Chapter 2: Consciousness
I felt very weird. I could really notice it and at the same time I couldn't. I was in a kind of trance. I had been given a shot of some kind of drug. Several minutes after the drug was in my bloodstream. Even though I was unconscious I could feel that fucking burning running through my veins, up and down and all over my body. It was horrible, like I was being put in a bonfire. Suddenly that ardor stopped, suddenly, as if the fuel that feeds a candle had run out. I opened my eyes and saw only a white world. No horizon, no sun, no sky, no earth. A totally white world, like a torture room. I couldn't tell if I was awake or not, if I was in some kind of dream or in the real world.
A very loud noise resounded throughout that kind of room. I covered my ears as hard as I could, trying to prevent that shrill sound from penetrating my eardrums. It was in vain. I fell to my knees on the ground, with my hands in my ears and with a major headache. It was worse than Umbrella's training tests. I almost preferred to flog myself to continue suffering the pain caused by that damned sound. Suddenly, the sound disappeared. Just as it began, it went. I got up, little by little, because my knees trembled a lot and I was panting, from fatigue and tiredness. It was as if all my life energy had been consumed. I couldn't fully compose myself and stood on all fours on the ground, panting and sweating like a chicken. About two or three minutes passed, perhaps some more because measuring the notion of time in that white environment, without references, was impossible. I was able to fully compose myself. An explosion of images came to me, suddenly, as if they were flashbacks to my past. I walked among that string of memories and images until I stopped at a specific one that had managed to capture my attention.
I was face to face with that image, floating. There were no cables or connections of a screen or anything similar. It was very strange. I took a couple of small steps forward, to get a little closer. I was a bundle of nerves, trembling like a flan or a jelly on a plate. A sense of sadness, agony, mixed with indifference and distance enveloped me and stirred my insides. The memory was reproduced. It was on a mission, unspecified, as if it were some kind of fictional construction to terrorize me. This can't be real I kept repeating myself over and over in my mind. A deep echo invaded that room and those words that I pronounced, in my sepulchral silence, resounded throughout the room, as if I heard them through a loudspeaker. I stared at the scene. I saw myself, as if I was facing a trial and a recording of guilt was being exposed.
It was one of many missions carried out. It didn't have much in particular, it didn't even seem to differ from some scenes I'd already seen. But no, something caught my attention. I saw myself, in cold blood, putting a lot of innocent people to the knife. He seemed to enjoy it, a smile escaped the protagonist of those actions in those images. It was as if he gloated in the morbidity of seeing so much blood, he seemed to enjoy it. I just felt indifference. Suddenly the scene stopped as the boy in the picture looked straight into my eyes. It was as if we were face to face.
I could glimpse everything of him, because he was a tall boy, he probably measured one meter and seventy-six centimeters and had a fairly young appearance, I think he could be sixteen years old, with silky blond hair, short and with entrances in the right area, he was also well combed to the left, he had like black highlights in that area of the right. The hair revealed the features of his face, a medium nose, ears thrown back a little and fleshy and well-defined lips. That arrangement of that boy's hair revealed several scars on his face, on the right hemisphere of his head. It was a large scar that came out of the hair area to the eyebrow, vertically. It merged in the eye area with a spot of the same color that surrounded all the corners, the eyelid and under the eyebrow. The scar extended downwards, towards the neck area, and there disappeared like the Sun on the horizon. The rest of his face had many scratch marks and small scars, as if it were an eternal sign of all the missions and extreme situations lived, as if it were a condemnation to remember all that past so that it would never fall into oblivion. He also appreciated a metallic tone in his right ear, in the lobe area and part of the outer area. The rest of the features were well defined, as was the chin. He was usually a rather handsome boy, but he radiated a very gloomy feeling, as if he had a significant lack of emotions and feelings.
I kept staring at the boy, up and down. He also wore a very strange dress. A suit a little tight that made him mark the musculature, the little he had, because it was defined, but it was not exaggerated. It looked like a rather comfortable clothes, that kind of black mesh was crowned with a zipper and two very bright turquoise rectangles. The area of the sleeves was a little wider and was decorated with traces of red and turquoise, culminated with the Umbrella logo, the red and white octagon, in the shoulder area, as well as a pair of metal clamps that covered both arms, between the wrist and the elbow. On the back peeked a handle covered as leather and brown ropes, which was attached to a pair of straps with velcro fastened on both sides of the pectorals. He assumed that the handle was from a sword. He also had black pants like mesh, with a thin mesh of very metallic steel that covered them. He was fastened to a belt with several spaces for cartridges and weapons and quite thick boots, together with the whole suit, with red and white laces.
