A world of betrayal

From a Presidential TV Ad; Fall, 2003:

"Candidate Davis Graham Jr. has long fought for the ideals and beliefs of America. Through resounding success and heartbreaking tragedy, Candidate Graham has lived with the people, and for the best interests of families. A perennial enemy of Washington lobbyists, Davis Graham has been unafraid of overcoming fierce obstacles while toiling endlessly to find the shape and voice of true Americans.

"Incumbent President Sears, meanwhile, has led an administration plagued by scandals, abusing the balance of powers and disgracing the distinguished office of President of the United States in just one term. Sears has drawn a harsh line between rich and poor, giving tax breaks and legal cushion to big businesses and his wealthy friends.

"Presidential hopeful Davis Graham helped dismantle greedy global conglomerates such as Umbrella, Inc, and promises to use their once limitless resources to provide cheap healthcare and medication for every citizen in America. To provide every American the chance to find a dream nearly lost. Vote Davis Graham Jr.: fighting for the America we all dream of."

--

"So what do you think of it, sir?"

A thoughtful expression came over Graham's tired eyes, and he took a gulp from his coffee before answering.

"It's not bad, Libby. I'd prefer some of the language to be a bit simpler, to speak to the…uneducated voters. Words like "toiling" and "conglomerates" will draw a blank for them. And I'd like more coloreds to be shown in the images, less flowing flag and 9/11 aftermath in the backdrop. We have the conservatives won over already; this is to get the pitiful masses voting for yours truly."

"Sir, use of the word 'coloreds' might be a habit you want to lose," suggested a sharply dressed man.

"Jesus H. Christ, Goldberg, I'm not using it in a racist way to put anyone down. I'm using it demographically."

"Of course, sir," said the man. "And it's Goldenherd," he muttered under his breath.

"The mention of families…I want that cut," said Graham, ignoring the man. "I don't want an image of my daughter plastered across this campaign."

"But sir, the idea of a nuclear family is essential, almost as much as religion. Minorities will empathize with someone who is devoted to God and family…"

"Most minorities can't or don't vote in the states we need, dammit! We need California, but their minorities are mostly illegals…!"

"Secretary, a candidate's family appearance is just as important as the candidate himself," reminded Wesley, one of his long time advisors. "And Ashley is quite…photogenic. I can see her helping you with the young college voters."

"Damn it, Wesley, what part of this don't you get," roared Graham, everyone at the table bracing themselves for another one of his famous tirades. "I don't want my daughter in the ads! She can be a visible part of my candidacy, but not in my ads! Get it?"

"Of course, sir," Wesley replied meekly, hanging his head. A hush fell over the room.

"Now that we have that established…I'd also like to change the emphasis on certain words, like "one term", and "rich and poor," added Graham, his calmness returning. "We want these peasants to see him drawing a line between them and what they dream of being. I want something more specific in our attack on Sears, and I want it tighter, more concise. That way we'll have more time to talk about my campaign. Are we sure we can't use the Raccoon City bombing against him?"

"We've been looking for an opportunity, but the connection is rather tenuous," replied a woman seated across from him. She might not have looked it, but she was one of the best public relations directors in the country and had helped three men gain the presidency. "It was a different administration, and Sears served them in the same capacity as you."

"Meaning, any responsibility of his is a responsibility of mine as well."

"Exactly, sir."

"In that case, move forward with my changes for now," Graham said, ending the meeting with a slight wave of his hand. "And Wesley, I'd like a word with you."

As the others filed out, they all exchanged worried glances, but none would look directly at the apprehensive Wesley, who sat glued to his seat.

"About before…I lost my temper," apologized Graham, his voice surprisingly sincere. "I value your opinions, Wesley, but I value the privacy of my daughter all that much more. And there's of course a concern for her safety; the less the public knows about her, the better. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

"Of course, sir, I should have seen that myself," Wesley said, a great relief coming over his face. "I'm sorry for pushing it," he added, bowing slightly.

"Now that we have that out of the way," Graham began, returning to his pile of paperwork. "If you ever talk about what my daughter looks like again, or her being 'photogenic', then something unspeakably horrible is going to befall you," warned Graham, his voice like honeyed venom. "Understand?"

Wesley gulped and nodded, scuttling out of the room when Graham dismissed him with a nod.

--

A landscape of carnage lay before them. Bloody weapons, bullet casings, and body parts cast in broken body armor lay strewn across the concrete, dissolving slowly in caustic pools of a grayish muck.

