Her body was limp, but she was still breathing. His hand instinctively shot out; but only hovered for a moment before he pulled it back. Using his teeth, he tugged off his glove and tried again – this time making contact with her cheek, letting his fingers trace her jaw, under her chin. He stopped at the juncture of her neck. Her artery. Her pulse was strong. He lingered there for a moment longer than he needed to, lightly running his fingers along her throat and then back up again to her cheek, brushing her lips with his thumb. Foolish, beautiful girl. He replaced his glove and cursed to himself.

Cradling her head and legs from behind the knees, he lifted her, gathering her up to him against his chest and away from the blood and viscera. It clung to her, sliding away in thick, viscous chunks. "You're not getting out of this that easy, killer."

When she fell, he had only barely caught her with one of the disconnected platforms. Thankfully the fall was somewhat blunted by the soft bed of corpses and entrails covering it.

What the hell was she thinking? That Lycan probably wouldn't have done any real damage to him had she not slammed a knife through his brain. But it wasn't lost on him that she knew that and did what she did anyway.

He was relieved he was able to keep it under control – his mutation. He nearly shifted right there on the platform. In the heat of the moment, he could feel his skin burning, his muscles twisting to accommodate the change. Even now, the tingling sensation of flesh and sinew repairing had him on edge as the tremors worked their way through his body. He tried to think back to a time when it had occurred without him willing it - but he could not.

He scooped up her bag and walked with her over the bodies, not bothering to avoid the blown off arms and legs, kicking aside entrails. The entire room was destroyed. Twisted metal and girders littered the floor and generators. Thank god they were still working. He realized now he had been a little short sighted bringing the fight here. A wrong move would have compromised the backup power to the entire factory – something he relied on often given the spotty power generated from the reservoirs for the entire village. Electricity sparked from the far wall where he had ripped away sections of piping and chain link to stop the Lycan's from reaching them. On the other side of the room, almost obscured by the generator, he heard a soft tink tink tink. Sturm.

Karl shook his head. Sturm was looking pretty fucked up, smoke pluming from his engine parts; huge chunks of muscle and tissue torn away from his body. He would have to deal with that later. At least he wasn't completely destroyed. Maybe he could salvage him. After he took care of her.

Despite the pain it caused (a temporary after-effect of returning from his mutated form), he tore the door away and let it fall to the ground. The cool, grease infused air from the factory blasted in towards him. It was a welcome respite to the stifling heat that had been generated in the room with all the activity – including his failed mutation. He hoped some haulers had survived to clean up the mess.

The corridor was less bloody than the generator room, but not by much. At least it smelled better, anyway. Not a sound came from the hallways, but he was prepared with his hammer and some scrap drifting behind him in case he needed to take out any stray rats. The burn he felt from exercising his power after the change was lessening, and he was finally able to take in a full, deep breath without his lungs feeling like they were going to explode out of his chest.

What the hell was he doing?

Only yesterday he was contemplating killing the unconscious girl in his arms, then he had settled on using her as a tool, another weapon, an ancillary plan. Only hours later he was holding himself back from ravaging her in his bed and now...today, for the first time he used his power to save someone's life instead of ending it.

He had told himself he would not let her be a distraction. That he would remain as focused as ever on the singular mission of exacting his revenge. Obsessed, perhaps. But now, he was having trouble replicating the feeling. He wanted desperately to feel that rage again, if only to bathe in the resolve and energy it gave him. Was he even the same person as he was the day before?

He felt a soft hand curling against the skin of his collarbone and up to his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.

"I fell." She coughed softly in his hold.

His gaze flicked down to her. "And what a show of heroics it was! You nearly got yourself killed." Her eyes still hadn't opened. "But. It was brave, even if it was stupid."

"Did we win?" Her fingers still softly into his shoulder, thumb lightly tracing his collarbone as her head swayed in the crook of his elbow. Trying to ignore it, he snickered darkly, as if she didn't realize she was literally bathed in the blood and guts of her enemies. "Yeah."

