Leon found himself worrying about Claire more and more these days. To some degree, he knew his concern was unfounded—Claire was Claire, after all, and she'd survived too much to ever be considered anything but strong—but the last three years had brought about a . . . change in her.
He really hadn't known Chris Redfield that well, but he'd still been saddened by the news of his death. It had been another good person made a victim in the war against bioterrorism, another ally lost.
But he hadn't cried, not like Claire had. For a few days directly afterward, he'd thought she wouldn't ever stop.
Eventually she had, of course, but only to wander around the house like a zombie, her eyes glassy and her expression blank. Speaking to her had been pointless, as she never responded.
Things had gotten better since then, but he still worried, especially about her inexplicable decision to resign from Terrasave and join the BSAA. Willingly throwing herself into potentially violent situations just wasn't something he would've ever thought she would do.
He definitely didn't like it, because even if she wasn't concerned about her own safety, he was.
This was the reason he was currently scowling at his cell phone and violently tapping a phone number out on the keypad.
The person on the other end picked up after two rings.
"Valentine."
"Where is Claire?" he demanded, sparing any preamble. "She left me a message—said something about a mission to Africa."
"Ah, yes, that." He could hear her shift, her hair rustling against the phone. "Weapons deal, in a little place called Kijuju. She's just helping DeChant and his team arrest some scummy looking arms smuggler. It shouldn't . . . it shouldn't be anything major."
Like Chris, he didn't know Valentine all that well. Still, he had caught something in the tone of her voice, something uneasy, concerning . . .
"Why does that not make me feel better, Valentine?"
There was a long pause. "It's nothing. Just—just a rumor about this blond guy Irving's working with. It's nothing. She'll be home soon, Kennedy. Don't have a panic attack, okay?"
Snorting, he said his goodbyes and hung up, silently wondering how a rumor about a blond guy could get Jill nervous as he punched in a new number.
The phone rang six times. He began to picture Claire tackling a faceless man carrying a case with a biohazard symbol on the side, but then she picked up.
"HQ?" she asked hopefully, sounding out of breath.
"Um, no. Leon."
"Oh."
"I got your message."
"Oh. Uh, can you hold on a minute?"
His eyebrows drew together. "Sure."
She fell silent on the other end. Then, a gun discharged seven times.
"Claire!" he shouted, and he heard a muffled response of 'hold on!', followed by 'I'm trying, Sheva!'
"Claire!" he tried again. "What's going on?!"
Seconds passed, then a minute.
Finally, he got an answer.
"I'm trying to use a rifle," she bit out, "and you know how I hate those. I almost hit the damn oil drum and blew everyone up—did you get the lock off?!"
The last obviously hadn't been directed at him, but he pressed on. "You said you were in Africa—what's happening? Why do you need to use a gun?"
She hesitated, and he heard rapid footsteps.
"Leon," she finally said, "all of the Las Plagas were . . . destroyed, weren't they?"
Leon closed his eyes and clenched the phone tighter. Five years ago, when he'd written that report, he'd known that he shouldn't have excluded Ada. He shouldn't have . . . perjured himself.
But no matter how hard he'd tried, he hadn't been able to write it. So he'd lied, by omission.
Ada . . . the last surviving Plagas sample had been in her possession, and who would she have given it to?
Swallowing heavily, he felt dread pool in his stomach as he formulated an answer.
"Oh, you'd know him if you saw him," Claire had told him once, laughing derisively as she did so. "You don't have to worry about that. He never takes his sunglasses off, and not one strand of that fucking blond hair is ever out of place. Narcissistic bastard."
Albert Wesker was blond, wasn't he?
"Claire . . ." he began, unsure as to what he was even going to say.
But then, rather abruptly, his voice died in his throat.
He heard a chainsaw.
RE--RE
Excella Gionne could honestly say that she had never hated anyone in her life as much as she did Chris Redfield.
She and Albert were absolutely perfect for one another. She had known that since the very moment she had met him. He had power and the ambition for even more, and now, with the Uroboros, the means to achieve it. He was like a god, and she could so easily become his goddess. His dreams were hers.
And for a few blessed days at the beginning, she'd thought he'd been in reach. She'd thought she'd only had to wait for him to make his move.
But he never had, because one day he'd shown up with Redfield trailing behind him like a pathetic, kicked puppy.
At first, she'd thought he was just a bodyguard. Then she realized Albert didn't need a bodyguard.
Then she'd assumed he was some type of assistant, or subordinate, like Burnside and Birkin.
But Albert didn't fuck either of them. He did Redfield.
She'd seen them, once. They hadn't known she was there, and she'd watched in disgust and abject horror as Redfield had moaned and writhed over the desk like some type of filthy animal.
Yes, yes, that was a good comparison. Redfield was a mongrel, a weak dog that needed to be euthanized. He didn't deserve to lick Albert's boots.
Sadly, Albert himself had failed to realize this, yet.
