December 27, 1998
After fifteen long years of impassive sleep, my research has successfully blossomed as I knew it would. I sit here, at this wooden desk, in this quiet mansion replica, thoughts swirling in my head disguised as tiny smoke- like voices. Each of the aristocratic whispers explains, in minute detail, the power that I have obtained through the T-Veronica virus, and their claws of assurance hold fast to my mind. I hear one now, even as I pen this entry, applauding my actions in dealing with the two cretins responsible for the death of my dear brother, Alfred. He loved me dearly.
However, even in my ecstatic state, I cannot repress this foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach. I attempt to explain it away as grief for my lost brother, but in my mind, I know his passing is not the cause of my uneasiness. Running the risk of sounding horribly callous, his life was inconsequential. As fate would have it, he was the worker ant, the soldier and guardian, and his accomplishments were but shadows to mine. He shared my physical characteristics and his sadism paralleled and quite possibly surpassed my own; however, he could never match my intellect. It was an unfortunate situation for him, especially as a child, always aware that he could not come close to my greatness. Such a shame, really - dying to protect his Queen. He will be missed.
No, the ominous premonitions refer to something else. Perhaps they are feelings from my past, stirred from seeing the face of Albert Wesker once again. Although I've only seen the gentleman through newspaper print and cameras hidden about the complex, I did hear a fair share about him before I entered my cryogenic state. His colleague, William Birkin, carried a personal vendetta against me, and (from the explanations given to me by my confidants at Umbrella, Inc.) Drs. Birkin and Wesker were annoyed that a girl of my age and social status could exceed their measly research. Of course, I could hardly blame Birkin for his jealous behavior. He was, after all, the golden child of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, quite possibly one of the most influential and top-paid individuals at the aforementioned company; but when I, a ten year old University graduate and heiress to the respected Ashford name, was propositioned by Umbrella, I was the new prodigy. All of Birkin's inferiors praised me and my accomplishments as opposed to his quickly-stagnating research, and in the end, it drove him to his death.
Moments ago, I accessed the Umbrella database and learned that Dr. Birkin did have one success before he went mad: the G-Virus. Interesting concept, I'll give him credit for such, but the virus was filth to be spread to the commoners. The T-Veronica virus exceeds all others for one simple reason: it was borne of royalty. When intermingled with the gene extracted from the Queen Ant, the T-Virus becomes something of a god in its own right, and with proper time for cellular adjustment and immunity, the carrier's mind becomes stronger than any rifle, any bomb, any thing.
I am sorry, dear Birkin, but you were outshone once again.
Perhaps that is why Dr. Wesker is searching for me. Perhaps he seeks revenge for the part I played in the death of his friend, however miniscule it might have been. Mixing that theory with the mass amount of prestige and monies that he will acquire by capturing his one-time nemesis, it would seem to me that he would need little goading to take on the project. With that in mind, I will have to be cautious when he arrives. It is not that I fear him, as I could squash him like an ant, but it is what I read in the Umbrella database that disturbs me the most.
Albert Wesker should be dead.
However, my own eyes tell me that this is not the case. He has become something more than human, and while I cannot be sure which virus courses through his veins, I am sure that Birkin was somehow involved. Dr. Wesker's brimstone-coloured eyes, the way he controls the infected amphibian creatures that are plaguing Rockfort Island. He is a Tyrant, of that I am sure. Perhaps when I destroy him, I can perform an autopsy to isolate the virus. That is, if there are any remains left.
I am laughing now, laughing at Umbrella and the others. Their feeble attempts to restrain me and use me as their own personal bio-organic weapon will soon prove futile. Nevertheless, I cannot seem to rid myself of this menacing overshadow. Waiting gives one much time to think, and waiting is all that I have for now. If the T-Veronica demonstrates to be less powerful than I ascertain, what will be the outcome?
Impossible!
I stand the most powerful being in the known universe, and yet I have my doubts. Perhaps I should entertain these sentiments enough to do what needs to be done. My legacy should be known throughout the world, so that those under my rule will understand why I am to be glorified as their queen. Now seems the perfect opportunity to tell my story, from the day of my "conception" to the present. As patience is my friend for the time being, I shall start at the beginning.