"Good." Her muscles jerked and she put more pressure on his shoulder, eyelids finally springing open. "Oh! My bag, I think I left it!"

"You mean this anchor on my back? Surprised you're even able to walk with this thing strapped to you. What the hell do you have in here?"

Her eyes slipped closed again and she grinned as she relaxed her grip. "Artillery."

"I knew I liked you."

Karl didn't look for her reaction, instead shifted her in his arms, repositioning her newly conscious form.

"You're going to be pretty banged up."

"My shoulder is killing me. I don't suppose you have any Advil lying around here?"

"Any what?"

"Never mind." She opened one eye and smiled at him. "I'm starving. And I could really use that bathtub of yours."

xx

Celia stood at the counter in the monitor room, finishing off a bowl of what might have been pork and beans. Now that she had eaten something, the burning hunger was fading into a new feeling. Disgust. She was filthy. Oily grease, dirt, blood and innards caked her skin and clothing. Thankfully the Duke had provided her with a few spares, though hopefully Karl had a way to wash clothing. And she needed a shower. She hooked the neckline of her shirt and peered down to see how much had gotten down there when she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Red-faced, she turned to see him in the doorway. "Where were you?"

"Locking down the factory, for real this time. Positioning the soldats at all potential entry points. Found Sturm. He's not as bad as I thought. When I got back to him he was somewhat alert already. Brought him back to his room, chained him up. Tomorrow I'll have to get him on the table to see what needs to be replaced. Shit, it could have been a lot worse."

"Good. Are you ok?"

"Don't worry about me doll. Feel like a million bucks."

"Karl." Celia looked down at the empty bowl. "I just wanted to say...thank you."

"I can't take credit for it, I dumped it out of a can."

"No, I mean, yes thank you for the food...but actually I meant for saving me."

"Hm. Just returning the favor. How you doing?" He pulled a chair out and sat across from her.

"Well. Actually...feel like shit."

"Here." He handed her a heavy silver flask.

"What is this?"

"Something to dull the pain."

She wasn't going to say no, in lieu of Advil it was probably the next best thing. Before she could thank him, he stood and turned towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Run some water."

"What?"

"You said you wanted a bath." He said it with a straight face.

He can't be serious.

"Now. Are you joking?"

"Listen sweetheart, Miranda already made her move. I've locked the factory down, and she ain't getting anywhere without those flasks. She had something up her sleeve, and now that it's gone to shit I'm sure she's trying to get her hands on the other parts of Rose. I don't know if any of the others are still alive, but I don't see them going down easy. Well, not Alcina at least."

"I see three options at this point. First, we leave now and bring the fight to her. Second, she tries to attack us again and this whole place goes off. At that point, it's a last resort and we fight...alongside the entire army in the factory. Well, the ones that weren't ripped apart by her dogs. You're no use to me half dead with exhaustion. So that leaves the 3rd option. We...well, you, might as well get some rest tonight while you can. Unless you want to go finish her off now?" He didn't wait for her response. "Plus, I need a shower too. The smell of Lycan guts is driving me nuts. We regroup and figure out a plan after that. If Miranda does something stupid and comes after us before then – see option 2."

She nodded, in agreement, even though she had gone mostly nose-blind at that point. "I can't believe how many there were."

He rooted through a bag of chips on the table, stuffing a few in his mouth before responding. "Hell, she sent you the whole welcome committee."

Celia grabbed a chip that fell on the table and popped it in her mouth. "Miranda. You think she knows about me?"

"If she didn't...she does now. Did you see those crows circling the Lycans?"

"Yeah." She said.

"Yeah" He responded.

They locked eyes and sat for a moment in comfortable silence. A tired silence.

She smiled at him, breaking through the quiet. "You're right. A bath would be amazing right now."

xx

She waited for him to finish showering before taking her turn. He had the tub filling for her, even let her use a toothbrush, which she was extremely grateful for. The shower had been hot and quick – enough to rinse off the somewhat dried blood and remnants of the attack.

