Peter Jackson was not a huge fan of Miranda Kurt. She had way too much attitude, she was aloof, she did things off the books and on her own. She deliberately disobeyed orders and usually got away with it. Some of the things she said were downright hurtful sometimes. Still, when she heard that her cover had been blown, he'd felt worried about her. For the year and a half he'd known her, they'd been in contact every day. He'd rather swallow a hot poker than admit he missed her and their offensive banter, but...after two weeks he'd gone to Eugene Bailey and demanded he be allowed to go and find out what they'd done with her. He'd put on a god-forsaken suit, of all things, and printed himself off a fake badge to get him in posing as a new hire.

It'd been a huge stroke of luck Ashley had barged into the main entrance of the White House demanding to see her father. The girl was cute, and she had a 2000's style to her clothes and hair still. And then she said that name he kept hearing.

Rose.

It was hard for his simple mind to put the two together. Miranda was Rose. Rose was Miranda. But why was Miranda going by Rose? Or was it the other way around? It honestly hurt his head a little to think about.

As weird as it was, he'd made the decision to stick to the girl like glue, and when he'd seen Miranda in that cell, a part of him that he couldn't understand felt sorry for her. It was so...sad.

She didn't even look like the same person.

Miranda—or Rose, he corrected himself for the hundredth time—barely reacted when she saw him standing in the doorway. For a moment, he wasn't sure if she recognized him at all. She was wearing a plain jumpsuit, her hair a tangled mess, and there were dark circles under her eyes as if she'd been deprived of sleep for days. She looked almost...human, which was something he'd never thought he'd say about her. He'd wanted to make a biting, sarcastic comment to her...but with Ashley standing there and with the pitiful condition Rose was in...he couldn't think of a thing to say.

Before he'd gone down to the holding cells beneath the White House, he'd planned to take the piss out of her. He'd had a whole self-satisfying speech to give. Peter had always thought of Miranda as a lone wolf, the kind of person who didn't need anyone, least of all anyone who tried to get close. She didn't want people in her corner. She shut people out. His opinion had wavered when he could hear Agent Leon Kennedy on the inside of the Oval Office, practically screaming at the president. At first, he'd been impressed that someone could get away with that kind of behavior, but then he realized who they were talking about, and it jarred him.

Someone actually cared enough about Rose to risk their life, their career, and their freedom, to yell and criticize the president. To Peter, Rose/Miranda was alone and always had been. He couldn't even imagine her having a boyfriend or a lover of any kind. She was just so...unlikeable.

Leon's emotional turmoil contrasted sharply with his own indifference towards her. The truth was, he didn't want to feel anything about her, didn't want to think about the odd twinge of guilt he felt at seeing her so broken. After all, she'd made her choices, flaunted her independence, flaunted her disregard for authority.

Yet, what had that independence cost her?

Peter looked down at the inhibitor in his hand. It was the last remaining of the samples Wilson had been developing in his lab. He should turn it over to Eugene.

His footsteps clomped down the hallway toward Eugene's office, determined to do his duty. He rationalized the betrayal, in his own mind. Rose was gone, and probably never coming back. Even if she somehow figured out that he hadn't done what she told him to, there was nothing she could do about it. This was his job. Eugene was his boss. Rose was just his ex-partner.

Peter's footsteps halted. He just needed to open the office door. Eugene was only feet away from him now, and he could easily turn in the inhibiter. But her voice...her damned voice kept repeating in his brain. She hissed at him, pissed off that he was even thinking of betraying her. He knew, logically, it was his own conscious, and not actually her, but it made him hate her even more.

"Damn it to hell," he muttered, turning on his heel and going the opposite direction. He was going to take the stupid thing to Luis.

The clang of his boots echoed in the empty corridor, a sound that only served to make the tension in his chest more unbearable. The inhibitor felt like a dead weight in his hand. The very thing that could destroy everything—everything he'd worked for. Yet his gut twisted with every step in the opposite direction of Eugene's office.

