Dolores wakes with a soft hum, dark lashes fluttering before her eyes open. She isn't sure, at first, why she's awake and staring around a room lit by a blinking, green light. In fact, she's not even sure that her name is Dolores, but it feels right. Her brows furrow as she sits up, taking in the antique rocking chair beside a window with its lace curtains drawn, the silvery moonlight casting strange shapes as it twines with the green nightlight.
She leaves the relative safety of her bed, bare feet pattering softly against a wood floor. She stops at a vanity and has enough sense to pull a sweater over her white nightie before continuing out of her room into a long hallway. It seems to go on forever in either direction, the ends swallowed by blackness so that only her silhouette is visible, thrown against the wall in flashes of black and green.
"Mama?" Her voice echoes slightly, giving the illusion of a cavernous space instead of a simple hall. She takes an uncertain step backward, back toward the space that so clearly belongs to her and the teddy bear that means protection. "Daddy?" Another echo and that's enough to have her fetching the teddy bear situated on her headboard, soft from age and the same brown as her hair. Dolores is tempted to curl up in her bed again, hide under the covers and ignore whatever it was that had woken her up, but something is wrong. Her memories may be on vacation, but she knows that this house is never so quiet, the air so still. Something's off and she wants her daddy to make it better.
She squares her shoulders and marches back out into the never ending hallway, going to the left with her fingers brushing along the wallpaper. She stops at a room just fifteen feet away from her own, peeking in to find it empty and the drawer of a dresser pulled open. Instead of clothes, it's filled with weapons of all sorts, lit by LED lights hidden in the woodwork.
"Oh, boy…." She tiptoes past the empty room and continues down a set of stairs. She's almost to the bottom when she hears breaking glass and screaming, her fingers clamping down on the handrail tight enough to make her knuckles ache. She doesn't want to keep going, doesn't want to be a good soldier, but her feet continue forward all the same. She feels almost numb as she glides over the marble floor, stopping just short of what's supposed to be the formal sitting room once boxes are unpacked and furniture is delivered. There are black-clad figures standing amongst the shattered glass along with a man lying on the ground and a woman being pressed against the wall. "You stop that," Dolores yells. She strides forward, miraculously avoiding the shards of glass littering the floor. The figure holding the woman turns sharply and grabs the front of Dolores' sweater, keeping himself out of kicking range. "Leave her alone!"
"Report," the man demands. Dolores goes stock still, hands dropping to her sides as her brows furrow. "Report!" Her instincts say to answer him, give him a full report like the good, little soldier, but nothing comes out when she opens her mouth.
"I don't…. I can't."
"The house's primary defenses have been activated," one of the suits says. "Explains the memory loss." The figure holding Dolores grunts and shoves her toward the woman, Dolores tripping over her own feet. The woman catches her and hauls her up, wrapping an arm around Dolores' shoulders.
"What about the cop," Suit One asks.
"He's not on file, but the locals are a bunch of idiots. It's possible they haven't added him to their database yet," Suit Two says. Suit One takes off his mask and the others follow his lead, revealing middle-aged men and women, none of their faces familiar. "Should we keep him here?"
"Bring him along just in case. Prep for entry into the Hive." Dolores and the blonde are nudged aside, the mirror they'd been leaning against splitting down the middle and sliding open with a hiss to reveal a dim corridor. Dolores thinks of the never ending hallway upstairs, the echoing, cavernous quality, and she takes a step back.
"I'm not going down there," she says, firm. Suit One picks her up over his shoulder without even a grunt, trampling her fallen teddy bear and ignoring the way her small fists beat against his back. She doubts he can feel the impact through the Kevlar, but it makes her feel a little less like a sissy. "You guys suck! Let me down!"
"JD, Rain, scout ahead." Suits Three and Four—a man and woman duo who both look to be Hispanic—take the lead with guns held tightly against their shoulders. The corridor turns out to be more of a wide landing, the team heading to the right and down a flight of stairs into a vast cavern. The platform they step onto is filled with metal storage bins that tower over even Suit One, creating a maze that ends at a pair of steel rails and a train that sits on them.
