--

The mountain of rubble before her was silent, the dust long settled. She rubbed her thumb along one of the still standing supports, and found little trace of dust or dirt. The building must have fallen in the past couple of days, and it was not the result of a natural disaster, she concluded. Not that it really mattered at this point. Claire walked along the outer edges, looking for the easiest path around the fallen building. She moved quietly, the memory of those strange creatures she had seen along the path still lingering in her mind. They looked like they had once been undead, but with large plant-like growths sprouting from their moldy bodies, resembling walking flowerpots.

Claire began to move with even more urgency, skirting the inner rim of the menacing steel fence. Grasping the cold black metal bars for balance, she hobbled her way towards the opposite side of the building. She was certain there would be another path there, unless they had magically floated construction materials over that rickety wooden bridge. The splintered wooden planks had snapped in many places, and she could tell parts of it were haphazardly nailed in a pitiful attempt to save the bridge. Still, there was no way concrete or building supplies were getting past that. The guilt of severing the ragged bridge had long since dissipated; the little voice in her head told her any other survivors who made it this far would already be well beyond this point if not already found by the emergency teams. Everyone else would have to find their own way. After all she had suffered through these past few days, it was about time she started worrying about herself.

Her dying flashlight combed over the jagged rubble, casting long, flickering shadows, and she clicked it off. Using the fence as her guide, she followed it to a clearing in the trees that opened itself to the moonlight. She trudged on, discovering a worn dirt path illuminated by the celestial body above. Finally, she had caught a break.

Four hours later, Claire was back in the warmth of her dorm room, cleaned up and ready to go. It had taken her nearly an hour to bandage and disinfect each of her wounds, but it was worth the effort. She rubbed soothing athletic cream deeply into sore joints, and popped a couple of aspirin to take the edge off the pain. Hurriedly sorting through her things while tying her damply washed hair back into a ponytail, Claire shoved her supplies into an old but reliable backpack. Though time was of the essence, she felt no regret at having cleaned herself first; the shower had given her a burst of renewed vigor, even if the dirt and grime had clogged the drain. Zippering the pack tightly, Claire took one last scan of her meager possessions before scrawling a brief and detail-less message to her roommate and rushing out the door. Chris was somewhere out there, waiting for her.

Halfway down the long hallway, she never heard her phone begin ringing.

--

She hurried down the empty hallway, stealth the furthest thought in her mind. A long row of tall arching windows lined the right wall, cool gusts of salty sea air blowing through open panels. The bite of the frigid air nipped at her skin, and she felt an anxious energy building up deep down in her stomach. It was similar to the feeling she'd had on her first undercover assignment. While that one had its own share of obstacles and hurdles, it really was nothing compared to what she was facing now. Then again, at least this time she could shoot anything that moved; better than smiling prettily to attract the attention of some pimply faced science geek. The big business of cloak-and-dagger pharmaceutical espionage was a growth industry expanding exponentially by the day. But at least in those days, she got paid. Now she was working to simply stay alive.

Ada cursed Wesker under her breath for what might have been her hundredth time that day, imagining the feeling of satisfaction she'd get from ramming the barrel of her gun into his mouth. Oh, the delicious look on his pasty white face when he realized she'd finally had his number before she pulled the trigger would satisfy her to no end.

Her daydream was interrupted by a burst of wind blowing through the row of windows. The diaphanous cloth touched lightly against her face, and she pushed it down with the barrel of her gun. The candles flickered against the sudden gusting wind, and she wondered how they managed to stay alight. Perhaps Alfred had Umbrella invest substantial money in candles as an alternative power source, she thought. Alfred hadn't struck her as the prudent type.

Ada pushed down the last curtain in the hallway, and stopped when she heard the soft shuffling of movement around the corner ahead of her. Staying low, she jogged to the corner and listened. Whoever it was, they certainly knew how to move quietly, but the marble floors weren't exactly suited for stealth. It was too quiet to be a Hunter and too fast to be a Licker or one of those one-armed bandits, she thought. It must've been a human. No operative of Wesker's should have infiltrated that far, and Umbrella's soldiers were either dead or infected. Any survivors on the run would've headed away from the central hub, not further in. This was either a competitor looking for information, or an Ashford on the run. Ada cocked her gun as the steps drew closer and waited.

--

The roar of the helicopter was oddly comforting in the nervous haze before a mission. At least, that's what he'd been told by the other guys in the unit. They'd all seen tons of action all around the world, but they were all quite impressed by his tale of survival during the outbreak. He'drecited the whole story over a dozen times since his training began, over six months ago, but that was well in the past. No one asked about it anymore, and he gladly didn't bring it up. Now was the time to earn new stripes with this crew.

O.R.E. training had been grueling, albeit short. Leon had expected at least a full year of training, but after his first week he was nearly ecstatic that it only ran half that time. What they had failed to mention to him when pitching it was that the training was every hour of the day, every day of the week. He slept less than four hours a day, stealing catnaps after his three fifteen-minute meals. The food was horrible, every meal out of a can and salted to such a degree that he couldn't stand to add salt to anything after it was over. Social interaction was pretty much nonexistent, all free time spent napping or studying. The men went about their business in a daze, their only passing conversation during mealtime and field training.