"Oh my god," Claire whispered at Ada's back.

"Now you've seen it for yourself," said Ada, ducking behind a stack of crates. Claire instinctively did the same, the shock and horror still stamped on her face. "No denying it now."

"Where is she? Where's Sherry," Claire asked, an emptiness in her voice. Taking note of the change, Ada regarded her companion with a guilty look; it had never been her intention to emotionally scar the poor girl.

"She's close by, and probably with a horde of low-level bio-weapons," Ada replied, drawing her handgun. "Be careful," she added, nodding in the opposite direction.

Just when the pair was about to split, a large roar echoed through the room. The two women peered carefully over the crates, and saw one of the largest masses of living flesh in their lives sliding down the far wall, leaving a trail of that acidic gray fluid in its wake. Birkin had mutated into something the size of a train, but this mass dwarfed even him. At first glance, it appeared to be shapeless, but as it moved, Ada could see that it walked on four legs, and it exhibited a surprising amount of agility to it.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," sighed Ada.

"That thing…is that thing Sherry?"

"I wish…no, it's a Nyx."

"What the hell is a Nyx?"

"There's only ever been two in existence. Although I guess this bastard makes three."

Claire looked expectantly at Ada, waiting for the rest of her explanation. "Yeah, and…?"

"Basically, it's an advanced single cell organism, but composed of several trillion duplicate cells that all connect and feed off one another in a hive-like intelligence."

"Since when do single cell organisms have four legs?"

"That's the bad part; a Nyx devours pretty much any living thing in sight, which makes them impossible to control. To make it even worse, the Nyx takes on characteristics of whatever it's absorbed. I think our little friend there has been eating tigers."

"Eating…tigers? You're kidding me, right?"

"I can't make shit like this up."

"So…what do we do?"

"A sane person would run, I suppose. But I doubt we can outrun that thing now," Ada said thoughtfully. "Although, I guess the only one I'd have to actually outrun would be you…"

"Wait…you said there were two other of those Nyx things…how were they killed?"

"The only one I know to have been destroyed was in the Raccoon City outbreak, by a group of armed cops and some desperate citizens," Ada replied. "Say…you wouldn't happen to have a rocket launcher hidden somewhere, like stuffed up your ass, would you?"

"Can't say that I do."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to improvise…"

--

The girl had some moves, that much was clear, Ada thought as she watched Claire vault silently over the catwalk above. Waiting another five seconds to be sure she was out of earshot, Ada reconnected her satellite uplink with Wesker, hoping the signal could find its way that far underground. At first, she heard only dull silence, her ears straining to hear the faintest sound.

"Ada, are you back online," Wesker suddenly said, his voice crystal clear and calm.

"How the—"

"I can tell when your system has been powered up or down from here. My last transmission was someone surprising you in the dark. Are you…what is your status?"

"My, my Wesker…if I didn't know any better, I'd say you almost sounded…worried. I'm flattered, but fine."

"That equipment is very valuable," he said curtly.

"Well, then let's put it to use," replied Ada, getting down to business. "I have encountered a Nyx Alpha, more advanced than the one you had on record. It seems to possess a combination of feline characteristics."

"My visual isn't picking up anything. Was the lens damaged in your…altercation?"

"Probably, or it was damaged in the fall. I'm uploading a still photo to you for reference. But I need your 'extensive information network' to find me a weakness to exploit."

She could hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background, and her alert eyes followed Claire quietly sneaking overhead. The girl had her own thoughts and suggestions on vanquishing the Nyx.

"Haven't you ever played a video game," she had asked. "The boss' weakness is always the oversized eye."

"Guess I'll have to take your word for it," shrugged Ada. "What do you want to hit it with?"

"We'll need something big," Claire began. "If we can get it to stumble, then drop something heavy on its eye…"

"If you suggest an anvil, you're on your own."

"Um, no…but there looks to be some heavy equipment up there," Claire pointed to the narrow catwalk overhead.

"Ok, go take a look," said Ada.

Claire was tip-toeing very carefully now, directly above the creature. Her eyes met with Ada's, and she shook her head once, signaling that there was nothing up there they could use. Before Ada could wave her back over, the eye on the creature's back suddenly widened, its pupil narrowing to a slit as it saw Claire. The large lumps of flesh on its back burst open; long, thin tentacles erupting from the mounds to shoot upwards and grasp the wire mesh of the catwalk. The section she was on shook roughly before snapping, the falling half forming a ramp. Grasping the grating, Claire hung near the top, trying to pull herself up as the tendrils rocked the lower half, trying to draw her into its waiting mouth.

