Well here it is; the first chapter of "Secrets Revealed" re-written. Don't really know if its any good but the original version - in my opinion - was written very badly so I thought I should do it again. Hopefully I will finish the whole thing. And I do not own Resident Evil; the game and its characters are the property of Capcom.

RESIDENT EVIL: Secrets Revealed

Chapter One

2004

Daniel King hummed a silly tune, one that had been running circles through his head since the beginning of the job. He placed a set of discs into a small attaché case that lay on a desk near a wall of surveillance monitors; the contents of the screens had already offered him all he needed to know.

The mission had been a breeze, a retrieval job of the simplest kind. That was at least until now. Vacating the facility before the entire place went up in smoke would prove interesting, King thought, but interesting was usually somewhat more entertaining in his book. He had already set the auto destruct for five minutes, and now he had around four minutes left. Reaching the street level wouldn't take very long; it was now six in the evening, so if he was fast enough he'd make it out of the city within the next couple of hours. It would be as if he'd never been there.

The job had been easy enough: retrieve date and destroy anything left over. King's employer had, what could only be describes as, a powerful interest in what he might call "Valuable secrets", primarily involving the late great Umbrella Corporation. This had been the fourth abandoned lab that King had plundered in almost as many months, so he guessed that his boss had some grand design for all of this effort. Quite the ambitious man, to be sure.

King grabbed the case, and then turned to leave. Keeping his pace swift but not rushed, King wasn't going to spare any stress over the countdown; he had made it out of far more gruelling circumstances in even less time. In his entire career he couldn't recall an instant in the field when he had panicked over anything, certainly not the point of falling apart in the middle of an operation. A troubled heart and mind will never have a place in this line of work, at least that was his opinion on the matter.

King strode out of the surveillance room, walking down the length of a narrow passage; the metallic walls and grated flooring emanated some degree of cold, hitting his skin with a vague chill.

As he moved, he wondered what it was with all of these shrouded underground laboratories and steel corridors, resembling that of those funny evil lairs in James Bonds movies back in the day when it was cool to have a secret hideout inside a volcano. Umbrella's higher up; in King's opinion, just crusty senile old men with delusions of godhood. Their own so-called importance like a drug they couldn't get enough of. He never had cared much for those types, the kind that felt they had to micro-manage everything, that they must control every miniscule aspect of all that passed beyond them or nothing was worth a damn. King would be the first to admit that controlling one's own life was important, but a little variety was enjoyable from time to time, and that didn't always come with an over abundance of control.

There isn't much point in breathing if you don't mix things up a little bit, he thought.

He wasn't far from the next door, when he heard the cold entry of a voice, coming through his earpiece. His employer was checking his progress, although King also had a feeling that it had something to do with the armed men, the men who had entered the facility near two minutes ago. Probably from some other Umbrella rival, looking to get their hands on a few new toys, he thought. They would be sorely disappointed with the results of their mission. On the other hand, at least their tomb was already awaiting their lifeless bodies. King felt the muscles in his face pull tight, could feel the smile spread freakishly across his lips. He was going to kill them, he was going to slay every last one of them.

One minute to find them, one minute to kill them, two minutes to leave, give or take a few seconds. Near bloody flawless.

"Having fun down there, are we, Phantom?"

"I thought you'd be in touch, Wesker," King responded. "Those men you mentioned have just arrived."

King in fact had been informed of the slight possibility of interference from another interested party. Obviously it was no longer slight. In all honesty he had hoped for it. There wasn't an assignment that he could name where he had failed Wesker. But even King got bored on occasion, and having to cut his way through some mercs on his way out would be a welcome experience.

"I'm aware of their progress," Wesker said. "They're working for a small failing group, one that once had dealings with Umbrella."

"So I guess the little fish are after the big prizes now that Umbrella's kicked," King shook his head with amusement, going through the next door and into another passage. Not far ahead there were a set of stairs laying in wait. "I saw the little soldiers as they entered: about a dozen ex-jarheads by the looks of them,"

"Just mercenaries out for easy money," Wesker said, his cold voice poring with a sort of dry smugness. "As always viral research attracts the simplicity of the greedy minded."

