It had been months since she'd been here last. Her new celebrity status had eaten more time than she'd ever thought possible. Between legitimate appearances and the paparazzi that had gone into overdrive with her publicity. Conspiracy theories which had once been found only on certain forums and talk radio had exploded into public consciousness. Suddenly the late night talk shows were reaching out to interview her.
She'd wanted to decline, the whole affair feeling more and more like a freak show. Look at the weird bug girl, isn't she odd. But then she'd caught a skit on a comedy show about whether she ate raw meat or laid eggs. And realized that limiting her outreach (even now it felt odd how quickly this had become a career) to only the most controlled of circumstances would feed into rumors and lies that would further fuel resentment and distrust against her and those like her. A number she was coming to find out to be probably larger now that her public appearance had revealed that the mutagenic transformations of various BOW strains might not be quite the death sentence that the public had been led to believe.
So she'd gone on one talk show, a more serious late night affair headed by an older man that had asked serious questions about what all this might mean, what her agenda would be. Did she plan for this to be the first step for some kind of new human rights issue? Was mutant rights going to become a talking point at congress next year? Would she even be entering politics herself? Something she'd been quite firmly disinterested in the last time she'd been asked, at some puff piece interview about "The President's young daughter finishing off college soon" which now felt like a hundred years and a lifetime ago.
That one appearance had turned into two, then three, and a half dozen within the month. From radio to a morning show and even a far less serious talk show appearance later that same evening.
She'd managed to even laugh a bit at the routine. They'd run it by her beforehand, but even the lines about her having come out of her cocoon looking better than ever or the bit about how as an insectile lifeform she loved a good New York pizza hadn't seemed bad or mean spirited by comparison. It had been enjoyable even, letting people see her as a person again, watching the discussion about her change more and more. Sure, some were still ranting about "Inhuman monsters walking amongst us" but she'd spent the last year doing research on BOW use in Eastern Europe so those complaints felt a little weak given how much more they seemed to care about targeting a fellow US citizen (yay for having the government contacts to get herself re-registered as living again in short notice) and so much less time spent worrying about which dictator or PMC illegally using derivatives of Umbrella's work even now.
Blackquill wasn't the exception for some, it was almost the rule in many conflict zones to either have a plan for the interacting with BOWs and modern bioweapons or the means to employ them themselves. The BSAA fought it as best they could, but it seemed like every year another company was implicated or there was another major incident. The little ones barely made the evening news anymore, and some windbag from Oklahoma wanted to make a stink about her?
No, she'd dealt with worse by now.
Her father was supportive in private, and navigating a minefield in public. A number of his successful laws dealing with, well, whatever she was now hadn't left a lot of wiggle room. Simmons and others had surprisingly found loopholes quickly that would provide her with a strong legal standing. And attempts by some to close those up and find a justification for her to be quickly un-personed into a lab somewhere ran into more and more problems. She hadn't realized how much Leon had done for her until she met Redfield (God, he was built like a mountain) and found out that a number of NGOs which had been founded in the wake of Racoon City by survivors of it and later incidents in South America wanted to meet her. From there she quickly found her efforts accelerating.
Sure, there was pushback from more legitimate agencies, some of the European BSAA agents had been… chilly to say the least. Leon had explained that Plagas variants had become rampant over there, and that a number probably had bad memories. Memories of things like her, crawling out of walls and trying to eat them was what he didn't say. And unlike Leon they didn't remember her as a scared young college girl way out of depth. Before the wings and the chitin and everything else about her changed.
But she wasn't going to give up on them.
She couldn't.
Because it wasn't just about her anymore.
"We're almost there, Miss Graham."
She nodded in the backseat of the armored van, low-profile of course both for her protection and to somewhat obfuscate travel to and from this region. It had been months since Blackquill had been taken down, Victor Parker Sr. vanished as his immediate subordinates were taken into custody (those Ashley or Leon hadn't killed). Enough of the Inhibitor Ɣhad been found that they'd been able to remove the Plagas left in all captured and put them into custody and likely lengthy sentences in Federal prisons. But still some of their damage remained.
