Every morning in that facility I woke up knowing someday soon, something worse would happen. That's what life was like there. The day my pessimism was vindicated started like any other. The clunk and hum of the fluorescent hall lights outside my cell awakened me, followed by the slow hiss of the tetrodotoxin gas. I didn't bother getting out of bed, instead just waiting for the dreaded paralysis to creep over me. What now? More tests? More experimental serums?

The technicians who came to retrieve me seemed somehow more somber than usual, though, which set off alarms in my mind. As usual, I was loaded and strapped to a wheeled gurney and carted off to the medical center. But this time I was taken to a new room. A very clean room, with windowed balconies overlooking it, a frightening-looking array of machines and trays of shiny cutlery.

Shit. This was an operating room.

A cadre of what I presumed to be surgeons were conferring, mumbling and arranging their nice trays. Fear pricked my skin. Surgery was not good. Surgery was not good.

One of the men approached me. Even though he was thoughtfully covered in scrubs and wearing gloves and a mask, I could tell it was Wesker before he spoke.

"Good morning, Miss Valentine. Today is a very special day for you. Today you become something more than human.

"Oh, Jill," he continued, as usual in love with his own voice, "you've been quite the distraction from my primary research goals. But soon, you'll be able to earn your keep. In fact, I predict you will be one of my most valuable assets. After this procedure, my lovely Jill, you will be nearly as powerful as I am. Now, the bad news is, unfortunately, there will be no anesthesia and no sedatives. You'll be awake for the entire process and you'll feel everything. I assure you this is entirely medically necessary. Oh wait, no, it's not, it's just a little reward I'm giving myself. I work so hard, am I not allowed the occasional indulgence?" I could hear that shark's grin behind the green mask. I would have given anything to be able to punch it off of his face.

"Gentlemen... please proceed."

The surgeons wasted no time. They convened over me and began to point at my chest, writing on me with markers, drawing up their plans. Finally, looking at each other for nodding confirmation that all was ready to proceed, they began their work in earnest.

They sliced. They cut into me. They drilled holes into my breastbone. And as Wesker had promised, all of it without so much as an aspirin. It was more pain than I thought it was possible for a human being to feel. As I was cavalierly mutilated, my mind screamed like a banshee, but the only outward evidence of this was the steady stream of tears down the sides of my face. I tried to focus, tried to pay attention to what was being done to me. That's my training. Knowledge is power; any little thing you pick up might be the clue that makes all the difference in the world.

They were threading catheters into me, inserting shunts into my chest, hooking things around my ribs. I couldn't imagine what this horror was meant to achieve. I tried to focus, but the pain and terror were overwhelming – I feared I would have a heart attack or a stroke right there on the table. Soon, even coherent thought began to escape me. Fireworks were going off in my brain; I felt like I was dying, and I was glad of it. I tried to embrace it, in fact. The nightmare seemed to be slipping away, getting smaller. I was escaping it somehow.

But it wasn't death I was slipping into.


In the blink of an eye, my surroundings changed. I was still lying down, but now I was alone, in a room flooded by golden sunlight. It was a nice room. A bedroom.

I didn't feel the pain or even the telltale tingle of the gas-induced paralysis. I tried gingerly to sit up. There was no blood, no injury of any kind. I looked down, looked around. I was lying in a rather luxurious bed, wearing nothing but a satin gown that felt wonderful against my skin.

Further scanning the room, I saw a dressing table with a mirror. I caught a glimpse of myself - brown hair, a healthy pink complexion. Certainly no trace of the days and nights of horror and experiments.

What was this place?

Whatever it was, however I'd gotten here, it was beautiful and comforting. I realized I was hearing the crash of waves and the squawking of gulls. I got up and walked to the open window. A lovely white beach spread out before me, giving way to an endless blue-green ocean. This was the kind of place I'd always dreamed of having, if the world were safer and didn't need people like me.

Through the salty sting of the ocean, I caught another aroma. Coffee. Strong coffee. I left the bedroom and walked down a flight of stairs, savoring the chilly bite of the hardwood on my bare feet.

I found a well-stocked kitchen. There were so many wonderful details to take in. A bowl of green apples on a countertop. A panda cookie jar. A multi-tiered basket hanging from a chain next to the sink, sporting tomatoes, peppers and eggplants. A fresh pot of coffee with a clean mug next to it, just for me. A breakfast nook, the little table it contained boasting a jug of what appeared to be freshly squeezed orange juice next to a glass that sparkled in the dappled sunlight.

I couldn't resist. I wanted both.

I went to the counter and poured the coffee, then went to the table and poured the juice. Juice and coffee. It's such a cliché, but it is the best imaginable way to wake up. I alternated sips from both and felt rejuvenated.

I noticed an open screen door leading to a patio. Putting down my drinks for the moment, I walked over to see a man sitting out there, relaxing in a chaise lounge, looking out over the sea. It was Chris.

"Chris!" I cried, running out to him. He looked over, smiling, tan and fit in his camp shirt, white slacks and sandals. He stood up, took off a pair of sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket.

"Hey, Jill," he said, as casually as if we'd last seen each other just yesterday.

I was having none of that. I threw my arms around him and squeezed tight. He hugged me back, seeming surprised and a little embarrassed by my enthusiasm.

"Okay, okay!" he said, chuckling.

I pulled back a bit to look him in the eye. "Redfield, you would not believe what I've been through!"

I had so much to tell him. The tests. The experiments. The surgery.

The surgery that I couldn't recall them finishing. I felt the joy drain from my face.

"This… this isn't real, is it?"

Chris looked at me with a sad smile. "It seems real enough, though, doesn't it?"

"Real enough for what?" I said, stepping back and getting a little angry. "This is just some imaginary refuge I've made in my mind to escape Wesker and his madness."

"Maybe. So?"

I started to get worked up. "So, I can't indulge my weakness like this! I need to be there for every moment! Don't you get it? Anything I see, anything I hear could be a clue, a critical piece of information that I could use to take Wesker down! Or help some of his victims! Or… I don't know what, but maybe I can find some way to be useful, just by being present, by being a witness to his crimes! Just by enduring! I can't just run away and hide whenever I feel like it! I can't let him break me! I'm strong enough to take anything he can throw at me!"

Chris was silent for a moment. Ominously, he said, "Jill, I know you're strong, but you don't know what's coming." He put comforting hands on my shoulders. "Look, it's just like in the field; you can't always be on the offensive. Sometimes, tactics call for a prudent retreat. Maybe this is your retreat. Maybe this is where you fall back to regroup, restock and re-assess."

I could feel tears fighting for attention, but I held them back. "I can't come here again, Chris. I know what I'm going back to. It will be too hard to leave."

He brushed some hair out of my eyes. "Well, maybe that's where your strength really comes into play. Maybe that's what you save it for, jumping back into the fight when you're needed."

"You are my strength, Chris. I can't survive this alone."

"Yes, you can. I'm your partner, and I'm telling you that you can. Don't you trust your partner?"

I smiled a wry smile. "You're just an imaginary copy of my partner," I joked.

"I seem real enough, though, don't I?" he said with a wink.

The lovely sunlight started to dim and lose all color. Clouds rolled over the sky. I began to hear a rumble. It was Wesker's voice.

"I think you have to go, Jill."

"I miss you so much, Chris!" I would never make myself so vulnerable with the real Chris, but here, in this place, I could not help it.

He smiled as he seemed to recede into the distance. "Not a problem, Valentine. If you need me, you know where to find me."

And with a clap of thunder and a flash of light, I was back in the operating room.