Author's Note: I do not own anything within the Resident Evil Universe, though I do own Hannah/Annabelle/Melody.

I am new to the world of fanfiction, and this is my first story. It is the first installment of a quartet that I will write, but I really need the reviews and constructive feedback on fleshing out characters, emotions, and action.

Chapter Three: Seige

Trying to write in her journal of the day, another requirement of ladyship in her mother's house, Annabelle found she could hardly keep the pen from shaking in her hands, marring her normally flowing script. Pursing her lips in frustration, she got up from her writing desk, and paced around her room. The air was too warm, her chairs were scratchy and uncomfortable on her back. She could not get comfortable sitting on her bed. She had changed into a simple white cotton dress in an attempt to get comfortable. Everything she had done to relax was for naught, for she could not relax. Something was setting her nerves abuzz, making her feel a little frenzied. Sighing, she walked out onto her balcony.

Here finally she had some peace. The summer breeze played with her hair as she leaned over the balcony's broad edge. Dimly, sounds of laughter or boisterous talking filtered up from the party a few floors below her. It was clear this party would last a while. She could just make out the piano being played, which meant her father had sat down to entertain guests.

She was restless, that frenzied feeling beginning to build again. She had no idea why, but she felt the need to roam and leave her room to wander the halls. Absolutely nothing in her room could entertain her, and the party had bored her hours ago. A feeling of deep boredom swept through her, like water on her frenzy. She needed to do something. Staring out blankly on her family's grounds, she decided to give into impulse, and left her room.

She felt better as she roamed. About to round a corner to the guest wing she heard Wesker's voice. Pressing her back against the wall, she barely breathed as she listened. A shaft of moonlight fell upon her, setting her dress aglow and lighting up her pale skin and hair. She felt like a ghost.

"Is everything prepared?" His voice was so cold, like a blade of ice passing through her ears into her mind, seeping slowly into her body. It was so different from the politely interested voice from before. It took her breath away. His cold voice was the perfect accoutrement to his sophistication. Annabelle wondered at herself and her thoughts of his voice, nearly laughing knowing she was half in love with his voice, though only his voice.

"Have you discovered a way into the lower levels?" Annabelle frowned slightly. Lower levels? Surely he was not referring to the private labs of her father lying below their estate? Annabelle quieted her mind and listened intently.

"Excellent!" Wesker exclaimed. Annabelle could clearly pick up on the pleasure in his voice, but there was something twisted about it. The hairs on her arms stood up as her breath came in shortly.

"Hm," Wesker murmured. "Be ready in a half hour. Be sure your men can keep Davenport distracted. I will not risk losing the sample and research due to an annoying interruption."

She was right, he was after her father's lab. He had men, and he was after her father's lab. Annabelle bit her lip, and felt a tingling sensation. It felt slightly good. Then she realized she was excited by this plan to destroy her father's life work.

Annabelle knew she should warn her father, she should be horrified. She should feel anything but this bubbling mania that threatened to burst forth in laughter. She smiled to herself, turning silently and walking quickly to her rooms.

Rushing through her doors she closed them behind her, breathing deeply. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes twinkling. So father would get his little labs raided by the very man he invited into his home, the very man he planned to be held under his perfect daughter's sway. Annabelle could not keep in her laughter, it rang from her to fill the room. It was too perfect, too right. Her father deserved to have his project crushed, one of many dreams he has been doggedly pursuing for years. It was a good five minutes before she could calm down enough to notice Jezebel standing by her armoire and holding a night gown.

"Oh! Jezebel!" Annabelle exclaimed. "It is glorious, absolutely glorious!" Annabelle jumped up and ran to the bemusedly smiling maid, grabbing her hands and dancing in circles with her around the room. Everything was bright and super clear, everything her senses were bringing in was super sharp. Annabelle laughed again, releasing the poor confused maid to twirl in circles onto her balcony. Her eyes tried to peer into the forests around her family's home to make out the mercenaries – for they can only be mercenaries – except she saw nothing. Well of course not. If she could see them, her father's guards would have been able to see them, and clearly the genius Albert Wesker would not let that possibly happen – before its time.

Time. Annabelle remembered Wesker's words, ignoring the questions of Jezebel who remained inside the room. He had said that in half an hour his men should be ready, and that they would attack the lower levels to retrieve samples. Which samples Annabelle could not be sure. Not that she cared. It was exhilarating enough just to hear Wesker plan.

She wanted to see it for herself. She wanted to help. Annabelle realized at that point there was another project of her father's, of both her parent's really, that she could crush.

Rushing back into her room Annabelle stood in front of her grandfather clock. It was midnight when she left her room initially. It would have taken ten minutes to walk to where Wesker stayed at the slow speed she went. So it was 12:10 am when she came upon Wesker. Studying the clock she saw it was 12:30 am.

Annabelle thought at lightning speeds. How could she help Wesker without her parents knowing – yet – and without knowing Wesker's exact plans? He was going to enter the labs. Which meant he planned to leave those labs as well. Annabelle knew what she would do.