It was healing of course, government agents and relief supplies were sent into Ravenscroft on the regular, as well as the best experts that could be found in the BSAA or out of it. As long as they were willing to be confidential about what they saw. Not much different than her own medical treatment.
In lots of ways, many more tragically similar.
They rolled into town, past prefab buildings and tents. Some agents still in biohazard gear, though it was hardly needed since they'd been using left over samples of Inhibitor Ɣ to wipe out Plagas that had gotten loose into the local environment. It might be a while since the still advertised Buck Hunt ever got to happen again, but at the very least they could probably confirm no chances for future outbreaks from anything left behind in the local water supply.
Beyond that were of course the regular citizens, those who had miraculously survived it all. Ashley felt her antennas pull closer, jaw and mandibles clenched tight as they passed them by on the street. She should be happy for them. They'd lived. Leon had told her how rare that was.
Before this there had only been a handful of survivors of Plagas infections. Those who had had to have the mutagenic parasites removed before they could mature. In Leon's case it had been done soon enough that there had been no signs left. In others they had been left with debilitating injuries, paralysis or worse. And until now, excepting her own condition, no one had ever survived a case as severe as those which had been present in Ravenscroft.
So she should be happy.
Their population had been devastated, dozens killed off while their friends and families wandered in a zombie-like haze. Kept in thrall of the parasite and not even allowed to acknowledge those deaths or mourn until she'd administered the Inhibitor ?and brought them back under the control of their own minds for the first time in almost a year. Counseling, hell therapy even, had been more on the agenda at first.
And then the changes hit.
Not everyone, not all at the same rate. Not even all as severe.
That one older gentleman looked completely normal, likely close to the gas when it was released and getting a good strong dose perhaps. Or maybe it was just the random luck of his genetics which were why he looked normal while the woman standing next to him looked to be wearing armored gauntlets, slightly tapered claws in place of fingers from her forearms down. Her shirt covered most of it, and lacked signs that that growth had gone much further up her body. Others had had to trade in shoes, the foot claws not fitting right while one man had a pair of antennae and one set of eyes which didn't look human in the slightest anymore.
The doctor that had been brought in, whose bedside manner Ashley had found quite lacking during their short meeting, had told her that her own genetics must have carried over into the cloned Plagas used by Blackquill .
She'd been devastated. All those people, damned to be like her, all because of what had been left in her blood, taken and re-weaponized out of her body. She'd been certain that she was safe, unable to infect anyone and then Parker had taken her tragedy and multiplied it onto others.
Simmons had been quick to redirect her thoughts, shooting Dr. Radames an odd look. She hadn't seen much of her since then, but she had been assured that as it was considered active bioweapons research nothing related to Blackquill's work would be allowed into the public for the foreseeable future. Sometimes she wondered why Simmons was so insistent on making her new role work, the words of her father telling her that "Everyone has some kind of agenda in this business" echoing in her mind. But Leon swore that he was someone she could trust, Ingrid backing him up on that point as well.
The van came to a stop, parked not far from town hall, in a large parking lot that had been cleared out for dropping off supplies. Ashley disembarked, Stepping lightly and carefully, her hesitation present in her body language. Clear enough that even those that didn't know how to read her now would have noticed. It hardly surprised her that she felt like that. The last time she'd been here some people were still… dealing with things. And she'd been told, thankfully in a report and not in person, by Dr. Radames that those same issues had continued towards a clear termination point.
Her mandibles clicked as she started to walk towards her destination. "That woman is clearly a genius, but she must have ice in her veins. "
No sympathy in how she described it, just the facts clear and coldly stated. Facts that were about to present themselves to her. Sooner than she'd like, but she had to see it herself.
See them herself.
"Hey!"
She stopped suddenly, turning towards the voice. That boy, the one that had shot her with a varmint rifle and tried to blow her up with some makeshift bombs came running towards her. Washed and dressed normally, though still wearing camo pants, and waving at her. Smiling to see her. She waved back, hesitantly."
"Sam, how are you doing?"