As horrible as it was, though, Leon couldn't argue that he came out of it a stronger man. He was more confident in his skills than he had ever been, the feeling that his entire body was an elite weapon meant to be used for good. One of the other guys had tattooed the Superman logo on his chest afterwards, and Leon couldn't help but agree with the notion. He truly felt stronger than he ever thought he could be, but opted to avoid the tattoo.

"Bundle up people, the temperature down there'll make your worst winter look like a clambake," yelled Campbell. When Leon heard their squad leader barking orders, he imagined an illustration of Campbell included in the definition of "tough as nails". The guy knew his business; if he said it was cold, Leon knew it was going to be an icebox down there. He tightened his wool scarf and pulled his military-issue parka's zipper up all the way. Sweat began to drip down his face, and he wiped it away with his sleeve. He looked over the other men; all stone cold solemn, he did his best to imitate their grim faces of war.

The chopper hadn't yet touched the ground by the time the unit had leapt off and fanned out in every direction. The nine men crouched low, their assault rifles raised at the ready, and constantly moving as one. Leon, as the least experienced, took the left flank. The facility had long been abandoned, but he couldn't fight the urge to shiver. He told himself it was more from the cold than the fear; howling arctic winds tossed snow every which way, cutting down visibility to almost nil. Leon had hoped to use thermal goggles, but the briefing had outlined more internal searches, which would require night vision, as the undead didn't register on thermal. When he had suggested the goggles, the other men laughed at his idea. Apparently he was the only one in the entire unit who had never used night vision in the field, which would be blindingly bright in snowy conditions.

Their point man had the main door open in less than thirty seconds after torching the control panel. He signaled to the group and led them into the dark bowels of Umbrella's Antarctic Research facility #3-C. As Leon ducked his head to enter, he cast one last look at the tundra behind him. Their flanker, a young guy about the same age as Leon, closed the door behind them. He grinned at Leon; though they had known each other only a few days, Leon knew he could trust the man with his life.

"Leon, don't look so serious, man. This will be cake," he said, patting him on the back.

"I know Carlos, but I…" he began. "It just brings back bad memories, you know?"

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," Carlos replied. "But this time, you're prepared, right?"

"Kennedy! Olivera! Stop holding hands and get into position," yelled Campbell from up the hall, his brusque voice rattling in the echoes of the building. Leon wondered if they'd all end up paying for that careless indiscretion before long.

--

Spinning around the corner, gun drawn, she came face to face with the last thing she'd ever expect to run into: a teenager. Ada had been surprised more than a few times in her life, but this certainly was close to the top. The girl was no more than nineteen, pretty in a traditional kind of way, with determined gray eyes despite her otherwise innocent appearance. Still, the girl held a large handgun by her side, so Ada couldn't let her slide on appearances alone.

"Drop the gun," ordered Ada. The girl complied, raising her hands in the air. "The knife too," Ada added. The girl drew the knife from her shoulder sheath and also dropped it to the ground, the clatter on the marble like a shotgun blast in the quiet.

"Who are you," asked the girl.

"Now, now…the one with the gun asks the questions," cooed Ada. "What's a kid like you doing in a place like this?"

"I'm here because I got caught looking for my brother," the girl answered with a surprising sincerity. Her eyes never left Ada's gun, now held at her hip.

"Bullshit," said Ada. "Take three steps back," she commanded, stepping forward to gather the weapons at the girl's feet. The handgun was heavy; it was a nice piece, a Browning. She looked at it fondly, the memory of her days in Raccoon—

Before she realized what was happening, she felt her gun hand twisted roughly upwards, a sharp elbow shoved into her solar plexus. Ada felt the wind rush from her lungs, the blur of motion continuing its movement towards the other gun she had dropped in the scuffle. Kicking out with her left foot, Ada connected with the falling Browning while using her other leg to wrap the fleeing girl's legs in her own. They both fell to the ground, slamming squarely into hard pavement. Seeing stars in her eyes, Ada forced herself to snap forwards, her body jackknifing back onto her feet and into a crouched position. The young girl crawled groggily towards the Browning, the gun Ada had kicked a good fifteen feet down the hall. This kid had guts, Ada thought, stepping forward with her gun drawn.

"Nice try, kid, but—" Ada began, when she saw the girl suddenly roll over, the knife in both her hands. So she had been playing possum to lure her over…Ada stepped back, planting her foot on the girl's leg to keep her from twisting all the way around. The knife flailed weakly in the girl's hands, unable to move where she wanted, and Ada kicked the girl's wrist, sending the knife skidding along the floor. Ada fired a round that exploded mere inches from the girl's turning head to show she meant business. Panting heavily, Ada couldn't help but smile as she sucked in air.

"Damn, kid, you're at least ten times better than I would've thought," Ada said, surprising herself with the compliment. The girl looked at her with venom in her eyes.

