November 16th, 2014

I was on cloud nine, so much that I was actually into the night I was having at Live with Amanda. The last time I had this much fun was ages ago, and I wasn't concerned with finals or anything that should've been at the forefront of my mind. I hadn't even told Amanda why I was so happy now, and I thought maybe I should leave it that way for a while. Listening to her wasn't always the best idea, and she'd probably end up leading me down a rushed road. No, I wanted to take things with Al slow, and I wanted to keep this a secret for a little longer so that if things did get me down again, I'd have this one thing to smile over. As we twerked to Lil' Jon I asked myself, Turn Down for what indeed? As Amanda's dress rode up higher, I once more found myself tugging at the hem to keep the creeps from earlier at bay.

They'd done a poor job at dancing with us just a few minutes ago by essentially dry-humping our asses, and when I thought back to the kiss I'd shared with Al yesterday, I felt too disturbed to allow them to continue. One kiss didn't mean that I was in a relationship, but it still felt wrong. As I scanned the floor for the guys from earlier, my eyes were caught by the presence of a woman upstairs that was staring down at the party below her. I'd never seen her here before. It also struck me as odd that VIP was totally empty right now save for her it seemed. As the intro for "Dark Horse" began I ceased all movement and focused on the stranger above.

Her nails were claws, sharpened into points that looked like they could shred through flesh. Instead, she used them to finger comb the mass of hair that fell to her waist, the amount of body present only achievable with hair extensions, but her style was so carefree that it had to have been all her. Blue eyes scanned over the dance floor, carrying in them no hint of true interest. Despite the dullness that she probably witnessed though, those orbs were brilliant and electric, alive all on their own. From here I could tell she was short in stature, but her presence more than made up for it. She wore a black jumpsuit with a V-neck that trailed down to her waist, exposing the inside of her cleavage, but she didn't seem to have a care in the world over what eyes would see.

I felt Amanda bump her hips into me, shaking me out of my assessment of the stranger above, and I was so entranced that I felt compelled to make her presence known to someone else. "Hey, who's that?" She was new to the city; I couldn't recall seeing her, or anyone like her for that matter around Raccoon City. Typically, I wouldn't have cared about anyone upstairs and would have just considered any woman staring down to be a stuck-up bitch that was too good to dance with my kind. Something about this woman wasn't typical though, and she was unrelenting in her survey. She possessed purpose.

Instantly, Amanda stopped dancing, probably more interested in the stranger's sexuality than her identity. "Wow." She began urgently tapping my arm as if I wasn't the one who had become aware of her first. "Hey, that's one of the new owners!" Waving up to her, Amanda almost hit me in the face, making me wish that I had kept my mouth shut. At times, my friend could be extra in her approach to a situation, and once she received a new mission, everything else became background noise.

The woman looked down to see what all the motion was, and she almost looked as though she would scan right over us, until –it seemed at least- she saw me. Then, with a smile, she ushered for us to join her, and my friend could barely contain herself as she dragged me across the floor to the stairs. As we made our way up the spiraling staircase, I felt confused about why she'd want to meet us, but because Amanda was this elated I wouldn't voice my concerns aloud. I'd grown far too skeptical of just about everything since the mansion incident, and I'd almost forgotten that I had the most fun when I asked the least amount of questions. Upon reaching the top we were met by two guards, each upward of six feet in height, and both weighing as much as Amanda and me combined.

From behind them, I heard a voice command, "Move."

Without offense from the tone, they each stepped aside, parting to allow us through. Upstairs was different from the floor. Rather than simple, black couches, there were quilted, silver sofas in VIP. There were five tables upstairs, and there was a bottle of Vodka on each of them. On the couch opposite the woman sat a black-haired man who was smoking something that wasn't tobacco. His eyes, that same electric blue as hers, roved over Amanda and me before going back to his company. He said something in another language, and she gave a short response. With the tips of his fingers, he killed the blunt, stuffing it inside his expensive-looking blazer. Without another word, he got to his feet, heading to a service door near the back.

I barely had time to take in his appearance, but I knew from those few moments that he was beautiful. The woman gestured to the couch to her right, smirking as we awkwardly sat down.

"Hello." Her voice produced a thick, harsh accent, its origins probably Middle Eastern. Something about it made me feel a sense of familiarity, but I couldn't place it. Why should I have known her accent?

