Wesker got up from his desk. "And now we have business to attend to. Just follow my lead, and I'm sure you'll do splendidly."

He left his office, and I obediently tailed him. I felt a new kind of sickness; I was now just some loathsome thing at his side, a demonic figure meant to frighten and intimidate. To amplify his nightmare presence.

We made our way through maintenance tunnels to what I presumed would be a secret entrance and exit. It would be the first time I'd left the facility since being reawakened. I dreaded being exposed to sunshine and fresh air. I thought it might feel like being shackled on a prison bus, on a warm summer day, driving past a park where people were laughing and playing and kissing.

We emerged into a cave, a strange place deep underground where flowers somehow managed to grow, now illuminated by work lights and surrounded by high-tech equipment. Wesker and I passed them slowly.

"Ah yes, these flowers should be of special interest to you, Jill. The property that lets them grow so deep underground comes from a rather peculiar virus – the Progenitor virus, the source of all that you have fought in your career. Umbrella, the T-virus, Uroboros, even the P30 serum that gives you your strength; it all flows from Progenitor. Fascinating, isn't it?"

My mind reeled from the notion that these simple flowers had caused so much death and suffering, and might even represent the end of humanity as we knew it.

We left the cave to find ourselves in an underground ruin. It was a truly remarkable place, with elaborate carvings and statues serving as a testament to the genius of a people now surely long gone. But it wasn't entirely uninhabited. As Wesker and I carefully made our way through the ruins, I spotted people – indigenous people, I presumed from their manner of dress. They looked diseased, though, their mottled skin and twisted faces hinting at some horrible pathogen. There was a stench of rot and corruption not unlike the undead victims of the T-virus, but these people moved much more quickly and purposefully. They stalked us like animals in a zoo, unable or unwilling to attack us.

I thought back to my BSAA days, trying to correlate their condition with any known B.O.W. I recalled Leon Kennedy's report on the Ganado, the parasitically infected, mind-controlled villagers he encountered in Spain.

"Las Plagas," said Wesker, as if reading my mind. "Rather hard to come by. These people, the Ndipoya, have been guarding these ruins and the Progenitor flowers for hundreds of years; I thought, since they have proven so effective at it, they would be a good choice to guard Uroboros and the Tricell facility as well."

I was sickened by the notion of it, of Wesker deliberately infecting these innocent people to use them as his personal, disposable army. I wished I could draw my automatic pistols and release the Ndipoya from this suffering, but all I could do was listen to Wesker's repugnant voice and follow.

Finally, we made it through the ruins to another cavern, this one leading to a lake. A boat was docked there, waiting for us. Wesker piloted the boat to a dilapidated, rusting pier; he moored there, and he led us to a rugged truck covered by the underbrush of the African savannah. He indicated that I should drive. "The coordinates are already programmed in, just follow the GPS," he said, climbing into the passenger seat.

"We're heading to Kijuju to deal with a small obstacle. It's nothing major - not usually the type of task I take care of personally. But it's a good opportunity to see how you handle yourself in the field, as well as a chance to show the people of this region just what happens to those who cross me. They need to see you, to speak of you with fear. Should be fun for everyone."

We drove there in silence. I was glad I didn't have to listen to his twisted voice – being that close to him for this long made my skin crawl, made me feel like a raw nerve. After about ten minutes we arrived at our destination. We were in an area that was technically part of Kijuju, but far from the heavily inhabited areas. A church. Looked like a Catholic church.

"We're going to talk to one Father Kendrick. He's been saying a lot of nasty things about a friend of mine. We're here to shut him up. You'll know what to do. Now let's go say hi."

I trailed Wesker as he entered the church. The man I presumed to be Father Kendrick was leaning on a wall near the pulpit. He was a chubby, Irish-looking fellow. Three grubby locals were gathered around him – they were talking in hushed tones. All four of them noticed us. Kendrick stood up straight and the three men moved tensely to stand between us and him. Kendrick and his men were nervous, and they were right to be.

Kendrick spoke. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Wesker continued his slow approach. "Is that how you greet your congregation? I'm just a lost soul, looking for redemption. Perhaps you'd like to hear my confession."

Kendrick showed less fear than the men near him. "I know who you are. You work with that Tricell company."

Wesker smiled. "You are well-informed. But you've been saying some very unfortunate things about a friend of mine: General Obasanjo."

Kendrick spat. "Obasanjo is a thug and a monster! He cannot be allowed to take power in Kijuju."

Wesker: "Perhaps Kijuju needs a firm hand at the wheel." We were now about ten feet from Kendrick.

One of the men spoke: "Don't come any closer!"

Wesker put up his hands and stopped. He nodded. It was imperceptible to all but me. I sprung into action, leaping for Kendrick.

The men moved to block me, but a flurry of kicks sent them all flying into walls and corners. In the blink of an eye, I had Kendrick on his knees, my arm around his neck in an impossible-to-break chokehold. He spoke with great effort.

"You can… do what you want to me. The people here are not afraid of Obasanjo… or of you!"

Wesker laughed. "Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we?"

That was my cue. As his men looked on helplessly, with minimal effort I twisted Kendrick's head and snapped his neck. I heard a grunting sigh leave his body. I let go and he slumped to the floor. He'd never had a chance. I saw no opportunity to resist this order, felt no weakness in the effect of the P30.

Wesker looked down at Kendrick's crumpled form. "You know, I never thought of this. When a priest dies, who reads him last rites?"

And with a derisive laugh, Wesker turned to leave and I followed. The men who had tried to protect Kendrick just lay there, frozen in fear and shock. They'd gotten their show. Whoever this Obasanjo was, he wouldn't be getting quite as much bad press from now on.

