Alexia's eyes hardened. "Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"How we were made. Alfred found his notes on his Veronica project. Did you know?"

Marigold blinked at her. "No…not the details," she said slowly. "Your father-"

"He's not our father," Alexia hissed. Under Marigold's grip, Alexia's hand had tightened, and begun to grow hot.

Marigold stared at her niece, consciously keeping her grip firm on Alexia's arm. For a moment, Marigold processed her words, then said, "You actually mean that, don't you."

Alexia looked back at her, getting frustrated - but the heat in her hand had stopped growing. "Auntie, we were a project. Alfred was a byproduct - you saw how Alexander barely even gave him the time of day. It broke him, Auntie. I know you liked to play at being stupid for the board, but you must have known something."

Marigold sighed. "I knew your grandfather was helping him with the Veronica project, before…before. I wasn't involved at all until after I was infected."

Alexia stilled. "Until after?" There was a dangerous pitch in her voice.

Marigold held steady. If Alexia let her impulses take over to lash out, things would get ugly, but this would be the very worst time to show fear. "Alexia. I can understand being angry, but remember that we both have reasons to be angry. You obviously used the Mold in T-Veronica, and I'm clearly missing quite a bit of context. Do you really want to find out first-hand why Grayson's mother decided to leave me alone, rather than go on with her plan to kill the messenger? I can handle that sort of pain, but we'd both regret it. Just because I'm not flammable doesn't mean you wouldn't burn."

Alexia's eyes widened. "Are you threatening me?"

"No. I told your brother I wouldn't hurt you when he found out I knew you'd…" Marigold looked away, composing herself. "That I knew. He needed to hear it. I meant that. But I can't help what my blood will do to you if you decide to spill it on a whim. Either you can let me tell you what I know, or this ends badly for everyone." Marigold looked pointedly at the arm in her grasp to underline her meaning. "You'll have to learn to control your temper much more, now. It's not an easy thing- you know I say this from experience. People are so much more fragile than you realize."

Alexia gaped openly at her aunt's warning, and Marigold pursed her lips. "Alexia, I was never supposed to be involved at all. I only knew anything when they realized they could get a comparative baseline for what the virus changed. I can't imagine Veronica's genetic material was in pristine condition after all this time - I thought they were using my samples like a map - like flipping switches in a breaker box for memory retention, stronger immune system, that sort of thing."

Alexia was quiet for a moment. "They…he did, after a fashion. According to his research notes. Not quite the way you're thinking, but…you really didn't know."

Marigold cocked her head, thinking. "He didn't tell anyone about you two until you were over a year old - I got the birth announcement a week after I got back from that horrid Romania trip - the first time my virus went active in a way that truly worried me. Knowing that we weren't going to die out was a lifeline for me at the time. I didn't ask questions."

"Why the hell not?"

Marigold shrugged. "Habit, mostly. It was always safer for the family if I couldn't be tricked into telling someone about the work. Did Alfred tell you what I did on Rockfort? To the soldier?"

"He…said you bit someone."

"I've only done that to three people." Marigold winced at the memory. "When the virus isn't already involved, there's a sharp paralimbic mutation that increases suggestibility and creates a connection. It's more subtle when it's just something like sharing drinks. It's also why I stayed in corporate for as long as I did. If Spencer was willing to do that to me without cause, I needed to be ready to..divest him of his influence should he go off the deep end." Marigold paused. "I was lucky an old girlfriend at the Raccoon City office drove me down to the mansion, at least, even though the rest of it was a disaster. I was able to get her to tell him to run, and then have her do the same. It did my head in, pushing that through my medication. That's why I stayed away from it after I came back- it was offered a few times, but I couldn't let myself be weak like that again. Not when it counted."

Alexia started to retorted, then stopped herself with a slow smile. "So you do understand," she said, almost to herself. "Even if you don't want to. Refusing to be a mere tool in someone else's game."

Empathy was still not Alexia's strongest trait, but they were pointed in the same direction again. That had to count for something. Marigold took a deep breath and let it out. "So just how did it come to pass that my little brother, who I practically hand-raised been screaming in a basement for the last fifteen years?"

Alexia finally looked away. "The test went badly. We couldn't contain him. There…wasn't any pain."

"There's almost nothing but pain, Alexia. I can still feel it. He knows your names." Marigold pulled her hand away. "He still knows mine. It's almost a mercy that this place will burn."

They both went quiet again. Marigold looked up, spotting the old messer blade mounted on the wall. "That used to be in my father's office," she said distantly. "I used to look at it all the time. It wasn't mine to touch, even if your- if Alexander showed no interest." She smiled a little. "It was still sharp back then. I bet it still is." Her eyes wandered to the bookcase, and her heart nearly stopped.

She'd told Alexander that she wanted to set up a Teig O'Kane protocol on her last visit to the family. And the book she was looking at didn't belong there.