"Are all you Umbrella shitheads always so chatty," the girl asked, rubbing the back of her head gingerly.

"Just the pretty ones," Ada replied. "But I don't work for Umbrella, kid, so don't feel bad about calling those assholes names."

"You're not that much older than me, so stop calling me 'kid'," said the girl, her eyes flaring. Despite earlier fears, the girls' eyes had somewhat softened. Perhaps because she understood she would walk away with her life.

"The one with the gun can call you whatever she likes," Ada said, tapping the gun's barrel against her shoulder to remind her who had the upper hand.

"Fair enough. How about getting off my leg at least?"

Ada seemed to think about it for a moment. "Only because you asked so nicely," she said, stepping off the girl's leg. The girl got to her feet, dusting herself off while keeping a wary eye on Ada's gun.

"So I take it you're not going to gun me down?"

"I don't kill unless I have to. You're dangerous though, girl. I'm going to have to keep an eye out for you."

The girl shrugged. "You were careless."

"What's that," she asked, incredulous.

"Before you picked up my gun, you switched your gun to your off hand. You were more interested in my handgun than me, almost misty eyed. You hefted it for a second and your left hand was off balance for that moment, no longer aimed at me. That's when I made my move."

"Pretty good, girl," Ada said, clearly impressed. "But then, why am I the one with the gun still?"

"True…I probably should've just gone for your throat and killed you."

Ada raised an eyebrow in appreciation. "Believe it or not, that was going to be my advice to you, kid…"

"Maybe when I'm old like you, I'll be able to kill without a problem," the girl said, smirking.

Ada cocked the hammer on her handgun. "You'd best watch yourself, girlie." She laughed once before holstering her gun. "You know, I can't shake the feeling that I know you from somewhere. You been in the business long?"

"Business? What business?"

"Don't tell me…you're not really looking for your brother, are you?"

"I…was. I got caught breaking into Umbrella's Paris branch a few days ago."

Ada laughed again. "Damn girl, you must have the worst luck in the world. This island was overrun just days ago by—"

"Zombies. I know. Not my first time, either," the girl said, taking up her weapons and tucking them away.

"Really…? Interesting."

"Yeah, fascinating. By the way, have you seen a young guy running around? About my height, a few years younger…?"

"Younger than you? I'd imagine any younglings would be zombie chow by now…"

"He knows how to handle himself. He's got reddish hair, a black jacket…?"

"Come to think of it, I did see a Leonardo DiCaprio looking punk with gold Lugers a few hours ago…"

"That's him! Where was he headed?"

"That's your brother? I must say, I don't see a family resemblance at all."

"He's not my brother."

"Is that so? I bet your brother's more of a manly man hunk, right?"

"Um, I guess so," she said, beginning to move down the hallway past Ada. "Thanks for the heads up."

"Maybe you can return the favor…you seen a frail looking guy with a taste for expensive clothes running around?"

"I saw him," she answered. "Bastard took a few potshots at me with a sniper rifle in his house, too."

"Let me guess…an antique?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," she shrugged. "What about his sister? She looks just like him."

"I saw…something along those lines…I guess…"

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say, if you find one, you'll find the other too."

"That should make things easier. Have you checked the airport yet?"

"Yeah, but it's locked by some mechanism that requires strange pieces to lower the seaplane."

Ada nodded to herself. "That's a good thing for now," she mumbled.

"How's that good? That's our only way out of here!"

Ada stroked her chin, deep in thought. "Not quite. If you can get that plane in the air, I want you to take it…no need to wait for me," said Ada. "Got it?"

The girl nodded, her eyes full of doubt. "If that's really what you want…"

"It is," Ada replied, cutting her off. "Good luck…Claire," she added, abruptly walking away.

Claire stopped in her tracks, turning back to face Ada. "How-how did…" she began, confused.

"Tell Leon I said 'hey'," Ada called over her shoulder, casting one last glance at the dumbstruck girl before moving on. As she walked away, Ada couldn't help but be pleased at the girl's befuddled expression.

--
Note: So I decided to post this part now before I took a much needed vacation later this week (no worries, just a week and I have some more written). I wanted this one to read a bit faster, but there are a couple slow parts like Leon's latest introduction to ORE and so on; hopefully it's interesting enough to be worth reading. I know it's also kind of confusing to have three separate time sequences going on at once, and mixed in, but what the hell...nothing wrong with having faith in the readers. I'm also working on an idea of what exactly the ORE is composed of; I threw Carlos from RE3 in there just for kicks, but it kind of makes sense to me that survivors would be recruited by the head of the ORE since they're proven and have a vested interest in taking down Umbrella. Plus this way I live up to my promise of seeing "familiar faces". See, I'm not a complete liar.

Finally flipped through my RE Archives, and it's got an assload of info in there. Lots of typos and a few bad translations, but I recommend it to any RE fanatic out there. Part of me died on the inside when I saw the original bonus costume for Jill in REmake. Schoolteacher Jill would be arguably the greatest thing ever.Oh well, life goes on...I guess.