--

The water was silent and still, the small boat rising and falling with the rolling lilt of the waves. The night sky was moonless, but the horizon would flash every so often with small soundless explosions. Or at least, explosions that appeared to be small in the distance. She was glad she wasn't up closer or part of the breach team, but sitting in an uncomfortable and sticky body suit was not exactly something to be thankful for. Even if did look incredibly flattering on her, she thought, grinning. She checked her tools and instruments once again, the crunch of the rubbery dive suit sounding like a shotgun blast in the silent night.

Her surveillance log had recorded only one plane arrival in the past three days, and no departures. So there was at least one functional plane on the island as long as those overzealous army rejects didn't blow it to pieces. She pulled he zipper closed on her emergency pack, a single syringe with her last dose of the sepia-toned serum. Wesker had told her if she needed anymore than that to complete her mission, he had no need for her. Ada learned early on in life that being of use was the only bargaining chip with a hard assed SOB. At least Wesker's boys entered the stage on time; any longer and she'd have had to go in without their diversionary assault.

She leaned against the edge of the boat, sighing to herself. A three mile swim, each way, just for the sake of secrecy. Well, at least she wouldn't have to eat sardines again any time soon, she thought, grabbing the waterproof duffel bag. She fell back into the frigid water and began her long swim towards Rockport Island, intermittent explosions guiding her through the inky darkness.

--

She reached the shore nearly an hour later, her limbs feeling like jelly paste. She crawled atop a flat set of rocks by the beach, laying there for a moment before slowly removing the tight diver's suit. She dumped it into a heap with a trace of regret; while her field uniform was much better suited for the dangers ahead, a girl finds only so many outfits that accentuate her positives so well...but the cold ocean wind bit harshly into her naked body, so she dressed hurriedly into her other outfit.

Running her hands along the seams of her snug field suit, she smoothed the wrinkles and began to equip her gear. The small black pistol packed enough punch to level a wild boar, but she hoped the eight round clip was enough. Luckily the advanced handgun could be quickly adjusted to use many other types of rounds, so she would have the option of procuring ammo on the field. The long silver knife was painted black earlier in the week, the edge sharpened to a deadly razor's edge capable of slicing metal cables with the right application of force. She slid that carefully in the sheath strapped to her hip, mindful of its tip. She doubted she'd need the first aid spray, but she tucked that into her back pouch just in case, along with the poison antidotes she had prepared earlier in the day. Lastly, she planted the radio transceiver in her ear, flipping the rubber-guarded speaker down over her mouth.

The mountain climbing gear was a bit more of a mystery to her. A week of training, and she still didn't quite understand it. She hadsuggestedparachuting in, but Wesker had to have it Wesker's way, and so she swam. She almost wondered if her trouble learning the equipment properly was her own way of telling Wesker to sod off. Or perhaps sorting through similar feeling apparatus of varying sizes in pitch black darkness was asdifficult as one would think. And no flashlights of any kind, Wesker had ordered, a small smile spreading across his stony face. Apparently the image of Ada fumbling about in the dark was something he enjoyed.

Eventually, she got up the sheer side of the rocky cliffs, her body aching even more. Is this what Iron Men competitors felt like? She had swam nearly three miles of freezing water and climbed over half a mile straight upwards. She loosely toyed with the idea of stacking her times against those men's, as she was well ahead of schedule. She sat to rest on the edge of the bluffs, stashing the ropes and hooks in a place she would be able to find quickly later on. That is, if she didn't take the plane. Wesker could go to hell; if the plane was there, why not take it to avoid another mini-marathon? The pilot's log might also come in handy locating other hidden research facilities, she thought. Of course that's what she'd tell Wesker, not that she was just too lazy to make her way back to the boat like he'd planned. When it came to lying, it was all about painting the right picture.

--

She decided it was a good time to check in with Big Brother, and so she knelt behind a low boulder, snapping on her communicator headset.

"This is Ada," she whispered into the mouthpiece, wondering once again why they didn't use codenames. Wesker had smirked at her suggestion, and he told her he wanted Umbrella to know he was behind the attack.

Her earpiece flickered to life, the crackle of static short when Wesker's voice came over the line.

"Ada, have you reached the checkpoint," he asked calmly. She could hear gunshots and faint screams in the background over his voice. He was leading the breach force, and yet he seemed utterly unaffected by all the violence around him.

"Affirmative, Wesker," she replied. "I've located the exhaust vent the intelligence reported and I'm preparing to use it to infiltrate the facility; just waiting for the bravo team to cut the auxiliary power."

"Excellent work, Ada," he said, nearly sounding impressed. "And nearly four minutes ahead of schedule…"

"I aim to please," she said, darting behind another rock. There seemed to be no guard presence, and the fixed camera didn't seem to be a problem at all. It was all a matter of getting used to it; some simply had no patience, she thought.

