Location: The Richard Estate (Underground Laboratory), Scottish Highlands
Date: August 13, 2017
Time: 21:45 GMT
The underground laboratory hummed with the sound of progress—a low, electric thrum that vibrated in the teeth.
Alen sat at a stainless-steel workstation, the blue glow of his laptop illuminating his focused features. He was no longer just a biological weapon; he was an engineer of death. On the screen, schematics for a specialized hollow-point delivery system rotated in 3D. He was cross-referencing the ballistics with the decrypted data from The Connections.
Across the room, Amelia Richard stood before a massive wall safe. The tumblers clicked—a heavy, mechanical sound in the quiet lab.
Clunk. Screeech.
She pulled the heavy steel door open. The air inside the safe smelled of dust and decades-old secrets. She reached in and retrieved a battered, weather-worn leather briefcase. It was bound in straps that had cracked with age, looking like something carried by a doctor through a war zone in the last century.
She placed it on the central desk with a heavy thud.
Alen swiveled his chair, his tactical instincts piquing. "Grandmother? What is that?"
Amalia ran a hand over the scarred leather. Her expression was distant, her eyes clouded with a memory she had tried to bury.
"I told you I had something to show you," she said softly. "Something I collected a lifetime ago, during an expedition to Eastern Europe. When you showed me the E-Series core… I knew. The Mold isn't new, Alen. It is ancient."
Alen frowned. "Eastern Europe? Wait."
He turned to his laptop. "Trinity. Cross-reference The Connections' geographical data with H.C.F. acquisition logs. Search for 'Mold origin' and 'Eastern Europe.'"
The AI's voice, smooth and synthetic, filled the room.
<< Affirmative, Master. Analyzing… One match found. The Mutamycete fungus, colloquially known as the Mold, was discovered in a mountainous region of Eastern Europe. 'The Connections' acquired samples in the 1990s through H.C.F. channels. There are six known variants, but the E-Type is the apex. >>
"What village?" Alen asked, looking at Amalia. "Do you know the source?"
Amalia didn't answer immediately. She undid the buckles of the briefcase. Her hands were shaking. She lifted the lid. Inside, cushioned in rotting velvet, was a glass jar filled with amber formaldehyde.
Floating inside was a nightmare.
It looked like a fetus, but wrong. Alien. It had the segmentation of a worm, but the pulsing veins of a heart. It was a parasitic abomination, frozen in time.
Alen stood up, recoiling slightly. "What in God's name is that?"
"This," Amalia whispered, "is the Cadou. It means 'Gift' in Romanian. But it is a curse. The Mold is not just a fungus, Alen. It is a hive. And this… this is how it bonds to a human soul."
"Trinity," Alen commanded, his voice sharp. "Search the database for 'Cadou' and 'Black God.' Tell me everything."
The AI processed the request at lightning speed.
<< Searching… Results found. The exact origins of the Mold are unknown, though anthropological evidence suggests a super-colony known as the 'Black God' has existed in Eastern Europe for millennia. It is linked to an ancient cave-dwelling society. Records indicate increased activity in the 15th century, with infected individuals branded as monsters and heretics. >>
Amalia stared at the jar. "The AI is correct. But it lacks the context of horror." She looked up at Alen, her face pale. "I know the history of the Mold, the Cadou, and the Black God. Not from books, Alen. But because I was there. I was a student of the woman who discovered it."
Alen's eyes went wide. "You? A student of who?"
"Mother Miranda."
A flash of lightning from the storm outside struck the lightning rod above the estate, causing the lab lights to flicker. In that brief darkness, Amalia looked like a ghost.
"It was the 1950s," Amalia began, her voice trembling. "Before I ran away with Julian. Before your mother Jessica was born. I was young, brilliant, and hungry for knowledge. Oswell E. Spencer was my peer. We were the brightest minds of our generation."
"Spencer?" Alen hissed. "The founder of Umbrella?"
"He was just a student then," Amalia corrected. "He saw my talent for mycology—the study of fungi. He came to me one night, eyes burning with obsession. He told me he had found a mentor in a remote village in Eastern Europe. A woman who had unlocked the secrets of evolution."
Amalia paced the room, the memories flooding back.
"Spencer invited me. He said Miranda was looking for another apprentice. James Marcus agreed—he knew my passion lay in fungi, not viruses. But Julian… your grandfather Julian begged me not to go. He sensed the darkness. But I was arrogant. I took the train to Romania, then a cart into the mountains."