King chuckled. "Not to mention the idiot who's paying these apes."

"Everyone is competing for dominance these days, so that data you're carrying would fetch a high price. Make sure they don't leave there alive."

King's thoughts lingered for a moment on the coming violence; his killer instincts now wide awake. He knew how things would go, and how they always went. Their fear would be practically fragrant. If their employers had any shred of intelligence they would have informed the mercs that a confrontation with a competitor was possible. Even if they had, these men would be would be in the figurative dark as to the nature of that confrontation.

He had not a slither of sympathy for their impending failure. Traits such as sympathy and morality, those were just the worst species of weakness to have within a killer's world, and were fatal to those who held too close to such values. He wanted no part of any such frailty; his mission was always clear and always carried out. What was about to transpire was going to be enjoyed to the fullest. No reason why a fella can't bask in the act of ending lives, he thought.

"Consider them corpses," he responded as he began to ascend the stairs. "Anything else?"

"Actually, there is. A couple of little pests have recently overstepped themselves," King picked up on the alterative Wesker's tone. Was that annoyance he had just heard? "I know you've been bored lately," the man continued. "So I imagine a hit assignment seems adequate about now. Wouldn't you agree?"

King smiled at the prospect. He loved that aspect of his occupation, more than anyone he had ever crossed paths with, and to have a kill mission right after this more uninteresting one was a golden opportunity, a shining prize that he wouldn't miss for anything. Most people would judge him as evil, but how could anyone truly cast such an accusing eye on him when everyone was guilty of something? Most human beings were cruel and sadistic in their very own way, and King was simply more honest about his way.

He took great interest in this new assignment. It seemed that a couple of unfortunate individuals had make the mistake of rubbing Albert Wesker the wrong way. Handy advice to anyone who ever made an enemy of such a man: fly to the moon and never come back. Wesker always had ways of finding someone, no matter how deep a hole they chose to crawl into.

"So," King said. "Where are these sorry little souls?"

When King reached the top of the stairs, he took a sharp right, leading him into a large rectangular chamber. Dim shades of light cast eerie shadows across the room, falling strips of illumination stretched across empty glass tanks. The tanks themselves ran through the room, four rows running the length of the chamber, each standing maybe seven feet tall. Whatever genetic madness had once occupied these dusty cylinders was long gone. King found the absence of a few monsters was indeed a good thing. It wasn't that the challenge wouldn't be a welcome one, but he didn't have a great deal of time to fight such beings right now.

As he stepped into the chamber he already made the door at the other end. But what he also saw was the group of armed men, slowly moving through the centre of the room, between two rows of stasis tanks. And all of them seemed to have no clue as to what was about to happen. Idiots, he thought. He felt a distain for them that he could almost taste. So far none of them had noticed him; the brain dead goon brigade were too busy viewing the tanks, no bout wondering what monstrosities were once birthed from them. Their attention spans were worse than juvenile. King had seen countless so-called tough-as-nails types in his lifetime, whose lack of awareness had ultimately led them to self-destruction. These men were no different; each and every one of them deserved what was coming. King made out six of them, guessing that the rest had hung back to guard their exist.

Perhaps they're not completely stupid? Just mostly.

"The first target," Wesker spoke again. "It turns out he lives just on the outskirts of the city so– "

"Just a moment," King cut him off, producing a couple of small knives. He threw them both together.

Two of the unsuspecting group were down instantly, jets of red spraying from their neck wounds as they fell. The remaining men were startled, and didn't have time to react as King was upon them. Another blade was in his free hand in less than a heartbeat, cutting through the throat of another mercenary, sending a violent shower into the face of another, causing him to stagger away. He was too late to shield his eyes, and King darted behind the currently dying soldier as one of the others finally managed to focus enough to open fire. He pulled the trigger of his assault rifle, but King used the dead man's falling body as momentarily protect, knowing that the gunman was a couple of paces away. The human shield had done its job. King was then behind the man who was trying to rid his vision of blood. Such a lack of reaction would be the end of him. That was when the merc caught the bullets he'd never seen coming. The one with the rifle had been so entrapped by the shock of the sudden attack that he fired wildly; a shower of metal tore through his comrade, and after that his fate was sealed.

