Spencer had had his own reasons to delay the remote detonation, but that didn't mean he liked this. After Raccoon City, too many people had realized how little value their lives carried for the company. McNally was greedy, self-interested, and observant, qualities that made him a good Monitor and a strong survivor when things were good. But men's loyalties could only be counted on in the good times, and McNally was well aware, with the discovery of the sealed BOW, that axiom was a two-way street. As soon as McNally ran out of data, Spencer had anticipated that the board would have given him leave to set off the remote detonation at will.

Sergei shook his head. "Nothing worth mentioning. All known associates were monitored in the aftermath, and showed no significant signs that they were contacted. Even with some meager counterintelligence training, someone would have slipped." Sergei frowned. "The stress is bringing up old ghosts for you, I fear." He looked thoughtful. "You think they're testing the waters for something."

"I do," Oswell Spencer allowed. "I don't know who actually wants to be the face of the company during this calamity, but they're planning something." And, he thought, I'm not so old that I can't play that game anymore.

The dull blare of the alarm had been sounding for several minutes before Alexia's eyes began to flutter open, like she was struggling to claw her way out of a slow-moving nightmare. Marigold glanced over at the small sound of movement and was instantly on her feet. She'd been awake for about half an hour, and had her father's journal open in her lap, slowly working her way through. The time after Paris had been too much of a black hole, and this was the first real moment of quiet they'd had available to start parsing what she'd salvaged. The familiarity of the handwriting and crushing wave of nostalgic sorrow had made it slow reading.

A glance over at Grayson told her that he too was finally surfacing. "Thank heavens," she murmured. She looked over to Alfred, who was nodding off in a chair by my the door. "They're waking. Let's get ready to move."

The pair came to within seconds of eachother, both astounded that they had been unconscious for five entire hours. After briefly filling them in on the basics of the situation and the urgency of getting to the safe room, Grayson took a hard look at her, and pursed his lips like his father had when he'd been worried about the children but not in a position to speak. She knew she looked awful. Until she could manage a safe place to rest for at least a day, there was nothing to be done about it. Instead, she said to him as gently as she could manage, "We've kept to this room for the last hour so we could be ready to move. There are several people on the board who are very receptive to suggestion. It should give you some cover from Spencer's interference once the dust settles." She looked at Alexia. "I know you wanted to avoid this, and my being here makes the situation complicated. It's the least I can do. I owe Poppy a great deal for digging up my old codex a few months ago."

Alexia swung her feet down to the floor. "Mrs. Turner? From the old house?"

Grayson frowned. "I remember her. Alfred and I stayed there when we were going to school- she was scary as hell whenever someone had to deal with the school but otherwise she was okay. Why's she involved?"

"It's a long, very strange story, and she can probably tell it better. If you boys can get whatever you can't leave behind together, I need to go over a few things with Alexia." Marigold had picked up the spare pack she had put together and deposited herself on the edge of the bed next to her niece. She gave Grayson an apologetic smile. "We'll have time to catch up soon enough."

Grayson sighed, and nodded, heaving himself up to gather his things. Alexia gave her an inquiring look, and Marigold opened the pack. "I split the supplies up while the centrifuge was running. The instructions I have were clear enough for me to work with. Are they useful if you need to develop something for him?" She kept her voice low.

Alexia had that blank mask of an expression on. She'd worked starting from a much younger age to hide and control her emotions, Marigold realized. "If I have to. Yes, I think I can develop something. Did you leave most of your equipment in that upper-level lab you were using?"

Marigold nodded. "We had to leave quickly, but I stowed the equipment and the generic chemicals in the cupboard by the centrifuge. There should be gas in it to run it a bit longer." She bit her lip. "I found out a bit about what's been happening to him. That monster of a man that smashed his way in all but bragged about how he'd been sealed in with you. I don't understand the details, but I can tell Grayson's fallen out of equilibrium with his condition."

Alexia gave her a searching look. "That's…yes. It's a very strong form of mycosis." She seemed almost subdued. "I saw his memories. We were in them. The outbreak, Raccoon City…I had no idea….no wonder there were so many liquor bottles in here, earlier."

Marigold ducked her head. "I…tried that. After I walked back through the forest. If it had let me sleep without nightmares, I'd probably still be doing it," she admitted. "I ended up screaming myself awake for six weeks."

Alexia blinked. "Six weeks," she repeated.

Marigold shrugged. "It's why I gave into it, eventually. You know how careful I usually have to be. Contact…helped….and then I had different problems." She made a face, shifting aside packages inside the bag. "Nothing in this world is built for me. It's galling to have to admit it, but it was nice to have something simple like not waking up alone for a while."

"What did you think would happen?" Alexia sounded like she was trying very hard to hold a neutral tone. In spite of everything, Marigold felt a deep surge of affection for her niece for trying.

**She did her best to put it into terms she'd understand. "In my experience, what I can do has an imperative effect. Does that make sense?"

"I'm following. It gives you control, like the hyphae, and the pheromones."

"Yes. It always worked like that for me before. I was counting on that. But the company's progress on the virus has evolved since I had a handle on things, and T-virus makes it more- connective?" She met Alexia's eyes with some hesitation, suddenly realizing that she had tapped into her language. "I haven't forgotten what's happened."

