1. Survivalism

Ada Wong's black stilettos made loud and defined clicks as she got off the elevator and walked down the long, empty hallway. When she reached the door to Albert Wesker's office, she stopped momentarily to adjust the straps of her bright red dress. Once reassured of her appearance, she swallowed hard and opened the door. As she stepped into the room, she was assaulted by her own pale reflection; the room's walls were made of reflective glass.

"Wesker," she said, moving toward his desk with her eyes cast downward, watching her own reflection with each step.

Swiveling around in his chair, he smiled widely. His smile was ghastly. "Punctual, Ada. You know I like that."

"What did you need?"

"I wanted to discuss what happened in Spain. Specifically I'd like to know why you killed Jack Krauser, one of my best men."

Ada shook her head, feeling a rush of unease through her body. She regretted showing up when he requested her presence, but she also knew there had been no other option. This was it; her own personal judgment day. She'd known this day was coming ever since she returned from Spain. Still, knowing wasn't the same as experiencing. Every nerve in her body was on edge and synapses fired the message to run while she still could. She knew she would never make it to the door in time, however, and that was one of the reasons she didn't bother. The other was her inexplicable desire to own up to her betrayal. Deep down, a part of her felt guilty and felt she deserved to suffer.

"Leon Kennedy killed him," she said. "We discussed this as it happened."

"You killed Jack Krauser, not the government agent. Don't lie to me, Ada. I don't like liars. I have no use for liars."

From the corner of her eye, she could tell he was no longer smiling. He took off his sunglasses and set them on his desk before looking up. His reptilian eyes met her dark gray eyes as they lifted from the floor and locked into a stare. She felt her blood freeze in her veins when she saw the anger in his eyes. She could tell this would not end well.

"I have to admit, I was particularly charmed by your boldness. I have never been so brazenly crossed before—it was all kinds of exciting. Foolish in love, are we, my dear?"

She didn't reply. He was trying to bait her into a fight and she refused to walk into the trap without a struggle. The room fell into a deadly silence, awkward and calculated. As the silence grew, the room shrunk and Ada felt trapped. She shifted the weight on her legs and watched as they stood across from each other, playing a game of cat and mouse. Seconds passed and became minutes extending into what felt like hours.

Finally Ada broke, unable to take his reaching eyes on her anymore. She took a single step backwards; her hand falling to her thigh holster holding her custom 9mm handgun. In an instant, faster than her retinas could even register the movement, Albert Wesker shoved her back into the wall and was lifting her several feet off the floor, his left hand wrapped around her neck. With his right, he grabbed her gun and pulled out the clip then tossed both of them to the ground.

"I didn't say you could move, traitorous bitch," he spat into her face.

Seemingly satisfied with the upper hand, he threw her across the room. Her lithe frame smashed into the opposite wall and the mirror shattered violently. Shards of glass bit into her like piranhas sinking their teeth into her smooth, pale skin. She sputtered and wheezed, looking down at a growing pool of blood under her. She raised her hand to her neck and rubbed it, surprised he hadn't crushed her esophagus.

Wesker saw the motion and laughed smugly. "I'll snap it next time you pull a stunt like that."

He stormed back to his desk and hit a button on its surface, pulling up a giant flat screen monitor. Half of the screen was filled with various pictures of Leon Scott Kennedy from different times of his life and the other half a map of the United States. "Anyway, I have an assignment for you," he said, pointing to the screen full of pictures of Leon.

Ada clumsily stood, slipping a little on her slick blood coating the shiny floor as she did so. Blood had flooded her left eye, but she could still see clearly with her right and she squinted. The realization hit her and she felt like she was going to throw up. "You want me to kill him?"

His smile returned and grew wide, showing immaculate rows of utterly perfect teeth. He drummed his fingers on the desk's surface. "He knows too much. He's dangerous."

Wesker pushed a different button on the desk and the screen changed pictures to show a female in her mid-twenties with long reddish brown hair. Ada thought she looked oddly familiar, but couldn't place her until her name appeared on the screen in bold typeface. "Claire Redfield, another Raccoon City survivor," Wesker explained. His fingers moved quickly and soon another display of an older male with short, brown hair and bright blue eyes appeared. "Chris Redfield, her older brother. You know of them, correct?"

"Yes, but I don't get it," Ada said, picking a piece of glass out of her shoulder and wincing in the process. She was a little superficial at times and somewhere in the recess of her mind, she was wondering if the cuts would leave any scars. "What do they have to do with my assignment?"

"He'll be with them," Wesker said. "So will Jill Valentine, Barry Burton and Rebecca Chambers. Leon called them all together. It is imperative you take all means to prevent the testimony. Kill them if you have to."

She frowned, first at the list of names and then at their apparent death sentence. Killing was not her forte, and Wesker knew this. She was a spy; nothing more, nothing less. "What? Since when I am your personal assassin, Wesker?"

He pointedly ignored the question. "Apparently the little government agent knows about the rebirth of Umbrella and wants to alert the government. We can't have any interruptions. We're on the brink of something miraculous and we can't have any interruptions."

He turned the screen off and reached across the desk to put his hand on Ada's shoulder,. His touch prickled her arm and sent a chill up her spine, though she felt he was trying to comfort her. It didn't feel human; it felt much more sinister and cold. Abruptly he stopped and almost snarled at her, saying fiercely, "You're my personal assassin since the moment you decided you wanted to live six years ago. Don't forget the debt you owe to me."

She swallowed and pulled away from him. Her mind and heart were heavy with the choices she had made to bring her here, to this time and place. She was living in Hell. As she walked out the room, she found herself wishing that she had just died; that Annette Birken had fatally wounded her with a bullet to the heart. At least then, while she may have been dead, she wouldn't have been Albert Wesker's possession.

Note: Welcome to "Stockholm Syndrome," a post RE:4 fanfic written by Monique. Please let me know your opinions through email or review. The plot should be revealed significantly more with subsequent chapters.