Chapter 87: Miranda's Assassination Plan
On the large screen, Miranda, the final boss of Resident Evil Village, stood at a laboratory bench in a white coat.
Beside her sat a Cadou, cultivated from E-Type Mold.
She was still trying to revive her daughter through the mold. The experiment was not going well.
"Spencer."
She registered who was calling without looking up. "What is it?"
She drew a mold sample from a test tube as she spoke, her attention still on the bench in front of her.
Spencer looked at his teacher through the screen, the face that had not changed since the day he first knew her, and felt something complicated move through him. He glanced down at his own body, which had been failing for some time now.
He pressed his lips together.
"Teacher. There's a matter at the company that needs your attention."
"What matter?"
"It concerns Matthew Lawrence."
"Matthew Lawrence?" Miranda looked up briefly, then returned her focus to the experiment. "What about him?"
Spencer relayed everything Carter had told him.
When he finished, Miranda set down what she was working on and turned to face the screen.
"You want me to kill him?"
"If an opportunity presents itself." Spencer added: "Killing a shareholder openly would cause significant disruption. The company needs this handled quietly."
Miranda looked at the data on the bench for a moment.
"I can do it. But afterward, you'll need to provide me with two hundred subjects for my experiments. My work here can't proceed without them."
"No problem." Spencer agreed without hesitation.
Miranda nodded. "Then we'll leave it at that. I'll go once I've finished what I'm working on. Should be within the next few days."
She paused.
"Spencer." She looked at him directly. "Would you like me to do something about your aging in the meantime? My work has already produced results in that area."
The mold had stopped Miranda's aging from the moment she encountered it. Her four lords had all gained the same resistance to time.
If she chose to, Miranda could cultivate a Cadou suited specifically to Spencer and give him back his youth.
The two of them looked at each other.
To Spencer, the idea of reclaimed youth was not a small temptation.
He met Miranda's gaze for a moment, then shook his head.
"I appreciate the offer, teacher. But your current subjects are not without flaws."
"It would give me my youth back. But it would also put me at someone else's disposal."
"Compared to becoming a subject who answers only to your commands, this aging body suits me better."
"Ha." A faint mocking curve came to Miranda's mouth. "Very well."
She ended the call.
If he wouldn't accept the gift, she wasn't going to press it. Eternal life was not something you could force on a person who had already decided against it.
New York. Umbrella Corporation.
Matthew listened to the rest of what Wesker had to say and gave a satisfied nod.
Whatever else could be said about the man, he had come with genuinely useful intelligence.
"In light of what you've shared, I'm willing to agree to a working arrangement."
"Before that, however, I need to put a safeguard in place."
He reached into the temperature-controlled case on the nearby shelf and produced a freshly cultivated superior-strain Las Plagas. His gaze settled on Wesker.
"I'll accept a safeguard." Wesker's eyes narrowed slightly as they moved to the injection. "But what is that?"
The moment he saw it, he had a bad feeling he couldn't place.
"Nothing more than a small insurance measure."
"Though to be fair, the benefits far outweigh the restrictions. It would significantly improve your physical condition, slow your aging, and give your body the kind of durability to take a direct bullet hit without serious damage."
Matthew walked toward him as he spoke.
Wesker watched the injection approaching and stood.
"Mr. Lawrence. I think there's been a misunderstanding."
"I came here to propose a partnership. Not to sell myself to you."
"Is there a difference?" Matthew's expression was perfectly pleasant.
He kept walking.
In that moment, Wesker understood what Matthew actually wanted.
Not a partnership. Never a partnership. What he wanted was control. Total, complete, no variables left standing.
He intended to close off every bad outcome before it could open. Every unstable element secured.
"In that case, I believe I've taken up enough of your time."
"I'll see myself out."
Wesker moved to stand and Matthew put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down.
"What's the rush?"
"I said I agreed to cooperate." He held Wesker in place.
Wesker pressed against the grip. The hand gave him nothing. It was like pushing against a hydraulic press. Five fingers had his shoulder locked, and no matter how he moved, he stayed exactly where he was.
Behind his dark glasses, looking at this young man who by all appearances should not have been able to overpower anything, something behind Wesker's eyes contracted sharply.
But you think that's enough to hold me?
Wesker made his decision and wrenched himself sideways with everything he had.
The next instant, a strip of flesh, clothing and all, tore free.
He was already moving for the window. One jump and he'd be out.
Matthew looked at the bloody piece in his hand, then looked up at Wesker sprinting across the room, and shook his head slowly.
He still didn't understand.
Walking into this office had ended his right to choose.
A quiet exhale.
Then, without warning â€"
Thud.
A blunt impact rang through the room.
Wesker felt as though he had run into a transparent wall. Before he could recover, an invisible hand closed around his skull and lifted him clean off the floor.
Nemesis. ( The pursuer)
In practice, Nemesis had not moved from Matthew's side since they entered. It simply operated under optical camouflage as a matter of routine, invisible to anyone in the room.
Matthew looked up at Wesker hanging in the air, let out a quiet sigh, and walked toward him with the injection in hand.
"I'd genuinely have preferred to avoid this. But you seem to have some serious objections to our arrangement."
"The difficulty is that once you used the word 'partnership,' whether the arrangement happens or not stopped being your decision."
He came to a stop beside Wesker.
Feeling Matthew's arm begin to move, Wesker's hand came out from inside his jacket and closed on a Desert Eagle with a custom-coated barrel. He pressed it against Matthew's head and pulled the trigger.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He kept pulling until the magazine was empty.
The smoke cleared.
Wesker, who had expected to find Matthew on the floor, found him standing exactly where he had been. Matthew turned his palm up slowly.
Wesker's pupils contracted.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Several gleaming bullet slugs dropped from Matthew's open hand and hit the floor.
"Sorry to disappoint you."
He looked at Wesker calmly. "Since you weren't able to kill me, our arrangement stands."
Matthew pressed the injection home.
Some time passed.
As the last trace of resistance drained from Wesker's expression, his will to fight disappeared with it.
When it was gone, what remained in his eyes was nothing but fanatical devotion.