On the ride back, I was not blessed with Wesker's silence.

"I have to tell you, Jill, that could not have gone more perfectly. You exceed my wildest expectations. Just to imagine: the gifted straight arrow from STARS who went on to be one of the heroes that took down Umbrella, now at my right hand, helping to bring about something far worse than anything anyone in Umbrella ever dreamed of. I just have to know: how does it feel?"

I had to answer honestly. "Every moment is worse than the last. I pray only for death."

He laughed, savoring my suffering like a fine wine. "Well, you could never tell by the enthusiasm and effort you put into your work. Who know, Jill? Perhaps, as you learn more about Uroboros, you may come to see that I have a point. You may come to see things my way. Is it so much to ask that you keep an open mind?

"I'm sure your initial reaction will not be a positive one. Uroboros will kill millions, perhaps billions, when it is unleashed on a worldwide scale. But those of us left standing… we will be the next phase of human evolution. We will be something new, something beautiful and powerful. And I will rule all as a God!"

He lapsed into a self-satisfied silence. My mind reeled at what he had told me about Uroboros. He was so strong, his operation so effective, so powerful. Uroboros was so deadly. I deeply feared that he could win. Chris and I had always regarded Wesker as the greatest threat we could face, but I was realizing we were still underestimating him.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I started to smell something that wasn't there. It was the salty spray of the sea. Knowing what was coming and glad of it, I closed my eyes and found myself back at the beach house.

Chris and I were sitting on a bench on the deck. He had his arm around me; my head was resting on his shoulder. Together we watched the waves crashing onto the ivory sand.

"You'll never guess what I did today," I said, breaking the silence. "I killed a priest. I killed him in front of his followers, for show."

Chris turned his head towards me. "Jill Valentine didn't kill anyone today. These are Albert Wesker's crimes, not yours."

I smiled a wry smile and wiped a tear away. "They sure feel like mine. I'm the one left with the memory."

"Jill, you're in uncharted territory, there's no question about that. But there's something you have to realize. In your place, anyone else would have given up by now."

"What's the difference? Nothing I feel matters. Given up on what? Why shouldn't I give up? I'd still be Wesker's engine of death."

Chris's tone was one of steely conviction. "The difference is, giving up means giving in. It means submitting to Wesker's will, it means following him by choice. Can you really throw out your remorse, your compassion? Could you really say to yourself 'Screw it, this is what I am now' and embrace your role as Wesker's executioner?

"No one in the world could have come through what Wesker has had you do. Anyone else, anyone else would have broken long ago."

Broken didn't sound terrible to me right then. "I just want it to be over, Chris. I don't see any way out of this. The rabbit hole just goes deeper and deeper."

I wasn't looking at Chris's face but I could hear the smile in his voice. "Have a little faith, partner."

I knew what he was hinting at. I left the comfort of his embrace to stand up and face him. "Don't. Don't you dare do that."

"Do what?" he said with that innocent look that always made me laugh, but not this time.

"Don't hint around at things. You're trying to suggest that there is hope. The world thinks I'm dead. No one is coming for me. You're not coming for me. I can't let myself feel hope, it hurts too much."

He gave me the all-too-familiar look that let me know he saw through all my bluster. "Right, Jill."

"Right what?" I said, my voice rising in indignation. I hated when he did this in real life, when he cut through my defenses like butter. I didn't hate it that much, though. I hated it the minimum amount as dictated by my gender.

He just sighed, further stoking my building tantrum. "You know damn well, deep down inside, that I never gave up on you. Maybe I did try to accept the idea that you were gone. Maybe I did mourn you and try to move on. But let's just cut through the crap: You know there's no way I would ever give up on you, and you know there's no way you would ever give up on me.

"Hope may hurt, but it's what's keeping you going and you know it."

Deflated, I sat down next to him. We watched the circling gulls in silence for a bit.

"It's getting bad out there, Redfield," I finally said. "I mean really bad."

"I know. And it's going to get worse."

"And there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it."

He turned to me. "Actually, there's two goddamn things you can do about it."

Huh?

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to respond. Great, now I have to work out riddles? What two things were in my power?

I smiled. It wasn't really a riddle. It was just his way of making me take charge of my own destiny, even trapped in a body I could not control. I gave him the answer: the only two things in my power.

"Watch and wait."

He smiled back, returning his attention to the glistening sea. "You should get some rest, Valentine."

"I hate sleep. Actually, what I hate is waking up."

I thought back to the time following death of my mother. I remember that feeling I would get when I woke up in the morning – for a few seconds, it was just a typical day, and then the horror would flood over me as the reality of my existence took hold. Every day was like that now.

But he was right. I had spent all the time I needed to here, and spending any more time would be, at least to me, a dereliction of duty.

"Just hang in there, Partner," he said. He was quieter and farther away already. "It'll get worse before it gets better, but it will get better."

I had more to say to him, but I figured I'd save it for another time.

And with a pop, I was back in my bed, in my suite, in the secret Tricell facility, under the ruins of a great civilization, in the middle of Africa.

I found myself wondering what Wesker would do or think if he knew about my secret retreat. Knowing that I had some small means of escape, some relief, some comfort in the midst of all this would no doubt infuriate him. I wondered if he could do anything about it. What if he ordered me never to go back? It didn't seem like such an order would take; the parts of me he controlled had little to do with the part of me that went to the beach house.

In any case, it was all academic. Wesker would never know. I'd never tell him. I realized that I had a secret from him, a powerful secret. That made me smile and let me relax enough for sleep to claim me.