Now she stared at the enormous iron clawfoot bathtub, which had taken at least twenty minutes to fully fill. It was as out of place in the sterile, institutional surroundings as his bed was. Steam coiled off the surface of the water, creating a haze in the cold room. She had never been in a bathtub this big. It was huge; more hot tub than a place to take a bath. Not that she was complaining. She lit the heavy pillar candle on the side table and clicked off the lights.

Though she didn't know if it would do any good, Celia poured some of the medical fluid from her pack into the steaming water of the bath. Maybe it would be good just to soak in it, to breathe it in. Either that or it would kill her – but hey that probably wouldn't be the worst fate she could meet all things equal. She drew the curtain back and slid off her towel, stepping in and sinking down into the scalding water without hesitation.

Her neck found the indentation on the smooth edge and she closed her eyes, waiting for her skin to acclimate the heat while letting her mind wander to how easily the size would accommodate both of them. How nice it would be; to feel his skin against her, to feel his arms wrapped around her. Suddenly, she felt awfully small. There was far too much room in there for her liking.

His flask sat on the stool next to her, glinting provocatively by the candle light. It was a nice gesture, offering to let her use the bathtub. He probably had so much on his mind. She took a sip from the flask. Though she was trying to push down the ever-present urgency of the decisions that weighed on her, they tendrilled around her, pulling her down with them.

Though they were working together; they had different motivations, different goals. He was hell-bent on destroying Miranda, something she indirectly needed. She still had to rescue Rose and Ethan. Had to find a way out of this hellish village. Had to manage recovery of the bodies and have a proper burial for those lost to her. Her partner. Her team. She couldn't do that alone. She would need to contact BSAA. How could she explain her involvement with him? Could she hide it? Could she protect him? They would most certainly want him. And Rose.

What would he do...after this? If we survive. Would he stay here in the village? Would he try to start a new life out...there? What would she do, now?

Almost as if he could hear her thoughts, she heard his muffled, raised voice through the wall. She peered around the curtain at the door. Was he arguing with someone? She closed her eyes to concentrate on listening, but only picked up every other word.

'Idiot.'

'Flask.'

'Bullshit.'

'Miranda.'

Part of her felt guilty for trying to listen in...the other was desperate to know more about him. He had opened up to her so much, but not nearly enough. And it wasn't so much his words as it was his actions. And not just his outright flirtations. His expressions. The slip and repositioning of the mask. The subtle things most may have not noticed.

She took another sip. The whisky was going down too smoothly now; and Celia relaxed further into the water, letting her mind slip back to the daydreams of smoke and leather.

xx

He sat at his desk, hat over his face. He could hear the water cut, the sound of her sliding into the bathtub. How long had it been since he had used the thing? Had he ever? Either way, he was glad she got some use out of it. Plus, it gave him time to come up with his next move. He really did mean what he said, about having shit to do, and it was better if she wasn't there to witness it. He had to find out what was going on with the others. He had tried Donna, but she didn't answer. Next, he called Moreau, no luck. The only one left was Alcina. And though he knew he had it in him to dial the numbers; he wasn't sure he was ready for the words that would come out of his mouth. Or would there be any words? Did Miranda already take a run at her? Would she pick up the phone if he dialed her right now? He tried to think back to the last time they spoke. Were the words they exchanged already their last?

His hand fell to the bottom desk drawer, where he kept the good whisky. He would need some tonight. Whether he was celebrating or grieving was unclear to him. Either way, he wanted to be prepared. That deceitful bitch had a hold on him yet.

With liquid courage shot-gunned into his bloodstream, he reached for the phone when it rang out, catching him by surprise with the vibrations. He picked it up quickly but didn't say a word. Just listened, breath caught.

"Heisenberg?"

Karl exhaled. "Moreau." The man sounded like he had just run a marathon; all garbled huffs and mucus-tinged words.

