with no consciousness in their eyes slowly staggered towards him from every direction, their arms outstretched, as if desperately wishing to get their claw-like fingers into his body. Wesker could feel his heart racing in his chest, but he still would not react with his training in martial arts even if his trusted firearm was not by his side. He knew he should be scared, but wondered why he wasn't. He decided that it must've been because he knew this was just a dream and nothing genuine.

It was only when the slow zombies placed their hands upon his shoulder from all sides that they stopped moving, but still did not attack further. Wesker felt bored at this point, noticing that he was now more relaxed as the monsters in a grotesque imitation of humans simply returned his gaze. Then they melted into the ground without a sound, dozens of creatures just gone within an instant. What replaced them was an individual who was draped in black from head to toe and who jumped down from the sky and landed on the ground a few steps ahead of him with the grace of a cat. The new arrival squatted his legs at the impact against the ground and leaned forward to absorb the collision into his own body as he also gently touched the ground before him with his right hand. With their eyes locked, Wesker walked towards what appeared to be a ninja as the black-clad individual quickly stood back up to his natural height.

It was only when they came within an arm's reach of one another that he realized the ninja's eyes were two horizontal gashes of bright blue. Otherwise, there was no color besides pitch black on the man's body, assuming he was a man, that is.

Wesker wanted to talk to him, he just didn't know why or what he wished to say. The security officer opened his mouth expecting to hear his own voice, but instead only heard a loud static noise emanating from his lips. Confused, he decided to make a second effort, thus closed his mouth and reopened it again.

Same echoing noise followed.

He didn't have the time to be puzzled by the event again because he next woke up and found himself staring up at the dashboard of his patrol car. It was 5:47 AM and the radio that lay next to the driver's seat that he was strapped into via a seatbelt was ringing in a monotonous fashion. It had woken him up from a nap that he didn't even remember having taken as the police vehicle was parked inside a dark alley.

Feeling that the sunglasses were still on his face and had not moved, Wesker picked up the radio with his right hand, still not sure how he ended up here.

"Yeah?", he spoke into it.

"Officer Wesker, this is Mr. Claymont", the high-ranking Umbrella executive informed him in a voice that should not have been as cheerful as it sounded for this early in the morning.

"What is it?", the younger man sharply replied.

"I must first congratulate you on following Umbrella's orders with such efficiency, officer", came the answer.

No answer from Wesker, so Claymont waited an uneasy instant of silence and then continued.

"I must also ask that you report to the RPD early today, Albert. Our plan has come to fruition. Can you be there half an hour before your shift begins?".

"What plan would that be?".

"To have you promoted, of course", came the chuckled reply from the other end of the phone, as if he was asking a silly question, "It's all in place. The approval of the mayor as well as the chief has been received, of course, and following the recent heroics, the media will not be suspecting anything. You'll be in an exceptional position to serve your employer and your country, young man. So unless there's a problem...?".

That was Claymont's way of telling him to be at police headquarters early and stop asking questions.

"I'll be there", was the last thing Claymont heard before the radio was turned off by the younger operative.

Wesker kept sitting up in the driver's seat, staring ahead into space as his dark environment provided some comfort and security.

Too bad it wouldn't last.

+++++++++++++++++++++

"All rise, this court is now in session", the announcement was made to the packed room by the sheriff's deputy, "The honorable James Jackson presiding. Have a seat and cease all conversations".

Everyone who had arrived in time to find a seat among the long wooden benches or the chairs that were lined up in front of the spectators' half of the courtroom stood up. About twenty others who had reached the large room later on in the morning had resolved to remain standing on the outside of those seating areas, so they simply remained on their feet as the middle-aged man in a black robe walked up to a raised platform. Among those who were standing were Wesker and Frost, their dark blue uniforms fading easily into the uniforms of many of their fellow officers.

"Good morning", judge Jackson addressed the crowd as he settled down behind his own desk that faced the massive assembly.

Some of those in the crowd who were either standing or returning to their seated position answered in kind while a court employee was reviewing the items on today's list and coordinating his schedule with that of the district attorney, public defender and sheriff's deputy.