Only two left in the room. King forced his weight into the back of the bullet-riddled man before he could fall. The merc's dead weight crashing into his teammate as King inserted his knife deep into the eye socket of the other man, one who'd been welded where he stood, unable to move. Soldiers, they were not, King thought. The fool was no doubt locked within a swell of disbelief at the speed of his team's death, and how out of the blue it had come. It wasn't the first time King had instilled such fear in others, and in all truth that aspect was part of the enjoyment. They hadn't seen him coming, and this was why he was called Phantom; in a way these men had gotten off lightly. Some of his prey in the past hadn't been so lucky, and he wouldn't want them to be. How un-entertaining would that be?

The last man, who had now finally stopped shooting, was struggling to throw his victim aside. His may not have even registered that he had just killed one of his own. When he did manage to push the corpse away he was face to face with King. A moment later a blade had been slid between his ribs, cutting through his heart. The merc's eye gaped horribly, and King stared into those dark brown orbs of terror for a moment, watching as the light behind them began to fade away into nothing.

And then he was dead. King pulled the knife free and turned toward the door he'd been heading for. A grin crossed his pale face was he heard the weight of the merc's body hit the ground, meeting it's permanent resting place with an unforgiving smack that would never be felt. King was several metres away from the door when he heard the sounds of voices, shaky and urgent as they called out. They were followed closely by running steps; hardened boot soles battered hard against metal flooring, booming through the passage beyond the door as the seconds ticked by.

"What is wrong with these people?" he hissed, rolling his eyes at the stupidity.

From what his slightly more than normal hearing was telling him, these idiots had no grasp of stealth, at least none that could aid them in sneaking up on those who possessed the ability to use their ears. Who trained them? Probably no one, I'm guessing. Leaving the dead to their sleep, he continued toward the door. It would only be seconds before the others arrived, but that didn't matter to him; it would save him time if he didn't have to chase them around.

Moving to the wall near the door, King waiting until it swung open. The first man came rushing in, apparently without even bothering to check his corners. He had made it a few feet into the room when King hurled the knife, burying it in the back of his neck. The second came through right after; King tackled him away from the door the moment he emerged, seeing another of the team coming from the same passage. He kept a strong arm wrapped around the neck of the first man, sending the gun of his partner tearing from his grasp with a kick before twisted his previous victim's neck, creating a vile crunch before throwing him aside like a rag doll. When this was done he turned his full attention to the now unarmed merc, who had suddenly charged, almost bull-like in his blind aggression. The man's advance was brought to a dead stop when King's elbow destroyed his windpipe. The unlucky soldier of fortune collapsed, slowly choking all the way to his doom as King stepped over him. He headed through the next door, continuing on his way.

That still wasn't all of them. It seemed that a couple of them were still at the elevator, no doubt guarding their escape. It wasn't far now. King doubted very much that these remaining men would run; they couldn't have been aware of the destruct sequence, as he had set a silent countdown before leaving the control room. They would have no warning. Of course they would be finished before detonation anyway.

"Phantom? I do hope you're not planning to ignore me all evening," Wesker's irritation was only slight, but still, it was unmistakable.

"Apologies, Wesker. Just caught up in my craft is all," King found that he couldn't suppress a short smile, at the image of Wesker sitting somewhere impatiently. "I'm coming up on the last of them now. They won't be blocking my way for long."

"I'm sure they wont."

"So, what about this next assignment? Are they in the least bit competent? Or are they like these fools, sharing a brain cell between them?"

"The first," Wesker said. "Is a US government agent, living just outside of New York. He's proven to be a minor thorn in my plans and needs to be released from his useless life."