Eugene. The man who had always been the one to give orders. The man who had always told Peter that the rules were sacred. The one who expected loyalty, even if it was blind and without question. Peter had followed him for years, knowing his job, understanding his place. The idea of betraying Eugene now felt like an unthinkable betrayal of everything he'd worked for.

But then there was her. Rose. Miranda. His ex-partner. The woman who had walked into his life like a whirlwind, the woman who couldn't be tamed, the woman who had always fought for something bigger than the system they'd been trapped in. The woman who had used him, yes—but also trusted him in ways no one else ever had. Even when it seemed like she didn't give a damn about anyone, she had trusted him. She'd counted on him.

And now she was gone.

Peter could almost hear her voice again, taunting him in his head. "You always were a coward, Jackson. Just like the rest of them."

It was cruel, that voice, echoing in his mind, because he knew it wasn't really her. It was just his guilt, festering and gnawing at him. She had trusted him to follow through with what she asked. She'd told him to destroy the inhibitor, to keep it out of Eugene's hands. But Peter couldn't bring himself to do it—not for Eugene, not for anyone.

Not for himself.

He reached the security checkpoint leading to Luis's lab, muttering under his breath to the guard, showing his ID like a robot, every step automatic. As soon as the door to Luis's lab slid open, the familiar scent of chemicals and faint traces of synthetic materials hit him. Luis's lab always felt like an oasis of organized chaos—a place where things could be fixed or tinkered with, where problems could be solved.

Luis, the scientist, was bent over a workbench in the corner, scribbling something on a piece of paper. His lab coat was untidy, as usual, and he didn't look up until Peter's boots clicked across the floor toward him.

"Jackson," Luis said, not bothering to even glance at him. "What's up? You need something?"

Peter hesitated, gripping the inhibitor so tightly his hand was shaking. He didn't even know what he was going to say yet. The words were all tangled up in his throat. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had no other choice. If he gave it to Eugene, it would be over. But if he gave it to Luis, maybe—he frowned deeply, realizing he had no idea why Rose had wanted him to have it.

"I... I need your help with something," Peter muttered, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable to his own ears.

Luis finally looked up, taking in Peter's tense posture, the inhibitor in his hand, and his eyes narrowed with concern. "What's going on, Jackson? You look like you're about to do something you'll regret."

Peter didn't reply immediately, instead holding the inhibitor up between them, the small device seeming impossibly heavy in his hand.

Luis stood up slowly, his eyes moving from the device to Peter's face. "Where'd you get that?"

Peter didn't respond, but the weight of it was all too apparent in his silence.

Luis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to the workbench, giving Peter space. "Okay amigo, what am I supposed to do with this?"

"It was in Rose's belongings. She wanted you to have it."

Luis stared at the little sample, pressing the little round button at the end and watching it click open. It had a small half-inch syringe and a pale greenish-blue liquid inside of it. "This is what kept that army squad alive, no?"

"It's some kind of inhibitor, yes."

"And you said Rose kept it specifically for me?"

"Yes."

"Ahh." Luis' eyes lit up with understanding after only a moment. "She wants a cure."

Peter scowled. "The Miranda I know is too selfish to think of something like that."

"Probably a cure for herself, then," Luis waved it off, unbothered. He liked Rose. What did it matter whether she was more worried about a cure for everyone or for herself? If he knew her, and he was pretty sure he knew her better than Jackson did, she wouldn't mind him working on both.

Peter's jaw tightened at Luis's words, but he didn't argue. Instead, he stared at the syringe in Luis's hand with a mix of apprehension and something else—something that might have been hope, or maybe just a little bit of guilt.

"You know what this is, right?" Peter asked, leaning back against the workbench with his arms crossed. "This isn't just some antidote or easy fix. If you're going to try to do anything with it, you better be ready for the consequences."

Luis gave him a sidelong glance. "Since when did we care about consequences?" He shook his head and twirled the syringe between his fingers, inspecting it more closely. "What, you think I can't handle it? I've seen worse. Besides, Rose trusted me with it, and I'm not about to let her down."

Peter hesitated as if weighing his next words carefully. Finally, after a terse moment of watching Luis pop off the needle and dump the liquid into a new dish, Peter sat down on a wheeled chair. "What is it about her that inspires such fierce loyalty? You, that Kennedy guy, Ashley Graham?" Me, he thought bitterly.