"This is obviously a larger crowd than we usually get in here", the judge first announced, "And it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's because of the Bradshell case. But please keep in mind, ladies and gentlemen, that we have several other cases that require our attention also, so we'll be doing them one at a time as quickly and efficiently as possible. If we don't get to your case right away, I ask that you please be patient and we'll knock all these cases out without going for a lunch break so as to get you out of here. First case, Mr. Chase?".

"That would be People Vs. Ivan Bradshell, your honor", the court employee replied, "Defendant is in custody and was brought down today from jail for his preliminary hearing. Does your honor wish to have him present?".

"Definitely, please sheriff", judge Jackson answered.

At the notice, the sheriff's deputy exited the courtroom and returned a few seconds later with one of his colleagues as they both led Bradshell towards the public defender's desk as his arms were handcuffed behind his back. Of the two chairs that were situated behind wooden desk, the left was already being used by the experienced public defender while the other one was empty. Upon reaching the seat, one deputy undid Bradshell's handcuffs while the other started giving him basic directions.

"Sit down, pull the chair in and place both your hands over the desk at all times. Do you understand?", were the strict commands.

Bradshell nodded once, preferring not to talk due to the swollen jaw that rendered speaking difficult.

"I need a verbal answer", the court stenographer spoke up as he was recording every word that was spoken.

"Answer out loud", the deputy's tone of voice demanded.

"Yes!", Bradshell finally replied.

"Mr. O'Donnell, do you need a moment?", the judge addressed the public defender who was next to the defendant.

"Yes, thank you, your honor", Bradshell's lawyer placed his hand over the microphone that was aimed towards him on the desk and started speaking with the client at his right.

The hushed conversation lasted about a minute with the defendant getting more agitated with the further they talked. Defender O'Donnell finally turned his attention back to the court by letting go of the microphone and placing himself closer to it as he stood up.

"Your honor, my client has instructed me to inform you, against my advice, that he is ready to forgo this preliminary hearing and plead guilty on most of the charges, but he vehemently denies having taken the life of officer Carnovaley. He also wished to ask this court if...", the public defender began repeating what he had been told to say.

"I'll plead guilty to whatever the fuck you clowns have evidence against me, OK?", Bradshell blurted out loud, interrupting his lawyer as he remained in a seated position, "I already know I'm doing life, but I ain't having to do with this shit where you railroad me to be a copkiller and give me the needle. Fuck that".

"Mr. Bradshell, due to the seriousness of the _many_ charges against you, I would strongly advise you only speak through your counsel for now and also watch your language when you're in my court", the judge shot back at him.

"Fine", the defendant stood up in a sarcastic display of respect, pointing to himself, "Then, _your honor_, I request that I be allowed to be plead guilty for all the _real_ charges against me. I did it, OK? I wacked four guys in the last three years for skimming money, and every one of them deserved it too".

The public defender placed his left hand on his own face and shook his head as he looked down at the desk in front of him.

"I told you to not address me and only speak through your lawyer at this stage. If you wish to address the court, you tell Mr. O'Donnell and he'll inform me of your intention to do so", the magistrate went on.

"Mr. Bradshell, as your counsel I must insist that you listen to his honor when he instructs you on how to behave in this...", the public defender turned to partially face his client as he spoke loud enough for the stenographer to hear.

"Hey, fuck your formalities!", Bradshell only got more provoked at the warnings.

"Allright, that's it!", judge Jackson used his right hand to pound the gavel against the striking spot on his bench and then pointed at the defendant with a left index finger, "If you don't quiet down, I am having you removed from this courtroom and we'll proceed without you. Do... you... understand?"

"You're in on it too! You just wanna needle me up for killing some bitch cop when it was probably her goddamn partner that blew her brains out! I get knocked out and when I wake up, someone tells me that I wasted someone that I didn't?! What kind of a system do you have running here?", Bradshell didn't even notice the two sheriff's deputies who had closed in on him as he was getting more belligerent.

Wesker's jaw tightened as he heard the criminal's last comments. In another place and time, he would've easily crossed the boundary that separated the audience from the court employees to put his hands on his antagonist, but he knew he had to stay back and let Bradshell go through due process, as much as he liked the idea of exacting vengeance on him personally.

"Sheriff, please remove this man from my room", the judge calmly instructed, giving the Umbrella operative what he wanted to see anyway.