Watching the scene unfold before her, Ada's thoughts were torn between her own preservation and sticking it to Wesker by once again saving a Redfield. Something in her gut told her she wasn't making it out alive anyways, but seeing that monstrosity begin to scale the wall after Claire, she knew what she had to do.

"Ada, what are you doing," asked Wesker when he heard the sound of her handgun firing. "That isn't going to do anything to it," he lectured, but she could hear nothing but the smack of her bullets against the brown flesh of the Nyx.

Her vaccine-tipped rounds sizzled in the monsters flesh, bits of reddish foam oozing from the entry wounds. The Nyx roared in something that might have been pain, turning towards the spy. The huge eye took the sight of her in, before closing tightly under her hail of bullets. Without pause, the creature charged at her, ripping the catwalk grating down with its forward lunge. Ada dove to her side, the rush of wind behind her tossing her as if she had just dodged a high-speed train. Rolling to her feet, she was moving again, sprinting between a set of freight containers. She heard a loud crash overhead, heralding the return of the Nyx as it loomed above her. Gray mucous leaked on the steel containers as they bent under the massive weight, the hiss of melting steel all around her.

Claire, meanwhile, hung on for dear life, the skidding grate showering her with sparks while screeching across the pavement. As the creature banked right to pursue Ada, Claire saw her chance, releasing her grip and sliding at its turn to slow her momentum. Slamming into a stack of crates, she crawled dizzily to her feet and watched the Nyx bound around the room, still dragging the section of the catwalk. Claire had expected Ada to be tired from sprinting in this extreme heat, but the woman was miraculously still able to constantly stay ahead of the creature. Ada was exhibiting an incredible amount of stamina and agility, zipping between narrow openings at breakneck speeds. Still, despite the serene look on Ada's face, Claire was certain she couldn't keep this up for much longer. The rifle she had filched from the dead goon would hardly do anything, but she had a feeling that the team had probably brought something far more potent. She ran to the pile, shoving down the nauseous feeling that rose from her stomach at the sight of all that blood and gore, before digging hurriedly through the ordinance.

"Ada," said Wesker. "I've found a research journal on the genetic composition of the Nyx, and this might be of use to you: the creature's organisms that transmit its senses are the weakest of the colony. However, the stronger cells compensate for this weakness by protecting them with their own lives in a shell-like casing. Meaning, it loses a degree of its senses in exchange for maximizing its protection. However, if you were to weaken other areas of the whole mass, it would have to eventually expose these weak areas to heal those wounds. Look for a sensory receptor, something along the lines of an eye," he suggested.

"Christ, she was right then," Ada mumbled.

"Who was right? …Ada?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now," she panted, sliding under a truck's flatbed. She was barely back on her feet when she heard the crash of the truck being tossed aside. Her muscles were beginning to tire; despite all her training, there were only so many places in this loading area that she could run to. Eventually all the obstacles would be destroyed, and she'd have nowhere left to run. Then it'd all be over for her.

A burst of gunfire erupted from her right, the spray of bullets tearing into one of the creature's legs. Its balance disrupted, the creature stumbled and slid, its momentum carrying it into a cement wall. The whole room shook, the wall caving in at the impact. Ada took the opportunity and scurried up a ladder onto one of the lower catwalks, strapping a looted rifle to her back. She could see Claire standing with a large, smoking M63 in her hands, propped atop a set of boxes. The girl was firing again at its back, trying for the eye covered by a fleshy membrane. The spy gave her a thumbs up, and Claire flashed her a tired smile. Ada would have to pick her shots carefully; she only had two more clips of the vaccine tipped bullets, and she'd have to save them for the creature's Achilles heel. If they would even work at all…the rounds had been created specifically for T-Virus creatures, and the Nyx supposedly had a liberal combination of both T and G virus.

Bits of flesh tore from the Nyx's back under Claire's hail of gunfire, a hundred tiny rivers dripping blood down its mountainous back as it rose from its haunches. It turned slowly, seemingly pained by the screaming M63, before leaping high in the air towards Claire. The crates exploded in a burst of broken wood and crushed steel, the concrete cratering under the monster's massive weight. But Claire was already sprinting towards the next station she had set up, tossing a grenade behind her.