We only sat there, Amanda probably just now asking herself why this woman would want to speak to us. "I'm Amanda." My friend's voice was at least an octave higher than usual, which led me to the conclusion that she was in love.

To not seem rude, I chimed in with, "And I'm Claire."

"I'm Isabella." As she poured two shots of Tequila, she paused, noting our wristbands. "How old are you two?" she asked, skepticism lacing her voice.

Amanda looked as though she was going to tell a lie, but I knew this woman's business, and more than likely, citizenship may have hinged on our honesty. "Nineteen!" I enthusiastically replied to drown out any sign that Amanda was going to exaggerate, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw my friend pout.

Rather than retract the offer for drinks, Isabella shrugged and slid the two shot glasses to our sides of the table.

I didn't instantly take back my drink like Amanda, instead, I held it, watching Isabella watch us. "Where are you from?" The origins of her accent would nag me all night.

As she continued watching us -not looking at us- she said simply, "East."

Always up to find out if her family had a connection to someone with their own money, Amanda asked, "What's your last name?"

With a smirk now, she poured another shot of tequila into a glass and slid it over to my friend. "Abolhassan."

With a shrug, Amanda took back her second shot. "We love your club!"

After finally taking back my shot, I shook my hands and struggled a bit to keep the liquor down. I knew better than to try this with an empty stomach, but I was so blissful today that the last thing I had concerned myself with was food.

Isabella seemed amused by my display as she poured up another shot for the both of us, but she failed to offer a lime, salt, or at least a chaser. "Do you girls come here much?"

Greedily, Amanda reached for her glass and held it up. "All the time!" My friend gulped down her third shot, covering her mouth with her hand as the liquor undoubtedly attempted to make its way back up. She drank a lot, but not enough to where she could take shots like water.

The youthful appearance of Isabella had finally made itself apparent, and I found myself wondering aloud, "How old are you?"

Leaning back on her couch, she crossed her legs and gave the strangest grin. "Twenty-six." Though she had the appearance of someone our age, her mannerisms, and her responses all seemed to belong to someone who knew a whole lot more than we did.

There was one positive that I could give Isabella aside from the various and obvious others: I'd never met the previous owner. Sure, I'd seen him and been near him with all the times Amanda had rented out VIP, but he'd never considered us to be worth the grace of his sleazy presence. Though she'd shut down VIP tonight for unknown reasons, it made this moment feel special alongside the peculiar element. The only reason I could imagine her being here though was because she wanted to observe, to learn about her clientele rather than assume as her predecessor had. The huge black and silver balloons I saw earlier seemed to be a big hit with both the sober and intoxicated, and I guess she was intuitive enough to understand the importance of appealing to the immaturity of us all. Something told me that wouldn't be the end of her catering to the kid in all of us though. I'd also noticed more tricks from the bartenders, and more importantly: slightly lowered prices of the fruity-frilly, watered-down beverages.

Cheap prices for cheap-valued liquor might as well have been a genius idea in her line of work. I wondered if she'd expand and buy the bar next door? By now, I'd noticed that she was continuing to offer Amanda shots without taking any for herself. It had to be something she was choosing to do because of her being over the club.

Deciding to make small talk, I took back another shot, noting Amanda's sudden giddiness. "So, when did you come to the US?"

Rather than refill my glass, she stared at me interestedly as though I were some unique subject that she felt compelled to figure out. "I came here a few weeks ago."

Slurring, Amanda gushed," But your English is so good!"

Despite my friend speaking, she still eyed me with fascination. "I have been speaking English for years. I learned in England."

Desperate to get her attention off of me and onto herself, I asked, "You lived in England?"

Leaning back, she ran her hair through those silk locks, not losing a wave. "For a time."

With a hint of admiration and awe, Amanda leaned forward and said, "I haven't been to England in ages."

Finally looking at my attention-starved friend, she asked, "Would you like to come with me?"

The blonde leaned in so far that one of her hands almost grazed the floor. "Oh my God, when? Cause I have school."

"I will let you know." From what I could tell, she was finally flirting back with my companion. Thank God.

I saw Amanda reach for the bottle of tequila, but I managed to obstruct the path of her greedy fingers. "Nooo, no más," I said as I would to a child, holding the bottle away from her grasp.

Isabella perked up. "¿Hablas Español?"

