“Yes?”

“Sir, I’m afraid I have some troubling news.”

Albert Wesker already hated the look of the day ahead of him, a silent groan escaped him as he sat up in his bed, black satin pajamas adorning his well sculpted body, and he ran a hand over his face, through his rarely untamed hair.

“Go ahead.”

“Ada Wong has been killed.”

Silence.

”Sir?”

For the next few moments, the blonde contemplated what the messenger had just relayed to him. One of his agents was dead, deceased, no longer operational, expired. True, it wasn’t a large loss since he didn’t exactly like the woman, she betrayed him once by sending him a false Plagas specimen, and she attempted to kill Jack Krauser, his number one agent. If anything, he was curious as to who would be bold enough to challenge her, let alone best her in combat.

“Cause of death?”

“Gun shot to the head, point blank range. She was found outside the building an hour ago.”

The phone was hung up, and Wesker was already out of bed and on his way to the bathroom. If one of his agents was eliminated, then chances are there was valuable information that would be uncovered through her autopsy, and perhaps even his higher up would have more information. At any rate, it was a curious turn of events, and he would love to know the identity of Wong’s killer, perhaps to shake them by the hand, perhaps to scowl them for taking the pleasure that should have been his or at the very least, Krauser’s spouse or even Krauser’s. No sense thinking on that, he decided. There would be time for thinking about who should have killed Ada later.

Once he was clean, and shaven, the blonde walked out and dressed in his usual attire: Black suit pants, blank turtle-neck sweater, the gloves and the suit jacket. His hair was combed and gelled back, and his trademark shades placed upon the slender bridge of his nose. Never mind that it was quarter to four in the morning, his heightened sight could see passed the shades, despite how much he knew others stared, and almost wished he would walk into something, he never did.

He glanced at himself in the mirror briefly, examining the reflection that stared back at him, his brow furrowed, and he turned away, walking out of the door, and towards the exist of his home.

* * *

The elevator gave a ding, and Agent Wong’s killer calmly stepped out, watching as humans paced by her, busying themselves with clip-boards and folders and some simply avoiding eye-contact with her. She was curious as to why they showed their discomfort around her, why they would rather busy themselves with genetic sequencing than give her the daily examination. It was routine for her by now, and she didn’t care, however it was always something she questioned within herself, whether it was fear that ruled them when her presence was felt in the building, or if it was a hidden anger or jealousy, a hidden admiration, or even pride?

She pushed the thoughts aside, striding towards the main office at the end of the hallway, the name of her employer and creator on the door in brass letters, ‘Hunter Cole’: A relative of Oswald Spencer, and heir to the Umbrella Empire through some accidental deaths and some not-so accidental car accidents. It was this man’s contribution that helped bring Umbrella from the brink of complete extinction; it was his quick thinking that sabotaged the investigation into Umbrella’s Bio-Weapons research, which bought them the removal of business suspension, and plenty of time to build their reputation back to what it once was. Umbrella Incorporate was officially returned to their status as the leading Pharmaceutical Company, and Hunter Cole would never let what happened those years ago happen again.

Ebony eyes rose from papers as he heard a single tap on the door. He knew who it was; there was never any question behind who belonged to that distinctive, singular knock. He leaned back in his comfortably expensive office chair, and raised his hands, each finger resting against the tip of the other as he simply watched the door.

“Come in.”

* * *

“Report.”

“Wong was killed by a single round which was traced back to her own weapon, broken ribs and there are signs of lung damage from one of the broken bones. Who ever killed her made sure she felt that blow. No prints on the gun, no hairs, no fibers, we don’t have anything that’s workable apart from the fact that she was obviously moved.”

Albert was silent, secretly glaring at Ada’s body, now cut and pinned open for the Medical Examiner to do her job of performing the autopsy. Her killer was clever, putting a bullet in her head meant her brain was destroyed, bringing her back would be impossible at this point. Not that he would want her back, he was glad she was out the way; she couldn’t jeopardize him with her antics anymore.

“How long since she expired?”

“I’d say about three hours.”

“Have her number logged and her body disposed of. She won’t be of any use to us.”

“And this mystery assassin?”

He turned, almost quirking a brow, almost. “That isn’t your job. It’s mine.”

* * *

“What’s my next assignment?” the woman asked, as she stepped in front of Cole’s desk, he gave a half-smirk, and motioned for the woman to sit. She complied, sitting slowly into the equally comfortable, but probably not as ridiculously expensive seat, a leg crossed over the other, foot resting on knee and hands resting on leg. She stared at the man.

“You did a very good job with Ada. Good clean wound, the clean-up crew didn’t have much to clean up. There weren’t any viable hairs or fibers on the scene or on her body, no marks that would lead them back to us.”

“Those were my orders, sir.”

“Yes, but you did the job far better than any other mission you’ve undertaken. I will not be a fool and complain, on the contrary, I wish to praise you for such… Obsessive scrutiny of the scenario before you, such attention to detail is something even Mr. Death forgets.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank you, Xylas.” He replied, opening the draw to his desk and pulling out another folder, he slid it over the Oakwood desk and watched as the woman, Xylas, picked it up and flipped it open, scanning over the page with a careful eye, well aware that her ‘master’ was watching her, taking note of her behaviour, her every move. She was after all an expensive investment, Umbrella needed to make sure she wouldn’t defect.

“Your next target, you may leave when you feel you’re ready. However I recommend that you get in some training and rest. This target will not be as easy as Miss Wong was.”

There was silence, and the woman closed the folder, repeating the name she read out loud.

“Wesker, Albert.”