I stared at the boy in the picture. I could only focus on his blue eyes. They were a blue-green hue, although the one on the right was much brighter, like an electric blue. That piercing gaze, it was as if he was also looking at me. Suddenly the boy threw like a small smile, it was a slight curvature of his lips, as if he was telling me to come closer. I was too intrigued. I was really out of my boxes. I didn't understand anything at all and, to make matters worse, I wasn't able to perceive reality, whether I was alive or dead, whether I was delirious or had gone mad at all. My heart was beating a thousand an hour, I was trembling with fear.
"Come closer," said the boy in a rather imposing voice.
I approached little by little, taking short but steady steps. Everything trembled, although I really resigned myself to being afraid, it was what invaded me from top to bottom. I sharpened all my senses as a sign of caution, as if I were a prey being stalked. I was about a meter away from that strange image. From there I could perfectly see some features in his right eye, as if they were metal, in the area of that strange dark spot. He also came a little closer, or so I perceived at first, it was as if it were a kind of watery or liquid mirror.
The boy suddenly let out a much wider, more macabre smile, as if expelling hatred and rage everywhere. It was creepy, and a chill ran through my body at the speed of light. I reached out my right hand, slowly, to touch the surface of that strange mirror. The boy did the same. When I touched that screen a couple of waves came out, as if it were water or some liquid. It was a bit slimy. We both touched our palms, and I could feel it, as if he was there with me, even if it was impossible.
Then a strange wind whipped in my face and the landscape that I saw in the reflection was horrible. Everything was still white except the picture. A city completely razed, devoid of life, without trees, with buildings bare like mannequins, as if they were dying. The beams and debris were well seen, some walls that barely stood up. A battle was being fought behind the boy's back. A heart-wrenching echo could be seen in each explosion. A shock erupted to give way to a false calm, because the smoke coming out of the craters was very black. It seemed to carry the sobs and cries of pain, of rage, of hatred, of the people who were perishing. Soon the sunlight became dimmer. The thick smoke made it not penetrate, and everything became more apocalyptic. The sounds of bullets penetrated the ears incessantly, as did the cries of agony. I could only star, astonished, at that cruel and terrible scene. It was the incessant roller of war. A butchery carried out on behalf of powerful corporations. I lowered my hand slowly at the same time that a sensation, unknown to me, invaded me: it was sadness.
"Do you feel it?" —said the boy in a friendly tone, fixing his gaze on me.
"What do you mean?" —I replied confused and nervous.
"Do you feel it?! —repeated the blond boy again, this time with more anger and hatred than ever—. It's your fucking creation," he continued in a more furious voice.
I took a step back. I was really confused and could not process the information that this young man was throwing at me. Creation? I thought. I was really overwhelmed and overwhelmed by that reaction. I felt the fear run through my veins, but so did a lot of adrenaline that kept me on constant alert.
"I'm not going to let you forget, Elian, let you forget us," said the young man.
"Elian?" —I replied in confusion, but holding my gaze.
"Have you seen what you forced me to do?" —continued the boy with a threatening look and maintaining the tone of rage.
"I still don't know what you mean," I concluded between murmurs.
"You forced me to kill them," said the boy, letting out a faint and macabre laugh, as if possessed by madness.
I looked away and made a gesture of disagreement, because that shrill laughter pricked my ears as if they were thin and small blades piercing my skin. A feeling of rage and anger towards that boy caused my reticence to cease and I was in a phase of absolute lack of control.
"Enough! I exclaimed angrily as I furrowed my eyebrows and squinted a little, casting a murderous look at that boy, who was still laughing at my words. I don't even know who the fuck you are, but I'm not going...—I couldn't finish the sentence because the young man interrupted me from the other side of the mirror.
"I am you," he replied. And you have forced me to kill them, you are full of hatred and madness," concluded the boy between that macabre laugh.
"No... No... can... "I said between disbelief and denial. I wasn't willing to accept that, by any means. Stop playing with me! I exclaimed angrily.
Blood began to drip from the boy's hands, at the same time he sculpted that smile again, like something out of a horror movie, and that macabre laugh.
"You didn't understand anything," the boy reproached me in an affable tone.
