This ficlet is sort of a sequel to my Day 9 ficlet ("angel").
CLAIREMBER 2022
Day 12 - college
Professor Braga leaned against the desk. "We're gonna do the typical 'first day of class' thing where we go around the room, introduce ourselves, and say why we want to learn more about Raccoon City – more specifically how it's affected public policy concerning biohazards, and how it will continue to do so in the years to come."
He grinned. "I'll go first."
"My name is Andrew, or Professor Braga to you all, and I wanted to teach a course designed around this awful disaster because of the impact it's had not just on policy but the world at large. Just the other day, it was on the news that many countries abroad are cutting ties with American pharmacies because of the rumors circulating about Umbrella being the cause of the disaster."
A hand shot up.
"Yes?" he said.
"They aren't rumors. They're facts."
"Claire Redfield, I presume?"
A girl in a pink sweater, her auburn hair banded in a high ponytail, stood.
Braga nodded. "I thought so. I saw your name on the roll call. You gave a very compelling eye witness account at the hearing, Ms. Redfield, and I'm very sorry for what you had to live through. But the facts are, you have nothing to substantiate your claims. So until you can substantiate them, your 'facts' are just rumors."
"Well, I did, but unfortunately it all went up in smoke when the secret lab that Umbrella built under the city exploded."
"It's been almost a year and a half, but thus far no suggestive remains have been found. And while I appreciate having you in my class, I'll thank you not to interrupt it unless whatever it is you have to say has been accepted as fact by the committee appointed to investigate the incident."
"What about Umbrella's investors?" the girl asked. "They seem to have accepted my and the other survivors' 'claims' as fact, considering Umbrella has spent the past year and a half wallowing in its own tanking stocks."
The class snickered.
"That's enough, Ms. Redfield. Please take your seat."
Shrugging, she sat down.
They went around the room, each student saying his or her name and then giving a reason they'd signed up for Raccoon City 105. Braga knew the real reason for most of them was fulfilling the Public Health major requirements so they could graduate on time.
Not Claire Redfield, though. Throughout the entirety of the introductions, she eyed him coolly. He knew that look. His ex-wife Sarah had given it to him enough. Claire Redfield thought he was an idiot.
Not that it matters while she spouts off conspiracy nonsense that she probably heard from some crazy before he went up with the city, he thought.
She remained quiet through the end of the lecture. Then she along with the other students grabbed their things and shuffled toward the door.
"Ms. Redfield," he said.
She turned to him. The last few students left the classroom.
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" she said.
"Yes. I wanted to say that I appreciate your position as a survivor of a horrible catastrophe, and I'm glad you've chosen to take my course in spite of what you've been through. That shows spirit."
"But…?"
"But I hope you can appreciate my position as a professor conveying information to impressionable minds. I have to stick to proven facts, nothing less."
She nodded. "I do."
He smiled. "Excellent."
"But I hope you can appreciate that the reason I changed my major and signed up for this class is because I don't want anyone else to have to go through what I've gone through. I've seen things – horrible things. Things no one should ever have to see, including people I care about dying. All thanks to Umbrella. I don't need proof of what they did. I am the proof. And I'm going to tell everyone what they did as many times as I need to until they've been stopped. Now if you'll excuse me, professor, I have another class to go to. See you on Wednesday."
And with that, Claire Redfield exited the classroom.
Braga exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
I've got one hell of a semester ahead of me. Just thinking about it is making my head spin.
He fumbled through his bag for the headache medicine he remembered tossing in a few weeks before. Grasping the container, he pulled it out.
It was Umbrella brand.
Sighing, he dropped it in the bag.