Placing the bottle farther away, I replied, "Si, podría ir a la escuela para los idiomas." I was still weighing my options, but right now languages are looking like a good idea for me. I would still consider Biology, but for now, this was as made up as my mind was going to be.

"¿Como?"

I shrugged, somewhat enjoying that she was showing interest in my interests rather than just me like I was some exhibition piece. "Español, francés, alemán…"

Impressively she said, "Ich liebe Deutsch. Despite how harsh it is."

Drunker than before, Amanda once more began gushing. "Oh my God, you're like, super smart! How many languages do you speak?"

Returning to her previous demeanor, she sat forward a bit. "I forget."

Noticing Amanda's further descent into drunkenness without even having stood up, I decided it was probably best to call tonight's festivities quits. "I think I need to get her home." Though I felt the pit of my stomach warming, I knew a pleasant visit with Isabella would become nothing more than an embarrassing and bridge-burning memory. Although my friend groaned in protest, I pulled her to her feet, trying my damnedest to hold her steady.

Despite knowing our imminent exit, Isabella stayed seated, her expression unchanging. "Harold," she called, earning the attention of the slightly larger guard in front of the stairs. Once he was standing next to her, she pointed at us with two fingers. "Remember their faces. They are always welcome to see me."

As Amanda's body swayed in our host's direction, she slurred, "Call me!" immediately yelling out her number.

To halfway apologize for my friend's outburst, I said, "It was nice meeting you!"

Somehow, over my friend's drunken objections, I heard her say quietly, "It was nice meeting you as well."

Probably at her behest, Harold escorted us down the stairs, keeping a very tight hold on my friend. I just hoped that Amanda remembered how she got the bruises in the morning.

"So, what are you looking for?" William peered over my shoulder at the computer screen, watching me closely as though I wouldn't eventually reveal my research efforts when I spoke to my father again.

Logging in under my name -boldly- I muttered, "Anything that mentions my father involved with any 'grand' discovery."

William was correct that I was infected with a component of Batna, and if Claire's dream was more than just that then I'd find more answers by sifting through my father's history. Thus far, I'd come up with nothing but the usual talk of him being a founder of Umbrella. Then I came across some old photographs that had made the paper. In his former years, he'd looked nothing like my brother or myself, which led me to wonder who we looked like. In those photos from years past, he'd appeared as a young black-haired man with a face suited for the shallow views of today. He looked different, not at all like the man I saw throughout my life. Even his eyes were different, the same blue that Alex and I possessed rather than that dull gray.

"Well, wasn't he pretty," Will snickered, looking at the side of my face before adding, "So that's where you get it from."

I fought the urge to retaliate and instead took note of the obvious time gap in photos. For almost ten years there were no pictures of him. When another emerged, he looked more like the man he was today, a very sharp turn for him aesthetically.

Nothing had turned up that had been announced publicly, telling me that I'd more than likely have to obtain more information illegally, but while I was searching I decided to do a quick Google search of my father. Something struck me as odd as soon I looked into his Wikipedia results: his parents hadn't been listed. Being a Lord, his family had to have had some pull of their own, and so I searched for the name Armus Spencer, the one he'd said belonged to his father, but I found nothing. Surely my father's legacy hadn't been self-erected. I went back to the Wikipedia page, looking through the article on his early life, finding no mention of his parents.

"Spencer was born June 24, 1939, to French immigrants. His younger years were spent in various parts of England..."

"This is quite off-topic," Will remarked, walking over to the other side of my desk, only doing so to stretch his legs. When I didn't leave the page though, he exclaimed, "So you wait till you're thirty-eight to think about starting an Ancestry account?!" I would continue to ignore him. If he had grown impatient, then he would have been more than welcome to leave my home and allow me to do my research.

French immigrants, I asked myself, unable to recall there being mention of two such individuals. My father always told me that my grandparents had come from England and that they had wealth that had been passed down for centuries. I typed in, "Ozwell Spencer parents," seeing nothing but unsafe links to unheard-of sites. I clicked on, "Images," scrolling through pictures that only contained my father. Then, I stopped at one of him in his younger years in front of a ship that was readying for departure. The caption read that it was taken in 1982.

"Whoa, is that your uncle or something?"