I kept looking at that boy who claimed to be me. A wave of perplexity suddenly assailed me, although I kept denying those words in my mind. I assumed I was done freaking out. I turned my gaze to the boy's hands, just as he looked at mine. I followed the deep red color of the blood dripping from his hands, which did not reach the ground because, luckily for my sanity, it was still only in that kind of projection. Although I was wrong. A pool of blood gushed on the ground, staining the white ground with intense carmine. I looked at my hands nervously, as I began to understand the boy's words. The image also mimicked my gestures. I raised my hands, at the height of my pectorals, and looked at them with suspicion and disbelief. My hands were covered in blood, just like the boy's, and it dripped exactly the same.
"Do you feel it yet?" —the boy redounded again, with even more anger.
"Enough is enough! I answered him again, shouting, in a trembling voice, almost not believing what I myself was saying.
The boy again fixed his gaze in my eyes and let out that damn laugh again accompanied by the characteristic macabre smile. The young man stammered a couple of words, which I did not hear. I locked myself back in thought, trying to dig a very deep cave to try to take refuge from the whole situation I was involved in. I was totally overwhelmed and overwhelmed, it was as if I received a lot of stab wounds in the side and back, a stabbing pain that made me scream inside myself, as if I was in a fucking prison.
I looked up at the young man again. He did the same. However, this time he raised his hands, palms facing his head. Inexplicably I did the same, as if there was a strange force pulling me. That confirmed to me that he was not crazy, or maybe he was. The boy, who was self-determined Elian, sank his chin into his bloody hands, at the same time as I did too. A few seconds later he showed his new face. His pale skin now had a pile of blood on his face, and his eyes turned a very deep red, macabre, as if it was a scary movie scene. The boy let out a powerful scream that penetrated intensely into my head, and reverberated throughout my body.
"You've killed them all," he cried agonizingly. No one is left alive," he continued, clenching his fists tightly.
I was just looking at him. He was bordering on a state of intense madness. I didn't know whether to run, scream, cry, or try to punch him. I was totally paralyzed. I didn't know what to do.
"We are a monster, Elian," he spoke again between sobs as he glimpsed what looked like a human corpse, while holding a bloody sword in his left hand.
I stuck my sword in the ground as I watched the scene. I was still incredulous, not knowing how to process that information or understand what was happening. I was trying to remember that event, but my mind didn't want to give me any memory back. It was as if many of my memories had been locked in a locked drawer. I looked again at my hands, which were still covered in blood. A tear ran down my left cheek like a dagger tearing my face, a tear of an intense, dark color, leaving a faint trail of blood where it slipped. I was in a lot of pain, but I couldn't comprehend that feeling. At that instant an icy breeze rose. I hugged myself for cover from the cold and fell to my knees, interspersing glances at the ground and at the boy. The emotions I was feeling were intertwined with each other. Everything was a sea of feelings, although anger, rage and sadness predominated. I was swimming between two seas, between emotions I had not felt before and a lot of anger and pain. Between resignation and disbelief I inhaled a breath of air and shouted in anger.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhh," I said, letting out a liberating cry as I stared at the ground on all fours.
"Oh my god, now you're playing hard?" —asked the young man between taunts and hesitations.
"I don't know who the fuck you are, or what you want, but you're going to leave me alone, by hook or by crook," I said as I rested one hand on the floor, the other on my right knee and slowly sat up.
"How do you not know who I am?" —he asked, smiling angrily and jokingly, while stroking his hair, which turned reddish tones because of the blood on his hands—. You're looking in a mirror and you still haven't realized that I'm you, or do you still think you're like them? —he snapped with a laugh.
"What the hell do you mean?" —I answered him by moving my right hand, from the area of the pectorals to align it with my body.
The boy took a few seconds to breathe several times. The blood kept falling through his hands as if it were an infinite source, until he closed his eyes, sighed, and opened them again in a brilliant way. It was as if that look glared at me instantly, those red eyes stuck on me, as if they were stakes.
"You're not like them, you're just looking to serve your masters, to give them everything no matter who you're going to fuck up life for. You're a monster, Elian, or do you still not see it? —he replied with a threatening voice full of anger at the same time that he intoned that laugh again.
