Finally uploaded. I know I say sorry for the late updates all the time, and I swear I really am. I hope you guys like this new chapter. And to everyone who has reviewed me and read my story so far, you guys are all absolutely brilliant! Thanks.

RESIDENT EVIL: Secrets Revealed

Chapter Ten

"So they survived."

"I don't understand how that's possible sir."

"You don't need to. Where are they now?"

"Approaching the old hotel area sir; they've almost made it to the clearing."

Patrick Wilforn kept something in mind as he viewed the remains of the B.O.W on the huge wall screen, something that he couldn't dislodge even if he wanted to: Don't celebrate a victory until it is undeniably certain, because in any battle there is always at least a single variable that can not be foreseen. He held this knowledge to be a sometimes aggravating but always useful truth, one he'd hold close during any situation.

He stood still, arms folded loosely across his chest, gazing at the screen in the surveillance chamber. What he had just witnessed play out for all to see had been enough to surprise even him; all that now remained of the beast was a mutilated and defeated corpse, left over by the two intruders; the gushing shades of red were hidden, as were the colours of the forest, blanketed in a sheet of green as the concealed camera was switched to night mode. If survival was indeed a talent – and Wilforn believed it so – then this unknown pair had remarkable skill for cheating their own destruction. He would have admired their efforts, but alas he had no intention of allowing them to travel any further; whoever they were, they were a threat and couldn't be left to their own devices. They had to go.

"Show them to me," he called, still looking at the dead creature on the large screen.

"Yes Mr Wilforn." One of the people manning the various consoles replied.

The young man was now stepping hastily across the forest floor, apparently trying to keep up with the brunette, who appeared to be in a great hurry; Wilforn could only imagine that she was planning to breach the facility. Why else would she be on the island? But the man, Wilforn wasn't so sure about him: when he'd first been alerted to the problem, it turned out that the two had arrived on the island separately, but had quickly linked up; Wilforn had witnessed the meeting, and the detail that the footage had revealed was obvious, that the woman had not expected this encounter. Although it didn't matter; they seemed to know each other and had worked together to kill the creature, so despite the young man's drastic and impressive ingenuity in wiping it off the face of the Earth, Wilforn was still committed to slaughtering the both of them before they could reach his estate on the surface.

The surface of the island was growing darker by the minute, with shadows seeping across the ground and multiplying as the seconds rolled by, as if they were taking on a life of their own and where now reaching out to claim nature back for the night. Several people manned workstations, scanning numerous monitors that held different locations in their sights, places all over the island; no corner was neglected, nothing missed even for an instant. No one had spoken to Wilforn since the incident at the dock; the man and woman who had arrived on the island – the ones responsible for destroying the amphibious behemoth – were only the latest in the surprises of the day.

As it turned out another group – a small number of dark clad soldiers – had just destroyed the two boats docked on the island, and now seemed to be heading toward the helipad on the island's northern end. Troublesome little pack of jackals aren't they, he thought. Someone was trying to trap him here, someone who had considerable knowledge of his operations, and Wilforn would take great pleasure in locating the one pulling the strings, just as soon as he'd dealt with this latest issue. Whether the couple in the forest and the soldiers were working together or not was irrelevant, because none of them would survive the night.

Wilforn paced back and forth, stepping past his seated employees who continued to monitor the growing situation with an angst that he could practically taste. As he moved, keeping his eyes fixed on the main screen, he went down the short list of people who might have had knowledge of his work or whereabouts. He could only really think of two people; he didn't suspect any form of government action against him, because once his former company had been shut down his public life and image had faded along with it, vanishing from the world stage in a puff of smoke. Any possible government contracts had also met their fate that day, leaving only the Umbrella Corporation.

It was Umbrella, or rather its founder Ozwell Spencer who had taken Wilforn in at the last minute, seeing the potential in the research he was conducting and wanting to maximise that potential. The older man was awash with vision of his own, and had recognised the kindred spirit in Wilforn, giving him the vast resources and talent to continue his work, of course without the knowledge of the rest of the company, or at least the majority. Wilforn had been working in the shadows all these years, undisturbed by the various troubles of Umbrella, mainly the Raccoon City incident, which had cost the company greatly.

