I was free. I was alone. I had to get out of that place.

I still had my twin submachine guns, full clips on my belt. I didn't know how steady a shot I'd be, but that's the nice thing about SMGs: ready, fire, aim.

I was steadier on my feet already. The worst of the hangover had passed, but I was still an aching mess. My chest felt like I'd taken a close-range blast of road salt from a shotgun, but I examined my injuries and nothing seemed major.

Deep, slow breaths, Jill.

My way out would take me through the Tri-cell facility. I knew that Chris and Sheva had plowed the road for me, but there would still be plenty of Majini left to make my journey a fun one. And all my tricks, my powers, my strength, my agility, my flexibility – all of it was gone. I could only hope that whatever was left of I was before would be enough to get me through this.

You got this far, Jill. You can make it further.

I wondered if free will was like riding a bicycle. I wondered if the fracture between action and contemplation in me was so irreparable that it would get me killed. Was I so used to following the orders of others that I would hesitate to follow my own?

Okay. Do it.

I made my move. Back through the ruins, back into the place that had been my living hell. My lungs burned with the effort of pumping my legs. My mouth was dry, my eyes stung. But it was me, damnit, it was all me. My choice to act. My decision to move. The discomfort melted away. The training started to kick in. In Delta, this would have been a walk in the park.

I was lucky to encounter light resistance – black stains on the floor were a testament to how thorough Chris and Sheva had been. There were some pockets of Majini to take out, but I did so with an ease that pleased and surprised me. I wasted few bullets. All right, Jill. Not bad.

Something was nagging at me, though. How would Chris and Sheva be able to take Wesker down? If anything, his strength had only grown. The strength that I now knew came from that serum Excella was always pumping into him.

What was that stuff?

I decided to risk a few minutes finding out. I found an unused terminal and started some search threads.

How do I narrow it down? Umbrella was gone, and he was getting it from Excella, so it was clearly produced by Tricell. It would also be pretty top secret. I recalled the numeric code I'd seen stenciled on the syringe. I'd only gotten a partial – PG6…

Got it. Tricell research database, using access codes Wesker had clumsily given me, trusting that I would never be capable of betraying him. PG67A/W. I scanned the documents as best I could: Apparently, an Umbrella virus had been the true source of Wesker's strength, but the instability of the virus threatened to kill him. PG67A/W was an anti-viral serum, a supplement to keep the virus in check, maintaining his health and strength. Without it, he would certainly lose his strength and quite possibly die. It said that he only needed an injection every few days, and I had seen him injected just recently. We did not have days.

What had Wesker said? "The dose makes the poison." I thought back to what Excella had said about how precise the dose had to be. I cross-referenced PG67A/W and overdose. The info that flashed across the screen made me smile. It's a damn anti-viral – an overdose would mean a cure. No virus, no strength.

"I've got you, you son of a bitch."

I used a nearby PDA communicator to contact Chris.

"Jill! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Like that would work. "Just listen carefully, there's something that I need to tell you. Wesker's superhuman strength, it comes from a virus, but the virus is unstable. In order to maintain balance, he must inject himself regulary with a serum."

Sheva piped in: "If we cut the supply of serum, he loses his strength."

"Affirmative. But he just took a dose, so it's gonna be a while before he needs another one. Listen, Excella said that the amount administered has to be precise. So if he injects too much, it should act like a poison. I think she used a serum labeled PG67A/W."

It was all I could do for them, and I couldn't hold them up any longer. "I'm gonna try to find a way to escape. You need to find that serum. Excella always kept it with her, in an attaché case..."

I heard explosions in the facility, distant but intense. Chris and Sheva started to break up. EMP interference. Damn, it had begun. I lost the signal and hoped what I'd given them would be enough.

I started to make my way to the surface, not knowing what I'd do when I got there. There were more pockets of Majini, not a problem, but this whole place was becoming unstable. Just once, can't I try to escape a place that ISN'T blowing up?

I dove through flames and climbed ladders. Every muscle in my body ached from the effort, but I kept pushing. I finally made it to the surface, the evening breeze blowing through stray strands of my hair. The explosions receded behind me in the Tricell bunker. I was free of that place forever.

I saw a truck nearby and ran for it. It was smashed up and undriveable, but there was a comlink in it. A BSAA comlink, as luck would have it.

I tuned to the most commonly used BSAA air support frequency. "This is inactive BSAA Operative Jill Valentine, number One-Niner-Three-Seven-One-Zero-XRay-Bravo, requesting extraction from a secured hot spot. Coordinates 6° 27' N, 3° 24' E. Repeat: This is inactive BSAA Operative Jill Valentine, number One-Niner-Three-Seven-One-Zero-XRay-Bravo, requesting extraction from a secured hot spot. Coordinates 6° 27' N, 3° 24' E." I knew that officially I was dead, but I had no other options than to use my own name and operative number and hope for the best.

Nothing. Damn. I was safe for the moment, but Chris and Sheva might need support. Someone needed to be ready to go in and help them.

I repeated my distress call a few more times before I heard a change in the static. A man's voice I didn't recognize said: "… position. Over."

"Please repeat last message."

"This is BSAA Captain Josh Stone, number Two-Seven-Seven-Five-Six-One-Delta-Foxtrot. It's good to hear your voice, Agent Valentine. Your partner Chris will be glad you're safe. I have a bird in the air and I am on route, hold your position. Over."

Thank God. Stone was the one who had helped Chris and Sheva. "Copy that, Captain Stone. Looking forward to meeting you. Valentine, Over and out."

