Chapter Twenty-Seven: Striking at the Heart

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August 18, 1993, 7:50 a.m.
Above the Umbrella Underground Laboratory

Three people were upstairs, two were downstairs.

The three upstairs all held binoculars, peering through the windows. The scene at the laboratory entrance was clearly visible.

Downstairs, the two stood among a group. The "delegation" of about fifty people wasn't lined up, instead loosely clustered into small circles, people with various expectations for today's event chatting amongst themselves.

At the entrance, security guards in pale yellow uniforms stood in two rows, leaving a passage in the middle. Around eight o'clock, the group, led by the Mayor and Manager A, talking and laughing, gradually made their way into the underground laboratory—the Hive.

Beside them, a dozen journalists' cameras flashed incessantly. Once the entire visiting group had entered, the journalists followed them inside as well.

"They've gone in. Four minutes to eight. When should we move?" Yang Wentian lowered his binoculars.

"They're probably broadcasting the whole thing live," Wang Luo said, glancing at the television beside him as he set down his binoculars.

7:56, 7:57, 7:58, 7:59, and then precisely 8:00.

The delegation, journalists, and security all entered the Hive, and the doors closed behind them.

"Well then, I have no intention of going—and I advise you not to go either."

Zhou Yingxiong turned away and nodded, then sat down in a chair nearby. Yang Wentian looked at Wang Luo, narrowing his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I just have a feeling we shouldn't go," Wang Luo shrugged. "That's all."

Yang Wentian stared at Wang Luo for a long moment.

"You went to the bank with me! The TV station, I went with you! I went to the station chief's house! I went with you to the mob's bar! You couldn't even get into city hall without me! And now you're asking whether I'm going or not?!"

The last few sentences he shouted. Wang Luo gave a somewhat awkward smile. "Just asking, don't take it so seriously."

Yang Wentian sat down, panting. Wang Luo stood up, poured three glasses of water, handed one to Zhou Yingxiong, and placed another in front of Yang Wentian.

"As you said, all my plans have had your support, so I owe you an explanation—a full explanation of the plan since coming here."

"Doesn't matter if you don't," Yang Wentian turned his head away, not looking at Wang Luo.

"Heh, well, I owe you nonetheless. It's up to you whether you listen or not."

"The overall goal of the plan hasn’t changed since it was set. Just as I said before: to save the residents of this city."

"How? In terms of force, we're insignificant compared to the behemoth that is Umbrella. But we do have an advantage."

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"Knowledge of the plot."

"I've neither played the game nor seen the movie. But I have read many online reviews. From those, I formed a hypothesis: the people at Umbrella didn't turn this place into a land of zombies out of malice—it was the unintended consequence of reckless experimentation."

Yang Wentian, who had seen the entire Biohazard storyline, nodded in agreement. "That's more or less how it is."

"So, based on that hypothesis, I analyzed further. What kind of people would do such a thing? In my view, for two reasons: one, they have a transcendent goal they believe worth any sacrifice; two, they possess sufficient power."

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August 18, 1993, 8:05 a.m.
Umbrella Underground Laboratory Surveillance Room

"They're in, Captain."

"Very well disguised." Johnson stood in the surveillance room, gazing at dozens of camera feeds. "Stick to the plan. Report any abnormal behavior to me immediately."

"Yes, Captain."

August 18, 1993, 8:05 a.m.
Umbrella Laboratory Delegation

"How much farther?" In the crowd, Tang Xiaoxiao—who had become a middle-aged man through a checkpoint—quietly asked Zhu Cunjia, who was disguised as a journalist with a camera.

"The central section," Zhu Cunjia replied softly. "Still a way to go."

"I have a bad feeling... as if something terrible is about to happen. Where are those three? We haven't been discovered, have we?"

"Relax, just a little longer, and the task will be done." Zhu Cunjia glanced around at the crowd. "Something's not right, though. The three of them don't seem to have come down."

Why? Wasn't this his plan?

August 18, 1993, 8:10 a.m.
Eighteenth floor of an anonymous building, 200 meters above the Umbrella Laboratory

"Then, I devised the plan based on these traits. If they don't see the city's residents as people, then we must give them a reason—make them see these people as 'human' again."

This explained the bank robbery, the TV station takeover, the spreading of rumors—it was all quite clear. Yang Wentian nodded.

"Inciting the public was just to remind them that 'the people are human.' This simple truth, long forgotten. Still, they are brutal, mad. If the blow is too severe, they might vent their fury on the populace, and then my original goal—to save these people—would be lost."

"So, this is necessary." Wang Luo picked up the clown mask. "Give them an enemy, a target, someone to blame."

August 18, 1993, 8:11 a.m.

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Umbrella Laboratory Delegation

"Do you still have the clown mask?" Zhu Cunjia whispered.

"I do."

"Get rid of it. No—give it to me, I'll put it in storage."

"But... alright."

August 18, 1993, 8:05 a.m.
Umbrella Laboratory Surveillance Room

"The group has entered the corridor. Should we act now?"

"Not yet, wait a bit longer."

Captain Johnson lit a cigarette, exhaled a smoke ring, and for the first time in days, smiled as he watched Zhu Cunjia on the monitors.

August 18, 1993, 8:12 a.m.
Eighteenth floor of the anonymous building, 200 meters from the Umbrella Laboratory

"Have I told you before? Human beings always want to do everything, but their energy is limited. In other words, if they make one choice, they can't make another—not for any other reason, just because their energy is finite."

"This principle applies to the public: driven by greed, by dreams of sudden wealth, and because the story I made up fits their values. For the company, it turns unconscious actions into conscious ones; and once conscious, it awakens their latent sense of morality."

"You're saying the company that created the virus and infected hundreds of thousands has a sense of morality?" Yang Wentian was astonished.

"As a whole, the company doesn’t, of course. But individuals do; not the bosses or top scientists, but the lower-level employees; not the few who are resolute, but the majority who aren’t really thinking."

"And most importantly, when infringing on others, they have no conscience; but once they themselves suffer loss or harm, they inevitably recall 'moral codes.'"

"Remember when I asked you if the creatures in this scenario are human? If they are, then as a group, there's a very high chance they’ll act as I predict."

"If," Yang Wentian said, his anger gone, "I make a hypothesis, too. If they're not human, then your plan is useless, isn’t it?"

Wang Luo gave him a look as if he were a fool. "If they're not human—just puppets resembling people, or mindless zombies, something you can kill without remorse—what kind of plan do you think I'd make?"

"What kind...?"

"Kidnapping, robbery, collecting explosives; attacking the gas company, the oil company, the natural gas provider—set fires, detonate, reduce the whole city to ashes." Wang Luo waved his hand dismissively. "After all, they're not people. Ashes don't become zombies, do they?"