A large piece of the creature disintegrated in the hand grenade's explosion, the brownish matter splattering high against the wall. The Nyx roared, revealing a mouth filled with rows upon rows of jagged teeth, and another eye on the end of a drooping, tentacle-like tongue. Confronted with such a grotesque sight, Claire hesitated for a moment, until she heard the chatter of Ada's rifle she had dug from the pile. The eye quivered under her burst of gunfire, the sound different than the other attacks. Were they finally hurting it, she wondered. Remembering her own advice, Claire pulled the grenade launcher from her back, firing a round into the monster's closing maw. A moment too late, the sharp teeth of the monster shattered under the explosive round, gray filth spewing forth from the wound. The Nyx lumbered forward, apparently unharmed by the attack, but slowed by the damage to its leg. Claire flipped the launcher open, ejecting the smoking round and inserting another explosive-tipped canister.

"Move it, kid," yelled Ada, intensifying her attack on the creature's backside. "It won't be slow forever!"

Before Ada had finished her sentence, Claire saw for herself what she meant. Flesh seemingly appeared out of nowhere from the gaping wound, fluid dripping and somehow solidifying to take the shape of a leg. Torn between the choice of two meals, the creature decided the one on the ground was better, charging towards Claire with renewed vigor. With each lopping gait, the monster splashed more and more of its acidic fluid on the floor, the smell of burning concrete filling the air.

"Tell me who is there with you, Ada," Wesker demanded.

"Some kid I found here," she replied, running along the catwalk, spraying the monster below with her machine gun. "Can we talk about this later," she asked, tossing the spent weapon aside.

"Have no illusions that we will, Ada," he said coolly. Wesker hated being kept in the dark about anything and everything. Despite her perilous situation, Ada smiled.

"How about giving me a suggestion to exploiting its eye weakness instead," she asked, looking around the room for something of use.

"An exposure to intense lighting, or an explosion in its central eye could disrupt the integrity of the Nyx matrix, but it would have to be on a rather large scale to be effective," Wesker suggested.

"Bright like a flashbulb, or bright like solar flares? Because I doubt I'm finding either down here."

"It's impossible to say; it all depends on the strength of the Nyx's system as a whole, which grows over time."

"Meaning, the longer it lives, the tougher it gets?"

"Simply put, yes."

A crash from below interrupted their dialogue, and Ada could see Claire scrambling up a ladder, its base being wrenched by the Nyx's jaws. Leaping over the railing, Ada landed in a roll, sprinting towards the stack of weapons that Claire had rummaged through earlier. She grabbed another submachine gun and began to fire at the Nyx as it scaled the wall, its claws digging into the concrete walls. Claire added to the assault with her handgun as she ran, and somehow the two gave the monster pause. Or so they thought. A hump on its back began to shudder, the rumble of pus churning under the skin, until it burst, launching large pieces of diseased flesh in every direction. Ada dove behind a stack of tires, hearing the splash of that awful substance around her. Some of these pieces found their way to the catwalk above Claire, dripping caustic fluid on her. One drop touched her hand, and she winced in pain, the skin sizzling and smoking from the acidity.

But as quickly as the attack had started, it stopped, and the creature seemed to be slowed, moving sluggishly along the wall. The eyelid on its back suddenly opened, and Claire saw her chance. Firing a grenade round directly into the pupil, the eye ruptured in a flood of grayish pus. The Nyx howled in pain, losing its grip from the wall as it plummeted to the ground below, stunned.

Peering from behind her cover, Ada saw the fallen creature and ran again to the pile of weapons and gear. She remembered seeing a small satchel, and soon found it buried under some half-melted shotgun. Flipping it open, she found the remainder of C4 the team had brought with them. She would have preferred something simpler, like dynamite, but she was well versed enough in C4 to handle it without much difficulty.

The signal fuse was simple enough, but she wondered if it would hold up against the Nyx's biological defenses, a fluid discharge corrosive enough to melt steel. Wrapping the clay-like substance carefully around her knife's handle, she jabbed the detonator into it. She glided silently towards the fallen creature, the knife held tightly in her hands.

Poised over the creature, she could actually see through its sheen of skin, a semi-transparent layer of flesh holding the whole, bubbling mass together. Beneath it, she could see the faces of men, twisted masks of terrifying visage. And to add to that horror, she could see that their eyes were aware; they knew exactly where they were, their mouths frozen in silent screams. One recently absorbed soldier thrashed about for a moment before becoming still, his limbs dissolving into a reddish mist.

Realizing that she might soon join those men, Ada hesitated for barely a breath before plunging the knife into the beast's exposed eye.

