In the wake of 9/11, and especially the subsequent anthrax attacks, President Graham authorized a task force called the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance to draw up plans to defend the nation's capital in the wake of a wide-scale biological attack. Within less than a year, the incident at Raccoon City spilled out into the country at large, and President Graham declared martial law and authorized the Fortress Washington initiative, drawing on many of the plans created by his task force.

After a decade, the initiative had experienced failure after failure, ceding more and more of the city to the undead and the living monstrosities, leaving one last refuge: the White House itself. The primary means of defense for the Presidential residence was a massive fortification constructed around the entire main building. Spaced around the walls were high-powered turrets and flamethrowers. Within the walls were numerous AA emplacements, dozens of armored vehicles of various makes and models, landing pads for attack helicopters and VTOL craft, and several thousand soldiers, quartered in impromptu bunkers built into the structure of the walls itself, as well as dug straight into the ground.

Inside the White House were hundreds of high-ranking officers, various journalists (who had found themselves inadvertently trapped when the Army Corps of Engineers had erected the first fortifications practically overnight), numerous civilians who had made their way to the building before the capital had become a warzone, and, of course, the President and his family, housed in the bunker hundreds of feet beneath the earth. The bunker was the nerve center of the remains of the U.S. military, which still existed piecemeal scattered across the nation and abroad.

Part of the building had been converted into a miniature industrial plant, cranking out ammunition rounds as fast as the soldiers could fire them. Extensive automated mining operations (steering clear of the bunker) radiated out into the ground beneath the White House to supply the raw materials that recycling existing materials couldn't make up for. Significant parts of the building had also been converted into a dense series of greenhouses, responsible not just for feeding the several thousand residents of the White House and its immediate environs, but producing excess biomass to be processed into biofuel to power the war machines that defended everyone there. Starvation was a constant concern, but being eviscerated by a horde of zombies because your flamethrower ran empty was a far bigger safety concern.

You would think that after ten years, all these heroic efforts would not be in vain. The United States' valiant last stand would surely pay off with a victory for the entire human race. The defenders, having finally warded off the last of the T-virus monsters, free to leave the confines of the wall and begin rebuilding.

Ah, but we know differently, don't we? We are cursed with the knowledge that not a single one of these poor bastards lives to fight another day, or to taste the sweet fruits of victory.

Well… almost none of them survive.

Alice survives, after all.

It's almost ironic… considering she's responsible for all the death and carnage at the White House in the first place.

XXX

Alice and co. had been in Washington, DC for several weeks now. Alice hadn't done much with her regained superpowers, and Wesker had been distressingly silent as to how she was supposed to use them to fight the army of darkness constantly trying to breach the walls. She'd tried reaching out and exploding the brains of the bat things that hovered about in the distance and attempted to swarm the helicopters (and sometimes succeeded), but no luck so far. She wasn't allowed to go up to the walls and try shit either, some bullshit about concerns for her safety. Whatever.

She was presently looking for one of the gift shops that was supposed to be on the premises, but was having a hard time finding any that hadn't been cleared out or dismantled and repurposed for the war effort. Whenever she stopped to ask someone, they either didn't know or looked at her like she was crazy. What was crazy about wanting to get a few souvenirs, that's what Alice wanted to know.

She finally discovered one in an out of the way area and saw that it had been shuttered, but peering through the darkened windows showed faint outlines of some merchandise still remaining inside. A little space was available at the bottom of the shutters for her to wiggle under, and she did so, standing up on the other side. Before she could start looking for something cool like a snow globe, though, the smell of smoke hit her nostrils, and she nodded in the understanding that she wasn't alone.

Alice poked her head into the gift shop's back room. "No smoking in the White House!" she barked. Jill jumped with fright at Alice's scare, almost dropping her cigarette, then gave her a dirty look. "Whatcha doing back here?" she asked.

"Trying to enjoy my last few smokes in peace," Jill griped. "Once people found out I had most of a pack, they lost their fucking minds pestering me about them. You won't believe the shit I had to deal with. Men throwing themselves at me. Women throwing themselves at me. One guy offered to give me the Hope diamond. The fucker showed it to me! He'd actually swiped it from the Smithsonian before coming here!"