She checked her watch again. If the bravo team failed to take out the system, she'd have to manually destroy that camera, probably triggering a dozen alarms. While the full scale assault on the island already had them on alert, sealing off a ventilation system and filling it with toxic gases wasn't far below Umbrella's standard operating procedure, especially a self-automated defense system. But if the squad took out the power, there was a 30 second delay before it switched over to backup, giving her just enough time to cover the 50 yards of open field, remove the vent cover without triggering the secondary alarms, and climb through it, putting the cover back into place. Waiting anxiously, she went over her infiltration devices for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Where are they, Wesker," she asked impatiently.

"Ada…this is not your first time in the field," Wesker said sternly. "Do not presume your timetable supercedes anyone else's." She heard his voice again, this time distant, and she realized he was talking to someone. He came back on a moment later, his voice once again cool. "They're breaching the main doors as I speak…and they've confirmed best possible scenario on the vent's secondary sensors."

"Non-operational?"

"Is there any better scenario?"

"Guess I must be living right," she mumbled, doubting it was even necessary to wait for the team. If the schmucks running this facility were careless enough to leave their backdoor unprotected, then they either deserved the ass-pounding coming their way, or they knew no one was insane enough to climb up that deep dark hole. She was prepped, though, given all the information available, and to top it off, she was a hardened survivor when it came to the T-Virus and its by-products. She doubted there would be anything she'd never seen before.

Wesker's voice came over the transceiver again, but she was already in a full sprint when he gave the go ahead. "Proceed to the next check point, Ada," he said smoothly, and she decided to save her energy rather than respond. "Ada, do you copy?"

She was about a dozen yards from her destination when she saw the tripwire, about waist level and obscured by a small bush. She threw her body into a dive, rolling under it and bouncing back to her feet. So apparently the guys in charge weren't complete schmucks after all. She slowed to a jog, flipping on her thermal goggles. They picked up three other tripwires, spread in different directions, probably meant to cover each approach angle. She'd already encountered the most direct one, so two of the others weren't a concern at all for her. Her mental countdown timer gave her just over fifteen seconds, so she decided to take it all in one go. Building up her speed again, she leapt over the low trip line, springing from a hand plant to somersault towards the wall. She met it at full speed, and kept her knees high and moving, the powerful grip of her boots pushing her up the wall and towards the vent grate. Grasping it with gloved hands, she released her clenched teeth to drop the small torch into her waiting hand and activated it in one smooth motion.

She made it through the steel vent in just under ten seconds, giving her nearly five seconds to spare. Wesker would be impressed, she thought.

"I'm in," she said, panting.

"Tired already?"

"Just figuring I might have to hold my breath to fit through here," she said, bumping clumsily through the narrow vent shaft.

"Be grateful it's not a waste pipe like first reported."

"Yeah, better than winning the lottery," she groaned, pulling herself forward.

--

She lay tucked up tightly in the dark space, the dampness of the morning dew clinging to the insides of her hiding place. The first wave of pursuers had been easy enough to lose; she'd lost them over two miles back. But these new guys, they were old pros, sweeping the area with surgical precision and using constant contact to eliminate areas. However, these men were soldiers, not seasoned trackers, and she'd been mindful to not leave any tracks over the last few clicks. Apparently those long hot summers spent in the woods with Chris and Uncle Tom weren't a waste after all.

It wasn't her skill, though, that lead her to stumble upon this hollowed tree, but luck. The opening was hidden by a thick blanket of moss and leaves, and she discovered it when leaning against it to catch her breath. She had been running for over forty minutes, and figured to have covered about four or so miles of deep forest. These were probably friends of that squad she and Leon had taken out earlier in the day. Either that, or Umbrella was putting out a hefty price on her head, considering how doggedly persistent they were.

Her thoughts returned to Sherry, hoping the young girl would be safe with Leon. If anything, Umbrella would consider a Birkin top priority over a Redfield. Her and Leon were merely consolation prizes, but the end result was still something she wanted no part of. She still couldn't understand what Leon had been thinking, but she got the impression pushing her away wasn't something he wanted to do. He'd had a tendency to take on too much responsibility, as if no one else could handle it, which rather offended her modern female sensibility. But for all his personality quirks, he was as good a choice as any to watch over Sherry. Claire knew she could trust him.

Through the thin bark of the tree, she heard the sound of movement outside, the crunch of dead leaves under heavy boots. Looks like they were better than she had thought if they were this close to her. From the sound of it, he was probably no about twenty feet from her hiding spot.

"No sign of the target in sector 7-G," he said, his voice masked by a standard issue Umbrella helmet. These guys were serious business indeed. She waited to hear a reply, but heard nothing. "Yes, I am aware how dangerous she is…but she's alone now, and unarmed. She won't be pulling any tricks on me. Mason's squad were idiots," he added. So, he was talking over the radio, definitely alone. More leaves crunching, getting further away. She debated whether she should wait, or use this opportunity to ambush him. His weapons might be useful, but all she had was her survival knife against his sub machine gun. Sighing, Claire remembered she was no ninja, and decided to wait until nightfall to make her move. She dug through her pocket, removing the wild mushrooms she had dug up earlier, gnawing at the orange tinted caps. Grimacing at the chalky dirt texture, she wondered if she really should be thankful for Chris teaching her this survival stuff.