It was all that was needed to have two deputies pin the defendant's upper body against the public defender's desk. Attorney O'Donnell took one step away from the desk and towards the general audience, as if he had experienced such an event one too many times while on the job, even as Bradshell's arms were handcuffed behind him again and he was dragged out of the courtroom.

"This isn't over! You ain't gonna kill me, you bitches! You haven't heard...", his outcries were muffled as he was led out of the room and the exit door was closed by one of the deputies.

"Anyway, let's do this again", judge Jackson sighed once the calm suddenly returned after the screaming was muted, "What's the situation with this guy?".

"Whether he wants to plead guilty or not to all the felony warrants against him, the people still wish to move forward and try the case for the murder of officer Francine Carnovaley, your honor", the district attorney informed him, standing up to address the court for the first time.

"Thank you, Mr. Houssan", the magistrate acknowledged, "Do you and the PD's office need a court date as of now?".

"It depends on when officer Wesker is available to testify, plus I'll require to have someone from the county labs here to affirm that the bullet that killed the officer came from the defendant and not, as he claims, from the officer's partner", the prosecutor chuckled at the thought.

Houssan then turned towards the audience, locking eyes with Wesker and nonverbally asking him if there was a day that he would not be able to appear in court. The officer, in turn, shook his head and slowly pronounced the words "any day" without saying them out loud, so the district attorney would understand.

"Does next week on this same day sound like a good date for you both to be here and have your witnesses ready?", the judge asked after their transaction was over.

"Yes, sir, no problem", the district attorney told him.

"We can be here too, your honor", O'Donnell stated, "But our office will need the copy of the ballistic report of that bullet too, of course, just to have it in our records".

"So that's done", judge Jackson sounded glad, "Next case?".

"Does that ignoramus actually expect anyone to believe that he didn't shoot Francine?", Wesker didn't know whether Frost was addressing him or just thinking out loud as the pair left the courtroom.

The other sounds from inside faded behind them as the door closed and they walked towards the elevator.

"Of course he doesn't. He just knows that the killing of a police officer is the only one of the many charges against him that can cost him his life under this state's penal code", the older officer told him without making eye contact, "So he's desperate to try anything to save his miserable existence".

Once in the elevator and heading back downstairs to leave the court building, both men were alone as they traveled from the 8th floor to the ground level. Wesker standing almost as if at attention, but not quite, and staring straight ahead towards the metal double doors, his eyes always remained hidden behind the dark glasses. It didn't offer his younger colleague any opportunity to strike up a conversation, but Frost did so anyway as he leaned on the opposite right wall of the elevator and turned to face the older man.

"Hey Wes, about what I said last night...", Frost stopped in midsentence.

"What about it?", Wesker's head rotated slightly to his own right to look at him.

"I'm not sure how I sounded to you when I was going on and on about you being a media poster boy and the flavor of the month. I probably sounded more critical of you than I felt", Frost sounded carefully apologetic, "But I still don't take back what I said before that about you and Francine not calling for back-up. Why wouldn't you two think to call us?".

"Joseph, can't the end of this topic be reached if I tell you that she and I had been involved with a personal project for the chief and that's all you need to know about it?".

"Not when one of my friends from work is dead, Wes. I knew Francine.

She was a good person. What if we could've kept you both out of harm's way by having fifty cops aiming a Glock each at that asshole's head?", the younger man sharply replied.

Wesker was tempted to reply that Frost could not have known her as well as he thought since he had no idea she was addicted to a controlled substance. Or that she was an Umbrella operative working within the police department much like himself. Or that he was forced to take her along when hunting for Bradshell due to being ordered to do so by an employer towards whom he had a higher allegiance than towards the police department. Or that Umbrella mandated that he take another undercover operative on the raid since he had proven himself to be too loose a cannon by instigating a shooting inside a hospital earlier. Or finally that he refused to have Carnovaley involved in the raid and instead kept her in the car as he went after Bradshell alone since he was concerned about her effectiveness in the line of fire, but his antagonist had run towards her by chance anyway.

Instead, he kept his mouth shut and said nothing initially.

"I'm sorry your friend was killed", he finally uttered, deciding on speaking the only genuine thing he felt and could tell Frost, before returning his stare in front of him towards the elevator doors.