Luis paused, the syringe still in his hand as he considered Peter's question. He looked at the clear, faintly glowing liquid in the dish, almost as if it might hold some answer to the question itself. For a moment, the easy confidence seemed to slip from him, replaced by something more thoughtful.

"You really wanna know?" Luis's voice was quieter now, more serious. "It's not just her," he said, looking up at Peter. "It's what she does—what she makes you feel like you can do when you're around her. Yeah, maybe she's tough as nails, but she doesn't make you feel like crap for trying, even when the odds are stacked against you. Doesn't make you feel like you're too broken to fight. That's what I see in her." He shrugged, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "She doesn't pretend everything's perfect, and she doesn't let you off easy, but if you're in the fight with her, you know she's got your back. She makes you believe in things—maybe more than you should sometimes. But I don't know... it just feels like it matters, y'know?"

He didn't look at Peter directly at first, but when he did, his eyes held something unspoken, something more than just friendship. It was loyalty, sure, but it was also something deeper—a recognition of the kind of person Rose had become to him, someone who had managed to pull people in, even when the world was falling apart.

Peter's face softened as he listened, and for a moment, Luis wondered if the old soldier might finally understand. But then Peter just looked down at his hands, clenching them together, like the words were something he didn't know how to handle.

"I get it," Peter muttered after a long pause, though his tone was hard, like it was a struggle to admit. "She has that way of making you think you can be something more than what you are. But it doesn't make it easier, Luis." His eyes lifted, catching Luis's gaze. "That loyalty you're talking about—it's not without its price."

Luis didn't flinch. Instead, he nodded slowly, his expression darkening as he thought back to the many times he'd been caught between wanting to help and knowing there were costs he hadn't yet seen.

"Yeah. I know." He glanced back at the syringe, his fingers still tapping the rim of the dish absently. "But at this point, the price of not trying... that's what really scares me."

Peter sat back, pushing the chair slightly away from the workbench, his face hardening again. "You're looking at this like it's just a decision to be made. But you have no idea what it'll turn you into once you take that step. You think you're just going to help, save people, maybe even save yourself—but it's never that simple." His eyes narrowed, and there was a flicker of something darker in them. "I've seen this before. And it's never clean. It doesn't matter what she wanted—you have to be ready to live with it, Luis."

Luis didn't say anything at first. Instead, he just focused on the dish, eyes flicking over the pale liquid inside it, watching it glimmer in the dim light. His fingers gripped the edge of the dish harder like it was all that kept him anchored.

"I know," he said finally, his voice steady, but his gaze distant. "But I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing it because if we can fix even one person... if we can stop it before it spreads further... then it is worth it. That's what I owe her. And what I owe everyone."

"She's some kind of super soldier, right? Healing, agility, strength...all that jazz. Is it really smart to destroy that? She's no good to us human."

"She's got all that strength, that power, sure. But at what cost? You think she's happy being this...thing?" Luis's gaze dropped to the dish again, the pale liquid shimmering in the low light. "She's stuck in a body that's constantly betraying her, isn't she? That's what she wanted me to fix. Not her strength, not the power—it's her. Who she was. What was left of the woman we knew."

Peter's brows furrowed, a trace of doubt flickering in his eyes. He seemed to be weighing the argument, but it wasn't that simple, was it? None of this was. Luis could see it, the hesitation in Peter's eyes—the same hesitation that had almost killed them all too many times.

"Maybe you're right," Peter said slowly, his voice quieter now, like he was grappling with the thought. "Maybe she was human once. But she's not anymore, Luis. Not in the way you think. You can't just reverse something like that and expect things to be the same. Once you mess with it, it's gone. And maybe we're better off leaving it as it is."

"If Rose wants this, then it's what I'm going to do. It doesn't matter how useful her infection is. I owe her and Leon a debt." Luis' gaze was hard as he looked at Peter, daring him to object anymore. This was the end of the conversation, and they both knew it. Peter huffed, his head feeling entirely too full, and then got up to leave. Luis sighed and shook his head as he looked into a microscope at the liquid. "Dios Mio, esta chica es testaruda."