She closed her eyes.
"It was a frozen hell, Alen. Snow that never melted. The village was cut off from the world. I stood at the iron gates, shivering. And then… she appeared."
Flashback: Eastern Europe, 195X
The woman emerged from the whiteout conditions without a sound. She wore robes that looked like bird wings, and a golden mask that hid her face. She radiated power—not political power, but something divine and terrifying.
"You must be the friend of Oswell," Miranda said. Her voice was like a choir of one. "I received his message. He sees potential in you."
"I am Amelia Richard," the young woman stammered.
"Come," Miranda beckoned. "We have work to do. My daughter is waiting."
Present Day
"That was the beginning of the horror," Amalia said, gripping the edge of the desk. "She is the reason the Umbrella Corporation exists. Spencer learned everything from her, but they had different goals. Spencer wanted to infect the world to create a new race. Miranda… she only wanted one thing."
"Her daughter," Alen realized. "Eva."
"Yes," Amalia nodded. "Eva died of the Spanish Flu in 1919. Miranda went mad with grief. She found the Megamycete—the Black God—in the caves beneath the village. It absorbed the consciousness of the dead. Miranda believed she could use it to bring Eva back."
Amalia pointed a trembling finger at the jar.
"That is a Cadou. Miranda created them. She took parasitic nematodes and exposed them to the Mold. She implanted them into the villagers."
"Implanted?" Alen looked at the writhing creature in the jar.
"Human experimentation on a massive scale," Amalia said, her voice cracking. "Most died instantly. Their bodies rejected the parasite, turning them into Lycans—mindless, wolf-like beasts that roamed the village. But some… some adapted."
"Trinity," Alen interrupted softly. "Elaborate on Cadou physiology."
<< Affirmative. The Cadou assimilates the DNA of the host and alters it to incorporate DNA from other assimilated organisms. If the host survives implantation, they gain superhuman abilities. Notable subjects include the Dimitrescu line (insect-human hybrids) and the Vârcolac (wolf-human hybrids). The Cadou acts as a control unit, capable of influencing sub-colonies. >>
"The Black God," Alen muttered. "What is it, really?"
"It is a database of souls," Amalia explained. "A Fungal Root. It grew beneath the village, consuming the dead for centuries. It stores their memories, their minds. Miranda wanted to find a perfect vessel—a human host strong enough to hold Eva's consciousness downloaded from the fungus."
Alen looked at his grandmother. She was sweating, her breathing shallow. She wasn't just telling a story; she was reliving a nightmare.
"You're a relic of this world, Grandmother," Alen said, his voice filled with a mix of awe and pity. "The secret wife of James Marcus. The second student of Mother Miranda. How many secrets are you carrying?"
"Too many," Amalia choked out. She grabbed the glass of water on the desk, her knuckles white. "I was there for three years, Alen. I assisted in the surgeries. I saw what she did to the children… trying to find a vessel. The screams… they never leave you."
She took a sip of water, but it didn't wash away the taste of ash.
"I left when I realized she wasn't a scientist. She was a monster fueled by grief. Spencer left too, to find his Progenitor Virus in Africa. I ran back to Scotland, to Julian. I have had PTSD for fifty years. Every time I close my eyes, I see that golden mask."
The room fell silent. The weight of the history was crushing.
Alen walked over to her. He didn't see the matriarch of the family. He saw a survivor, just like him. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I understand," Alen said gently. "I have my own ghosts. I see Master Shi dying every night. I see the faces of the men I killed."
Amalia looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "We are a cursed bloodline, aren't we?"
"No," Alen said firmly. "We are the cure."
He picked up the jar containing the Cadou. He held it up to the light, staring at the ancient parasite with cold, tactical calculation.
"This Cadou… it contains the pure genetic blueprint of Miranda's work," Alen said. "It has the original strain of the Mold."
"Yes," Amalia wiped her eyes, her scientist's resolve returning. "With this sample, and my knowledge of how she engineered them… we can reverse it."
"We can build the Necrotoxin," Alen finished. "If we understand how the Cadou bonds to the host, we can create a bullet that severs that bond instantly. We can kill the Mold at the root."
Amalia stood up. She took a deep breath, pushing the fear back into the dark corners of her mind. "Let's do it," she said. "Let's finish what I ran away from fifty years ago."
Alen nodded. He placed the Cadou into the analyzer.
The past was a horror story. But the future… the future was a weapon, and Alen was about to pull the trigger.