At first, I didn't understand what Will meant and was prepared to write off his question, but then I saw what he'd been referring to. In the upper left-hand corner of the picture, I saw a dark-haired man that very much resembled both myself and my older brother. I wanted to ask, "What the fuck is this?" but Will was unaware of Alex's existence, as were many people. Despite being Father's right hand, he was a secret that I had no problem keeping. Even when I joined Umbrella and he attended the ceremony, he'd stayed hidden. Rather than demonstrate my shock and interest I shrugged. "I don't know." To keep myself composed, I assured myself that this man had to have been the relative we'd both resembled. Though it would rouse the suspicions of my colleague, I couldn't write off the existence of this photo, so I set it to print.

This man may have very well been Father's brother or even uncle. Never had my father mentioned any siblings though, but perhaps it was a sore topic for him? Spencer displayed few moments of sentimentality, but every man had a weakness. Perhaps the absence of a brother was the reason he'd sought such closeness with his deceased cofounders. Perhaps his exceedingly, obvious preference for Alex was also because, from what I could tell, he was this man's twin even more so than myself. Right now, I was uncomfortable with being left with my thoughts even though my friend was present. I wanted to tell William of Alex's existence, but I didn't know how to begin.

Explaining my relationship with my brother was never an easy task. The moment I would explain him as only my half-sibling, my claim was unbelievable. To outsiders, there was no way that we didn't share one hundred percent of our DNA and were eighteen years apart. I didn't know what to say or how to begin the conversation. I also had my reservations because this was quite a thing to keep from my friend of twenty years. Will knew my blood type but didn't know that I had a sibling. This was going to become more complicated than I had ever intended. I was only looking for answers as to what had been done to me, but looking for them would more than likely force me to pull Will into things that I never wanted him involved in.

So, for now, my friend would remain in the dark about Alex, and I would go to confront my father about the photo. Digging through the past didn't give me the answers that I was looking for, but had potentially become a gateway.

November 17th, 2014

Nervously, I rang the doorbell, tugging down the sleeves of my coat as I waited for the door to swing open. He didn't expect me today, and I thought to myself that it wasn't rude but a sweet surprise. As I thought of Al, I couldn't help but smile to myself, feeling like a silly girl again, but I was okay with it. It felt nice to know someone was capable of getting me to focus solely on them and not on every other problem in the world. Along with him came the memories of that night, the knowledge that more nightmares awaited me, but none of that mattered when we were talking and playing the game of "What is this?" I heard the locks turning over, a sound that kept me from floating away with those lovely thoughts of his grins and our silent moments where we would become lost in one another's gaze. As the door opened, I was prepared to greet him informally, yet when instead I was met with the sight of a darker-haired Albert Wesker, I faltered in my salutations. Struck with the worst case of confusion, my mouth opened, delivering not a single line or inquiry.

"Hello," came a cool, deep voice that lacked the profundity that Al possessed. Was this a joke? Staring at this man was like looking at some freaky, alternate universe Al. His face was almost identical, except his nose seemed a bit sharper, his face produced a stubble that was only a few days away from becoming a beard to accompany his goatee, and his most noticeable, differentiating trait was his black hair.

"I-I'm looking for Al."

As I tripped over the words, the alternate universe Al smirked, showing off more pronounced smile lines that Al didn't have. "Come on in." He stepped away from the door to make room for me to enter.

Before stepping inside, I looked around, praying that I wasn't stepping into some weird, Silent Hill shit. As if I were preparing for a dive, I took a deep breath in before stepping over the threshold, feeling no different once I was on the other side.

After closing the door, the alternate universe Al turned back to me. "I'm Alex," he announced extending a hand.

Upon contact, I knew for sure that this was not Al. "Claire." As I shook his hand, his smirk became a true smile, his pale, blue eyes almost identical to Al's except for a tiny twinkle that appeared.

Heavy footsteps interrupted our greeting, and I looked up to see Al hurrying down those –in my opinion- unreliable steps. As he reached the bottom, he looked back and forth between us almost nervously, a feeling I'd never seen him wear before. "Claire."

"I was just heading into the kitchen," Alex announced, gesturing for us to follow him. Without question or desire to offend him, I did just that, staring back at Al to make sure that he was coming as well. His steps lacked any enthusiasm, and his only motivation to follow probably had to do with me.