But this thought didn't feel natural as it sat within his mind; he didn't believe that Spencer was the one responsible for this intrusion into his world. Spencer had fully approved of his work and wanted him to continue in secret; although Wilforn had given some thought to the possibility that Spencer might want to steal his research once it had arrived at a certain stage of development, no longer having need for him, but somehow he didn't think this was the case. If Spencer was going to betray him, then he'd know it. What was troubling was the fact that he'd not heard a single word from Spencer for a whole year, since the fall of Umbrella; apparently the man had removed himself from the public eye, dropping off the face of the planet, along with many gifted people in his employ, as if the he'd never existed to begin with.

The more he thought about these things, the more his mind lingered on someone else, someone whom he'd been hearing a great many things about over the past couple of years – beginning as a minor stirring in the swelling arena of equally swelling ambitions, and then rising onto the scene and announcing to all that a new and threateningly competent presence had breathed itself into being – and someone who might just show a keen interest in the activities on the island. Albert Wesker, according to intelligence gathered, was massing a great many secrets, viral samples and data etc, from certain abandoned Umbrella installations all around the world, making Wilforn believe that perhaps Spencer was indeed gone for good. And while Wilforn had never come into contact with Wesker personally it was obvious that the man's soul desire was power above all else, and the work on the island base would be too great a prize to be ignored; no one else – at least to Wilforn's impressive knowledge – had yet achieved anything like it. He wasn't about to give up his life's work without a fight. He'd sooner die before anyone took it from him.

"Excuse me sir,"

Wilforn glanced over his shoulder for just a moment, taking in the figure now standing just behind him; his tall and thick frame coated in a suit of dark grey, his hair shaved almost to his scalp. His features hard and expressionless, disturbed only by the clean line of a scar running down his forehead, slicing his left eyebrow in two. Wilforn turned back to the screen, watching the travelling couple as he spoke to the man who had served long and efficiently as his trusted right hand.

"What do you have?" Wilforn asked.

"It wasn't difficult to find information on the man: his name is Leon Scott Kennedy, an agent working for the United States government."

Wilforn nodded faintly. "And the woman?"

"So far nothing has been uncovered, but it is still being looked into."

Despite himself, Wilforn felt slightly troubled at this latest information. "What would the US Government want here, I wonder?"

"They'd have no way of knowing about your operation here sir,"

"Possibly," Wilforn said. "Although I wonder about this woman; she didn't arrive with the agent, and she didn't appear to be expecting company. So whom is she working for? And how is she acquainted with the agent - this Kennedy?"

"We'll find out soon enough," the scarred man said. "But there's something else – about the agent; he's a survivor of Raccoon City."

The Raccoon City disaster, the very thing that spelled the end of Umbrella, the catalyst for their destruction: that day, the day of the nuclear detonation had shocked the world. The T-virus had claimed so many lives even before that incident, in Umbrella's decades long pursuit of perfection, of power. Raccoon City had been the final straw. But then Wilforn wasn't surprised; the deaths of almost one hundred thousand people couldn't go unnoticed. Everyone had felt the mighty blow to the country, but none more than by the few people who had lived to tell the tale of that dreadful day.

If this Leon Kennedy truly was a survivor of Umbrella's grandest failure, and if he really was working for the US government, then his arrival on the island couldn't be treated lightly. Wilforn didn't like this at all. The American agent, and then the unknown woman. Someone was playing games: the two of them showing up at the same time as the soldiers who destroyed the dock. What was the connection, he wondered? Unfortunately he didn't have the time to spend on capturing them alive, as he knew they'd all be dead before they got within arms reach of his men; the B.O.W's on the island would have to do. Wilforn had to move fast if he wanted to be rid of this attention.

"Mr Wells," Wilforn said. "I think it might be best if you secured all relevant data and relocated to our back-up facility for the time being."

"Isn't that a little premature sir?" the man in the suit – Wells – asked. "I know that the man is with the American government but I think there may be more going on here."

"That's exactly why I'm not taking any chances; I'm uncertain as to the motivations and backgrounds of the various players involved, and until I become certain I want to leave nothing for any greedy pockets out there. So I want the main project away from here; all data and samples are to be taken to the other facility until I say otherwise. Understood?"

"As you wish sir."

"Sir," another person – manning one of the many pieces of surveillance equipment – called out. "They've reached the clearing."