"I hope you took him up on it," Alice giggled, looking through one of the dusty boxes for souvenirs.

Jill gave Alice a dirty look. "I sure as hell can't smoke the Hope diamond," she pointed out, taking another drag for emphasis. Her eyebrows shot up. "Hey, what time is it?"

Alice checked her blank wrist. "It's skin o'clock, like always," Alice said. "Not all of us got cool watches from Umbrella, you know."

"Oh yeah, real cool," Jill said, sarcastic. "All I had to do was be enslaved for ten years as I killed countless innocent people." She gave Alice another dirty look, checking her own watch. "The President's supposed to be addressing the building at any minute," she said. "I shared a few puffs with some guy from the NSA in exchange for him telling me that the government is going to move against Umbrella very soon. Like, within the hour soon."

"'Bout time," Alice griped. "Maybe they can finally use my psychic ass for something."

The public address system wired throughout the White House crackled, let out a little shriek of feedback, then a man cleared his voice and began to speak. "My fellow Americans, the forces of Umbrella are arraying themselves for a final strike on all the free, living peoples of the world. We have received intelligence that their bases are readying assaults on every settlement consisting of more than a handful of people both in the United States and at all points abroad. This insane, senseless destruction of human life will not stand! I, President Theodore Graham, have authorized the brave sailors of our submarine fleet to launch a coordinated nuclear strike on Umbrella bases worldwide. Within the hour, this threat to humanity will be neutralized and, God willing, the beginning of the end of this long, global nightmare will finally be in sight. Thank you, and God bless the human race."

Jill grinned. "Sounds like we're finally…" She trailed off, seeing Alice's face go stiff. "…Alice?" She saw the woman's pupils pulsate, something she'd seen occur in her own mirror enough to recognize it for what it was.

Her hand went to the gun in her holster. She began to feel the pressure on her brain as her hand closed around the butt. By the time the barrel cleared the holster, she was experiencing the most tremendous headache of her life.

Her brain popped like a water balloon before her gun was aimed high enough to even hit Alice in one of her toes. Blood oozed freely from her nose and her ears and the corners of her eyes; only her sheer tenacity kept her on her feet for a few seconds longer. The cigarette, burnt down to the butt, tumbled from her mouth as she finally fell.

A prisoner inside her brain, Alice was screaming and screaming and screaming. Hatred and fury and rage and agony and sorrow and horror were the horses of the merry-go-round of immense suffering that her psyche had abruptly turned into.

Outwardly, Alice's puppeted form considered Jill's corpse for a moment. It bent down, plucked the gun from her hand, shoved it into her own pocket, and began making her way to the President's bunker.

She passed numerous people on the way there, most of whom ignored her. A few saw her vacant-yet-determined gaze and were a little wigged out, but ignored or dismissed it and got on with their duties. A few recognized her as the annoying woman who'd asked about a gift shop, and were just grateful she'd moved on without bothering them further.

She reached the staircase that led down to the bunker, finding it flanked by a pair of Secret Service agents. "No entry, ma'am," one of them told her.

"Yeah, no gift shops down here," the other laughed. (Alice had been through here earlier, of course).

Trapped inside her head, Alice laughed along for a split second, until Alice-the-puppet reached out, grabbed each agent's SMG with psionic force, aimed it at the other, and pulled the triggers simultaneously, killing both men instantly.

Alice-that-was-trapped could hear nearby screams from people who'd heard the shots and were alarmed that something bad was occurring. And oh boy, were they right.

(You may be thinking to yourself, oh, Alice has been brainwashed before, she shook it off quickly enough, she'll shake this one off too, and soon. She has to. But then you remember that that was movie Alice. This Alice has never once been mind controlled, not even for one second. She hasn't spent five years living on the fringes of postapocalyptic society in the time between Apocalypse and Extinction, dodging Umbrella satellites and honing her mental discipline to the extent that it can throw off Umbrella's brainwashing. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but this Alice is in it for the duration).