"Pretty good. They're getting us real food, though mom keeps complaining about how the produce ain't fresh enough."
She froze, her antennas pulling close from where they'd been standing up a moment ago. Something which Sam was, sadly, not ignorant of the meaning.
"Come on. I bet she'd be happy to see you," he said, grabbing at her hand and trying to pull her towards his house. She didn't resist, though part of her wanted to. Instead she went up the steps, the repaired door opening. Her eyes sliding over the scratches that had been made when that monstrous creature had broken in the last time she'd been here.
"Mom! You here?"
"Yes Sam, in the kitchen. Working with those apples they got us." Sam went in first, Ashley taking one last, deep and shuddering breath before she followed.
Looking into a mirror.
Oh, not really.
Shorter, a little wider. The antenna weren't as long. And there were only four eyes to her five, the mandibles either blunter or not finished growing in. She watched them snap together, that same nervous tick she'd found herself doing. Idly she realized what that actually looked like for the first time. The chitin was a different shade of green, slightly darker against the gray. While her head still showed a very slight fuzz of what probably had been hair, but now seemed more like the pile of a bumblebee at the best. Assuming it wasn't going to fall out.
Four short, yet pointed, claws were holding a pie. Fresh from the oven, the smell wafting over her tongue. She probably didn't need the rag between her hands and the hot metal, though it was likely more comfortable to hold it that way. With the blouse, altered for a set of very short wings that weren't letting her fly anytime soon unless they at least tripled in size, and an apron of all things Ms. Hart looked positively domestic.
Her skirt was a good deal longer than Ashley's, the stubbier tail almost hidden, though she could see the tip of her pincer as she set the cooked food on the counter and turned back to Sam. Kneeling down and placing one hand on his shoulder as she spoke to him. "Sam, see if you can find your brother. I think he was down by the lake."
Sam nodded, taking off, though not before grabbing one of the leftover apples from the plate where his mother had been working.
Leaving the two older, mutated , women alone. Nervousness clearly visible between the two of them, tension thick enough even their claws probably wouldn't cut it. Just waiting for whoever would decide to break the silence first.
For once, for the first time in quite a while, Ashley's new sense of stubborn (or stupid) bravery failed her.
"So, I'd offer you some pie but it's still cooling. Though we could probably handle it, even if it's tricky eating like this and my tongues been feeling very sensitive lately-"
"I'm sorry," Ashley said, shutting off the rambling filler of nonsense that Ms. Hart was using in place of talking about the actual reason for her visit. She'd have been happy to never come back to this place. But it seemed like her haphazard plan to minimize the deaths had set off a series of genetic dominos. Some had been lucky, the termination point as Dr. Radames termed it, coming far short of her own condition. And then others, a mercifully small number, finding no treatment that could halt their inevitable transformation into a creature remarkably similar to herself.
She pushed a stool out, a notable change from the chairs that had been in the kitchen before, but then they both found some seating methods more inconvenient these days. Motioning for her to sit down while she took one opposite her. Once Ashley had taken her seat, she looked at her would be savior…
And now her genetic… sister? Mother? She wasn't even sure what to call it.
Insectile virile source?
"Why would I need you to apologize? Miss… Ashley," she reached across the table, her claws embracing her own. "I talked to that man that was with you. Nobody, nobody lives through this sort of thing. And yet you didn't give up on us, even with everything that was going on."
Ashley shook her head, antennas still held low and twitching slightly while Ms. Hart's moved with far less stress. Only reacting when it became apparent that her mood wasn't lightening from what she'd just heard.
"But, look at yourself? Unless something changes you'll-"
We'll
"-never be normal again."
"And so what? I ain't missing out on much. If I don't want anyone looking at my silly bug head I'll get my boys to bring me an even bigger and sillier hat. Two boys that are alive, alive enough for me to hug them because of what you did." She waved her hand in the air then as she spoke. "Maybe a different combination of drugs could have changed things. But none of us had the time to wait for another solution. You made a decision, and because of that you and that young man saved all our lives."