Wilforn watched as the footage on the large screen switched to another camera, revealing the two once again as the almost invisible specks of rain began to fall; Wilforn could make out enough detail to see that they were in the middle of a conversation, an uncomfortable one by the looks of things. He had no time for either of them; they were trespassing into his domain and that would cost the both of them dearly.

"Activate the alarm now," he said. "The T-virus may be a dead end creation, but the creatures it spawns can be useful in these times."

Wilforn knew that if the agent and his unknown accomplice reached the hotel then they might indeed find cover, and prolong their lives for a short time. The island was just moments away from crawling with an army of death seeking beasts, so as long as they could last, Wilforn knew it wouldn't be long enough to do any harm. There were numerous cameras within the large neglected structure also; Wherever Agent Kennedy and his friend went, they would never be out of Wilforn's sight.

"Sir, I've always wondered," Mr Wells said. "Why is there a hotel on this island?"

"The Island was originally intended as a tourist sight; the hotel was built in the early fifties but construction was never fully completed. When I arrived it seemed like a waste of time to remove it."

The high assaulting wail of an alarm had just been activated, and while nothing could be heard from where Wilforn stood, he knew that it would raise the attention of anyone lurking on the island's surface instantly. He smiled faintly when he saw Kennedy and the woman standing near the tree line, both cautiously and quite nervously looking about as the alarm sounded. At this point there would be nothing they could do but hope for a quick death, but considering the vicious appetites of the creatures coming their way, Wilforn had doubts that they would be granted any such kindness.

"Sir, the B.O.W's are coming up from their burrows now," one of Wilforn's staff reported.

"Good," Wilforn said. "They should hear them soon enough; those creatures tend to make a lot of noise when their hunger reaches its peak. Maybe we can test the enhanced 448 as well– "

Wilforn's words were halted when the radio kicked in; everyone jolted in their seats when a sharp piercing scream filled the chamber, a cry coming from somewhere in the facility. Wilforn heard the same thing from his com-link, not knowing what had happened just yet and finding that panic was the last thing that would enter his brain until he knew what he was dealing with. And then came the machinegun fire, followed painfully by the frenzied howling and roaring of monsters, shaking the multiple staff members in their very seats. Wilforn ignored their reactions, pressing the com-link closer with his index finger as the sounds intensified.

"This is Wilforn. What's happening out there?"

"This is security chief Merric . . . we need . . . assistance . . . an explosion at the north gate . . . the base . . . breached, I repeat, the base has been . . . "

"What?" Wilforn felt his voice rise a touch too high for his liking. "What are you saying? Get yourself together Merric."

"Please, this isn't a joke," the chief of security responded, his voice clearer now. "Someone just blew the north entrance, B.O.W's from the surface are entering . . . we need assistance . . . dying . . . help!"

Wilforn's thoughts briefly went back to the group of soldiers who destroyed the dock; he'd only now activated the alarm, and now it seemed as if someone had breached the facility, as if waiting for this moment to arrive. Wilforn held his concerns in sturdy check; the last thing his people needed was to see even the slightest hint of frustration, as it would only make things worse. The people working within this room were not combatants, and would no doubt descend into a blind panic if any amount of control was lost to them.

Deafening roars sprang through loud speakers, and the sounds of the dying rang out, coupled with the furious spray of bullets thundering out from automatic weapons, followed swiftly by the piercing screeches of the creatures who fought to wipe out his men. From the sounds Wilforn knew that there must have been a great number of them pouring in, which meant he needed to wrap things up, and he had to be quick about it, before anyone else made their presence known.

Wilforn placed a firm hand on the shoulder of one of the men manning a station. "Lock that area down now," he didn't need to see the man's face, or the reluctance to trap the members of his security in that section of the base. He felt it, bright and clear, and irritating. "Do it now, and have team three sent down there in case any of those things slip through the net."

"Yes sir," the man nodded his sweaty brow, then tapping numerous keys in front of him.

Wilforn turned back to the main screen. "Show me what's happening in the northern sector."