The Davenport family carefully leaked different "clues," or allowed them to be found given enough work and computer hacking, about the blueprints of the estate, including the catacombs and labs underneath. There were traps though, set up for people stupid enough to think they could make it out alive. Some information was allowed to be found about the traps, but most of it was misinformation. And it was this misinformation that Wesker must have had in his possession.

There would be only one way out of the labs once her father was alerted to the break in. And her father would be alerted. Which meant if Wesker was to succeed in his plan to steal whatever virus and research he was after, he would need the assistance of a member of the Davenport family who held the secrets. Annabelle would have to lead him through the catacombs.

It all came together in an eyeblink. She felt electrified. All the colors in the room were incredibly vibrant and clear to her eye, her skin throbbing with the heat in the room and from the blood passing through her veins, her ears and nose keyed up for the slightest stimulus. It was at this point that her mind registered Jezebel's voice.

"What?" Annabelle breathed, in a bit of a daze at what was about to unfold. She looked to her maid. The older woman stared at her with wide eyes. Stammering a couple times the woman repeated her questions.

"I had asked if you were alright, and I had asked what was glorious? I got nervous when you didn't answer."

Annabelle stared at her for a few second. "I'm fine," she replied, grinning widely. "And what is glorious? Why, tonight is." Annabelle walked forward and clasped the maid's hands, dropping the nightgown. She continued, her voice breathy. "But, I must order you to stay here, no matter what you hear, or what alarm goes off. Do not leave this room, Jezebel. Do not follow me. Do not alert anyone about me. Do not speak of this to anyone. I do not make it a habit to ask you of things that are so out of the norm, and I apologize for starting now, but I must insist. Do you promise?"

Annabelle could have left it as a command, but she wanted something more solid. Wide, dazed eyes filled with happiness as Jezebel slowly nodded, looking frightened. Annabelle glanced back at the clock. 12:35 am. She needed to get to the catacombs below if she were to be of any use. Releasing Jezebel, Annabelle quickly walked out.

Wesker coolly surveyed the forest outside his window as a fire crackled in the hearth behind him. He was dressed in combat gear, black pants and muscle shirt with black boots and gloves, gun holsters around his shoulders. He was confident in his plans. While his men were not able to scan the grounds as thoroughly as he would have liked, they were able to hack into one of Davenport's personal computers and discover the hidden details of the catacombs below the mansion. He smirked to himself. Davenport was a fool, thinking Albert Wesker would just come by for a visit and a party. He was here to gain the advantage.

He had The Agency's attention, that was for sure. What he did not have was The Agency's confidence. Wesker knew they did not tell him all of their projects. This infuriated Wesker. While Umbrella may have become a bane to his existence, at least he knew towards the end more of what was going on. He did not betray Umbrella to be held in the dark by some organization who felt they could demand Wesker's allegiance.

But, he had started developing his network of spies as he and The Agency agreed upon. Only he used those spies to service his own needs as well as The Agency's. And those spies bore more fruit than he had expected, fruit in the form of Davenport's research. Which is why he was here tonight.

He glanced at the digital watch on his wrist. 12:40 am. It was time. He sent a message over his phone to the leader of his mercenary team. Within moments, Wesker dashed down the stairs, his body a black blur unseen by the human eye, running past the party to the guard post his men were just about to run into.

Two guards sat at the digital display screen. Glancing at it Wesker could see his men moving across the lawn from the forest to the drop off zone by the mansion. The guards stood up, hands reaching for their guns as they turned around. Their hardened, business-like faces flickered when they saw the blond man standing there. They, of course, had not heard Wesker's approach. Quickly though they broad up their side arms and took aim at Wesker.

Wesker shook his head and grinned wickedly, eyes glinting red behind his glasses. "Is this how Davenport treats his guest?" he inquired, before rushing forward and slamming both his fists into their chest cavities. The guards stared up at him in surprise, throats gargling until their eyes turned glassy and unseeing.

Dropping them, Wesker moved briskly to the computer and deactivated the security cameras around the estate. Walking outside the guard post he saw his mercenaries approaching, lead by Jack Krauser.

"Krauser," Wesker greeted. "Report."

"The men are in position to move into the catacombs sir." He gestured to one of the men, a squirrely looking Latino. "This is Gorge. He has the coordinates and blueprints on his digital readout."

Gorge lifted his left wrist, drawing Wesker's attention to the device strapped there. Its green LED screen showed the white lines of the blueprint catacombs. He nodded at the man, then turned back to Krauser. "We need to get moving, before the gaurds get here."

The mercenary nodded and started hand gesturing orders before nodding to Gorge to take the lead. The little man led them around the back of the estate to the eastern garden, far away from the party that still carried on across a little lake. "There is an access point to the labs here sir," Gorge told Krauser as he led them to a small patio, his Argentinean accent thick. "It is activated by that statue," he gestured over to a marble statue of a naked woman surrounded by surf. Krauser walked over to it, touching it in various spots until he heard a quiet 'click.' The tiles below them moved aside to show a staircase.