--

The office was chilly, colder than she had remembered it ever being. Perhaps it was her recent time in the jungle climate that had altered her perspective; she'd always entertained the belief that she was cold-blooded, after all. But she brushed that thought aside, sitting in the chair across from the man she considered to truly embody the term cold-blooded. Wesker wore his usual expression, that being none at all. It was one hell of a poker face.

Ada sat in silence for a minute, waiting for him to speak, but he said nothing, intent to stare at her. His eyes were impossible to read behind those dark sunglasses of his, and any other mannerisms that might have given away his emotions were nonexistent.

"You've read my report, I assume," she finally said. While she disliked being the one to broach a conversation, it was better than sitting in complete silence under that icy gaze of his.

"I have," he said, nodding once. Folding his gloved hands neatly, his eyes never seemed to leave her; he had only looked at her this way once before, when she had left for her first mission.

"And…? Any thoughts on the Nyx combat data?"

"It's not so much what you say in the report, but what you don't say," he replied, watching her pour a drink from a carafe on his desktop.

"What is this? I'm a little too tired for this cat-and-mouse BS today, Wesker," she said, sipping the drink. "You called, I'm here, what's the deal?"

"It…surprises me to hear you being so…direct, Ada. Has something…changed? In you…in me…I hope not. We were such a good team…"

She caught the inflection of his tone before his use of the past tense. The lip of her glass was just at her mouth when it came to her. Their eyes met over the drink, and both moved simultaneously. Ada flung the glass at him, reaching for the gun she always kept tucked at her back. Wesker rose and darted smoothly around his desk, somehow covering five paces in the time it took her to stand. He pinned her arm behind her back, shoving her down against the hard wooden desk. Flicking her handgun aside, his other hand reached for her throat, his grip like a vise. He tossed her against the wall, the steel panel denting around her. She felt ribs crack, and before she could pull herself out, his hand was at her throat again, lifting her clear off her feet and crushing her against the wall.

"Have I not been good to you all these years, Ada? Have I not given you all you needed, all you wanted? And to get word of your betrayal, talking to some foolish lapdog from Pharmaceutical Salon," he asked, shaking his head. "All that time, training, and money…for naught," he sighed, his grip tightening.

"Funny…coming…from…you," Ada gasped, white spots dancing before her eyes. Wesker laughed.

"The first, most important lesson of betrayal, my dear," he said, pulling her closer. "Guarantee success before laying your cards on the table. Did I really need to teach you that? To think, I had such high hopes for you," he added, shaking his head.

The world flashed white before Ada's eyes, and she knew she didn't have much oxygen left. She raised her right knee sharply, hard into Wesker's jaw. Stumbling back, she landed on her feet and rubbed her throat gingerly. He stood between her and her gun, a tight smile on his lips. He reset the sunglasses on his nose, crossing his arms as if he had all the time in the world.

"You think you gave me what I wanted? You son of a bitch, you made me your slave," she spat. "You and your damned serum…"

Wesker dismissed her passionate words with a casual wave of his hand. "Oh, that? You don't really think that serum was meant to keep you alive, do you? Still…?"

"Wha-what are you talking about?"

"It was a serum, true. But if I were to truly classify it, I would say it was more of a 'drug'. Its purpose wasn't to help you resist a virus…merely an excuse to load you up with the drug. Best of all, it's addictive quality made you consciously want more of the same, and withdrawal would duplicate the symptoms I had my faithful servant Cindy detail to you. In that regard, you're no different that any other drug addict on the street."

"But…I…you're lying!"

"There is no reason for me to lie now," he said calmly. "Does it sadden you to hear the truth, that there was no virus within you to make your body stronger and faster, like me? You can draw some satisfaction that every task you performed, every feat you achieved, was in part due to your own skill. But in the end, whatever meager skill you possess on your own is still not nearly enough to equal the edge given to me by this virus," he said, pausing. "That is why, my dear, you can never hope to beat me," he added, charging forward in a blur of motion. His gloved fist slammed into her stomach, and he spun as it connected, backhanding her with his other hand, the smack sending her sprawling to the floor. "So similar, and yet…so different, you and me," he said, a trace of sadness in his voice as he stared at the blood on his hand.

"You're scum, Wesker," she gasped, rolling to her feet. His punch had splintered some of her rib bones; she could feel them digging into her stomach. He still stood between her and her only hope: her handgun.