I had a few minutes of quiet before I heard the beating of those blades. The chopper came over the trees with a roar – I stood in a clearing and waved both my arms. Stone made a nice smooth landing and I scrambled in. He handed me a headphone mic and I sat in the cockpit next to him, strapping myself in.

He let go of the stick with his right hand and extended it towards me. "Agent Valentine! Captain Josh Stone, call me Josh."

"Jill," I replied, shaking his hand with my right and pointing up emphatically with my left. "We don't have much time, I'll brief you when you're airborne."

He nodded and started to take us up.

"Chris and Sheva are going after a man named Albert Wesker. He's the one behind all this. He's planning to spread a virus, the Uroboros virus, throughout earth's atmosphere. I don't know how he plans to – "

He cut me off. "I think I do. A report came in just before I got here." He pressed a button on the console and I could hear the ground control feed.

" – bogie off the coast of Nigeria. Repeat: we have an unidentified bogie off the coast of Nigeria."

"Ground control, we have visual confirmation," replied the typically laconic voice of a trained pilot. "Heavy bomber with a full payload."

Jesus Christ. It was Wesker. He was going to use the missiles to spread Uroboros – and if they shot him down, it would spread just as easily.

"Scrambling 36th Tactical Fighter Squadron to last known position."

"Josh! They can't shoot that bomber down! The payload is Uroboros!"

Horror spread over Josh's face, and he pressed the console again. "This is BSAA Captain Josh Stone, number Two-Seven-Seven-Five-Six-One-Delta-Foxtrot. You must call off those fighters!"

"Please repeat, Captain Stone."

"You must call off those fighters! Bomber payload is a class A bio-hazard."

A tense silence followed.

"Fighters holding formation, awaiting further instructions."

Josh and I exhaled. "Will try to provide more intel as situation develops. Agent Stone out."

He looked at me. "This situation is completely fucked! If Wesker is already in the air, and we can't touch him –"

"All we can do is give it some time. I believe in Chris and Sheva, if there's a way to –"

Ground control came on the line again. "Bogie is going down, repeat, bogie is going down. Coordinates 13° 28' S, 16° 40' W." I knew the two of them could do it. I only hoped they weren't aboard.

Josh looked worried again. "Lots of volcanic activity in that area." We looked at each other, not needing to say what we both knew.

Taking that plane into a volcano was the best way to eradicate the threat of Uroboros. If this was their plan, it seemed unlikely that Chris and Sheva would make it out alive. But we had to try. We were their only chance of escape.

Josh leaned on the stick and spoke into the mic. "Captain Josh Stone. I have a bird in the air; we are heading to the site to attempt rescue operations. Rerouting to coordinates 13° 28' S, 16° 40' W."

It took us a very long, very tense seven minutes to get to the coordinates. We saw the smoke billowing up after about four of those minutes.

As we approached, I got out of my seat and clambered to the back, unhooking the rope ladder. I could hardly bear to look.

A rejuvenating relief washed over me as I saw Sheva and Chris scrambling away from the wreckage of a heavy bomber being swallowed by red hot lava. Josh was already in position, and I wasted no time throwing the ladder down to them.

"Grab on!" I shouted. Sheva jumped for the ladder, followed by Chris, just seconds before his tenuous footing was also lost to the lava.

I smiled to myself. Damn you, Redfield, why do you have to cut it so close?

I helped Sheva aboard, and together we pulled Chris's bulky frame aboard as well. Our relief would be short-lived, however. With the potent combination of his super-strength, the PG67A/W serum and Uroboros, even molten lava could not put an end to Albert Wesker. Something writhing and black caught my eye. Wesker had taken his own medicine.

Rising up from liquid fire, the new thing that had been Wesker roared: "Chris!" as a massive black tentacle shot from his arm to wrap the landing bar. The chopper shook like we'd endured a missile strike.

I spotted the twin RPGs mounted next to Chris and Sheva, glad that Stone was the "better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them" type.

"Chris, Sheva! Use those!"

I could see that the two of them were a pretty bad-ass team. They were set up and ready to fire in seconds.

After all I'd been through, it surprised me that I didn't wish I was there next to Chris, firing one of those rockets at the man I hated with more passion than I'd ever felt for anything in my life. So why was I glad to see Chris and Sheva taking care of this nasty business? The best answer I can come up with is that I just don't like to hate. I suppose hate has got its place in the world, and lord knows we'll never be rid of it. I certainly feel it from time to time just like everyone else, but it just tastes wrong to me. Hate clouds your judgement. It diminishes your humanity, and I'd lost enough of myself as it was. It felt good to let go of that desire I'd harbored all this time: to choke the life out of Wesker, to perforate him with an icepick as he'd had me do to Mosi, to feed him his own horrible creation and watch it destroy him from within. I'd always be the person that wanted to do that, but I'd never be the person that actually did it – that enjoyed doing it. The one thing I could say about myself is that, no matter how many times I'd killed, no matter who or what I killed, I never enjoyed it. They don't give you a medal for that, but I was proud of it all the same.

But maybe I could enjoy watching someone else do it. Maybe that was a vice I could indulge. Just this once.

"Suck on this, Wesker," said Chris with relish, and he and Sheva fired.

I watched the rockets travel in what seemed to be in slow motion. The last I saw of Wesker was a rocket blowing through his head as though it were tissue paper.

And then there was a ball of fire filling the sky in front of us, and Albert Wesker was erased from the earth, taking his deadly creation with him. Chris, Sheva and I looked at each other. It was over. Finally.