Day 44

"Get the fuck away from me!" Rose screamed at the top of her lungs as two men who were dressed as doctors yanked her off the bed by her underarms. Another doctor, a woman, was standing in front of her with a long needle, trying to convince her to calm down. Rose flung her lower body up, her legs swinging up and kicking the woman's hands as hard as she could, sending the syringe flying. Rose was wild. Her dark roots were showing with the hair growth, wild, and untamed.

She'd just suffered an ice-cold shower and had come back to people in her cell. She didn't like people in her cell. She certainly didn't like doctors in her cell. "Where's Leon?" she screamed, thrashing around. She pushed out, sending one of the doctors flying into the wall. Cracks appeared in the wall and the man slid down, dazed.

"LEON!" she screamed, but this time the sound was laced with desperation. The walls around her seemed to close in tighter, and she could feel the panic rising, clawing at her throat.

Her eyes darted to the door of the cell, where she saw Ronald standing with that smug, satisfied grin on his face. The same grin that haunted her even when she wasn't looking at him. The man who'd done nothing but manipulate, control, and break her. The man who had helped destroy what little of her humanity was left. She saw him as he stood, arms crossed, watching with cold amusement, like a cat watching a mouse fight for its life.

Tears stung her eyes, unbidden. She hated herself for the vulnerability they were trying to tear from her, for the helplessness they were forcing her to show. She was giving them exactly what they wanted. She could feel their eyes on her—every little crack, every little falter… and it made her sick. They wanted her to become nothing but the monster they could control.

With a strangled cry, Rose surged forward, flinging her fists in the air, pushing the remaining doctor back. She felt a sick satisfaction when the woman collided with the steel bars, but it was quickly replaced with a deep, gnawing fear. Her own body was betraying her—too strong, too fast for her own good.

She wiped the tears from her face, her movements jerky, and her mind racing. I can't keep doing this. She knew that with every person she hurt, she was sealing her fate, giving them exactly what they wanted. And still, she screamed, her voice breaking, "Where's Leon?!" She needed him. She didn't even know why anymore, but she did. Because with him, she wasn't just the thing they'd made her. She was herself.

Her legs were trembling from the effort, her breath coming in ragged gasps. And still, Ronald's grin stayed the same, cold and unforgiving.

Rose's voice broke again, this time almost a whisper. "Please..." It wasn't a demand. It wasn't a scream. It was just a plea. "Please... bring him back."

Ronald's voice finally broke the silence, cold and calm as ever, like the scene unfolding before him was nothing but a show for his amusement. "You're not getting out of here, Rose. Not until we say so. Not until we've fixed what's broken." His eyes glinted with a mixture of pride and contempt. "And you'll thank us for it, eventually. You'll see."

Rose's heart sank as his words hit her like a physical blow. "Fixed what's broken." The words twisted in her chest, the meaning crawling deep into her soul. She wasn't broken. Not like this. Not like they thought.

With a scream that was more animal than human, Rose launched herself toward the bars, her muscles burning as she fought against the terror clawing at her insides. But even as she fought, the doubt crept in. What if they were right? What if they were the only ones who could fix what she'd become?

But that thought was quickly shoved aside by the one burning truth that kept her grounded, even in the madness: I won't let them win.

Ronald motioned for the two other guards with him to move forward, tasers already buzzing in their hands as they approached her and he called for backup to get the unconscious doctors out of her cell. The electricity coursed through her, so hot and painful she could only convulse silently on the floor.

He's right, she thought. I'm never going to get out of here.

The shock of the taser bolts hit her like a thunderclap, sending violent tremors through her body as the electricity coursed through her veins, a fiery, searing pain that felt like it was splitting her apart from the inside out. Rose's breath caught in her throat, her muscles locking up, and for a moment, she could do nothing but writhe on the cold concrete floor, her teeth gritted together, lips pulled back in a silent snarl of pain.

Through the haze of agony, a fleeting thought emerged, and it felt so distant, so hollow that it almost didn't belong to her at all. Begging.