"And you can barely stand," he said, his eyes never leaving her. "You really think you can reach that pistol of yours before my next attack," he asked, an amused expression on his face. "Were I a gambling man, I might allow you a chance to reach your weapon and see just how dangerous you can be…but I am not such a fool. I plan. I wait. I calculate. I know exactly what will happen, when, and why."

"Then why are you acting so surprised," she asked, trying to keep him talking. A few more much needed breaths, and she might have a chance to catch him off guard. But still…she had never in her life seen someone move so fast. Even advanced bio-weapons bred for combat, like the Alpha Hunter, paled in comparison to his speed. If she did manage to get to her handgun, would she have time to turn and fire it?

"Your betrayal was inevitable," Wesker admitted. "But my disappointment comes more from the ease of which you exposed your deceit. To think, my top operative talking to a rival agency and not expecting me to have my own mole within that organization…it is such a sad day, Ada. Like a parent realizing their child is without merit, without hope. There was a time you were useful to me, but now…now, I can barely stand to look at you, and all that you represent: failure."

"I didn't always fail," she coughed, clearing the blood from her throat.

"You mean those times you helped the Redfields out," he asked with a dark laugh. "I would hardly call those successes, for they will all die soon enough. At my leisure, of course."

"You…knew?"

"Of course; nothing escapes my notice for long. It was your own conceit that blinded you to this fact, Ada. Your foolish pride that made you think you could ever successfully betray me, hiding from your own sensibility that I was on to you the entire time, watching you, guiding you, manipulating you."

Her eyes seethed with hatred, his words ringing true. She rose shakily to her feet, the pain in her chest agonizing. Every breath was torture, her lungs dying for air, but expanding into sharp, broken bones.

"You look as if you are going to cry," said Wesker, that mocking sincerity returning. "Don't tarnish my image of you, Ada. I watched you die once, and I…liked what I saw. You, of all people, should know how to die with dignity."

Sensing his attack coming, Ada had no choice but to move. She somersaulted to her left, hoping to avoid his first strike, feeling a gust of wind rush past her. So, he could miss after all. Expecting a backhanded follow up, she tucked into a ball, rolling low towards her gun. She felt the cool steel in her fingers for just a moment before she felt his knee dig savagely into her back, crushing her against the metallic floor. Wesker flipped her over roughly, staring her in the face.

"Tell me why, Ada," he demanded, something that might have been emotion creeping into his voice. "This is the life you'd always wanted; I was never cruel to you, I never abused you…before I kill you, I want you to tell me why."

She looked up at him, his face untouched by the years, the frigid aura so much the same. But despite his physical appearance remaining the same, she felt something different from him. Was he upset? Was that passion she had heard in his words?

Ada coughed, the pain intensifying, blood bubbling on her lips. She remembered something her mother had told her long ago, a cautionary moral that she had forgotten until then.

"Once we…let ourselves fall…there's…no way back," she whispered.

Behind tinted lenses, Wesker's eyes darkened for a moment as he wrapped his fingers tightly around her soft throat and began to squeeze.

--

"Le—sir, are you sure we can finish this operation with just the three of us," asked Harper.

"I thought you said you were the best," Leon replied. "Or was that all bullshit?"

"I never said anything that wasn't true. But some of that battle data Graham gave us…I'm beginning to wonder now…"

"About what," asked Bernard.

"If the data was as favorable as it seemed, why has it taken so long for them to take out the target?"

"Finding a single person in the world can be quite difficult, much less a young girl," Leon answered.

"A young girl? What the hell do you mean…ah, sir?"

"You don't know," Bernard asked incredulously. "What do you know about the target?"

"It kills Americans," Harper replied with a shrug. "That's all I needed to hear to volunteer."

"You Americans," Bernard began. "You're content to sit on your behinds when the rest of the world is blown up, but when a little bit of egg so much as splatters on your face, it's suddenly the end of the world."

"Yeah, so what?"

"Just something amusing," shrugged Bernard. "We should be arriving at the waypoint soon, sir."

But Leon was already a dozen paces ahead of them, scouting the terrain. He turned back to them, waving them over.

"Someone's been moving through the woods ahead of us," Leon whispered to them. "Someone who knows how to cover their tracks, too."

"Could it be our target?"

"No, the target has made no secret of her location. To cover her tracks goes completely against the profile we've been given."

"If it's even accurate," mumbled Harper.

"Sherry's no mountain survivalist," Leon said. "It isn't her."

"You're talking like you know her," said Bernard, eyeing Leon keenly.

