The brutish and bloodied man in red stumbled into the doorway. He fell to his knees however not dropping the woman. "Help her." He said weakly.                 Barry stumbled to his knees, almost dropping Jill's limp form. His determination it seemed, kept him from doing so.                 Rebecca dropped her pistol, scrambling to Barry's side. Rebecca took Jill from Barry. She managed to toss Jill over her shoulder.                 Claire blankly came to Barry's side, watching Rebecca struggling to get Jill into the small supply room down the hall; if they had anything that could help Jill it would be among the many medical supplies they kept in there. All of which were Umbrella brand – of course.                 Barry used Claire to get himself to his feet. He could barely walk as it was, blood trickling down his head and dripping from his gut. He clenched it tightly trying to stop some of the blood loss. Claire put Barry's arm over her shoulders and walked the stumbling man to the medical supply room. She hoped they had something that could treat Barry and Jill.                 Barry was very pale, and the cost to his body of carrying Jill had obviously taken its toll on his muscles, he was incredibly weak. Claire stopped for a moment, looked over her shoulder at the unhinged door, then back to Barry. Her voice dropped as if she was about to cry, afraid to ask. "W-where's Chris?" Her lower lip trembled.                 Barry drew in a deep breath, noticing the fear in Claire's eyes. "They-"                 "Didn't kill him right?! Tell me he's not dead! Please!" A tear rolled down her cheek.                 Barry struggled, wiping the tear away. "He's alive . . . Wesker has him . . ."                 "Wesker?" Claire felt her face turn white. "But he hates Chris!"                 Barry stiffened a bit, trying to take a step forward on his own. Claire grabbed him around the waist and held him steady. "He won't kill him yet. If he wanted Chris dead he would have done it right away . . . he went for me instead."                 Claire looked to Barry again, stepping him toward the door before them. She was speechless for a few moments, worried. She could not find a way to ask this last question. "What will Wesker . . . I mean . . . why does he . . . why-"                 "He'll be aright for a while yet, Claire." Barry said understanding her almost immediately; being a family man himself he understood where she was coming from. "Wherever he is . . . he's okay . . . for now."                 Waves crashed to the rocks before him. The General – as he liked to be called – glared endlessly at the boundlessness of the horizon. He rubbed at his ribs again before placing his hands at his hips.                 "General!" Screamed a voice from behind.                 General recognized the voice immediately; it was his personal aid, appointed to him directly by Umbrella. "Yes Mr. Birkin?"                 The young fellow came before him, trying to balance himself on the jagged rocks; the crashing of the waves throwing him off here and there. "Sir, I suggest we end the test for today and resume somewhere along the road. Today alone has set us back by two days on our schedule."                 The General looked from Birkin back to the sea. "You have no faith in my judgement, Umbrella appointed me to this position because of my expertise and experience in this manner, Mr. Birkin. But it seems to me that you have your father's lack of faith."                 Birkin turned his eyes down to the rocks.                 "Do not worry young one, Umbrella has their suspicions of you, but I know you do not share William Birkin's spontaneous personality. I have great hopes for your skills, and those indeed you do inherit from your parents. But do not forget for one moment their fate, they both died miserable deaths in Raccoon City after betraying my superiors. Need I remind you of your father's final moments facing the great beast created by our special operations team?"                 "No General," Said the young man. "I am very well aware of what happened in Raccoon. And no, I do not care much for Umbrella. However I do realize their power . . . and how much I personally could benefit from it."                 "Good." Replied The General.                 "And allow me to remind you General, do not bring up my father again, he died a very heroic death against the mutated human. And one day I will unlock those files that you so inconveniently forgot to mention."                 The General brought his attention back to the young man. He knew what files young Birkin were speaking of. The files Umbrella had kept of everything that happened in raccoon City before the uber-nuclear blast. The files had been encrypted when the young Birkin was assigned to work with The General. No one wanted young Shane Birkin to know about his father's transformation. That might give Shane ideas of his own. And he was already as close as a loose cannon as they wanted him to be. Even The General had almost become suspicious of Shane's loyalty at one time . . . or another. So the files were "protected" with an encryption only its programmer – whoever that was – could decipher.                 The only subject in the files The General was worried about was the more detailed report on the custody loss of Shane from his parents. The did indeed love him a great deal. But Birkin began showing signs of distraction due to his involvement with his family. So Umbrella had to cure his "writer's block". The higher-ups pulled some political strings and had the courts take Shane away, driving Birkin deep into solitude and research. Birkin's eventual insanity was an unexpected side effect.                 Fortunately Birkin had gotten so involved in his work by the time Sherry Birkin was born, that he really didn't even care she existed; otherwise perhaps the beast Birkin would have been more lenient toward her . . .                 "I'm sure whatever suspicions you have will be resolved before this affair is over. Until then, we are to finish the testing here, within three days we shall be at the Raccoon tomb and we will meet with Hunk. For now however, we shall observe our success thus far." He turned his attention again to the sea. An abrupt substance grew in the form of a bubbling disturbance far out in the water.                 