A passage soon came into view, it's grey walls pasted with the red life of human beings, sprayed across the ground, with torn limbs and organs dripping crimson and almost swimming among the river of death that the passage now held. One man, who was still breathing, slipped and stumbled through, trying to battle his own demise as one of the B.O.W's charged him. The man barely had a chance to raise his weapon before the creature took one swipe with an abnormally large hand, and then he was torn in half right from the waist, separated instantly in a deep showering cloud of blood. Wilforn watched, feeling no guilt for his decision. The man wouldn't have made it from the northern entrance anyway, and would have only postponed his death by a couple of mere ticks of a clock. The research within the lower levels was far more important than any one person; the loss of a small team of men was nothing to him. Guns and the hands skilled in wielding them were a dime a dozen, and could be replaced at any time.

Within the next few seconds the entire area surrounding the northern entrance was locked down, with his men in place, ready for any other surprises. The fighting seemed – for the moment – to have stopped. From the view Wilforn had of the passage where the battle had just taken place, or the massacre (Wilforn was inclined to name the latter) it appeared that one of his few small security teams was now destroyed. B.O.W's now stalked the corridors, comings in and out of view every few moments. Though they were trapped within that area. The situation was now back under control.

"Well that takes care of that," Wilforn said, satisfied for the moment. He put his finger to his earpiece again. "Team three; have you secured any ways leading out of the northern sector?"

"Every door leading into the facility has been sealed, sir," a deep voice responded. "My men are standing guard as we speak."

"Good. Report back to me the second something changes."

"Mr Wilforn," Wells said. "I believe we've located the problem."

Wilforn turned back to his man, watching as Wells stood with one of the staff, both looking to the small monitor in front of them. Wilforn stepped closer, moving in until he saw what they were looking at. The picture displayed the view of a long corridor in the locked down area; the camera sat just above one of the sealed doors, staring down the length of the passageway. A man was standing there, within the cold space of granted flooring and grey wall panels. He was right at the door, and looking up at the camera; Wilforn had the image brought up on the main screen before stepping away from the console, with Wells close behind him. Everyone in the room saw this, and Wilforn could feel the chills running down the spines of some of his people. Part of him understood, because despite not being able to see the man's mind from this distance, he could still make out the sparkle in his eyes, and his intentions were well understood.

Wilforn felt annoyance at the very sight of this person, as the man played with a blood soaked knife, a small but still beaming grin forming on his deathly pale features. There was no sound, but the physical shake of his chuckles as he stepped away was clean and clear. How did this arrogant flee get down here undetected? He wondered. Wilforn's reluctant frown began to ache his head as he watched the man exit casually from the passage.

"Strange," Wells said. "He looks familiar."

"Anyone you might have known?" Wilforn asked half-heartedly.

"Hmmm... ," Wells paused for a moment, unsure. "Maybe."

Wells had spent a lot of time within the military, with some years even served in the Special Air Service, so there was no doubt that he'd met his share of skilled killers in his time. Wilforn didn't think on this too much however; this man, whoever he was, was as good as dead, so discovering his identity was absolutely pointless.

"Well there's no way for him to get any further; he's trapped with those creatures."

"He's coming back." Someone said.

Wilforn didn't need informing; he could see this fact well enough on his own without the statement. The man returned to the passage, standing at a considerable distance from the door this time. Wilforn watched as he raised something in his hands, something large, resting it on his shoulder, and nature of the item only became apparent as it was pointed toward the door.

His eyes widened when he saw this, seeing the man give a brief but smug wave at the camera before firing, and then there was nothing but the snowy blizzard of static on the large screen. A low rumble sounded out in the distance, but the desired effect of the rocket launcher was no doubt met with flying colours, as well of shredded metal.

"Sir, sir," the leader of team three called in two seconds later, interrupting Wilforn's speechless amazement. "Sir, one the doors has been destroyed. Request further orders."

Wilforn didn't know who this man was, or whom for certain he was working for, but he wasn't about to let him stand in his way. "Barricade that entrance as best you can," he ordered the team leader. "And hold it for as long as you are able."

"Do you want me to take care of him sir?" Wells asked.

"No," Wilforn said. "Proceed with the task at hand, secure the necessary items and head for the other facility. The security teams can deal with this for now; I'll use the 448's if I have to. He wont be a pest for long."

Wesker had already left to coordinate his latest operation; Watson could have been pleased with how the situation had turned out: running the labs and all personnel should have been something that wouldn't have bothered him in the least, at least on any other occasion. In his long and questionable career, Watson had been involved with all kinds of opportunistic slime, but working under Wesker had been an interesting experience to put it mildly, and gave him the opportunity to be a part of groundbreaking work, work that could very well turn out to be world changing.