-Alexia Ashford
After fifteen long years of impassive sleep, my research has successfully blossomed as I knew it would. I sit here, at this wooden desk, in this quiet mansion replica, thoughts swirling in my head disguised as tiny smoke- like voices. Each of the aristocratic whispers explains, in minute detail, the power that I have obtained through the T-Veronica virus, and their claws of assurance hold fast to my mind. I hear one now, even as I pen this entry, applauding my actions in dealing with the two cretins responsible for the death of my dear brother, Alfred. He loved me dearly.
However, even in my ecstatic state, I cannot repress this foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach. I attempt to explain it away as grief for my lost brother, but in my mind, I know his passing is not the cause of my uneasiness. Running the risk of sounding horribly callous, his life was inconsequential. As fate would have it, he was the worker ant, the soldier and guardian, and his accomplishments were but shadows to mine. He shared my physical characteristics and his sadism paralleled and quite possibly surpassed my own; however, he could never match my intellect. It was an unfortunate situation for him, especially as a child, always aware that he could not come close to my greatness. Such a shame, really - dying to protect his Queen. He will be missed.
No, the ominous premonitions refer to something else. Perhaps they are feelings from my past, stirred from seeing the face of Albert Wesker once again. Although I've only seen the gentleman through newspaper print and cameras hidden about the complex, I did hear a fair share about him before I entered my cryogenic state. His colleague, William Birkin, carried a personal vendetta against me, and (from the explanations given to me by my confidants at Umbrella, Inc.) Drs. Birkin and Wesker were annoyed that a girl of my age and social status could exceed their measly research. Of course, I could hardly blame Birkin for his jealous behavior. He was, after all, the golden child of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, quite possibly one of the most influential and top-paid individuals at the aforementioned company; but when I, a ten year old University graduate and heiress to the respected Ashford name, was propositioned by Umbrella, I was the new prodigy. All of Birkin's inferiors praised me and my accomplishments as opposed to his quickly-stagnating research, and in the end, it drove him to his death.
Moments ago, I accessed the Umbrella database and learned that Dr. Birkin did have one success before he went mad: the G-Virus. Interesting concept, I'll give him credit for such, but the virus was filth to be spread to the commoners. The T-Veronica virus exceeds all others for one simple reason: it was borne of royalty. When intermingled with the gene extracted from the Queen Ant, the T-Virus becomes something of a god in its own right, and with proper time for cellular adjustment and immunity, the carrier's mind becomes stronger than any rifle, any bomb, any thing.
I am sorry, dear Birkin, but you were outshone once again.
Perhaps that is why Dr. Wesker is searching for me. Perhaps he seeks revenge for the part I played in the death of his friend, however miniscule it might have been. Mixing that theory with the mass amount of prestige and monies that he will acquire by capturing his one-time nemesis, it would seem to me that he would need little goading to take on the project. With that in mind, I will have to be cautious when he arrives. It is not that I fear him, as I could squash him like an ant, but it is what I read in the Umbrella database that disturbs me the most.
Albert Wesker should be dead.
However, my own eyes tell me that this is not the case. He has become something more than human, and while I cannot be sure which virus courses through his veins, I am sure that Birkin was somehow involved. Dr. Wesker's brimstone-coloured eyes, the way he controls the infected amphibian creatures that are plaguing Rockfort Island. He is a Tyrant, of that I am sure. Perhaps when I destroy him, I can perform an autopsy to isolate the virus. That is, if there are any remains left.
I am laughing now, laughing at Umbrella and the others. Their feeble attempts to restrain me and use me as their own personal bio-organic weapon will soon prove futile. Nevertheless, I cannot seem to rid myself of this menacing overshadow. Waiting gives one much time to think, and waiting is all that I have for now. If the T-Veronica demonstrates to be less powerful than I ascertain, what will be the outcome?
Impossible!
I stand the most powerful being in the known universe, and yet I have my doubts. Perhaps I should entertain these sentiments enough to do what needs to be done. My legacy should be known throughout the world, so that those under my rule will understand why I am to be glorified as their queen. Now seems the perfect opportunity to tell my story, from the day of my "conception" to the present. As patience is my friend for the time being, I shall start at the beginning.
-Alexia Ashford