But the time was drawing near, she knew it was, and it was all thanks to one of the little BSAA Agents.
"You seem very concerned," she said, gently piercing his arm with the needle. He didn't flinch, and his gaze never wavered from the television screen in front of them. On it, the two agents were fleeing wildly from a Majini wielding a chainsaw, shooting at it in what appeared to be a futile attempt to stop it from advancing.
"Does young Miss Redfield pose that much of a threat?"
"No," he hissed, ripping his arm away from her as soon as the entire contents of the syringe had been drained. "She is just a minor nuisance."
Excella slowly put the syringe back into the case and stood. "But perhaps she presents more of a problem for your lovely . . . agent, Christopher? What does he think of his sister's impending death?"
"That it is years too late," he responded, but Excella smiled nonetheless.
Oh yes, things would be changing very, very soon.
RE--RE
"Dodge now!" Claire shrieked, flinging herself to the side even as she did so. Around her, the air seemed to be alive with the smell of death and burning flesh and metal and rubber. Crows swooped overhead, their cries only broken by the roaring of the motorcycles that seemed to be coming from everywhere.
She hit the ground, but then something was tight, agonizingly tight around her ankle and she was being dragged, her bare arms scraping against the dirt which flew into her face, blinding her.
"Help me!" she screamed, and a gunshot rang out. The chain snapped, flying back to strike her calf, and then she was rolling instead of being pulled. Somehow she managed to stagger to her feet, pain shooting up her leg.
Through her watering eyes, she saw that there were a lot of them, four or five at the least, and two of them were—
Her body moved before her mind and she found herself hitting the ground again, the dirt irritating the open cuts on her elbows. Crawling forward, she found her footing and stood again, grabbing Sheva and pulling her to her side.
She whipped her head to the side at the sound of a motor growing closer and barely had time to process that she would not be able to dodge when the rider abruptly fell off, his head exploding.
"What—" Sheva began, but then another shot rang out, and another and another. The Majini fell off of their bikes one by one until there were none left, ending their attack as abruptly as it had begun.
Very slowly, the dust began to settle. Claire looked from the sniper on the roof to the BSAA team standing several feet away and experienced a letdown of adrenaline that left her vaguely shaky.
She glanced down at the burnt out shell of one of the bikes, the gas tank now only a ragged hole in the side, and thought that when she got back to America, she might cancel her subscription of Motorcycle Enthusiast Magazine.
RE--RE
"Claire Redfield, meet Josh Stone, the Captain of the Delta Team. Josh, Claire."
"Hi," said Claire, offering her hand. He shook it vigorously.
"I've heard a lot about you, Miss Redfield," he said. "It's definitely an honor."
She blushed. "You flatter me."
"Why am I the only one who doesn't seem to know anything about you, Claire?" Sheva demanded.
Josh's gaze slid over to her. "Sheva. How are you holding up? Your first outbreak situation—mine, too, though, so I guess we're in the same boat."
She smiled. "I guess I'm doing as well as can be expected."
Claire glanced between them. "You know each other?"
"Josh trained me," said Sheva, nodding. "He taught me everything I know."
"You're obviously a very good teacher, Captain Stone," she said, grinning. "Sheva is a wonderful partner. It's so great to have someone competent for a change, you don't even know."
"Your other partners have been incompetent, then?"
She shrugged. "One guy managed to accidently spray poisonous gas into our only escape route because he was daydreaming at the controls of a crane."
Sheva blinked and Josh laughed, shaking his head. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small cartridge. "Now Sheva, Claire, HQ still insists you continue the search for Irving. They now not only want to arrest him for arms trafficking, but also interrogate him about the outbreak, which makes him an even higher priority than he was previously. And the information we recovered from the hard drive makes us think that he has fled somewhere into the mining area near here." He handed it to Claire. "There's more info inside, if you want to look."
She nodded and pulled out her PDA, sliding the cartridge into the end.
"The Delta Team has business to take care of here, but we'll rendezvous with you as soon as possible. Keep your radios handy."
"Thanks, Josh," said Sheva.
He nodded and stepped out the door, leaving Claire to scroll through the information displayed on the small screen. It was all fairly pointless, really nothing she didn't know (or, at least suspect) already, though mention of some type of underground facility caught her attention. Unfortunately, there was just a blurb about it and she moved on, clicking on an image file.
Slowly, it loaded onto the screen, and she felt the world crash down around her.
RE--RE
RE--RE
Author's Note: Excella Gionne is going to die an agonizing death described in vivid detail, possibly from her own point of view so we can all enjoy the excruciating pain she experiences as she morphs into an Uroboros creature. I literally hate her guts worse than any other character in the series.
And even before all that? Chris is going to beat the shit out of her. After that one scene later on. You know which one.
It is . . . 4:24 in the morning and I have not slept! I'm not even sure I know what I'm doing, or if I'll remember it after I wake up tomorrow.
Oh, well. Thanks for the reviews, everybody!
-Anna