The General knew what it was. A whale was trying to do a casual jump to the surface. However this was no average leap for the whale. The nose of the whale surfaced, every bit as elegant as any casual leap. Then the unusual . . . long morbid tentacles whipped around the whales form. The whale flew, dragging behind it the form of the Nemesis.                 Shane treaded back up the stone path to his personal van. Provided by The General of course. He stopped for a moment, observing that his two bodyguards were nowhere to be found. Stupid asses probably go synchronized pissing. He pulled the white lab coat from his back and reached forth to open the side van door. He stepped in, sliding the door shut. As he did something crept over his mouth, pulling him into the darkness of the van, beyond the light that poured in from the open door. A black glove held his lips from moving. "Wephker!" Muffled Shane.                 Wesker released his hold on they boy, though not allowing his form to be seen by the light. "No one can see you moving around in here, they'll want to know what you're doing. And no one can know I am here."                 "What are you talking about, this is my van!" Shane sneered.                 Wesker reached over and slid the door shut. Then looking back over his shoulder to Shane. "So it is. And the door is shut now so never mind. Your guards are dead, I killed them."                 "Why?" Shane raised an eyebrow. "I couldn't take the chance of them spotting me . . . and I got bored waiting for you."                 Shane shook his head, then looked back to Wesker. "The General is out on the coral testing the new Nemesis."                 Wesker peered through the tinted windows. "I'll bet he's giving himself a hardy pat on the back." Wesker reached a folder from the floor and blindly handed it to Shane.                 Shane took the file and opened it. "This is what they've been hiding?"                 Wesker sat himself on some of the many papers scattered on the floor. He snatched a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it with a lighter from the same place. He puffed and pointed his finger at Shane. "Now don't you think this ends your obligations to me . . ."                 Shane rolled his eyes at Wesker, flipping the pages by and reaching the end, realizing the last page was not the last page at all. "Where's the rest?!" He asked worriedly.                 "Insurance." Wesker stood, popping open the sunroof. "There's enough in that folder to wet your appetite, boy. You'll get the rest of the encrypted file when you complete your job with me." He crouched close to the floor. "And do not allow them to find out you know." With a swift leap Wesker was out the Sunroof and gone.                 Shane glared up vainly. Then he turned his attention to the folder in his hands, reading it aloud. " . . . Birkin had apparently become heavily infected with the virus. He attacked my team and wiped them out with nothing but a claw . . ." Shane said questioningly, an anger toward both Umbrella and The General grew deep inside him.                 Barry gave a rough grunt, muffled by the pillow before him. "Get it?"                 Rebecca took a step back from the prone Barry. She held in her hands a set of doctor's tweezers, and in that a spent bullet. "Finally!" She exclaimed setting the tweezers down on the table next to her. She now reached for a cloth drenched in a cleansing solution. She wiped at Barry's open wound.                 Barry was face down on a not-so-comfy bed. The bullet had been lodged in his ribs. Rebecca had been working at it for almost an hour. In that hour Barry had lost much blood. He wearily dangled his legs over the side of the bed.                 Rebecca adjusted to Barry's movement, wiping away the blood. She now scooped up the needle and thread from the same table.                 Barry clenched his fist. "That's it right? All better?"                 Rebecca continued to stitch the wound. "Until you can get better medical attention, yes. But the muscles in your chest are very weak. I wouldn't recommend putting any stress or pressure on it for a month at the very least." She cut the thread and placed a clean bandage over the closed wound. Then She stepped in front of him. "How on earth did you make it here?"                 Barry gave a deep breath. "I don't know how long I was out. As far as I could tell Wesker was gone. But he took our helicopter, and I figured he had to use something to get to us. It took half a day, but I found it in an emptied forest space not too far from the instillation. I was damned lucky it had enough fuel."                 Rebecca smiled. "And you carried Jill all the way?" She asked, amazed.                 "From the fountain to the chopper; from the chopper to the door."                 Rebecca leaned in and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "You are the kindest and bravest man I know." She rolled her medical supplied into a cloth. "You should be careful with your neck. You suffered a broken collar bone and a few other abrasions.  You sprained your left leg and dislocated your shoulder. You're going to be in a lot of pain for a week at least."                 "I guess I'll just have to suck it in then."                 Rebecca placed her hand on his shoulder. "Do nothing of the sort, stay here and rest."                 "I can't." Barry stood, putting on a new white t shirt.                 "What are you talking about?" Rebecca asked.                 "They have Chris, and now Leon's out for a while. I can't afford to take a holiday." He walked over to the table beside the bed and scooped up his Colt.                 Rebecca stood next to him contesting. "What are you planning to do? Avenge Chris? He's not dead yet, you said it yourself."                 "No." Barry loaded bullets into the empty Colt chambers; then spun the chamber back into the Colt. "We're going to get him back."