She finished descending the stairs, where a trio of agents were waiting for her, guns drawn. "HOLD IT!" the lead one shouted, aiming right for Alice. Alice did not hold it, so the men opened fire.

The bullets stopped mid-air in front of Alice.

"Oh my fucking God, she's got fucking Matrix superpowers!" one of the agents screamed.

Alice-that-was-trapped didn't even get a chance to enjoy the comparison as Alice-the-puppet launched the suspended bullets back towards their origin, peppering the agents with their own bullets. She walked past their bodies and down the hallway.

It was a long hallway, and Alice-that-was-trapped was doing her damnedest to take control back; or, failing that, to simply give herself an aneurysm or something. She did everything she could think of to try to stop herself, but Alice-the-puppet wasn't stopped or even slowed by any of it.

She reached a big, thick bank-vault style door. For all the physical force she was capable of exerting with her mind, she would not be able to tear this thing open, not before reinforcements arrived and shot her in the back, and Alice-that-was-trapped let herself be smug for a second at the killing spree being cut short.

Alice-the-puppet turned to a surveillance camera located above the door. "Let me in," she said, her voice devoid of any of Alice's warmth or humor. Her mind probed its way through the camera, reaching through to the other end, where a frantic Secret Service agent was on the radio letting everyone in the building know that an attack was under way at the bunker's entrance. "Let me in," Alice-the-puppet insisted, visiting pinpricks of agony unto the man's body. He began to scream. "Let me in and the pain goes away." She ratcheted up the pain, ceasing every five seconds to give the guy the chance to clear his head and open the door.

The dude lasted like this almost an entire minute before he finally relented and hit the emergency open switch on his control console. The bunker door swung open, and Alice rewarded the agent by obliterating his brain.

As Alice-that-was-trapped watched the carnage unfold, agent after agent being fallen like wheat before the scythe, she was utterly horrified… and at the same time baffled as to why Alice-the-puppet was switching up the methods of murder. One guy's brain she would explode, another she would snap his neck, another she would force his own gun into his mouth and pull the trigger, on and on. What kind of a sick piece of shit would —

Oh. Wesker. Obviously this was all Wesker's doing, and Alice felt dumb as hell for it taking so long for her to figure out.

The last of the agents fell and Alice tore away the door leading into the next room, the central command room, filled with workstations (many of which unmanned, their monitors dark) and with a big digital map of the world on one entire wall. Several old men — the Joint Chiefs of Staff, bigwigs with stars on their shoulders and more pins on their chest than even the most decorated Girl Scout — were waiting for her, service pistols drawn. They got off several shots between them, before Alice simply flexed her telekinesis and tore down a large display that had been mounted to the ceiling — and this place was last updated in the late 90s, so it was a big fat CRT. The men were crushed, dying instantly.

Alice-the-puppet walked to the front of the room, where scared whimpering could be heard under one desk. She threw the desk across the room with a gesture, revealing the cowering form of President Graham himself. "P-please don't kill me!" he begged.

"Stay here," Alice commanded, walking right past him. Into the President's own personal quarters.

President Graham watched, dumbfounded, as the assassin who had effortlessly butchered his security detail and the Joint Chiefs just walked right on past him. Terror gripped his heart and squeezed it with poison-tipped claws when she returned moments later, his daughter Ashley suspended in midair before her, crying and screaming.

"DADDY! PLEASE HELP ME!" she begged.

"Leave my daughter alone, God damn you!" President Graham cursed.

"Go get the Football," Alice ordered him.

The President's eyes widened. "This is about the nuclear strike, then?" He stuck out his chin. "The orders can't be recalled, I hope you know. They've been ordered to shut off their radios until after the attack, which will commence in forty-five minutes!" President Graham gave Alice a defiant smile. "Umbrella will fall!"

Ashley's left arm abruptly broke in three places. (Yes, this is kinda ripping off the whole Vecna schtick from Stranger Things. No, I don't care). Ashley let out a shriek of agony.

"The Football," Alice repeated. "There are 205 unbroken bones in your daughter's body." Ashley's right arm snapped similarly, eliciting a new shriek. "204," Alice relayed coolly. Ashley's left leg cracked, bending in a manner it was never intended to do, and Ashley blacked out from the pain. "203."