"Brother! You're alive! The man was here, the man you found! He hurt me but I...I tricked him. He thought he killed me. He shot me! He even tried to blow me up! And, and I played dead and fell into the water. He took her. He took mother's gift! Please don't be mad at me!"

"He got the flask?" It all suddenly clicked. Everything was starting to make sense to him. Salvatore jabbered on but he could barely focus enough to hear him. He opened his mouth to ask another question when Salvatore's next sentence slammed him back to reality.

"I think he killed our sister."

"Which one?!"

"Brother, he had her flask – I saw it –"

"Moreau you idiot listen to me which FUCKING one!? Which sister?!"

"Donna!" He wailed, drawing out her name.

Karl took a few breaths in. "Have you heard from Alcina?"

"No, and she won't pick up her phone. How did he get away from Mother? I hope he didn't hurt her too!"

Through gritted teeth, Karl asked "How long ago did he leave, Moreau?"

"Brother, we should go to Mother, we need to protect her, we need to make sure –"

The roiling, burning fury burst at the utter absurdness of his words and Karl couldn't contain himself. He exploded. "Shut the fuck up, you moron! She sent him after you, you stupid fuck!"

Silence filled the line. He continued, wondering if he had either succumbed to his injuries or died of shock from someone speaking ill of the woman.

"Why won't you accept it! Why do you think she gave us the flasks?" The metal in the room started to vibrate with his rage. "You can't be this dense, that over a fucking century of her bullshit - this is news to you! Don't you see what she's done?! She made it this way. She MADE US this way. She stole our lives. Our identities. Our real families. She forced US to rely on her and her love. Wrapped up a curse shoved it down our throats as a "gift". Let us create pathetic distractions to pacify us but it's all bullshit. Hollow versions of ourselves to divert us and keep us content with their attention but never REALLY content unless that attention was coming from her. It's all her way to control us. To use us. To use the power she forced on us. We were her means to an end and now that she's found it – she's gonna end us. What do you think happened to your father? And do you even remember Gabriela, you half-wit? You think she ran off? Disappeared? You know that bitch had her killed and do you know why? Because she wanted to be the only thing you had left." Though Karl didn't have definite proof of that last part, he knew in his gut.

The phone went dead in his ear. Good. Maybe he talked some sense into the fucker.

His hand hovered over the phone, when it rang out. Picking it up, he half expected to hear the labored, wet breathing of Moreau calling to apologize for hanging up on him. He was wrong.

"Heisenberg. We have a situation." He was never so happy to hear her obnoxious, grating voice.

xx

Miranda scowled as she injected her prisoner with her latest iteration of cadou. Her most interesting yet if she did say so herself.

Her attempt on the factory had been a failure, but she was not completely empty-handed. She gained information. Apparently, the impudent child had fortified his factory with an undead mechanical army. She was to blame. She allowed his hands to be idle for too long. And much to her surprise, he was holed up in there with a woman. And not just any woman. The woman who had tried to murder her. A woman who somehow miraculously survived the accident. What an interesting turn of events.

Hopefully, Chris had done his job and taken out Alcina and her daughters. She purposely under-dosed him. No chains Alcina could muster would hold that man. He would be back soon enough. She just hoped the timing was right. Donna and Salvatore would be easy targets for a man like Ethan. Alcina and her dear Karl...he would need her help.

She had manifested crows to assess the situation, but they had not returned from the castle as they had from the factory.

The pieces were falling into place. Ethan would finish off the rest of her failures. She would bring back Rose. And then, she would be killed. Miranda would be no more. A horrible memory. And Ethan, 'Mia' and Evelyn...renamed Rose...would live happily ever after. Until Ethan outlived his purpose, if such a thing were to ever occur. Chris Redfield would report that Miranda was destroyed, the village abandoned. There would be no one left to look for her. And she would close this chapter of her life for the next. Literally, a new woman.