I screamed again in rage. I was about to lose all the self-control I had been able to store in my being. Yelled. I shouted several times in the air, without vocalizing a word. Just rage. I turned my gaze to that mirror and could make out the same boy pointing to several silhouettes, pulling the trigger. A good soldier does his bidding rumbled in my head. I knelt down again, holding on to my left knee, reneging. He was not willing to accept that situation, although he did not know very well what he meant. I reneged again. I kept reneging until a voice interrupted my thoughts again.
"You're not normal, Elian. You are not normal. You're not! He said in a haughty tone, gradually increasing the tone of voice, at the same time that his face became apathetic and expressionless, as if it were made of stone.
"Maybe you're right," I said in a satyr tone and with my eyes fixed on the ground. Or maybe not—I was trying to sing a false sense of security and confidence in the face of a speech that I didn't believe myself.
"You know that lying has never been one of your strengths," replied the boy in a mocking tone while stroking his hair.
"Shut up, you don't know anything about me! I exclaimed angrily as I glared at the boy.
"I've already told you everything you needed to know," said the young man assertively as he wiped his hands in his pants.
"Stop repeating all that shit," I shouted angrily as I clenched my right fist and dodged his gaze.
"I'm not the one who killed innocents in cold blood, Elian," he replied with the same smile, knowing that those words were sticking in my being like daggers. Your hands are stained with blood, of all the innocents who have died at your hands, while you swore allegiance to a damn corporation that only seeks its own benefit," he snapped at me again in a more angry tone.
I could only scream, uncontrollably, in anger. I closed my right fist, again, and carried it towards my back to release it directly against the boy in the picture. He was angry but the blow only pierced that kind of mirror. Inertia made me stumble forward, almost falling. I turned around and saw the boy laughing out loud clean.
"And I thought that self-control was one of your strengths," cried the young man in a mocking tone, pricking me not to contain my anger.
"Leave me alone! I shouted as I pulled out one of the pistols I had in one of my trouser holsters.
I pulled the trigger, several times, as if my life was out of it. Four bullet casings fell to the ground, making a rather faint metallic sound. Everything became calm. A little gunpowder was impregnated in my hands, because they were still wet with blood. The boy disappeared without a trace, it was as if after a storm calm had come. A tense calm. It was a feeling I didn't like at all. Smoke kept coming out of the barrel of the gun he had just fired. I put the gun in the belt holster and fell on my knees. Exhausted, exhausted. It was as if that state of madness had consumed all my energy. He was tired, of mind. Everything was in my head, or so I thought because that white room still extended everywhere. The pool of blood was still in place. I sighed as I thought it was all over. Naive of me.
A few minutes later, between three or four, I tried to sit up. I also didn't feel the notion of time. It was as if hours or days had passed. A sudden burning began to erupt inside my body. A feeling like I'm baking in an oven. The white space turned with ochre, reddish, orange and yellowish colors. Tongues of fire enveloped me as my heart-rending cries of pain merged with the latent silence of the moment. I asked for help, but no one seemed to answer me. A voice began to resound, far away as the horizon, but clear enough to understand what it was saying: EL.9.1.14, wake up.
I sobbed and everything vanished before me. I could barely open my eyes. He was totally stunned, as if he was under the influence of some drug. I felt an immense burning in my left arm. I turned my head to try to catch a glimpse of what was causing me to burn. It was a pathway that introduced me to a kind of viscous liquid of bluish green color. I was a little dizzy. It was the same feeling that I had that time on the walls. He could make out a figure of an older person, although he couldn't see it clearly enough, but he knew it was Ava Paige. It was impossible to forget that face.
I cast a quick glance all over the room I was in. I was on a kind of stretcher, tied up, unable to move. I noticed it when I tried to move my arms or legs, but I couldn't. There were several scientists at work, looking at data on computers, mixing products in test tubes and other activities I couldn't make out. The room was crowned by a large transparent window that allowed you to see the hustle and bustle of people coming and going in the corridor. It was really as if I was in some kind of insane asylum, because I thought I had already lost all my sanity. I let out a light sigh, as if facing a surrender, and dropped my head on the cushion of the stretcher.
Several minutes passed, who knows if hours, eternal. I didn't have any kind of reference I could take to make an estimate of what time it was. Suddenly the room became calm, all the scientists had left it, previously passing through a kind of lobby that proceeded to its decontamination. I didn't pay attention to those events. I was immersed in myself. I wished I could be a prisoner of my mind so I wouldn't have to endure that damn agony. A voice rumbled through the room making me come back from my little slumber. It was Ava.
