She observes them from the control room. The group of people that got captured for the latest experiment. The project she was now part of. She observes them try and run for their lives. Looking for anything to defend with. So scared. Some try to fight. The undead that are slowly surrounding them. They don't see the one's coming from behind. Soon it's all over. The group is overwhelmed. She bites her lip in annoyance. Another inconclusive test. It's getting her nowhere. She won't get the answers she wants like this. But it doesn't matter. She leaves the control room taking the data. Another report to write.
It's night. But in the underground laboratory it hardly matters. She works away on the report. All the staff had already gone home hour ago. Nobody else around. And in a few hours the day shift will begin. The others seem to have come much further along in their research. She lags behind. She isn't used to it. It's not her fault. The test subjects are low quality.
She tries to stay awake. Focus. She needs to prove she is worthy. She needs to know the truth. Another page. She just wants to sleep. Data analysis needs interpretation before the report can be filed. Then there is still her normal work she does for intelligence. She forces her mind to focus on the charts. Something smells like coffee. She notices the white ceramic cup on the desk beside her. It wasn't there before. She looks up. Sees him. He gives her a half smile.
"Thank you." She says.
"I didn't expect anyone to be here this late." Albert sits across from her.
"Just some reports I need to finish for tomorrow."
It has been two weeks since the party. It feels like a dream. Something that didn't really happen. The next day they were back to testing and filling reports. Their duties keeping them out of each other's way. But for that one moment they danced like in a fairytale. Then Spencer came for his speech. And the fairytale was over.
Albert observes her for a while. She holds the cup with both hands bringing it to her lips. The lights are dim but he can see as clear as day. The technology in the glasses. A shadow of a bruise on her wrist, just barely exposed when her hand rises. She closes her eyes takes a sip. Savors it. Her face looks so young, almost childlike. He wonder how old she is. He opens his laptop, works, while casting glances at her. Occasionally taking sips of his own coffee. They work like this, in silence, for hours.
He is there presenting his own report to Spencer when she enters. They greet each other. She is formal, like before. Not like when the of them are alone. Spencer flips though her report.
"Pathetic." He tosses it to the floor. The papers scatter.
She goes to pick them up. He knows he shouldn't interfere.
"I expect more from you."
"But the test subjects were…"
Before she can finish, the cane strikes her wrist. The papers scatter again.
"I want results not excuses. If you have time to make up excuses you have time to get results."
Spencer turns to the door.
"Come, Dr. Wesker."
He follows. Gives a sideways glance back to the room. Alex is still on the floor among the scattered papers. The door closes.
There is blood running down her fingers. The metal part of the cane had hit her. She doesn't notice it. Painted nails dig into the paper making holes. Tears stream down her face no matter how hard she tries to stop them. It is futile. Meaningless. All of it. She feels trapped. She though that Umbrella, that Spencer was a lead. She begins to realize that it was a cage. And she had flown in of her own will. She sought out the cage and shut herself in it. What naïve and foolish bird she had been.
Albert walks down the hall. Spencer At his side.
"Must you be so hard on her?" he wonders
The old man stops.
"It is for her own good, you see. It is necessary to drive out the idea that anything less than perfection is acceptable. To push her to achieve her full potential."
"I understand." He doesn't, but one day he will.
Another night another test. It seems that the new test subjects are just as useless as the other ones. Another looming failure. Another sleepless night on a report that nobody will even read. She grips the edges of console. Rage shakes her. Knuckles turning white. She did not come this far to fail. At best she will be cast out at worst she will be tossed down there with the test subjects. It would not surprise her if the old man did it. She knew too much. Getting out alive didn't seem like an option anymore. So this cage to also be her grave. She wanted to laugh and she wanted to cry.
In her distraction the group managed to escape the undead and head towards the open door. She noticed them. Running towards the doors.
"There is an infinite amount of hope but not for you." She triggered the lock down.
One of them tried to crawl under the metal door before it went down all the way only to get stuck and crushed. The others were beginning to panic. She took manual control of one of the undead. Seeing thought the creature's eyes. The cameras implanted in it. The control mechanism that allowed it to be manipulated like a puppet. She never felt the need to do it. These tests were horrific enough. People getting killed. But this time she didn't care. She stopped carring. She had to. How else would one do this?
The creature ran after a survivor. It was as if she was chasing the woman herself. There was a rush though her body. Excitement. And when the woman turned to look back the hands grabbing on to her face.
"Aren't our eyes made to be torn out." The undead fingers sink into the woman's eyes.
"And hearts for the same purpose." The teeth tear at her chest. Ripping the fabric, exposing flesh. Piercing skin, to the pulsing muscle inside until it finally stops.
Her body trembles, but not with rage anymore. But with a feeling of ecstasy in her blood. A violent burst of pleasure. She had killed for the first time. She closes her eyes, savors it. Smiles a predatory smile. If she must suffer. She will not do so alone.
The survivors are terrified now. They scatter to all directions. The undead await with outstretched arms. One by one they fall. They stop fighting back. Cornered. Dead end. Undead coming into the alley. This time at least it wasn't a complete failure.
She collapses to her knees. The water from the shower has not turned warm yet. Her body shakes. Bruised arms move to cover her mouth. The image is burned into her mind. The blood, the gurgling scream of the woman. She gags violently but her body is empty. Relief does not come. The feeling of guilt is not something one could rid themselves of so easily. The water turns warm but all she can feel is cold.
Even after the warm shower, she drags herself to bed shivering. The few hours of sleep are an endless nightmare. Then she is back in the underground. She passes Albert in the hall. Wonders if he has ever killed. If he would accept someone like her.
That night she does it again. Imagining it is Spencer's face clutched in her hands. That it his eyes she squashing under her fingers. His heart she tearing from his chest. It will never happen. Even if she tried. She would be dead before she could reach him. But she can dream. The rush of power she holds over one's life. The satisfaction when they run in fear. The bliss of murder. The relief. Breaking free from all conventions. From her own weakness and humanity. Breaking this taboo. The ecstasy that rushes though her blood as the rage she had been suppressing is set free. As it deafening roar dies and is replaced with silence. Heavy breaths, a racing hear, a growing wetness between her legs. Her face burns. She feels alive. Powerful. Outside the armored door she is weak, replaceable. Trapped. A failure. But here she is unstoppable.
But when the high was gone their screams echoed in her ears. It didn't make her sick like it did first time but the water flowing down her body looked red in the dim light. Just for a moment. There was blood on her hands now. Looking in the mirror. Physicaly there was no difference. Yet something had changed.
"It's all your fault." Hand in her hair, half covering her face as she tosses and turns. "Look what you made me do. You cruel, stupid old man."
"Sleep is the most innocent creature there is and a sleepless man
the most guilty."- Kafka