Annette Birkin looked over at her husband. William was distracted again, taking readings while woolgathering. Thank god it was only surface-level make-work since the disaster with the mansion, but it wasn't good. Not with reporters crawling out of the woodwork. "Do you need to go on desk work for a while? People would understand."

Her husband, William, shook his head. "There's too much to do. You know that. With the work where it is…"

Annette sighed. The G-virus was finally complete, but still, her husband refused to rest. He seemed to be pinging all over the facility, fussing with equipment, various strains of T-virus…like he needed something in his hands to keep from falling apart.

Annette softened at the thought. Albert's death must have hit him harder than he was letting on. On some level, they had all known that the mortality rate of their work rose sharply when things didn't go to plan. The risks of working at Umbrella were at least as great as the rewards. Of course, they knew.

Privately, Annette had been relieved when Albert had transferred to another division. Her William was brilliant, yes, but he needed a stabilizing influence to hone his focus to a razor edge. Albert had done that for him, in the beginning.

Then they had cracked the secret to T-Virus. The hunters had come soon after.

Around the same time, the Placidia fiasco had come down, quite literally, on their heads. The conference wing of the lab had been moved upstairs, with the demolished section converted to more lab space.

It had seemed like a blip in the road. An old mystery, now solved, with the problem child tucked away where they could keep an eye on her.

Over the next several years though…Annette had found Albert in there more often than she wanted to think about, looking at the…specimen…like a stolen kill. When Colonel Vladimir arrived to head up the Tyrant program, only her practiced eye caught the cold rage at the intrusion, hidden by a polite mask.

Annette had never given voice to her concerns. The top brass seemed to take sadistic delight in needling those doing the actual work. Why throw fuel on that particular fire? Sooner or later, they'd all move on.

William had managed to stay on track. The move to the NEST had settled him greatly. Albert had transferred away, then returned recently to manage STARS here in town.

Life seemed to settle into a comfortable rhythm.

Now, the mansion.

Now, the leaks.

Now, the little reporters, with their questions and intrusions. What were they paying Irons for, if not to manage problems like this?

And wouldn't you know: someone had sighted a strange girl near the woods after Arklay had gone tits up. Disoriented, bedraggled, and cognizant of her surroundings. How the hell had Sergei managed to drop the ball so badly?

It was almost a relief that Albert was out of the picture. He had never been the type to let go of a grudge. The temptation to use her in order to twist the knife on his old mentors would have been too much for him to resist.

Annette sighed. "Come down to my office when you're done, then. I saved you some takeout from lunch. This isn't the time to miss readings because of low blood sugar."

William kept his eyes focused on the readings, but he gave her a small smile nonetheless. "That happened one time."

She smiled back. Small victories, but she would take what she could. "Because I never let it happen twice." Then she looked at the time, hissing between her teeth. "It's late again. I don't want Sherry ordering pizza again this week." She grimaced, the familiar guilt sinking in all over again.

William paused, then finally looked over at her. "We're almost there, Annette. It's going to be worth it."

William watched his wife leave. She knew something was up. She didn't know the plan. Couldn't know. Not yet. But…soon. As soon as things were ready, he'd be able to slip away with his research. He'd get them out. He would explain everything.

He had been getting coded emails for the last several weeks now from HCF. He hadn't been able to put a finger on it at first, but the odds that his old friend was organizing Birkin's exit from the other side were increasing ever more with each exchange. He'd tested it when expressing concern that a tyrant-strength specimen, codenamed Placidia, was still loose in the vicinity of the mansion. Umbrella had initially deemed it destroyed, but quiet inquiries at the highest level showed that there was doubt. If it was loose, an attack would jeopardize everything.

Almost immediately he received a reply. "Placidia contained. Obstinate as ever. Continue with the main objective." HCF wouldn't just hand him an incredibly valuable piece of information like that, just to calm his nerves. And the implied familiarity in the message.

So Wesker was alive. He had survived.

And, therefore, so would Birkin.

With grim satisfaction, Birkin set down his readings and began to make his way down to the water treatment plant level. Oh, he had work to do, alright. What better way to cover his flight that to orchestrate a little outbreak?