"Well, subject EL.9.1.14, now you will tell us everything we want to know and why you are here," Ava said from the other side of the glass.
I joined and I was able to differentiate it among the people. She wore a white coat and a carmine blouse, she was blonde, with wrinkles and could be around one meter seventy or one meter seventy-five. His great character countered all the speculations I had made about a possible weakness in his raison d'être.
Although I could not remember beyond the events on the walls of Birmingham, my head was still functioning moderately well. And I say moderately well because I was mentally exhausted, but something called me not to trust these people at all. Maybe the survival instinct or a mere hunch, but I knew, for sure, that I shouldn't trust these people.
"What... It makes you... think... what do I want... collaborate with you? —I said between babbling and coughing a little, with expressive grimaces of pain on my face.
"You have no alternative," the doctor snapped at me in a sweet, friendly tone of voice, as if trying to persuade me.
"There is always... "I concluded between gasps and closing my eyes with signs of pain." In addition... It's rude," he babbled between moans, "not to look... to people... As I spoke...—I concluded, dropping my head into that comfortable pillow.
"Maybe I could show a little more hospitality," Ava said as she pressed a key on a console on the other side of the glass, which caused the stretcher to slowly fold into a chair.
"Wow... This is hospitality," I said mockingly to hide the pain I felt for my body.
Actually being in that position, sitting, only increased that kind of torture. I started to see double, with distorted colors. A severe dizziness whipped me as if a dagger had been stabbed in my head. They were the longest seconds of my life. I also noticed that he had some bruises on his arms, which made me suspect that he had been examined by these people for some time, although I was not able to determine how much.
Ava entered the room through the decontamination zone. It was really fast because I could not see that I was not in front of the window. Behind them were only curious people and two figures that I could not distinguish either, and, evidently, I could not perceive or relate their conversation. She really looked quite angry, but with some tension. I turned my gaze to the door and to Ava Paige. She just sat next to it, her gaze lost. It turned my stomach. I didn't really understand what the purpose of this was.
"Well, my colleagues, especially Thomas, whom you probably don't remember anymore, are pressuring me to leave you alone," the doctor announced with considerable concern and indifference, as she crossed her arms and rested them on her torso.
"I am totally indifferent to what you think, both you and your acolytes," I said in a haughty tone and staring at her, in anger. It's no way to deal with people, Mrs. Paige," I concluded, not looking away from her and taking a deep breath.
"So... people... right? —he replied assertively as he got up from his seat and approached the window facing the opposite side of the aisle glass. She stood facing herself, hands clasped behind her back.
"What do you mean?" —I asked between babbles and with a slight tachycardia. I was facing the same situation as in that kind of dream with that boy.
"It's not what I mean, but the reality that you're not human," he replied calmly but imposingly to my question.
I could only resign myself to such statements. Probably it was because of the serum, or whatever the hell, they were putting me in. It was that stupid feeling of feeling contrary to my own reality. Of course I am a person, I said to myself in my thoughts. A chill ran down my spine, as if a piece of icy metal had been passed down my spine. My breathing began to stir and my pulse quickened a little. I heard the beeps of the machine that measured vital signs. That made me lose my sanity more. It wasn't right and I could tell.
"Don't worry, subject EL.9.1.14, it's not that we're doing everything we can to finish you off, but you could come to us very much as a test subject in the laboratories," continued the doctor, aware of my poor state. Although we can always wait for you to develop, or implant, a new model of consciousness that makes you put yourself at our level," the doctor snapped as she walked towards me.
"You're not going to get anything from me. You hear me!? —I shouted with all my might in an outburst of getting rid of those bonds that kept me in bed.
"Don't worry, by now your brain will have been watered with an enzyme that suppresses the will. The fact that you're a cyborg has only made things easier for us," he concluded, putting his hand on my right shoulder.
I threw a growl and a few words of resignation, between murmurs and babbles.
"Please don't make this harder than it already is," he concluded as he headed to the door to leave.
"Do you see it, Teresa?" We cannot continue to stand idly by and watch these people harm innocent people. I can't take it anymore," said the boy in a tone of resignation and looking away from the glass.
"No, Thomas. Everything is based on the end to find the cure. You were the one who was most in favor of all this. Besides, it can't be that you're arousing appreciation for that boy, or am I wrong? Teresa replied, a little angry and shaking her hands angrily.
"Aren't you saying that this boy...?" Thomas asked before being interrupted.