There was just one small problem, and Watson had been having tremendous doubts that this issue could go anywhere but down. Wesker's absence could only stir the pot, stirring away in that blackened cauldron of a ticking time bomb until something gave and that bomb went off. With Wesker heading to Wilforn Island that misshapen cog could very well rip all of their efforts to pointless ribbons. And now Watson had been intruded upon by a burning and stabbing anxiety, and he couldn't realistically see it simmering down any time soon.

He was now speedily walking, heading towards his sleeping quarters, considering himself fortunate that it wasn't yet time for Lisa's treatment; in all truth he wasn't sure what the point was in trying with her. It wasn't that he didn't believed that their research wasn't worth some trial and error, a degree of risk, but taking the girl's state of mind into account, Watson couldn't even begin to fathom how Wesker could leave her to roam freely.

The only sections of the facility that were forbidden to her were the labs, and the armoury, both of which Watson found ridiculous: first of all, firearms were irrelevant to her. She can kill without lifting a finger anyway, or pulling a trigger, he thought. And as far as the lab went, well Watson guessed that the mind of a fifteen-year-old girl wasn't looking to be quenched by the evolution of science, and the labours it involved. In fact, Watson wasn't really sure what actually interested Lisa Sanderan; it certainly wasn't the pop culture of the modern age. Since she had arrived all she had really done was waltz about in an almost royal manner. Stuck up little bitch! She looked down her nose at every last person she came into contact with. Wesker aside, Watson had no trouble believing that the girl hated all of them, as if they were nothing more than bugs, excrement, slithers of unimportant nothing, to be crushed underfoot for whatever pathetic reason she might have at the time. Her moods changed like a stormy climate, and even on her best day, he believed completely that she would see an end to them all if she could.

Watson had been working hard all day, and was now tiring at a quickened pace. He'd done all he could do in truth. The rest was up to Wesker and whether or not he could locate the things they both required for this project to continue on its desired course. He knew that he'd have to ready Lisa's next dose before long, but until that time he wanted at least a couple of hours of sleep. Coffee could only see a person through for so long, and Watson was growing tired of the stuff. No further development would arise yet, and Dale was competent enough to managed without him, at least for a time. Although Watson would have to remember to talk to him about his mouth; speaking out of turn to Wesker wasn't something that would ever breed good results, and that fact went for more or less everybody.

He walked into his quarters, closing the door behind him as he went. The space wasn't huge, but just enough for his needs. His life mostly took place within a lab, so he didn't need a great deal. A fairly large desk stood in front of him, and was at the moment hidden in darkness. He stepped across the simple rough carpeting that covered the floor, switching the lamp on at his desk before sitting in a worn but comfy leather chair, letting out an exhale of relief as he let his body collapse into its welcoming embrace.

And then he saw her, his body bolting up from the chair with the sudden shocking realisation that he wasn't alone. He didn't know how he couldn't have noticed as soon as the room had been enveloped in low illumination; he'd not heard a sound, no breathing, and no shifting of the body. She simply sat on his bed, still as a statue. Almost frozen. Her back was against the wall; her legs crossed on the bed sheets, with her small weight giving only the slightest dent in the fabric, the barest ripple. Watson's efforts to keep his emotions in check were met with success, once he'd managed to get over the initial surprise, although a prickle of anger made it self known at her presence. Who does she think she is, coming in here like– Watson shut the thought out before she could hear more, but he could have slapped himself for thinking something like that in front of her; she could see his thoughts after all. He didn't like having his control slip from under him, and the fact that she hadn't even acknowledged him yet was even worse. Even more insulting.

When she finally spoke, her face was still hidden from him, concealed behind a book of his that she'd been reading when he first saw her. "Thank god, Rutherford," she said. "You are capable of imagining things."

"What?" Watson whispered, unmoving from his spot behind the desk.

"It's from the book," she replied, lowering the cover, looking back at him with a strange dancing glimmer her eyes. "Lost Horizon. Its about Shangri-La; a hidden Paradise where people live longer, and are never sick. Advanced people. Sounds comforting, doesn't it?"