King was amused at the choice of words. "Well that can be arranged."

Whatever money he would receive for this next job would in no way compare to the sheer thrill of actually doing it. He couldn't wait to meet these individuals face to face, hoping that they weren't as soft of the drones he had just killed. Although considering they had managed to mildly upset Wesker he had doubts that they would be the easiest prey. He was going to enjoy this, he was certain he would.

"I would advise that you do not underestimate your next targets, Phantom," Wesker coldly warned. "The American agent alone has survived hostilities of the most savage variety. His abilities are exceptional."

"So are mine," King responded, a wicked edge slicing through his slips. "Who's the other one?"

King rounded another corner, stepping swiftly down the final corridor. Even now he could hear the voices of the two men who had chosen to remain. The elevator was right ahead of him; the doors were visible to him even now, but the men were out of sight, somewhere off to the right of the room. King shook his head, hearing their exchanged words regarding gunshots; he was close enough to pick up on their concern. He could smell their fear, and his heart quickened.

"She was much harder to located," Wesker explained. "It took some effort, but it seems that she has finally stopped moving for a while."

"She?" King said. "It's been a while since I've come across a formidable lady. On the other hand they are in some ways far more dangerous."

He reached the end of the passage, knowing now that the remaining two were definitely off to the right of the room. They were so close that he could see their shadows falling across the floor. Still he could them speaking about the gunfire, and why their comrades hadn't radioed in yet. They probably wondered whether or not they should check things out themselves? Whoever had paid these primates couldn't have been too well off at this point, King thought; they were grunts, at best. Based on what he had seen so far they possessed only basic training. If their employers had even the slightest inkling that someone else might show up then why hadn't they sent someone who knew what they were doing? King couldn't imagine what they were thinking.

He ceased his question. Before either man could go on any further with their dull debate of "fight or flight?" he emerged from his concealment, another knife in hand. The closest of his opponents was down before he knew what had happened, crying out as a fiery agony ripped across the muscles in his face; the knife lodges in the softness of his bleeding stomach as he fell onto his back. King had considered finished him right away, though he decided it would be funnier to leave the poor man to writhe on the ground before being incinerated.

The second merc shook where he stood, trying his best to keep his handgun lined up with King's head. Whoever this man was – this merc, and King's opinion a massively chicken-shit one at that – he couldn't have been even near his mid twenties. This man, this boy, shook like a leaf, losing his bearing with any calm he may have had like the branch that shunned that leaf. As far as King could recall, he himself had never scared to such a powerful degree whilst in the centre of violence. He wasn't sure if he could feel terror anymore. What he saw in the young man's eyes at this moment mirrored nothing that King had ever experienced. But maybe it was just King? Perhaps he was the only one who didn't feel fear anymore? He didn't feel horror to anything, because he was horror.

"Get you fucking h-hands in the air!" the panic stricken moron yelled, with his gun juddering around in his hand like a tambourine. "Give me the case. Do it now!"

"This case?" King was highly entertained by the rookie's spineless body language. His fear was indeed fragrant, like a man who had literally soiled himself. "Your friends, they just died for this. I have to say they failed to impress. So don't you disappoint me as well, k?"

"I s-said," the merc paused, taking a short lungful of air. "Give me the case!"

King let out a sigh of annoyance, taking a step toward the quaking idiot. And then the merc opened fire. King cleared the path of the bullet, darting to the left with an almost unreal agility. Closing the distance, he launched a punch to the man's nose. The impact forced a wet crack into the air, followed by the horrid scream that raced out of the merc's mouth when King planted his foot into his right kneecap, snapping it in the opposite direction. He went to the ground, but with no time to cradle his broken leg, as King was on top of him within an instant, pinning the man's gun arm to the floor with his knee. King grinned, gasping with a freakish joy as he clamped his unoccupied hand around the merc's throat. He squeezed tightly, cutting off his victims air supply.

