I don't even want to know what Yamata did, but half an hour later the advance payment for "witness protection" dropped into our account. It feels so good to have employees instead of grinding through everything alone! Too bad we'll both have to rush off for the jobs. The first two eliminations came almost simultaneously from two different corporate groups, so we had to split up.
I headed for a port town to protect and transport a former security guard I had already seen before—when I ran into Thanatos (ah, now I just have to avoid exposing myself). Yes, my assumptions back then turned out to be correct. That older Black man really had been a guard and a former soldier. The ability to identify people like that, something Vector had developed, helped me quite a bit after being passed down along with the rest.
So, my charge—Mark Wilkins—was currently staying in a small town and was clearly considering sailing off to England. But that actually made my task much easier. If he had already left, it would've taken much longer to catch up with him.
Meanwhile, the target of the second group—and therefore Four Eyes's charge—was Kevin Ryman, a former Raccoon City police officer. Apparently he had holed up somewhere in the suburbs of New York. Venturing into the capital, after some sober reflection, seemed unwise,so I chose the already familiar security guard instead, despite the slight risk of being recognized. Surely he must feel some gratitude toward the one who saved his life twice (even if the second time hasn't technically happened yet)? There's a chance that even if he recognizes me, he won't betray me.
So after getting dropped off on the outskirts of the town, I headed for the pier, leaving my Brabus 800 Widestar out in the suburbs (as if I had stayed there myself). An ordinary person would have a hard time covering that distance quickly, so the main thing now was choosing narrower streets. Four Eyes, meanwhile, drove off in some kind of racing model, posing as either a fashion model or something like that.
Well, why not? After taking in my altered DNA, she had become much prettier and now matched Ada's measurements, becoming almost human (so why am I the one who's so unlucky?!). With fewer smiles and a pair of sunglasses, you'd have a ready-made photo model standing in front of you. Even her hair had grown out a little—another side effect of the gradual restructuring of her DNA.
And me? I still looked like a monster.
So now I was moving quickly through the port district, sticking to narrow alleys and archways so that tracking me from above would be impossible. Thankfully, Vector's memories included the basics of hiding your body from satellites. That was in case Umbrella or government agencies had the city under surveillance during the operation.
For the same reason, I was wearing loose-fitting military-style khaki pants. With their bagginess, it was impossible to make out precise outlines—let alone notice the color of my legs. For the same purpose I wore a loose coat similar to the one Wesker loved to wear in canon (too bad our meeting never happened, even though, if memory serves, he was in Raccoon City during those tragic events), though mine came with the addition of a hood.
Heh, the hood itself was a whole separate story. Yamata studied it for a long time, trying to figure out how it had happened. In the end, she concluded that being inside the nutrient medium (inside Nemesis) combined with radiation had done its work, and my subconscious desire to hide my face had led to this development in my body—literally forming something that followed the contours of a real hood. At least, Four Eyes couldn't find any other explanation, which says quite a lot.
Under the coat I wore a bulletproof vest—something that anyone with Vector's skills and experience would easily recognize.
Why bother with it?
Because I'm pretending to be an ordinary mercenary. And ordinary mercenaries can't just take a point-blank bullet and walk away unharmed. This way, I could chalk it all up to high-end equipment hidden from prying eyes. And the hood cast enough shadow to keep my disfigured face hidden, until I myself chose otherwise and exposed it to the light.
Closer and closer I drew to the place where the former guard had found temporary shelter—he, with his phobia of airplanes, had chosen instead to travel by sea.
How infuriating these highlights are! In crowded places, it's not a gift but a real curse—to see these silhouettes through walls for dozens of meters around. Dozens? A whole kilometer would be more like it!
Still, that kind of vision had its advantages.
Up ahead and slightly to the left, in the building Yamata had marked before the mission using a satellite photo attached to the corporation's dossier on the target, I could clearly see the silhouettes of armed men.
How did I know they were armed?
Pick up a rifle and bring it into a ready position—there you go! Their hands were positioned exactly like that. And their numbers, their movements, the way they were checking rooms… and clearing them of any accidental witnesses!
Well now, that's something.
And how exactly does the corporation plan to deny this?
Then again, from another perspective: they showed up, they fired some shots—where's the proof it was Umbrella and not terrorists?
Yeah. Exactly.
If not for Yamata's intervention and the couple of leaked documents that would soon ignite a new round of the information war, proving anything at all would have been impossible.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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