"Mysterious disappearances have wracked Raccoon City once again over the last few days, and with questions surrounding the STARS going unanswered, Chief Brian Irons of the Raccoon Police Department had released a statement that the matter remains under investigation. Should you seem anything suspicious, a tip line-"

Chris Redfield shut off the radio in disgust. "A tip line. Jesus fucking Christ."

In the passenger seat, Jill Valentine sat quietly, eyes fastened to the radio. "No one's going to be ready for what's coming."

Redfield nodded. "They've made sure no one's going to listen to us if we tried to warn them." He sighed. "I have to go after them. The intel we have can only go colder. I doubt they're going to wait much longer to come after us, once this gets bad enough that it won't be noticed."

Jill looked at him, expression bleak. "I know you do," she said quietly. "But I grew up here. I can't just let them…I have to try. To help." She was glad Barry and Rebecca had made their exit days earlier. This was hard enough, and Chris wasn't trying to push her to go with him. He knew her well enough to know her mind was set on seeing this through.

"Are you sure I can't take a shift driving? You've been going for hours."

Rebecca bit back a sigh. The woman in her passenger seat, former Umbrella executive Kate Everett, certainly meant well. Jumping ship to help them after well over two decades of service was going to put a target on her back, no question.

Barry had declined the woman's company in his truck, and Rebecca agreed with that choice. Barry would have trouble dealing with a former collaborator for years to come, she suspected. The way Wesker had manipulated him, threatened his family…it was only natural to have some animosity there. They might always have trouble trusting this woman.

That wasn't the reason Rebecca wasn't allowing her to drive. The way Kate had described her benefactor's mode of communication- small blackouts, a temporary arrest of facilities- had the hallmarks of a seizure. It was possible that Kate wasn't the only one connected in this manner, but until then, until they could find out more, Rebecca didn't want to assume she was safe to drive.

"No- you need to ask her about the driving issue if she reaches out again."

Kate did sigh, but didn't press the issue. "I hate this. I used to drive all the time. Then I go and have one fling, and now I have sexually transmitted telepathy?" Rebecca's hands jerked on the wheel**, just a little. Kate smirked. "She was a fun lady. Is, apparently. I always wondered how everyone involved with her was convinced to keep their mouths shut. The executive pool are the most vicious gossips you'll ever meet." She paused, looking apologetically askance at Rebecca.

Rebecca snorted. "This is why you're in my car. Barry would have had a stroke by now. But…you seem pretty relaxed about everything?" Chris had very gently told her to keep her talking while on the road. Any actual debrief would have the woman's backup.

Kate thought about it, then shrugged. "Things were calm for a long time after that string of accidents, back in the seventies. Thinking about the early days puts this year into perspective. Back then I didn't see enough to know anything, but everyone knew to stay the hell out of Marcus' way. The Ashfords had this reputation as a sort of a weird, reclusive lot, especially later. Miss Ashford was too, but that was a chronic illness thing. She hated Marcus' guts though, so she would try to force accountability. We all assumed it was to spite him, but no one cared about that. He'd have panic attacks towards the end that put him out of commission for days, and then the whole facility would get a chance to breathe."

Rebecca's lip curled. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

Everett glanced at Rebecca, nervous. "No one at my level really accepted what he was doing. Most companies in pharma have their prima donnas. Only the senior researchers would really know about the projects for security. Miss Ashford…she was the only one with any pull to rein him in before his research was transferred without him to the other lab."

Rebecca kept her eyes on the road. "How'd she end up in the mansion, do you know?"

Everett worried her lip, the dam broken. "There's an acceptable level of willful blindness there. Back at the mansion- when she went to meet with them-I told headquarters that I heard the crashing and panicked…she told me to run, I think." She bit her lip. " I was waiting for her meeting to finish up while I took a call in the front lobby. I think I lost a minute or so, and then it was the most logical thing in the world to walk out the front door and drive away. No one ever said a thing. The email thing - contacting you- was similar. This last time was clearer- like I heard her on the phone. Whoever had her panicked had figured who had fed her information. Everett shuddered. "I don't know what spooked her, but I never want to come face to face with it."

Rebecca, who could hazard a few guesses as to what might spook an ageless debutante with telepathic abilities, said nothing and kept driving.