Chapter 32: Location Unknown – August 24th, 2004 at 8:00 am

Jonathan Bergeron wasn't in the best of moods to begin with; anyone with a job that seemed like it was 25 hours of work every day would be the same way. But with how the past twelve-plus hours had been going, anyone that would cross him would be lucky to live another day. He had the power to make that happen.

And get away with it; it was in his job description.

According to the oak clock on the wall and the buzzing of his cell phone, it was around 8:00 am. Time for another damn meeting. How many do these researchers need? Do they really feel the need to showcase their pompousness to validate their existence?

The slightly-past middle-age Director of Operations for the Organization pushed his black, sleek leather chair back from his desk while standing up. The phone on his desk started to ring. He ignored it, grabbing his suit coat from a rack in the corner and left his office, thrusting his arm through one of the sleeves.

"Already going, Nel," he growled.

His secretary nodded, knowing that he was stressed. He was nicer to her than most.

The Operations floor of the Organization's main branch had the appearance closer to that of a law firm rather than a major pharmaceutical and biological weapons research building. Of course, anyone who had seen the restricted areas of the building without authorization had a nasty habit of just disappearing to the world.

That was one of his jobs.

And he was mighty good at it.

Taking another right, he found himself in front of an elevator. Reaching into the left breast pocket of his suit, he pulled out an id card, decorated with tiny O's and syringes. He 

cringed at its childish design. Of course, he would've preferred nothing on the card except for a black strip for the card readers.

He swiped his card through the reader, causing a small panel to open in the wall below the reader. Bergeron cracked his wrist while angling his hand down onto the electronic pad. Who the hell were these made for? Trolls and midgets?! Although only average height, he had problems getting his palm to rest on all of the key areas of the reader. After seconds that seemed minutes, the elevator doors opened.

Wouldn't want to be late for anything, would I?

He barely stepped into the steel elevator when the doors started closing in on him. He threw the sliding doors a scowl, as if they closed so quickly just to spite him. Bergeron stepped into the corner of the now-descending box, resting his hands on the railings attached to the sides. The elevator music, piano versions of popular movie themes, was already driving him crazy. After only fifteen seconds of "My Heart Will Go On," the increasingly-impatient director wanted the elevator to plunge, ending the painful sound in his ears.

After another minute-or-so that seemed an eternity, the elevator lurched to a halt. The doors opened wide, leading to a stark-white corridor. At the end of the hall was another keycard reader; this pad required a key code rather than finger prints. After punching in his ex-wife's birthday and cursing his decision to use that number of all things, he pushed open the unlocked door.

The overly-clean feeling from the hallway carried into the next room; however, there was good reason. Protected behind several transparent walls of glass, plastic, and who knows what else, were the laboratories of some of the most gifted biologists, geneticists, and chemists in the United States and the world. This is where man breathed new life into some of the world's worst 

creations. A report had just passed his desk about a new weaponized strain of salmonella that would actually be fueled by many current antibiotics rather than be destroyed by them. Anthrax, Yersinia Pestis, and other biological terrors were altered and enhanced here.

Including the T-virus.

The very same virus that had been foolishly mishandled by the Umbrella, Incorporated. Their "mishap" or so they claimed led to the large scale infection of the neighboring town of Raccoon City, nearly killing off of its citizens. Of course, Bergeron knew that there was more to it than that. He had contracted someone to get him a sample of both of the viruses that Umbrella was experimenting on.

Except he hadn't made it out alive, which disappointed Bergeron. William Birkin would've been an excellent addition to the staff at the Organization, Bergeron thought to himself.

Taking a right, he slowly made his way towards a large meeting room that was a little ways into the subbasement. His eyes kept glancing over towards the transparent walls, spying on the activities of the researchers. He was never great with chemistry, but there were people who were; nearly all of them were under the Organization's employ. The DO finally found himself within eye shot of the meeting room after wrapping around a few more corners. Nonchalantly, he walked to his seat and quickly slid into it, even though he was the last one.

The large ovular table had seats for about eight people; three on each of the longer sides and one at each end. To Bergeron's recollection, the three across from him were all researchers and scientists that were involved in all types of research and experimentation. Beside him was the Director of Public Relations and also the seat for the head of security. The end seats were left empty.