"Are we riding that?" Dolores' fear has turned to something like excitement. What eight year old wouldn't love to explore hidden chambers and ride on a train? It's like Disneyland, but without the lines.
"If I say yes, are you going to throw a fit?"
"Nope."
"And what will you do if I let you down?"
"Not touch anything?" Suit One sets her back on her feet, but he's got her sweater in his grasp again as he raises his brows. "Not touch anything," she repeats, ditching the questioning lilt this time. If she gets to ride that train, then she'll promise almost anything.
"Stay." He lets her go and stalks away, leaving Dolores and the blonde woman by themselves. Dolores looks up at her, tugging on her wrist lightly until the blonde is looking down at her.
"I'm gonna call you Mama." The blonde opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, makes a weird choking noise, and then settles on bewilderment. "You can call me Dollie. I think my name's Dolores, but that makes me sound like an old lady, so I wanna be called Dollie. What's your name?"
"I don't know," she murmurs.
"What do you want your name to be?" She flounders again, blue eyes darting around to take in the strangers swarming around them like ants as they load bins onto the train. Dolores likes trains, her daddy says they're rad. She doesn't remember her daddy much, but there's a warm feeling of protection that blankets her when she thinks of him.
"How about we just stick with Mama until I figure that out?" Dolores nods once, a sharp, decisive move that seems to make Mama a little uncomfortable. Dolores ignores that, sneaking a glance at the suits before shuffling half a foot to her right. The bins all have the same logo, red and white triangles that form the name printed in bold white beneath it: UMBRELLA.
"What's Umbrella?"
"A whole lot of trouble," says the man without a suit. He's tall and broad through everything, his blue button-down straining across his shoulders with the way his wrists are cuffed behind his back. He's not her daddy, he's just another stranger that likes to break windows. Dolores turns her back on him, focusing back on the bins and wondering what kind of secret treasures they hold. She's just about got one of the latches undone when a glove-clad hand clamps down over her own.
"What did we agree you wouldn't do," Suit One asks. There's no amusement in his tone and she recognizes the warning in his eyes.
"Not touch stuff."
"And what were you doing?"
"Touching stuff." She heaves a dramatic sigh that has Mama smiling behind her hand, but Suit One doesn't look impressed. If anything, he looks like he's considering stuffing her in a bin and leaving her here. Well, joke's on him, she's small enough to fit with room to spare and she's got an imagination bigger than Daddy's ego. "Can we go on the train now?"
"Only if you promise to sit on your hands."
"You got it, dude." She gives him a thumbs-up and takes off like a shot the second he lets go of her sweater, bare feet slapping against the metal floor. She's not quite tall enough to climb onto the train's platform by herself, but the woman called Rain hauls her up with a faint curl of her lips that might have been a smile.
"Power's down," Suit Two says.
"So fix it," Suit One demands. Rain mutters an affirmative, dropping down an open panel on the train's floor. Dolores attempts to look down, but Mama tugs her away by the hand. "What did you promise, kid?" Dolores grumbles under her breath, but plops down on the cold floor all the same, hands pressed beneath her thighs. "Good girl."
"I'm not a dog," she snaps.
"No, you're not. Dog's actually listen from time to time." Suit One doesn't see it, but Dolores sticks her tongue out at him. Mama settles down beside her as the train powers up, a low hum that sets the floor to vibrating softly under Dolores' palms. Once Rain is back inside the train, Suit Two closes the metal panels with a press of a button. The train starts moving, slow and steady, nothing to write home about.
"Oh, neat!"
"You are one easily entertained kid," Rain says as she passes by. She stops at the door a couple of feet from Dolores, grunting as she tries to open it. "The damn thing's stuck."
"Why do you wanna open it anyway?" Rain doesn't answer, throwing her weight against the handle. It doesn't budge, stuck tight and keeping the door shut. Dolores thinks of a dark silhouette sneaking into a room lit by green flashes, warm hands turning her onto her belly and playing with the corkscrew curls at her nape. Don't worry, Dollie, the silhouette whispers in a voice laced with some kind of accent. After tonight, you'll never have to be a soldier again. Dolores jumps as the door finally gives, swinging open and allowing a man to fall into the train. He's tall and lithe where Suitless is broad, features slack in unconsciousness and hair a stark black against his tan. Her own hair is almost that same shade of black, but it doesn't come from this man and her slim fingers don't come from Mama.