"I suppose... " Watson managed, feeling a deathly unease at the look in her eyes.

"But you probably wouldn't know what that feels like, would you?" she said, her face calm and collected as she went on, chucking the book down beside her. "Well whatever. Do you believe in hidden places?"

Watson didn't know what she was trying to tell him, but he thought that if he played along it might allow him to steer her away from him for a while. He placed his hands on the table, trying to slow his heart rate as best he could; its rhythm bothered him, as he knew she'd pick up on this as well, and giving her that satisfaction was out of the question.

"I believe there might be some places, perhaps," he said, finding the situation far too surreal. "Anchient cities maybe, tombs– "

"Islands?" Lisa said. "You can't forget those."

Watson tried to cease his current thoughts, but from the slight tightening between Lisa's eyebrows, he knew she'd caught it. "Lisa, I'm– "

"Sit back down," Lisa said, her voice plain and undemanding.

Before Watson could say anything, or do anything, he felt something touch him, shoving him hard into his chair. It wasn't enough to hurt him, but the threat was there all the same, in fact he could almost see it, and smell it, wafting about the room like swirls of cigarette smoke, and Watson suddenly realised that a cigarette would be perfect right now, but didn't dare reach for anything. Fear wasn't something anyone enjoyed, at least not to this uncontrollable degree, and he was no different; the situation had ripped the control from him, if it ever really existed, and he was now at the mercy of something that he was convinced hadn't a drop to speak of.

"What do you want with me Lisa?"

"I want you to tell me something,"

"Tell you what?"

"I want you to tell me if I'm capable of imagining things. I thought I was, I imagine when I wake up that I will not see your tiny wrinkled face ever again, I imagine that everyone is like me, and doesn't litter every corner of this boring place with their tedious presence and endless drivel. But its just imagining isn't it? It isn't really real?"

Watson liked the conversation even less as it went on, already knowing the conclusion, but desperate to avoid it. "Then you are capable of imagini– "

"But earlier on today, I imagined that I was being lied to," she went on, and was now moving to sit on the edge of the bed, a frown creeping into her face. "I imagined that father was going to a hidden place on an island, and that it has something to do with me. And no one told me about this. So I have to assume that I'm imagining the entire thing. I must be, right? Father wouldn't keep anything from me, would he? So I have to wonder if his pet, his oh so clever Dr Watson is hiding something."

"Lisa, I wouldn't lie I w- wouldn't."

"Lie about what? About the fact that you've been adding something to my injections recently?" she interlaced her fingers, her mouth pulled tight before she went one. "I have to admit, I never mentioned anything to father because I wanted to see what he was up to and why he was keeping things from me. I first noticed the difference in the treatment last night when I tried to read my father's thoughts; I could only get fragments; it comes and goes, but it never lasts long. Whatever you used didn't work, and now I'm unhappy, very very unhappy."

Watson was now terrified, his muscles aching, his breath racing through his lungs, from the harshness of a fear that he wasn't sure he'd been capable of. All he wanted to do was run for the door, but he knew he'd never make it before she killed him. He knew he had to keep her talking, keep her at bay until he could invent some excuse to leave, in case she didn't. And above all, he fought with every inch of his will to keep his thoughts to a minimum; anything she picked up on might set her off.

How did she know? "W- what is it you're after Lisa? Just... just tell me and I'll try to help you as best as I can."

Watson stayed locked in place as Lisa stood from the bed, walking towards him in short delicate strides; nothing in her body language suggested that she might harm him, but when the desk left the floor, he realised that her outward appearance meant nothing at all. It took to the air, and a shower of items from upon surface shattered across the room. The desk made contact with the wall near his door, the entire thing shattering into splitters. And then his frightened eyes saw her; not even realising that she'd straddled his lap, placing hers hands on either side of his head, her fingers digging into his clammy skin, pressing so hard that he thought they would bury themsevles into his skull. Her face was only an inch from his own, and Watson was so gripped in terror that he didn't even register that fact that he had pissed himself.

"I want you to tell me why my father didn't want me on that island. I want you to be an obedient little maggot and say the words, or I'm going to dig them out of you. I promise that by the time I'm finished, you'll be begging me to end you."

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm going to be working on the next one right away, so I'm hoping to have that out soon. Bye for now!