As the clock struck eight, the scientist directly across from Bergeron spoke. "It is now eight o'clock. Where is head of security Laird?"

"He won't be with us, today," Bergeron replied without blinking. The other five people at the table looked at him inquizzingly. "Retirement."

"We have heard rumors about problems with security, Mr. Bergeron," Allen Murphy, one of the head researchers, directed towards the Director of Operations. "Do these 'rumors' have any connection with Mr. Laird's retirement? Or are they just rumors?"

"You have nothing to worry about, if that's your question." Bergeron answered sharply.

The three head researchers shared glances of concern with each other, not trying to hide their worry. Steve Jenkins, the eldest of the three, looked the least concerned. However, that wasn't saying much. Roland Arsene looked directly at Bergeron.

"Our question is whether there's a problem with security. If we were worried about ourselves, we would've asked about ourselves. Is it something that has a direct impact on the Slepnir Project?"

Arsene was the one that Bergeron disliked the most. If he had his say, Arsene would've been infected with some deadly virus by now. It could still happen.

"Yes."

The stress level in the room skyrocketed.

"What do you mean, 'yes?' How?" Jenkins asked. He obviously was rattled.

"At approximately 4:30 yesterday afternoon, the agent we sent to Spain retrieved the master las plagas sample. She arrived in New York at 10:00 pm. Around 2:00 am, a second agent met with her to escort her here. However, shortly thereafter, a group of six-to-eight people tried to kill the agents and steal the sample. Our agents escaped and survived. The former head 

of security was able to make contact with our second agent; he told him to take the sample and cut the first agent lose." He took a quick breath.

"However, the second agent decided that he didn't like his orders. So, to make the story short, here's the score: two rogue agents on the run with the sample, another party trying to get to it before we do, and six men killed this morning."

Murphy jumped in. "Six men killed? How in the world did that happen?"

"They were killed in a firefight with the other group."

"And who is this other group?" Jenkins questioned.

Bergeron side-stepped the question. "How are you progressing with Slepnir?"

Sensing that he had already gotten more information than usually, Murphy decided to let that question go. "Dr. Arsene, if you would?"

Arsene nodded as he ran his hands through his finger-length hair. He opened the laptop in front of him, punched in a password, and clicked on a few things. Instantaneously, a projection screen began to descend from the ceiling, behind the empty end seat nearest the door. A few moments later, a digital movie began to play on the screen.

"When the T-Virus infects a subject's body, it enters the blood stream and focuses in on the red cells. Making its way into the cell's nucleus, the T-Virus mutates the RNA into something completely different. During this process, the subject slowly becomes stronger and more resistant to pain stimulus. If the T-Virus is combined with the DNA of other species, different, more radical changes occur. This can be either physical or psychological."

"However, nearly each time we have injected a sample of the T-Virus into a human subject, they turn into nothing more than a mindless zombie; a shambling corpse. They do 

experience the heightened physical attributes; however, their consciousness is destroyed, left with only an intense hunger. Also, the subjects body decays, as if the host is dead."

Arsene punched a few keys onto the keyboard, bringing up a few windows of what appeared to be scanned documents; records and research notes of Umbrella scientists. "Even one of Umbrella's most successful experiments, the Nemesis, was more luck than anything. A French research group actually began the research into the Nemesis: a biological weapon with immense strength and the ability to be 'programmed.' It had no thoughts of its' own. It would do whatever it was programmed to do; the perfect soldier. Even the Tyrant, which Umbrella recorded five successes of producing, was incredibly rare. Humans with the genes to be able to support the Tyrant virus were one out of ten million; hardly cost effective."

"But, according to the research notes that we obtained from Luis Sera, we believe that we could augment the plagas, in some form or another, to the T-Virus. We could succeed where Umbrella failed: preventing the brain cells of those infected intact. Also, with the controllability of the plagas, we could control the infected. Of course, this is just speculation until we can obtain the master plagas sample."

Bergeron nodded. "Good work."

"We also have concluded research on a few of our other projects," Jenkins revealed.

Arsene started flipping through several slides; dossiers and pictures of the projects.

Where in the hell do these get these ideas?

However, he couldn't help but smile at them. Widely.