September 22, 1998 – 2:00 PM, Raccoon City Botanical Gardens
The meeting place was a greenhouse in the Botanical Gardens, an oasis of humidity and the sweet, rotting perfume of exotic flowers. Public, yet secluded. A clever choice. Alex had always been a strategist. Eddie waited on a wrought-iron bench, impatience humming under his skin. Who the hell had she sent him?
He didn't have to wait long.
He didn't hear footsteps on the cobblestones. He only noticed her when a shadow cut the sunlight filtering through the glass. He turned.
The woman who faced him didn't walk—she advanced. Every movement was an exercise in lethal economy. Ash-blond hair cut into a sharp bob, a face with lines so perfect it looked sculpted from marble. But it was her eyes that held him. Pale blue, almost glacial, stripping him bare with surgical intensity. No emotion there. Only assessment.
For the first time in a long while, Eddie felt dissected.
"Svetlana Belikova," she said. Her voice was calm, touched by a faint Slavic accent that dulled the edges of words and made them sharper at the same time. "Miss Wesker sends her regards."
Eddie stood, flashing his trademark charming smile. It was a weapon he wielded with mastery. But against her, it felt like bringing a knife to a gunfight.
"Eddie Cai. Pleasure's mine." He extended his hand.
Her grip was firm, devoid of warmth—the hold of someone who knew the mechanics of every bone in his hand and how to break them.
"I've been assigned to your protection for the next three months," she continued, withdrawing. "I'm also a special combat instructor."
The name clicked in his mind, a file pulled from a dark archive. Svetlana Belikova. The future president of the Eastern Slav Republic. A legend in special operations circles. A woman whose hand-to-hand skill was almost myth. Reports claimed she could dismantle someone like Leon Kennedy without breaking a sweat. How the hell had Alex found her?
"Impressive résumé," Eddie said, masking his surprise. "But my research program isn't exactly a war zone."
"Any place can become one," Svetlana replied, impassive. "My mission is your protection. Your survival, however, depends on your choices. Don't make stupid ones."
A warning, not a threat. A statement of fact.
"I'll keep that in mind," Eddie said. "I suppose we'll need to exchange numbers."
After they did, she turned to leave.
"My current assignment with a tactical rescue unit ends next month. Until then, I'll observe from a distance." She paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "And, Mr. Cai… the girl who brought me here, Katherine. She's a weakness. Cut her off."
Without waiting for a response, she vanished among the giant ferns as silently as she had appeared.
Eddie stood motionless, his smile fading. A weakness. She was right. But a useful weakness. And Svetlana… Svetlana wasn't a bodyguard. She was a watchdog. Or maybe a wolf set to guard another wolf. A complex game. Exactly Alex's style.
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September 22, 1998 – 8:15 PM, Eddie's Private Laboratory
The scent of cigarette smoke hung in the sterile lab, a desecration of filtered air. Eddie sat before the terminal, eyes locked on streaming data. He wasn't nervous. He was taut, like a musician before a performance that would define his career.
He wasn't a warrior. Physical training could make him fit, but not Chris Redfield or Albert Wesker. That was a brute's path. His path was different. More elegant. Permanent. If he couldn't gain strength through muscle, he would through science. It wasn't about becoming a hero. It was about becoming a god. This was his genesis.
The sharp click of heels on the floor made him turn. Annette stood in the doorway, her face caught between disapproval at the smoke and concern.
"Problems?" she asked, stepping closer.
Eddie stubbed out the cigarette. "No. The moment of truth." He pointed at the screen. "I'm creating a serum to enhance physical abilities without catastrophic side effects. Less powerful than the original T-Virus, sure. But stable. A better product than a powerful serum riddled with drawbacks."
He laid out his theory. It wasn't just science—it was business. Tyrants were expensive, unstable, a logistical nightmare. His serum could create reliable super-soldiers. A product you could sell.
Annette listened, her eyes widening slowly.
"You… solved the cellular collapse problem?" she whispered in disbelief.
"Almost," Eddie answered. "I'm running the final simulation now. A hair sample from Alex. If the genetic fusion ratio is perfect, the serum will be ready for use."
She stared, admiration wrestling with shock. Her husband, a genius among geniuses, had never stabilized the T-Virus. He had abandoned it for his G-Virus, more powerful, but even more unstable. And now this young man, this arrogant and charismatic young man, had succeeded.
It's true, she thought, a shiver running down her spine. Trusting him wasn't a mistake.
In that moment, she realized she had allied not with a student, but with a revolutionary. And revolutions, she knew all too well, always devoured their children.