--

"Grateful, my ass," she muttered, moving sluggishly through the ventilation system. She was not large, maybe 110 pounds soaking wet, but she still felt like a sardine packed into a tin can. "I guess some vent systems are actually meant for ventin', not for crawlin'," she said to herself, feeling the breeze of warm air against her face. The on-screen indicators built into her thermal goggles told her she had about thirty more meters to go, and then she'd be close enough to the research labs to make it on foot. This was just Wesker erring on the side of caution; from what she could tell, the battle was leaning heavily in favor of the assault team.

The low vent grate was just within her sight when Ada caught the smell. That familiar, repugnant odor she thought she had left behind months ago. Like rotten tofu soaked in vinegar, the acrid stench was something she did not miss in the slightest. Best to be careful here, she realized, extending the fiber optic cable just above her eyepiece and sliding it through the opening. She turned it with her free hand, spotting two zombies in the far corridor, snacking on what looked like a researcher. Them's the breaks, she thought grimly, punching the covering off and crawling out. She took a moment to dust herself off before quickly drawing her pistol. She decided the undead pair at the corpse buffet could wait, and quietly doubled back around the L-corridor to loop past them towards the main lab.

The lock was a keycard-based system, and for once she was actually pleased to have Wesker on her side. One of his agents had procured a skeleton type key, programmable to just about every advanced electronic card system in the world. She slid the card into place, punching each number on the reader, and prompting the encryption decoder to test every possible actual code. She popped it out and into her loader, which in turn encoded the card with the proper information. She slipped the new card into the door's reader slot, and just like that, the heavy steel doors began to open.

Cool air poured forth from the room, and she wondered if the ventilation system she had just been in was part of this one's network. She shook her head; even these lazy guys were well funded enough to know better. Then again, the image of that researcher's empty eyes as her former colleagues munched on her reminded Ada that money didn't always ensure caution.

Long rows of oddly shaped test tubes and beakers lined the countertops, some looking straight out of Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory. Really, was it necessary to have a double loop de loop pair of test tubes? Memories of summer days at amusement parks and county fairs came to mind; as a child, she would only drink soda through wacky straws. It no doubt pissed off her parents, but she thought kids had a right to be bratty about those little types of things. Maybe the scientists here were of a like mind when it came to getting things their way.

The rest of the lab was clean, but bordering on ancient. A lot of the equipment, particularly the chemical sets, seemed to have been bought at an antique yard sale. Either someone had unusual tastes for the turn of the century lifestyle, or bio-weapons research wasn't paying like it used to. The computers, however, were new, and completely state of the art. She sat at the terminal and powered it up.

After her fifth denial at the login screen, she flipped her utility knife open, using its tip to remove the screws holding the side covering. It wouldn't budge. Now even more frustrated, she sparked the her mini torch, cutting a large square opening into the side. She snapped the remote modem connector into place, gaining Wesker's computer whiz direct access to the network. Ada flicked her radio back on to share the good news.

"Wesker, the device is in place," she said, her words echoing dully in the large room. No response. She repeated herself to similar effect, then began to adjust the frequency. She looked around, realizing that the lab walls were probably thick enough to block the signal. Time for plan B, she thought, tucking back the device in her pouch and heading for the door.

--

Her heavy footfalls pounded dully in her ears. The world around her became a blur of senses: her labored breathing, her rhythmic steps gaining speed as she sprinted along, blood rushing to her head. The squad had waited far longer than she would have expected, and she laughed at her foolishness to think it was she who was playing it safe. She heard a short burst of gunfire, and the bark of a nearby tree splintered under the hail of bullets. Claire leaned away, pumping her arms harder as she ran towards the sound of water in the distance. A body of water might be a good way to gain some ground on these guys, she thought.

"Wait for the shot, you idiot," ordered the leader. He was guiding the pack, the empty eyes of his mask glowing against the fading dusk. They would soon switch over to night vision, and she would be done for sure, she realized. These men had both the supplies and the will to stay out here all night in order to catch her. If she was going to make a move, now would be the time.

Claire skidded to a halt at the edge of the cliff, small pebbles skittering down the rocky slope. What appeared to be a small river sat at the bottom of a high waterfall, the idyllic image something straight out of a soap commercial. But from this height, with night descending, she couldn't tell for surehow deep the water went. The sound of snapping branches and thudding boots behind her helped make a decision. Taking two big steps back, she took off, leaping as far as she could into the swirling darkness below.

--

Writer's note: Yes, I know I jumped from the Rockford Island incident back a few months to the day after the Raccoon City event, but that's the great thing about RE; consistency is optional! I'm still messing around with the time frames, paralleling these "baptisms of fire" for each character (expect Leon's to come soon!). While Claire already has gone through a lot, I intend to make her an even tougher character. She is a Redfield, after all. The hardest part about writing these chapters that jump around so much is actually deciding on a chapter name that can sum up what it's about...anyways, I hope it won't be odd to have Claire get away, only to be in the next scene on Rockford Island months later. Maybe she'll even come face to face with our favorite agent...but what will ensue; a mutual feminine respect, or the greatest catfight in history?