"She was one of the other survivors from the Raccoon City outbreak," Leon replied. "She actually saved the rest of us at one point," he added, smiling at the memory.

"And you can still kill her," Bernard asked gruffly, turning to face Leon. "Sir?"

"I'll do what I can to help her," he answered, looking away. "That's all."

His vague answer seemed to satisfy Bernard, who didn't bring it up again. The threesome began to move deeper into the thick forest, the sun touching the far horizon.

Harper had taken the point, his alert eyes scanning the thick trees for danger, when a branch suddenly whipped around a tree trunk into his face. He stumbled back, entangled in the branch's grip, when Bernard stepped over to help him. He too found a branch slap at him, dumping a pile of leaves on him. Leon spun in the confusion, looking for a sign of the enemy, when he felt the barrel of a gun dig into his back.

"You've gotten sloppy," she whispered softly into his ear. "Drop it, Leon."

Leon signaled to his men to follow suit, confident they were in no danger.

"It's been awhile…Claire," he said, turning to face her. He was expecting a smile, but instead found an unfamiliar scowl on her face. It had been less than six months since he last saw her, when she'd given him his bomber jacket upon release from the county lockup.

"You can lower the gun," he said carefully. "Claire…?"

"You-fucking-asshole," she said accusingly, her eyes damp with angry tears. She didn't lower her gun.

"Former girlfriend of yours, Captain," asked Harper jokingly. Bernard hushed him, watching the woman carefully. If she had any modicum of skill, she could shoot all three of them before he could reach and fire his weapon, but they were armored, and would probably survive her initial attack. Unless she went for their heads.

"Stay out of this," ordered Leon, his eyes focused on Claire.

"Captain, huh," she asked, her eyes cold. "Is that how they reeled you in, Leon? A promotion for the life of our—my friend? Is your loyalty, your honor, that cheap? Or is the life of a little girl just that worthless to you…?"

"Claire, it's not like that," he began. "This isn't about me, or you…it's about Sherry, and what's she become…"

"So tell me about it, then. Why didn't you feel the need to tell me about it, huh Leon," she asked, the pain showing plainly in her eyes. Leon recognized that pain; he saw it in the mirror everyday. It was a feeling of betrayal.

"I promised," replied Leon slowly. "That I would take care of her. This is the only way anyone can help her now."

"So this is what you meant when you promised that? That you'd murder her? Just like that," she cried angrily, the gun wavering slightly in her hands.

He sighed. "Claire…I don't want to do this. I never wanted it to end like this. I wish she had never gotten involved, that you never got hurt in this, that you two could just lead happy, safe lives…"

"Safe? You want a safe life for her, and you're trying to kill her? Just like all that other scum dancing to Umbrella's tune?"

"This isn't about Umbrella, Claire…it's about that virus in her getting out of control. She's killed god knows how many people, but that's nothing compared to what might happen if she were to infect the general populace…"

"You really do sound the part of the government lapdog now," she said, wiping a frustrated tear away. "But I suppose that's always been your dream, right? To live through someone else's orders, to have no thought, no conscience…just your precious duty."

Harper chuckled quietly. "Precious doody," he giggled to himself.

"Young lady," interrupted Bernard, casting Harper a warning glance. "While you may be partly right, we are not in a position to gain happiness nor enjoyment from this mission's outcome. Someone has to do this. It may as well be those who care for Sherry."

"What do you know," Claire asked him angrily, swinging her gun around to him. "What do you know about that little girl?"

"I know more than you think," he replied desolately, seemingly oblivious of the gun leveled at his chest. "I know that, as a child, her favorite color was blue…and that she'd only wear blue dresses, even blue socks. I know her favorite ice cream flavor was strawberry, half-melted and mixed with chocolate. I know her best subject in school, like her parents, was science, but it was really art and music that she loved," he continued. "And I know that she's scared and alone, and the sweet little girl I watched grow up wouldn't want to live with what's she become," he added, closing his eyes.

"You lie," Claire said doubtfully, but the sincerity in his words had already convinced her.

"How…how do you know all that," asked Leon, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief.

"I once had a little sister, several years younger than me," he replied matter-of-factly. "I was away, fighting in some foolish war when her daughter was born, but by the time I returned, I'd seen the happiest my sister had ever been. She loved her husband, of course, but until that day Sherry was born, I don't think Annette knew what loving someone else truly meant," he said wistfully. "Nor did I. Those two were—are the only family I have…so you see, doing this, even if it's the last thing I do, is the most important thing I could ever do for my sister and my niece. To bring them together again…I know that would give them some bit of happiness."