Her father's face flashed before her mind's eye—Albert Wesker. The man who had done unspeakable things, and yet, in a twisted way, was the only one who could give her what she really needed. He could get her out of here. He would. She knew he had the resources, the power, the will to do it.

I could call for him, Rose thought for a brief, sickening second. I could beg. I could finally tell him how much I need him to—

But the thought was already crumbling, fading like a dream. She shook her head, refusing to entertain it. No. She wouldn't do it. I won't beg. Not for him.

Her father was the one who had helped put her here in the first place. He was the architect of her suffering, her twisted existence. The same man who had turned her into something she wasn't. The man who had discarded her, left her to rot in a cage full of monsters of their making.

If she called him, if she begged, she'd only be giving him more of the power he already held over her. And worse, she'd be giving up the one thing she had left: her dignity.

No. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't sink that low. She wouldn't let the man who'd created this...this monster inside her have the satisfaction of seeing her break.

I won't let them win.

The thought burned fiercely through the fog of pain, and with it came a spark of defiance that almost felt like an ember in the back of her mind. She pushed herself up slightly, gasping for air through her clenched teeth as the electricity continued to pulse through her body, but she fought it. She fought the overwhelming urge to collapse and surrender.

Ronald's voice cut through the pain, sharp and commanding as he barked orders to his men. "Get her on the floor. Restrain her. Backup's on the way. We'll get her under control."

One of the guards advanced toward her, still buzzing the taser menacingly. Rose felt a sickening, cold wave of despair wash over her, but she crushed it down, forcing herself to focus. The pain of the tasers was blinding, but it wasn't enough to take her down yet.

With a sudden, violent burst of energy, she pushed herself up with a feral cry, launching herself toward the guard who was too close for comfort. She managed to slap the taser out of his hand, sending it skittering across the floor, but the other guard was already closing in, the electric hum of his weapon filling the air.

Her body felt like it was on fire, every muscle trembling with exhaustion, but she kept moving—she had to keep moving.

She managed a few hits, pushing the guards back with everything she had left in her, but her strength was quickly fading. The tasers had done their work. They'd drained her of any reserves of energy. Her arms felt heavy, her legs weak beneath her, and each breath she took was harder to fill her lungs with.

I can't… keep fighting like this.

The thought was chilling, like an ice-cold hand pressing against her chest, but she couldn't afford to think about that right now. The shadows of failure threatened to close in around her, and for a fleeting moment, she felt her resolve falter.

But then she saw Ronald again, his face still that twisted smirk, watching her struggle like it was all part of some game.

And that was the moment that did it.

The anger—the fury that had been bubbling beneath the surface erupted in a violent surge of strength. She wouldn't let this man—them—see her break. She wouldn't let them see her fall into the trap they'd set.

I'm not their prisoner. I'm not their monster.

The thought roared through her mind, louder than the buzzing of the tasers, louder than the pain.

She managed to get back onto her feet, staggering with one last burst of energy. Her vision blurred, her body heavy, but she pushed through. Her hands clenched into fists, her breath ragged, but still, she fought. She refused to stop.

"Get off me," she growled through gritted teeth, charging at the guard in front of her. She didn't know how much longer she could keep going, but as long as she still had breath in her lungs, she wasn't going down without a fight.

But the backup was coming. More guards. More electricity. More hands to restrain her.

As they moved in, closing in around her, the fear crept in again. She could hear Ronald's smug voice behind her, taunting her like he knew she was already losing. I'm never going to get out of here.

The thought hit her like a freight train, and for a heartbeat, she could almost hear it in her own mind, like a chant: I'm never getting out. They've won. I'm broken. I'm trapped.

But then the fire ignited again.

As her vision waned and she tasted the coppery taste of her own blood, the cold concrete smacked into her cheek, she could hear a commotion down the hall. It was blurred, muffled, distorted. But...as he got closer, she could hear Leon's voice. He was shouting, and the guards were trying to restrain him. She couldn't figure out what any of them were saying. Her body continued to produce muscle spasm's on their own.

The last thing she saw before passing out was Leon punching Ronald in the face.