The next thing I knew, I was being carried off by two men in gas masks. I heard one of them being called 'Mr. Death' and then he was referred to as H.U.N.K., so I noted that any future needs during the time of the travel, I would ask him.
I was then told to walk up a flight of stairs, leading to a medium-sized aeroplane. In front of me was HUNK or Mr. Death – whichever you prefer – and behind me was the other guy in a gas mask. They held guns, but did not point at me. They treated me with care, almost as if I were special here . . .
As I got on the plane, I was then followed by two others. The man who had been there for me when I did not know what was going on; I didn't catch his name at the time, but I was still as mesmerised by his amazing looks as I had been before. His perfect skin and gelled back blonde hair looked very neat and tidy. He seemed like an organised man just from hearing him talk. Like everything was planned out in his brain already. Every word he thought through like an action, before doing so.
Then I noticed what he was wearing for the first time. I was sure he hadn't changed in the time of him and Miss Wong leaving.
He wore a long black trench coat, which I guessed would be covering a business man suit or something. Probably in the Government considering he had body guards and a private jet like this. I couldn't remember the President's name so I figured he could have been him for all I knew. I thought I should definitely treat him with respect, even if he was not the leader of the country.
He still made me feel a lot safer – and by God, he even brought me to the hospital apparently from that car crash I'd been in. I owed my life in a way . . .
It was grey skied outside; dark smog over the building we had just left. A storm must have been coming, so I wondered deeply as to why he still wore those gun glasses.
And he did not take them off even when we entered the plane. I was certain he wasn't blind, for he'd looked me straight into the eye when I was in recovery. There was something so secret about him . . . I wanted to know, but . . . a gut feeling told me to stick to finding out about my family and better yet, myself. Rather than nosing into someone else's personal life, especially when I could be assuming.
Miss Wong, the Asian woman, did not get on after him. I was relieved slightly; flying with such an awkward woman could have been nerve wracking.
She was the one to say 'We're going for a little ride', though. So maybe she was getting on through another entrance or something.
Instead of her getting on, another male (I could tell by the body build) entered the plane. He was shorter than my honey-like voiced saviour, but still a lot taller than I.
He wore formal clothes, and I felt very out of place in the childish outfit that I wore then, however I stayed focused on the man because, something was very odd about him. Something anybody would of found odd actually.
His hands were at the front of his abdomen, tied with hand cuffs. He seemed steady and weak – though under the suit, it was obvious he was well built. When I looked up to see his face, I could not. A black cloth covered his whole head, hiding his identity from the world.
"Miss Roche," said the soothing voice. It gave me thrilling chills. "Come sit with I . . . We have not properly acquainted and I would like to tell you about your family."
I looked away from the man and nodded at my eye-shaded companion. He led me down to a very posh set of seats; first class of course. I kept looking back for people following or someone to sit with, but no one did. We sat alone in front of each other; a table in the middle – it was all very flattering to be quite honest.
"My family," I began once we settled. "What about them?"
My voice was a lot clearer now, and I was able to speak without stuttering from any pains in my head. The trip over to the mini airport and the thinking about that strange man with hand cuffs had prevented the headaches. Though when I heard the word 'family' a scratch at my brain could be felt.
He didn't answer straight away; instead a black gloved hand reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He flicked it onto the table and gestured for me to look at it. When I did, strange feelings came over me.
It was a picture of a family; a Mother, a Father, a baby girl, and a young boy.
I looked back up at him, confused. ". . . ?"
"My name is Albert Wesker. Please refer to me as my last name, Miss Roche. I am part of the Umbrella Corporation and work with the world's real danger as I had told you about back in the unit. You may hear people say we created it and that we are to blame. It is not true. We are preventing this terrible accident from leaking to the rest of the world and destroying humanity as we know it. I will tell you more of this when we get to our destination. Moreover; look at the boy in the picture."
I looked at the boy.
"That is your elder brother, Charles Roche. I worked with him many years ago in a force called S.T.A.R.S. We fought the crime of a city named Raccoon. Though, I am afraid to say, Clara . . . Your brother was a traitor, and a liar to us all. He was secretly working with people outside of the company that wanted to foil Umbrella's experiments, and create this nightmare as people so put it. I can understand you may be thinking what could be so awful, but have trust in my, Dear Heart. It is Hell on Earth.
"Charles then led all of us out into the forests. Most were murdered by the creatures that I had to save you from that night. Some are still alive. I was blamed for these actions by your brother, and still hold the evil reputation. That is why I left S.T.A.R.S. without further notice. I would never think of harming a soul, even if not innocent; so I do not want you to think I harmed your family. It was by fate, and if I could have saved him or your parents as well, I would have."
I sat there holding the picture lightly, just looking at him with thoughtful eyes. I wanted to know more, but judging by the way he ended it, that must have been the whole story. And he would tell me about this 'danger to the world' when we got to wherever we were going. So I thought through some more questions in my head.
"Where are we going?" when I said it, it felt like almost a few hours since a word had been spoken. Also, the plane was not going anywhere yet. It gave me a few more questions to ask and for him to answer, which would fill the awkward silence.
"We are going to a different part of the country. Plans are still being thought out during our ride that is why I must leave you every now and then. For now we may sit and wait until the plane takes off. Some very important people and data must be loaded on."
He spoke the word people as if he spat out some acid. "Wesker," I breathed silently, putting the photo down onto the table and pushing it slowly towards him. "Is the baby girl . . . me? I'm Clara Roche?"
He put the photo back where it belonged in his coat pocket then nodded at me from behind his sunglasses. I wanted him to make more expressions with his face, and I couldn't see any with no real contact with his eyes.
"Are those our parents? What are their names?"
"Arthur Roche and his wife Elizabeth birthed a baby boy named Charles in 1984. Seven years later they did so with a baby girl named Clara, born 1991."
I had a hunch that my questions were annoying him. I was about to think up some more to ask when the plane started to get ready to fly. Wesker and I buckled our seat belts and waited for the turbulence and stomach-dropping feeling of being lifted into the air.
I sat back and closed my eyes lightly.