"I—I'm sorry," Claire apologized, finally lowering her gun. "I didn't know."

"It's nothing you did, miss," he said kindly. "Annette began to take the thing she valued most in the world—her family—for granted. And Sherry paid the price. I can't let her suffer anymore, and I won't let William's legacy destroy the last shreds of my family's name," he added, his voice thick with conviction.

"Bernard," Leon began, struggling for words. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I was afraid I would be passed over because of my familial relationship," replied the man tiredly. "A conflict of interests, so to speak. But really, if anyone should have to do this terrible, terrible thing, it should be those that care, those that appreciate how brave and strong that little girl always was. It should be those that love her there in her last moments, holding her hand, putting her at peace."

Claire wiped away the last of her tears at his heartfelt confession, a bit embarrassed by her display of so much emotion in front of two complete strangers. But though she considered him a stranger, Claire found herself connecting with Bernard, his terribly sad, yet familiar words resonating in her heart. At that moment, she missed Chris more than ever.

"I'm going with you," she said finally. And there was something in her tone, her face, that Leon knew nothing he said nor did would stop her.

--

The head of the cleanup crew entered the office, a quiet and utterly uninspired middle-aged man. He had once possessed a fair degree of ambition, but the grind of everyday life had worn him down, nearly sapping his very will to live. It was only the ready flow of Wesker's money that kept him going, the dream of owning nicer things. His last wife had called him a stingy miser, happier to look at his money rather than spend it on the things worth looking at. She had walked out on him two years earlier, the last of three malcontent ex-wives. But there had been one other thing keeping him going, one person who kept him getting out of bed every morning.

And now she lay in a pile of broken furniture and glass, her once beautiful face bruised and battered, a pool of blood gathered about her body. The man put on a strong face, hiding the pain in his heart, knowing any betrayal of emotion before Wesker was the same as betraying his cause.

"Excellent timing, Daniel," said Wesker, nonchalantly righting his fallen office chair. "Please dispose of…that. Leave the rest of the mess for tomorrow. I would be left alone for now," he added, swiveling his chair away.

"Of course, Mr. Wesker," replied Daniel. He touched Ada's skin, expecting some warmth, but found it startlingly cold. He had once thought of it as fine porcelain, and that was what it felt like; the connection of reality meeting his dreams sickened him. But he swallowed it down, taking her up in his arms and carrying her to the waiting gurney in the hallway. "I'll have Anderson and the rest of the crew clean up your office by tomorrow morning, sir."

Wesker raised his finger slightly in response, never turning to face the man. With a press of a button by his massive chair, the door slammed shut behind Daniel, locking.

Laying his love gently on the gurney, Daniel fought the urge to caress her broken body, knowing vigilant eyes were always watching. So fighting all impulses, he instead pushed the cart slowly down towards the morgue.


Note: I had originally named Graham "David", but my little nephew is named that, so I couldn't in good conscience name one of the key bastards in this whole little soap opera that. I switched it to "Davis", which has a much more Southern-ness quality to it, which I thought fit more with his character anyways. I was kind of reluctant to make him seem racist, but I think it's more that minorities are numbers to him, groups…not individuals. So he's not necessarily racist, as one of his best friends was black, but he is damn insensitive.

The Nyx creature was something I had wanted to put in the story long ago, but wasn't sure how I could incorporate a mindless juggernaut that somehow gets stopped. Another thing I had actually been planning was Ada making a reference to the Outbreak File 2 characters who actually defeated one, connecting it to another fanfic I was working on, with Kevin, David, Nathan, and Alyssa making it out through the Nyx (for those who've read my Outbreak fanfic, I had considered separating Alyssa from the rest). While I left the last part of the battle a mystery, the version I wrote would lessen the impact of the next chapter…

Ada's betrayal didn't quite play out the way I had planned, but I decided simplicity was the path to take, and to give Wesker a chance to talk a bit. I like the idea of Wesker being so distraught that he doesn't use an elaborate plan to dispose of her, just beats the hell out of her until she dies. I kept repeating Ada's last line to myself, because that to me defined her character at that point. It's a line I had read in a manga about a prostitute-swordswoman who doesn't have the heart to be either, and that dichotomy keeps her from understanding her place in the world. For Ada, it was relenting to Wesker all those years ago that turned her into something she didn't want to be. However, don't expect this to be the end of her.