Congratulations, you two, a man in accented English says, smiling hard and cold, you're the new owners of an eight year old girl.
Suit Five, another woman with her dark hair done up in a bun, kneels over the man and brings a tube of smelling salts under his nose. He comes to with a startled sound, eyes darting around wildly until they focus on Suit Five. She's saying something, but Dolores doesn't catch it as she leans forward. That dark silhouette is lingering at the edge of memory, a hard smile that softens at the edges, moving through flashes of green.
"What's your name," Suit Five asks. Her voice is gentle but firm, a veteran medic that's seen a lot worse things than some white guy with memory issues. The man gazes around like he's looking for an answer, a name spray painted in bright green on one of the walls.
"I don't know," he says haltingly.
"He'll be fine." She's talking to her fellow suits now, paying no mind to how the man sits up and shuffles against the wall. His arm brushes Dolores', warm even through his leather jacket and her sweater. He glances down at her and green-tinged memories flash through her mind; Daddy chasing her through a maze, curling against his chest in the winter as he read from a book, a hard voice barking out orders that she followed unfalteringly.
"Hey." There's no hardness in his voice just now, but it's the same one from her memory. "What's your name, kiddo?"
"Dolores," Mama answers succinctly," but she likes to be called Dollie." The man nods slowly, reaching out to pat Dolores' knee. That's how they pass the rest of the ride, a full ten minutes of silence and a warm hand on a cold knee. When the train stops with a squeal of brakes, that hand keeps her from falling sideways.
"I reckon this is our stop. Come on, Dollie." The man, Daddy, stands and hauls her up onto his hip, carrying her out of the train and down onto a new platform that looks just like the one they'd left behind. Mama, Daddy, and Suitless all stick to the back of the group, letting the suits scout ahead in a controlled formation that's taken years to get so in sync. They make their way carefully through the maze of thick support columns and stacks of bins, taking long steps as though afraid anything else would mean destruction. Dolores glances up at one point, spotting the white security camera with its steady red light, another trigger for memories that don't quite feel real.
Green figures swarm just outside her field of vision before coming into focus, hard faces of adults who have seen too much to be phased by anything. They watch her without a trace of amusement, passing a tablet between the three of them and using a stylus to sign their names.
"She'll be good for your cover," Agent One says. He sounds Russian, an old Bond villain just finding out his parentage. "A couple of newlyweds and their adopted daughter will hardly raise suspicion in the locals."
"How will we explain why she isn't in school," Agent Two asks. This one is a man as well, brown eyes reminding her of cemetery dirt. He's got a tan, but her own complexion is more akin to a Hershey bar and she files that difference away.
"She was bullied in her last school, so you'll teach her at home until she's older." Agent One shrugs a broad shoulder, long hair curling against his ears at the movement. He's much bigger than Agent Two and both are bigger than the lone woman. "Sound good?"
"Sounds good," Agent Three nods. Agent Three may not be as large as the men on either side of her, but she's far more hardened than they'll ever be. She reaches out, gold wedding band cold against the girl's cheek, dragging along the curve with a faint squeal.
"Congratulations, you two, you're the new owners of an eight year old girl."
Dolores lets out a faint hiss against Daddy's nape, cheeks feeling too hot despite the chill in the air. She gazes up at the camera again as they pass it and imagines what it must be seeing; figures moving on quiet feet, yellow squares colored their faces as files are pulled from the same electronic system that assigned Dolores to Mama and Daddy.
Another long flight of stairs leads to another landing, a long hall shooting off to the right while straight ahead is a heavy-duty metal door. There's no visible line indicating what it is and Dolores would have thought it was just part of the wall had Suit One not commanded Suit Two to get the door open. As Suit Two moves to do exactly that, Mama steps forward to Suit One.
