Deep in the North American Umbrella facility in Nevada, Dr. Alexander Isaacs' experiments to domesticate zombies had birthed a creepy new breed—undead who could use phones and cameras like tech-savvy corpses.
Captain Alexander Slater, Wesker's security officer, fumed at Isaacs' disregard for Umbrella's rules, his mustache practically bristling.
In private, Wesker, cool as a cryogenic freezer, ordered Slater, "Watch Isaacs. If he steps out of line, put a bullet in him."
Meanwhile, the White Queen, Umbrella's new AI, scoured satellite feeds for Alice and her crew.
A telekinetic pulse pinged her system, triangulating Raja's location. "The most high-value target has emerged from the shadows," she alerted Isaacs, her voice dripping with digital menace.
Raja, Umbrella's top-priority target, was a mystery man with superhuman abilities and a tactical brain that made chess grandmasters look like amateurs.
Umbrella craved his capture to extract intel on the Shadow Queens, clone them, and crush their organization.
In an unknown bunker, a woman caught the same satellite ping. "So he's appeared. Activate King protocol," she murmured, her eyes glinting.
The Umbrella board, flickering holograms from global facilities, buzzed with excitement. Wesker, voice like steel, declared, "Gentlemen, we thought he'd stay hidden, but now we can capture him, extract his secrets, eliminate the Queens, and dismantle their shadow empire. Isaacs, monitor him. Reinforcements will capture him alive for the Japan base. No funny business."
Oblivious to the global stir, Raja grinned and chatted with Claire Redfield's convoy in the Nevada desert, his Demi-God Swagger on full display.
Carlos and LJ, grinning like kids at a carnival, clapped his shoulders. "Man, Raja, you're a sight for sore eyes in this shitshow," Carlos said.
Raja, smirking, teased, "Carlos, I told you to guard Dr. Ashford. What're you doing here?"
Carlos' face fell. "Six months after laying low, Umbrella hit us. We lost Dr. Ashford. To save Ashley, LJ and I played bait, letting her and Nikolai escape. We searched for them, started saving survivors, met Claire, and been rolling ever since."
Raja nodded, serious. "Alice, Rain, Jill—any word?" They shook their heads, mood sinking.
Raja clapped his hands. "Fate'll sort it. Who's up for a nutrition-packed breakfast?"
He whipped out Elysium's military nutrient paste and chocolate bars, the convoy cheering like they'd won the apocalypse lottery.
The food, engineered to taste like gourmet heaven, had kids begging for seconds.
Raja turned mechanic, fixing the convoy's battered vehicles, charging batteries with his nuclear-powered bike, and—showing off—lifting a stuck school bus with one hand, sending the group into a frenzy.
LJ and Carlos just shook their heads, used to his antics.
By night, Raja entertained kids with Telekinesis-fueled magic tricks, pulling coins from ears and floating toys. "No word on my ladies," he said, "so I'm your guardian till we find them. Where you headed?"
The convoy gaped, stunned. Carlos and LJ beamed, fully convinced Raja's presence meant zero casualties.
Claire explained, "We roam, save folks, hunt for safe havens to rebuild, but it's all death and ruins. We avoid cities—zombie central."
Raja nodded. "Get me a map. Food, water, gas—how much we got?"
Claire handed over a tattered map, saying, "Two days' food, gas for 100 kilometers combined."
Raja traced a route. "Tomorrow, we hit Los Angeles for supplies, gas, maybe new vehicles. We'll mod them for defense and find fresh water."
Claire balked, "L.A.? It's a zombie hive—we can't clear it!"
Carlos and LJ chuckled. "You don't know Raja," LJ said. "He's got this."
Claire, eyeing Raja's flower-like smile, thought, What kind of cult-level trust is this?
The next morning, the convoy prepped for L.A. Raja, scanning the group, said, "LJ, you're staying. Hand your gear and gun to Carlos." Gasps erupted.
LJ froze, silent.
Betty, LJ's girlfriend, exploded, "What? Leaving him? You racist Indian punk? You're not our leader!"
Claire snapped, "Explain yourself, Raja. LJ's my team—I decide who stays."
LJ raised a hand. "Guys, chill. Raja's right—I can't come." He revealed a festering zombie bite, shocking the group.
"Got it two days ago. Sorry I didn't tell you." Hearts heavy, the convoy left LJ at the motel, faces grim.
Unbeknownst to Raja, Umbrella's satellite tracked his every move, pinging his location to Isaacs. Defiant of Wesker's orders, Isaacs, hungry for Raja's body for his own experiments, loaded three crates of his new, beefed-up zombies to ambush the convoy in L.A.
The convoy rolled into L.A., greeted by surreal, fake monuments—Eiffel Tower knockoffs, a gaudy Statue of Liberty—relics of a dead world.
In the road, three containers blocked their path.
Raja, grinning evilly, probed them with Telepathy, sensing hordes of mutated zombies inside, growling like juiced-up linebackers.
"Carlos, everyone back off, lock doors, stay inside," Raja ordered.
"We've got zombie hordes in those containers." The team, trusting him implicitly, sealed their vehicles, no questions asked.
A container creaked open, unleashing gasps and growls. Mutated zombies—hulking, fast, and mean—poured out like berserkers on steroids.
Raja, with an evil smirk, checked his assault rifle, eyes glinting. "Here we go again."
To Be Continued…