The merc brought his one good hand up, wrapping his fingers around King's wrist in an effort to free himself, an effort that King might have found commendable if it wasn't so futile. Within seconds the kicking and choking man must have realised that his struggle was pointless, and instead began to throw his fist upward, aiming for King's face in a desperate bid to go on with his life. King was actually surprised when the first strike connected, bouncing off of his cheek. His grip on the man's throat slackened only a fraction in that instant, caught mildly off guard by the sudden outburst of will. This boy had a decent amount of strength, he thought. He lifted his face from reach, his hand tightening more and more. The strikes from the young merc became weaker after that.

"That was better than the others," King almost mused. "It's amazing, isn't it? What people will do to survive?" he then flattened the last remnants of life from this final pawn. He rose from the now unmoving form. "Oh well."

He turned back to the other one, the man moaning in pain on the floor, with the bloodied knife still protruding from his gushing belly. King would have been perfectly happy with watching the man slowly slip away, but sadly he had to leave. Moving over to soldier, who had already donated rivers of scarlet to the ground he lay on, King took one final and satisfied glance at the case in his left hand. Then he regarded the remains of his deathly work.

"You don't look all that well, my friend," he taunted, ignoring the mild inch across his cheek from that punch. "I do believe this place is about to self destruct."

"Aaggh! Fuck… n-no, it hurts," the man's face was milk white as he looked back at King. "Please! D-don't… leave me like… this!"

"It won't matter," King replied. "Not in a couple of minutes, anyway. Basically you have the task of crawling out of here before this place blows to high heaven. Oh, but you'll have to call the elevator back down when I'm gone. It isn't turning out to be a good day for you, is it?"

King turned, leaving the writhing amateur to his fate. He was one hundred percent certain that the man had a snowballs chance in hell of leaving with the wound he had, having lost far too much blood. He would go down with the rest of place. Not one of them had any substance to speak of. King had always believed that there was no room for the weak, and reflecting on that further he realised that they weren't that bad to have around; the would always be predators, and they would always need prey. Daniel King would always need prey.

He opened the elevator doors, ignoring the dying man's continued pleas as he stepped inside. As the sliding door closed and his ascent began, he wondered what excitement his new assignment would bring his way. "I assume you're still there?"

"I am," Wesker said flatly. "Quite theatrical, aren't you?"

"Well after all this time it shouldn't come as much of shock."

"True enough. I wonder how Ada Wong will react to that vicious streak of yours."

King's body froze, as if being subjected to a raging blizzard of alarm, and alarm that burst quickly into hatred. The icy coldness enveloped him, as the name rang achingly through his head. He felt his brow creased, an anger he had almost forgotten forcing it's way up to the surface of his mind. It was monstrous, like a leviathan, rising from the deep with a destructive intent.

"Ada," he said. "Ada. What of her?"

"Miss Wong, and the government lapdog, are your targets, Phantom. I assume you of all people would be pleased to hear this."

King ground his teeth. "So she finally stabbed in the back, has she? I knew she would eventually; one can only be a double agent for so long before it catches up with them."

"Her organisation won't be a factor forever," King's own distain for the woman seemed to be equally matched by the malevolent current running through Wesker's words. "Although her most recent activities have set back my plans. So enough is enough. She has to go."

"So, I take it she botched the Spain op then? Those pesky feelings are a real pain for her, aren't they?"

King wasn't in possession of the full details regarding the Spain mission. However he knew that Wesker had been running some operation in Europe and that Ada Wong had been involved. Obviously it hadn't gone the way Wesker would have liked, which certainly wasn't good for Ada. Though King hardly cared what was good for her.

"I wouldn't exactly say that she failed. However her interests and mine have never been common. She has finally made her move, and now she's going to die for it."

King thought that a difference in their interests was a serious understatement. Ada Wong always had been and always would be on her own side; this simple fact was unquestionable to him, as certain as oxygen. Her mesquerade was finally over. King had waiting too long for this moment to arrive.

"Oh yes. I'll make sure she does."