Marigold stood suddenly, crossing over to the bookcase. On the third shelf was a leatherbound book that was distinctly out of place amongst the textbooks and ledgers- "Irish Fairy Tales and Folklore of the Isles." She pulled it out from the shelf- and an envelope fell out.

She froze a moment, glancing at Alexia, who looked equally bewildered- she hadn't put this here. Marigold bent and picked the envelope up, pulling out a single page. "Oh."

"What is it?" Alexia looked wary.

"I…it's something we need. Something Alexander- both of you, actually- were working on." She looked up at Alexia. "I need to find his work- there's questions I need answered- but this is an immediate problem that we need to deal with. Do you know about the bunker?"

Alexia frowned. "I know it exists, but not how to get in. Alexander thought it was frivolous."

Marigold actually chuckled. "Father - your grandfather - started to see the threat, after my accident. They didn't see eye to eye on the matter, so he started walking me through the plans almost as soon as I could get out of bed again. I'll need to find the access codes, but I can open everything before it." She folded the letter in two and slipped it into her pocket. She turned to look at the blade mounted on the wall, and crossed the room to it. "I'll have go into the facility, then. It will take some time to get everything, and I need you to keep an eye on your brother until I get back.

Alexia stood, clearly relieved to no longer be reliving the past. "Get yourself ready, then- I have a spare access card in my room. I can make you a copy."

Don cut the transmission. His new contact was an outfit, HCF, led by an ex-Umbrella man. On the one hand, someone smart enough to get out when Umbrella was starting to crumble would be hard to put one over on, especially if things went sour. On the other, it meant that they'd hardly bat an eye at his price, nor what it took for him to keep the place from falling down around their ears.

And make no mistake: keeping Spencer from demolishing the place once the outbreak was fully entrenched would be a feat in itself. He grimaced as he got up from his surveillance station. The cold mingled with age setting into his bones reminded him once again that he was no longer the strapping young man who'd arrived here decades ago. To think that a few short months ago, his biggest concern had been getting out before Spencer had him liquidated for a younger model of Monitor.

Don hadn't been idle this past year. Alfred had granted him temporary access to the facility's plans for "repairs" before taking off for Rockfort. Looking over the plans, there were secret passages and access points between the mansion and this level that only the family seemed to know about. Before he'd had access to this level, they'd only been a scant part of a backup plan, an emergency escape route in case he ever needed to twist Alfred Ashford's arm for a way out of this place before his time was up. But now…

Now things had got interesting. Potentially, they'd also become incredibly lucrative. But the rewards involved carried with it the kind of risk that the average person didn't come back from. Especially since the…growths coming from the walls had some sort of sensory functionality to them. He'd been so very careful to avoid them, so far. Just because Alexia had been more competent than her brother didn't suggest that she had a shred more mercy.

He remembered her as a reedy, skittish little thing who'd nonetheless shown a flair for lab administration. Sometime in 1983, when Alexander had vanished, her eyes had lost that skittishness in a situation where it should have been made worse, replaced by something sharp, barbed. The old part of him, that Umbrella had sought out and bade him to keep concealed, instinctively recognized someone who'd had blood on their hands, and had deemed that fact to be an acceptable one.

He'd kept his distance.

The average person with the average moral compass might balk at the cold calculations required to keep this place intact a little while longer, Don thought. Yesterday, he'd spotted a group of maintenance workers holed up in a supply room on the cameras. There wasn't quite a dozen of them, most of them were middle-aged, worn down. He'd trained most of them himself. They'd trust Don, and would be led where he told them to go.

There was enough to get the germ of a plan in place.

It was amazing what could be accomplished when you were willing to cut a few throats on the way, get your hands dirty. Nosferatu itself would be enough to peak Lord Spencer's interest for a bit, staying his hand.

HCF would be here in just a few hours - just long enough to **set up **the little sweetener he'd been thinking over, to keep the old man from blowing the place up. From the sound of it, the mercenary outfit had thrown plenty of meat into the grinder at Rockfort Island, and allegedly at Raccoon City before that. Surely they'd be able to spare a little more.

The maintenance workers had been lured down like a pack of fearful, hungry stray dogs. They'd been so grateful to Don for sharing his secured living space, a lab next to his surveillance room set up with blankets and food. They'd been even happier to see the case of Chilean wine he'd scavenged. "Let's see if this is still any good - might as well drink to the end of the world while we wait for rescue, eh?" Those working in the transport facility had an appreciation for gallows humour. They'd laughed merrily, and drank their fill.

The drugged wine had done its work. Stretching his weary muscles, he grabbed a work cart to select the first of many, whistling a jaunty tune.

Nosferatu was sure to be famished, and it was time to set up the feeding pen. If he did this right, Spencer would have plenty of BOW data to moon over until he could extricate himself from this godforsaken place.