"Who the hell are you people and what's going on," she demands. It's the same hard tone from Dolores' memory, the same tone of command that should make the addressee ask how high she wants them to jump. Suit One, however, is made of tougher stuff than that and seems content to ignore her until she grabs his arm and jerks him around to face her. "That was an order."
"Have you gotten any memories back," Suit One asks. Mama and Daddy shake their heads, then Suit One's gaze is leveled on Dolores.
"Flashing lights," she murmurs. "Green and red with black silhouettes." She shivers, tightening her grasp on Daddy's jacket. Suit One gazes at her a moment longer before looking to the adults.
"You three and I all work for the Umbrella Corporation. The mansion above us is an emergency entrance to the Hive. You are secure operatives placed there to protect that entrance."
"Dollie's only a kid," Mama protests. "And anyways, what about this?" She slips off the wedding band, the overhead lights glinting and flashing of the gold when she turns it. Suit One looks unimpressed, like he'd expected much more from Hive operatives.
"Dolores and your marriage is part of your cover to protect the secrecy of the Hive. No one in town will suspect any strange goings on if the people who move into the creepy mansion in the woods seem stable. Kaplan, show them the schematic of the Hive." Suit Two—Kaplan—nods and brings out a small laptop and begins typing commands so fast that his fingers seem to blur. A clunky, 3-D rendering appears on the screen, showing several buildings of various sizes that the computer names Raccoon City, then moves farther out to show the mansion looming over them. Beneath the mansion are various hallways and elevators that all form the shape of a beehive. So much for being creative with their names.
"What the hell...?"
"As you can see, the Hive has been built deep beneath the streets of the closest urban center. The only way to the Hive is by going through the mansion and taking the train to this platform." Suit One never raises his voice, but it's smooth and captures peoples' attention without a hitch. "Our positions are indicated by heat signatures."
"That's all well and good," Daddy says," but what the hell is the Hive supposed to do?"
"It's a top-secret research facility. It houses over five hundred technicians, scientists, and support staff. Their research is of the highest importance. Naturally, their research is classified."
"Oh, right, naturally." Daddy and Dolores share a wry look, surprise flushing through the both of them at how normal it had felt. More pieces of the puzzle fall into place, a bond starting to reveal that runs deeper than some stupid assignment. Dolores' eyes widen and then she's wriggling until Daddy sets her down again. "What is it, Dollie?"
"I know how to get inside," she calls over her shoulder. Dolores nudges Rain aside with a small hip, nearly making the suit trip over some complicated thingamabob in her haste. This close to the metal door, she realizes the keypad is just out of reach. "Uh, can someone lend me a box?"
"I gotcha." Daddy hauls her up with his hands under her armpits, bringing her level with the keypad. She glances over at Suit One, the unasked question hanging between them. Can I touch things? Suit One considers the question for a moment, then shrugs in a way that clearly says why the hell not. She presses the number sequence in without pausing to think it through—142707—and the door rises with a hiss.
"Who wants to go down the creepy hallway first?"
"Not it." Dolores is set back down as Daddy turns to face the suits. "Quick question before we go any farther. Why the hell can't I remember anything?"
"The Hive's defense mechanisms are all computer-controlled," Suit One says with another shrug. "Something triggered them late this evening and the Red Queen went into lockdown. The bitch released a nerve gas through the entire Hive, your mansion included, and one of the side effects is acute memory loss. You could regain your memories in anywhere from an hour to next week."
"The Red Queen," Dolores asks.
"It's what we named the supercomputer that powers the Hive." Dolores grunts, turning to peer at the pitch black hallway stretching out before her. She thinks of an endless tunnel and playing cards that paint white roses red. Off with their heads. "JD, scout ahead." JD nods once, pulling a night-vision scope over one eye before heading into the darkness.
"We shouldn't go down there." It's a gut feeling that's making itself more and more apparent, roiling in her belly like a nest of vipers. "Something bad is down there." Suit One says nothing, he and his team focused on the yawning blackness with their guns at the ready. "Daddy, let's go back." Daddy doesn't say anything either, but he pulls her close and cards his fingers gently through her riotous curls.
