The Mad Dog Goes Shopping

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Adrian studied the photograph for a long moment.

The woman in it had deep brown skin and black hair tied into a tight ponytail. She looked to be in her early twenties. A black athletic tank top exposed lean shoulders and the tattoo printed over one of them. Olive-green pants, military boots, an AK-47 in hand, eyes sharpened by war.

Kanan Mafar.

That was the name Lucien Omar gave him.

According to Omar, Kanan had once been connected to a militant organization in the Middle East. Half a year ago, she had formed a group called Black Mamba and started attacking Tricell personnel and facilities. Their Africa Division had tried to provide humanitarian relief in unstable regions, Omar said, but Black Mamba had repeatedly struck their aid teams, their warehouses, and their local managers.

The attacks had grown so frequent that Tricell had been forced to withdraw from several areas. Now Kanan had appeared in Malvia, a small country in southern Africa already being torn apart by civil war.

"The job is simple," Omar said, forcing a professional smile. "Go to Malvia. Find Kanan Mafar. Eliminate her if necessary. Capture would be appreciated, but her survival is not required."

"Not required," Adrian repeated.

"Correct."

"And the fee?"

"Eight million dollars. Half up front, half upon completion. We can transfer the deposit as soon as you accept."

Adrian leaned back in his chair.

Eight million was not a small number. It was not so large that he would mistake Tricell for a charity, either. A company did not throw that much money at a lone mercenary unless it was hiding something ugly behind the invoice.

He looked at T-Lilith.

She was sitting on the sofa with a handheld console, thumbs moving without any visible emotion. "Do you want to go?"

"If Adrian goes, I go," T-Lilith said without looking up.

Adrian turned to Rita.

The maid bowed with flawless grace. "Your will is mine, sir."

"Useful answers, both of you." Adrian looked back at Omar. "Fine. We will take it."

Omar's smile finally became real. He rose, shook Adrian's hand, and repeated the payment terms twice before leaving the room with his assistant.

The moment the door closed, T-Lilith paused her game.

"That man did not tell one true thing," she said.

Adrian laughed once. "Not even one?"

"No."

"That bad?"

T-Lilith nodded.

Adrian was not surprised.

Tricell calling itself a humanitarian organization was already a joke with teeth. In the years after Umbrella's fall, Tricell had taken over more than one dirty line of research. Black-market B.O.W. trafficking, private bioweapon development, African laboratories, cooperation with Wesker. If Tricell was operating in Malvia under the banner of aid, the banner was probably covering something that should never see daylight.

But Adrian had no intention of becoming a moral crusader for free.

Tricell would not last forever. If canon stayed even remotely intact, Chris Redfield would be tolling its funeral bell before long. Until then, Tricell's money was still money.

"Rita," Adrian said. "Pack for Africa. Tell Agor to arrange local delivery for the heavy gear."

"At once, sir."

"T-Lilith."

T-Lilith looked up.

"No trying to bring the entire armory."

Her red eyes shifted toward the warehouse.

Adrian narrowed his eyes. "I said no."

After lunch, the three of them entered the warehouse behind the villa.

Calling it a warehouse was becoming less accurate by the month. When Adrian first started earning real money in Loplers, he had bought weapons like a man expecting the world to end. After Roanna, the buying had turned into a disease. AR-15s. Uzis. Desert Eagles. Boxes of ammunition. Grenades. Body armor. Knives in unreasonable quantities. Equipment that looked practical, equipment that was practical, and equipment no sane person would call practical unless they had seen T-Lilith use it.

Rita stood before the shelves with a conflicted expression.

"What is wrong?" Adrian asked.

"There are too many suitable options, sir."

T-Lilith pointed at the minigun.

"No," Adrian said immediately.

T-Lilith lowered her hand and pointed at an M82A1 anti-materiel rifle.

"Still no."

Rita, after several seconds of thought, lifted the massive rifle with both hands. "It does have excellent range."

"Rita."

"Yes, sir. I will put it back."

T-Lilith moved to the next shelf and pointed at a Stinger missile launcher.

"Absolutely not."

Rita's gaze drifted to a huge rose-carved scythe leaning against the wall. It was more art piece than battlefield weapon, but Rita looked at it with quiet affection.

Adrian followed her eyes and felt a headache forming. "Do not tell me you want to bring that."

"It has sentimental appeal, sir."

"It has customs-problem appeal."

Rita reluctantly looked away.

Then T-Lilith found a printed catalog page tucked near a crate. The image showed a mushroom cloud blooming behind a cartoonish weapon display.

She raised it.

Adrian stared at the picture, then stared at her. "No."

T-Lilith blinked.

"No nuclear weapons. That is not a negotiation."

T-Lilith put the paper down.

From the doorway, Bucciarati cleared his throat. The Italian looked as though he had just walked into the wrong criminal enterprise, then remembered that Loplers had no right to judge anyone.

"Mr. Giovanna asked me to inform you that the cargo route is available," he said. "But if you are trying to move... all of this, the price will change."

Adrian looked at the weapon racks. Then at Rita, who was still glancing at the scythe. Then at T-Lilith, whose eyes had returned to the minigun.

His blood pressure climbed another floor.

"We are not moving all of this," he said.

The two women said nothing.

"We are not," Adrian repeated.

By evening, after what felt like every arms dealer in Loplers had held Black Friday at the same time, Adrian managed to reduce the load to something that could plausibly be called a field kit: rifles, pistols, ammunition, body armor, explosives, medical supplies, spare clothing, cash, forged documents, and one heavily reinforced armored truck that Agor swore could pass as local industrial scrap if nobody looked too closely.

Rita accepted the decision with a gentle smile.

T-Lilith accepted it with visible disappointment.

Adrian watched the minigun being loaded anyway and closed his eyes.

"I said no."

"Emergency use," T-Lilith said.

Rita bowed. "For your safety, sir."

Adrian opened his eyes again and found both of them looking at him with the calm conviction of people who had already won.

He sighed.

"Fine. But if airport security asks, I do not know either of you."

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