"Auntie," Alexia said with some small hesitance. "I'm trying to work out whether you're asking me not to set him on fire and not really sure where you stand on that." Alexia pulled the bag towards her and pinned a little at what Marigold had begun to pull towards a prominent position on the top. "Oh! Your tests! You remembered to get them."

Marigold allowed her to fully smirk at her niece. "Mhm. My tests. Certainly. I've just given you the bulk of them for safekeeping." She grinned. "I took three after my calls, and stowed them in my vest. No real surprises."

Alexia scowled. "Oh, leave off it. How on earth did you know early enough to hide it from everyone?"

"Mostly an impending sense of doom. I'd liberated a small stash of pills to handle the potential problem, but they didn't last, and I couldn't ask for more without them revisiting the sterility question." She wrinkled her nose a little. "At this point, it would almost be unfair to ask you not to set him on fire when nearly everyone else had had a go." She tapped under her left eye. "The light sensitivity is a shared trait."

Marigold switched back to the topic much closer at hand as Alexia's scowl deepened. "You might not know this soon. You'll be alright, and Grayson adores you." Marigold smiled at Alexia, but she could feel that deep well of melancholy rise as she said it.

Alexia looked ready to say more, but Alfred returned to the room. "I've checked the system, and we do have a bit under three days. Your gambit worked, Auntie."

Grayson looked up. "Anyone else hearing that will think the window's much shorter than that, and will be running around like it's a Black Friday sale. The safe room is sounding like a better and better idea all the time. Let's get the hell out of their way."

A beeping sound in Wesker's comm alerted him to a call being patched through from the HCF jet. He activated it. "Wesker, reporting."

Mark Oliver, aware of the connection issues, didn't waste time. "The vote went through."

Wesker stared up at the bank of screens inside McNally's little refuge. Once he had secured a few loose ends, it was the logical place to set up a blind. "We're out of time then." With McNally out of commission, it was an inevitability.

Oliver chuckled a little. "That's the thing, we think they found a way to flip the vote."

Wesker furrowed his brow. "Spencer knows? Given the rate they've been shutting down facilities-"

Oliver broke in. "No. I don't know how the source got it, but they voted against him in order to get an extension. I don't have the list, and the source is withholding it."

"The contact got a bit too greedy and jumped the gun, but he's found another way to be useful, and PABS is in the mix. They seem personally invested in bringing someone to justice here." The pressure of a countdown had been a core part of smoking them out, but this wasn't the place to show doubt. "Once they come out - if they come out -I'll be able to glean some information on what's keeping them pinned."

"Dr. Ashford may be being cautious. Do you feel it's wise to take that much risk to - "

Wesker broke in. "Delta met McNally with an anti-tank rifle at the bottom of the elevator he destroyed, and I'm not sure it did any lasting damage. Given reports of her condition, I'd prefer to have the other parties wear her down before recovery occurs." This time he audibly sighed, pulling out the tough book and navigating over to the security mainframe. "How much of an extension."

"A day or so."

Wesker was sure Oliver heard him suck air sharply in between his teeth. "Nearly three days. Enough to get their pilot to a working recovery, or…"

They had something up their sleeves. "I have samples being prepared for transport in a secured area. There's another means to apply pressure, but they'll have to come out of hiding for it to work."

"Do it," Oliver said shortly, and cut the call.

Segers sat behind him, running short of breath and wearing a filtered mask over his mouth and nose. He'd fallen asleep after repacking and prepping the samples he'd mentioned, including a few interesting specimens in the botanical wing upstairs.

The live feed to the old laboratory- McNally had only begun to go to work in there when he'd last visited the space, and had clearly made an effort to escalate the tableau of gore- showed a panel on the wall opening up to a hidden elevator. Glancing back at Segers, Wesker stepped backwards from the cramped room and made his way over in a few quick bursts of energy, keeping to the hallway juncture just out of sight.

PABS- Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine, accompanied by young Claire- all but threw themselves out of the room, gagging from the putrescence smell.

After a moment, Jill spoke. "That thing's going to keep coming. The gate won't hold."

"How the fuck would it fit in that little elevator?" Chris asked. "Ten bucks the fucker arranged that little party at the bottom."

"No bet." A pause. "I'm sorry about your friend, kiddo."

The younger woman sniffed. "I know. I just wish that there was something left to do."

Chris seemed to make some sort of sound. "We're lucky it was restrained."

"Maybe not just luck. Let's just get the hell out." Jill hesitated. "It's weird. They were so eager to bum a ride before and suddenly it's 'oh, no big deal, just shut the door behind you when you're done.' Ammo aside…"

"I know."

"Maybe.

Their footfalls disappeared towards to elevator, and Wesker waited a moment longer before sliding out of his hiding place. Steve Burnside had come here with Claire Redfield. Which meant…there was a restrained, fresh T-Veronica specimen just beyond a gate of some sort- likely a basement.

Stranger still was the lack of mention of the Ashfords themselves. They really did seem to be hiding. Waiting. For some reason, the will to lash out had drained away between Jill's previous encounter, and recent events. Something had gone wrong in there.

Looking in the doorway, the smell was just as bad as PABS had made it look. McNally had really leaned into the slaughterhouse aesthetic, and Nosferatu had contributed immeasurably.

He turned back towards the makeshift hunters blind he'd co-opted from McNally. He'd have to take another blocker soon, he thought. One way or another, this room was an ideal bottleneck to catch them out at their lowest, and he intended to be ready when they appeared.