A skittering sound, like long nails scraping over metal, has the three amnesiacs taking a step back, but then JD's voice echoes back to them and lights flicker on. Instead of another platform, the lights reveal a small lobby with a line of fake windows against the far wall and a bank of elevators on the left.
"The halon content has dissipated," Suit Five informs them.
"Halon is used in fire extinguishers," Dolores says, glancing around. The lobby is pristine, practically squeaky with how clean it is. "It doesn't even smell like smoke in here and there's no damage, so why would there be any traces of halon around?" The suits share a look over her head, but don't answer. She's really getting tired of having no answers.
"I guess it makes it easier to work underground if you think there's a view," Suitless says, a trace of bitter humor in his tone. The blinds along the far wall are real and creak when Dolores taps her fingers against them, even the glass is real, but the view beyond of a cityscape is just paint with small speakers hidden behind it that make sirens echo eerily.
"I have a feeling that the view didn't matter much if halon was sprayed down here." Another fragmented memory, a girl's voice issuing commands with a British lilt and an even fainter whine of multiple systems working at once—Phase One Complete. Dolores shudders and steps away from the group, pressing firmly against the wall.
"You okay, kid?"
"We're taking the stairs," Suit One says. Suitless is still watching her, waiting for an answer. She decides he hasn't earned one yet and follows Daddy down the stairs. The stairs curve in perfect rectangles, each curve leading farther down into the Hive until they finally reach the bottom level.
"Red Queen's locked onto us," Kaplan says. They don't stop their forward march, don't even slow down even as they pass another security camera. They don't stop at all until they reach a narrow hallway flanked on either side by glass rooms, flooded offices whose halogen lights make the water look yellow. One pane has a few chips missing, water steadily spilling out of it, but not enough to drain the office. "Well, shit."
"What's wrong?"
"We gotta pass through these labs if we wanna get to the Queen."
"Rain, JD, see how bad the flooding is. Kaplan, find us a backup route just in case." They answer with affirmatives, Rain and JD passing through the faint spray of dirty water without so much as a wince. Dolores glances up at the camera, the steady light that means they're being watched.
"What happened here," Daddy asks. "Why'd the Queen release that nerve gas." Suit One doesn't look like he's going to answer, not until he realizes that his tag-alongs are all watching him expectantly. He lets out a faint sigh and finally gives everyone the answers they've been after.
"The Red Queen went homicidal five hours ago, sealed the Hive and killed everyone down here. Once word reached HQ, my team was dispatched to shut her down and find any survivors. We're still not sure what triggered her defenses, but we think it might have something to do with an outsider." Their gazes all travel to Suitless, and then to the body floating against the glass behind him.
"Gnarly." The body used to be a woman, the bad lighting making her look jaundiced, even her lab coat is yellow. Dolores takes a step forward even as Suitless rears back in surprise, pressing her hand against the cold glass. "Dollie, get away from there."
"I think I knew her," Dolores whispers. Daddy pulls her back with a gentle hand, letting her bury her face against his belly. With her eyes closed, she can see a line of files, each one of them holding basic information and warped photos. She's too scared to dig through all of them, she finds that there are a few answers she'd rather not have.
"Do either of you remember anything," Mama asks softly.
"Nothing before the train," Daddy says. "What about you?" Mama makes an uncertain sound and Dolores doesn't have to open her eyes to know she's shaking her head in the negative. "What about you, Dollie? Anything new?" Dolores pulls back, spotting Daddy's jacket now worn by Mama over the flimsy red dress she's got on.
"Voices, mainly," she says, still in that quiet whisper. She doesn't want the suits to hear her, afraid of what they might say or do. "I remember a man giving me to you guys like I was nothing, like I was property." She doesn't like remembering that, doesn't like knowing that this couple is no more her parents than she is their daughter. No blood ties, just another soldier put here for a reason.
"No go, sir," Rain says, drawing Dolores out of the depressing spiral her thoughts were going in. "The whole level's flooded." Suit One glances around them, looking pained about something before squaring his shoulders. He's a good soldier, the type that will do anything to get the job done. Dolores isn't sure she should trust him.
"Alright," he states," let's move out."