She nodded to that, she wanted to believe that it was just that simple. A life saved, no matter what state was better than one lost. And much like her own condition, quality wasn't as big a concern as how other people reacted to it. Those same reports that had clinically discussed how very final and complete the metamorphosis was to be had also pointed out how the massive growth of what were basically supercharged stem cells to construct the new organs and transformation of the old had led to possible increase in life expectancy even.
The promise of Umbrella's longevity research… only with chitinous side effects that would probably prevent it from being adopted by aging Hollywood actors any time soon.
Maybe… maybe it was okay that it turned out like this. Ashley looked at her, really looked at the woman across from her. Trying to do what she asked, in words or in actions, those she'd been meeting for the last few months to do. To see past the chitin and the wings, to see the person that remained and had always been there. Someone that mattered no matter what they looked like. Someone that needed this awful tragedy to be seen as the end of a chain of medical malfeasance but not the end of her life.
She felt her mood lift, as her antennas did as well. A smile, as it now was, on her features. "You know what, maybe I will have some of that pie."
"Trials are complete on the modified inhibitors. The test subject's pronounced cognitive decline following the last batch, after near complete mutation. This proves that we can effectively dial in and alter psychological alterations."
Carla Radame's voice continued to play through the speaker. The screen showed a lizard-like being, human traces of his origin long since scrubbed away. The scenes of prostrated begging giving way to more… animalistic behavior.
She continued.
"We've managed this to both Progenitor Virus strains and our current work on the C-Virus. That Parker's work is so widely applicable presents another avenue of research. Sadly the original strains of the Plagas were destroyed and lost, with only second and third generation clones remaining."
Simmons smiled as he watched the elder Parker's destitute state as near mindless BOW. The man had actually thought he could bargain his son's work into a place in the Family? Or failing that, find some blackmail material from President Graham to allow them to improve their position for the same. Frankly he'd have had him and his idiot spawn killed off if Ashley and Leon hadn't done his work for him.
"Now that was an interesting opportunity." Ashley Graham was at first a liability, made more so if evidence of his involvement in Blackquill's research had come out. But by clarifying the Plagas as a foreign bio weapon which had so tragically been used on the President's daughter, and even now ran rampant through other countries, it directed public outrage where he wanted it. Outside of the nation. Towards enemies that were already using BOWs in combat situations. Unintelligent, dumb things at best, controlled by Plagas in a few cases but far from their full potential.
"Additionally, use of the Ravenscroft subjects continues. Twenty-two subjects were selected for modified treatment based on their reaction to the inhibitors released six months ago. Of those we have been able to progress their changes to a termination point within fifteen percent of subject Graham's physiology. While the novel abilities she demonstrated have not been observed in all subjects, based on this work I now believe it possible to engineer designer Plagas mutations in laboratory conditions. Sadly, it remains too temperamental for in field mutation, but there are likely applications for even this level of control."
Application was an understatement. Adopters might be hard to find, volunteers even harder, but with his resources he could make his own easily enough. Ashley Graham was untrained, and by all psychiatric examinations given since her transformation even tempered and non-psychotic. And yet she'd been able to fight and win against trained soldiers. PMC grunts, but augmented through the same parasite that had changed her. Only an immature, incomplete form of it.
Clearly the full package could be a formidable weapon when put in the command of a full and cognizant human mind.
"If that silly girl could do that," Simmons' smiled as he leaned back in his chair, fingers threaded together on the edge of his desk. "Imagine what a Navy Seal or Spec Ops team could do with the same."
His reason for promoting her new position was part of that. Both to open the door for easier stateside research and potentially destigmatize the concept of sentient BOWs. It might not ever be popular for the public, but like many things in the US, he only needed enough of the public and deep enough pockets for the politicians to get his way.
Simmons frowned at that thought. Benford had been making some… difficult statements in private. Unlike the ex-President Graham, he was even more of a bleeding heart over certain things and knew enough to be dangerous.
Something might need to be done.
But if he was forced to act, he knew he would succeed.
For after all…
"Presidents may come and go… but the Family is forever."