Krauser signaled two men to move forward and investigate. Four men remained with him, Wesker, and Gorge. "Clear," the mercenaries below called.

"Finally," Wesker muttered, moving forward into the dark hole. He moved quickly, eager to get to the research and depart quietly. There was no use in a confrontation; it would only slow him down. They moved through various stone wings and corridors until Gorge stopped them and pointed to a locked metal door. Krauser signaled three men to accompany him, opening the door and opening fire on the few researchers working the night shift.

Annabelle waited for Wesker and his men to come her way. She stood in a large dome shaped room, water droplets echoing throughout the chamber. This was the center of the labyrinth, this is what Wesker had to pass through but about which he had misinformation. There were five doors. Four doors lead to tyrant mutations her father bought from Umbrella to prevent anyone stupid enough to come down here from getting away with the research. The fifth door was the key out. Their objective, when Wesker would reach this room, would be to continue through the labyrinth and come out the other side, alive. Only a Davenport knew how.

As Annabelle waited, a quiet voice sounded within her. It was the voice that always acquiesced to her parent's desires, who always obeyed without question. Annabelle hated that voice. It asked her why she was doing this. Why would she want to destroy her father's life work, demolish her mother's plans. For a moment Annabelle did not have an answer. Then memories flooded through her mind.

She saw herself this afternoon, slapped by her mother and strapped to the chair. She saw herself from two years ago, her father dragging her out of bed in the middle of the night to force her to run on a treadmill for two hours because he had finally found a moment to review her medical charts only to find she had gained five pounds. She was on a liquid diet for the next three weeks. She smelled the peroxide that accompanied every trip to the salon for ten years, she saw all the packaging of the hundreds of pairs of blue colored contacts. She saw her mother and father yelling at her demanding if she wanted to be some common cow because she mispronounced a word in their class.

She saw her mother tell her old friends that no, Annabelle could not play with them because she was too good for them now. That was when she was eight. She saw the constant etiquette lessons, the hours laboring over penmanship, the endless music lessons, the vocal coach, the beauticians, the seamstresses. She saw the removal of her old toys she had dearly loved because her parents said that is what common trash played with. Instead they gave her porcelain dolls she had to be extra careful with, no matter how many times she told her parents they gave her nightmares. That was when she was nine. She saw all the lessons in perfection, in making Annabelle something and someone she was never truly meant to be to be a tool in their constant scheming for power.

She saw her mother screaming at her to get out of the tree the first day they moved into the mansion, after they had their childless cousin killed to take the seat of power within the Davenport family. She had been having a blast, a welcome break from the weird uptight behavior from her mother for the past week or so. There was sap on her new white stockings and red velvet dress, along with twigs and leaves in her still brown hair, but her brown eyes were exuberant. The pretty lady Jezebel snapped a photo of her as she looked up from the sticky sap on her hands laughing. Then mother appeared and screamed for Annabelle to get out of the tree, that Annabelle would never climb trees again, that only common trash climbed trees, and that if Annabelle really wanted to climb trees that meant she wanted to be common trash and that she never loved her mother.

All of this rushed through Annabelle's mind. Really? She asked the voice inside her, the voice whose protestations were rapidly fading into nothing. Why should I not do this?

With that, Annabelle looked serenely at the large stone door she herself had only just passed through, and continued to wait for Albert Wesker.

James Davenport laughed at a witty remark about worms and genetic diseases made by one of the scientists in the circle he was talking with. Suddenly he felt his phone vibrating in his pant pocket. Bemused, he nodded his apologies to his fellow conversationalists and walked away a few paces. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he activated its display.

James frowned deeply at what he saw, white fingers clutching the phone tightly:

INTRUDER ALERT. EASTERN GARDEN ENTRANCE.

"What is it?" a voice asked sharply at his right. Looking up he saw Elena's eyes boring into his. Showing her the phone he replied, "We have a problem."

Elena scowled. "Who would…" she muttered, eyes scanning the crowd.

James grimaced. "Who else, my dear, but the great Albert Wesker. I should have known better."

Elena glanced at him and nodded. "We miscalculated. We had thought Annabelle was enough to keep him occupied. You know what we need to do."

James' lips tightened into a line. Pressing a few buttons on his phone he sealed off all exits to his labs. "The routes are secure," he reported to his wife, who nodded. "There is only one place Wesker can go."

Elena smiled. "The labyrinth," she purred. A dreamy look came across her face. As quickly as it came it vanished. "We should still secure Project A."

James nodded in accordance, and summoned Edgars. He ordered the British man to have all his guests leave within the hour. Edgars nodded and summoned the waiting staff under his command.

Elena downed her wine, walking with James to the sitting room. Pulling a book, a bookcase on the opposite wall opened to reveal an elevator to the lower levels. The two walked to the elevator, and pressed the call button for level B2.