"He's not human, Thomas. He is a cyborg. It's not like us—Teresa tried to fool Thomas, without much apparent success.
"Then you don't deserve the torture process you've been subjected to, do you?" I mean, what the fuck are we going to get clear if this kid can't be infected by the Flash? —nodded the young man in a furious tone and gradually moving away from Teresa.
At that moment Teresa's thoughts were invaded by Paige's voice calling her to continue with the investigations.
—We cannot deny that the path Thomas has chosen puts us in a situation... "very delicate," Ava said to question Teresa, who was hidden in her thoughts.
Several hours had passed. I was able to orient myself a little by the sunlight coming in through the large window of the room. It was as if an ethereal entity kept my being between normality and madness. As if joining both states by a thin thread about to break. I was mentally and physically exhausted, remarkable since I was able to get some sleep.
I noticed again a puncture in one of my arms and also hands that touched my hair. I was able to get up, to my surprise, because I didn't remember that I was tied to the stretcher. I didn't hesitate to spin two plus two and think about why I could move.
"This should give you back the memories of the events that gave you your real name," said a dark-haired boy wearing a white coat and a blue T-shirt, a little threadbare.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked as I rubbed my eyes and winked to dodge the daggers of intense light that were piercing my pupils.
"CRUEL won't stop until he destroys you, Elian. Cyborg or not, you are still human. You think like us, you eat like us, you talk like us. A mechanical implant does not make you less. That's what I want you to understand," the boy told me in a friendly, smiling tone.
"I'm aware of where I'm in, but you helped them hold me back," I said in a dry tone and looking away from him, suspiciously.
"You're not good about reversing that situation, huh?" The boy said in a mocking tone as he scratched the back of his neck. In fact, I have given you back that essential memory. Your name. You are not a machine, although I do not ask you for any iota of confidence, but you could show a little more willingness with me," he concluded, fixing his gaze on me.
"To trust or not is my thing, because neither I know you nor you know me. It's that simple," I said with resignation and hesitation as I cleaned my shirt.
"Thomas. You can call me Thomas, and then you will have a small ray of hope to trust me," the boy replied aloud. I will begin tomorrow the tests of the Labyrinth, and I will remember absolutely nothing, except the name. It gives us our own identity of being. I don't know where you would come from, but calling yourself a "subject EL.9.1.14" is not very dignifying, isn't it?
I continued to distrust him. I couldn't give a single inch of confidence to the people who were holding me in this horrible place. Suddenly a memory came to mind. This time I could make out several people in it. I couldn't identify the whole scene, it was still pretty blurry. Elian looks good, don't you guys? that rumbled in my head and made me stunned and open my eyes like saucers. It's quite ingenious to take the serial number and transform it into letters of the alphabet to complete the name said a voice, quite sweet and jovial that, unfortunately, I could not identify either.
I got up from the stretcher and walked over to a small sink. I turned on the faucet and it took a while for the water to come out. I put my hands underneath, in the shape of a bowl so I could get some water. It was quite cold. For some strange reason I liked that feeling. I had some water in my hands and plunged my head into it, splashing a little. I felt like I had to wash my face to try to clear myself. I was really overwhelmed with everything that had happened in this short period of time.
I noticed that, to my left, between the test tubes and the remains of some failed experiment, there was a small mirror on the wall. I felt like my insides were torn apart. I plucked up the courage to face my own being, my own self. I had never put myself in front of my own being. He really did have behaviors typical of a robot, such as lack of compassion or indifference and coldness to adopt certain positions in key or adverse moments of great emotional charge. I looked in front of the mirror the reflected face was exactly like that of the boy who tormented me in that kind of catastrophic vision. I turned pale. It could have been a ghost if not for the deep blue color of my right eye and that I did not have all the blood stains that I carried in my vision.
—Is this the face of an Umbrella creation? A being capable of isolating emotions and strictly complying with the protocols of a corporation that uses you as if it were a fucking puppet – I said to myself with resignation and anger. I'm sorry Thomas, but my own conscience gives me away," I said as I contained the rage inside.
I threw a punch at the mirror. I felt no pain, but a little blood was gushing from my knuckles, for the crystal was so thin that it had pierced my skin a little. I went to the window and stared at the sky. It was still a sea of doubts, grudges, emotions and insecurities. Of fears and tears. Although a certainty did fly over my battered mind: Umbrella, I swear with all my being that I will destroy you.