"STOP! PLEASE!" President Graham begged. "I'll go get it! Anything you want! Just don't hurt her anymore!" Alice watched as he scurried over to the Joint Chiefs and managed to wiggle the briefcase out from where it had half wedged under one man's body. He reached into his pocket for the key, unlocked it, opened it, then put his face down so that his eye triggered the iris scanner. He cleared his throat and spoke his passphrase: "Romeo Alfa India November."

"Welcome, President Graham!" the screen on the Football read.

"God help me," he uttered, before Alice tilted her head, sent out one last psionic lash, and snapped his neck. Letting Ashley fall to the floor, she approached the Football and sat down in front of it, typing away furiously.

Now, the reason that the government wanted to use subs to strike Umbrella is because submarine-launched ballistic missiles have a much shorter flight time, meaning less time for Umbrella to attempt to intercept and shoot down any incoming warheads. America's missile silos (which had been automated to be fired remotely at the start of this mess) take practically forever to arrive at their destination comparatively — anywhere from 30 to 40 minutes. You could practically send a postcard through the mail and it'd almost arrive simultaneously.

The subs were also applying a time-on-target strategy — in simplest terms, maneuvering around and scheduling their launches so that the missiles all arrive at their targets simultaneously. That way, Umbrella Base A, right before it gets destroyed, can try sending a warning off to Umbrella Base B, but said warning would probably pass by the one Umbrella Base B just sent out right ahead of its own thermonuclear obliteration.

Of course, one drawback of this is that it takes a while for the subs to actually get in position. Something like, oh, 42 minutes left, I think?

You've already suspected that none of those subs will actually be firing off their payloads, but you may truly be starting to grasp the 'why' of the matter now.

Alice-the-puppet kept glancing up at the big display of the world map, since it oh-so-helpfully displayed the location and precise coordinates of the scant few boats left in the ocean, including the United States Navy's submarine fleet. She'd punch in the coordinates for a sub, order a Minuteman missile to target it, and over a thousand miles away one of the missile silos in the Dakotas would open up and spew a lance of atomic obliteration at its own country's forces.

Alice-that-was-trapped kept fighting and screaming and cursing all this, of course. Completely futilely, but she tried. She stopped for a moment, watching through her eyes as Alice-the-puppet picked her next target… a Typhoon class submarine slowly making its way down the American west coast. Her heart froze and she railed against her body. "YOU FUCKING BITCH! THAT'S NOT EVEN AN ATTACK SUBMARINE! MY FRIENDS ARE ONBOARD! BECKY!"

Alice-the-puppet paid no attention to the ranting, entered the sub's coordinates, and ordered another Minuteman strike.

Alice-that-was-trapped stopped fighting. She didn't even react when the next target was the Arcadia, still floating about in the Pacific somewhere. A moment later, she didn't even care that the next coordinates that were entered in were for Washington itself.

In fact, she was immensely relieved.

XXXXXXXXXX

The BSAA is mostly from the games (and was formed by a bunch of Big Pharma companies, go figure), but the humvee Alice tools around in at the start of the movie has 'BSAA' on it. Fun stuff!

The little we saw of the White House in the movies never showed anything like manufactories or greenhouses, but come on, they had to get their food, fuel, and bullets from SOMEwhere.

President Graham never had a first name, as far as I can tell. So, I figured why not name him after a snack food?

And here we go: the culmination of Wesker's plan to use Alice to destroy all resistance to Umbrella. And it all relies on Alice's fun little party trick of being able to reach out and touch someone over a camera. Why else would Wesker restore Alice's superpowers? He HAD to have direct need for them, or else him giving them back to her just for shits and giggles until he destroys the White House with whatever other evil plan he has is just dumb, dumb, dumb.

Ashley Graham is from the RE4 game, of course. All in all, being kidnapped by a crazy cult worked out better for her than this little cameo, hahaha.

The IRL US Navy is supposedly able to track every boat in the water at any given time, so it's not unrealistic for the fictional one to pull it off too.

RIP almost all of Alice's friends and loved ones!