As Alex leaned against the counter, grin still in place, Al stepped into the kitchen cautiously. Was he unsure of how to introduce me to this doppelganger? Not knowing whether to speak or keep silent, I took a chair at the counter, looking back and forth between the nearly-identical faces. "I'm lost," I admitted aloud, finally getting a response out of Al that wasn't rooted in what appeared to be fear.

"Of course," he almost stammered, taking another uneasy step forward. "Claire, this is my older half-brother, Alex."

At, "half-brother," I almost sat up straight in my seat. Spencer's family had to have some strong genes for almost, identical men on either side of me to be possible. Unsure of what to say, I weakly announced to Alex, "I didn't know Al had a brother."

Quickly, Al informed me of his absence. "I haven't seen him in six years." This had become an awkward reunion then. Chris and I knew better than ever to include non-family in such delicate matters. It appeared that these two hadn't read the Sibling Handbook lately.

Chuckling for some unknown reason, Alex took a seat across from me. Something about him was unsettling. I could tell the glaring similarities between the two but also saw some striking differences. "Well, I've been very busy." His defense was pathetically weak. It was the excuse you gave when you failed to return texts, not when you failed to see your brother for over half a decade. I couldn't tell if Al was hurt by this or irritated at the half-assed explanation. Now, he was being put on the spot by not just his younger sibling's glare but my own. Mine was just one of secondhand embarrassment. "Father has needed help on a more global scale. I couldn't just come and settle down in Raccoon City." Though I didn't think our city was anything special, I knew its importance to their father's company, so that statement was a bit offensive to a native. I would let his words slide though simply because he was the brother of the man that I was interested in.

Hoping to get away from any subject that could make the mood more serious, I decided to refer back to their relationship. Their resemblance was far too similar for me to accept the whole, "half-brother," explanation. "There's no way you guys are half-siblings. You're almost identical." Yes, Alex looked slightly older by maybe ten years but that was mainly due to the small lines and creases that had formed on his face. They were tiny, but those distinctions did exist.

With that devilish grin, he joked, "You don't think one of us is prettier?" He stroked his goatee playfully, earning a chuckle from me but silence from his brother who now was holding himself up on the counter next to me.

Trying to ignore Al's obvious attitude, I inquired, "So, are you staying with Al?"

His blue eyes shifted to his younger sibling, something mischievous appearing that I couldn't determine the intent behind. Was it innocent, malicious, or was it just sibling rivalry? Even when Chris and I weren't getting along, things never got this tense, and this was bordering on creepy. "Why yes, I am. Just until Father gets something set up for me."

This provoked a response from the blond that I didn't expect. "You didn't tell me that you were staying here."

So, Alex was that kind of houseguest and family member huh? The kind that showed up and then said, "Surprise! I'm staying for three months!" Al wasn't thrilled to see more of his older brother, something that made me wonder even more what had transpired between them during their time together in years past. Had they fought over a woman? Their father's company? Or were they so similar that they just clashed when they were near?

Suddenly the black-haired Alex asked, "So, how did you two meet?"

I had a feeling that Al wouldn't want to answer for one reason or another, so I said, "My brother works for the RCPD as well."

"Well, well," he mused. Now I was getting the feeling that he was possibly up to no good. There was a pretty good chance these two didn't get along because Alex had a slick mouth. Maybe he meant no harm and maybe he meant just a bit, but either way, I wasn't too comfortable with him to just accept it. "Claire?" he asked thoughtfully, his chin resting in one of his hands and his brow drawn inward, "How old are you?"

"I believe Father needed you at his office," Al interjected warningly. I didn't know if I should be offended that he didn't seem to want his brother to know or glad that he was trying to put an end to the unnerving prying.

His interest was obviously and abruptly shifted from me by the blond's statement though. His inquisitive expression had gone from one of mischief to one of genuine concern. "Which one?"

"The newer one that's not actually an office."

"Ahh." He pushed himself away from the counter, standing up straight. "There was something that I needed to discuss with him anyhow." He made his way over to us, patting Al on the arm before looking down at me. "It was a pleasure meeting you Claire." As he left the room we both stared after him, probably thinking the same things about what a peculiar person he was.

When I heard the front door open and close, I looked back to Al, seeing that he hadn't taken his eyes away from the foyer. "I didn't know you had a brother."

Absentmindedly he took the chair next to me, his gaze still on the entrance to the foyer as though he expected his brother to barge back in. "Few do."

That comment struck me as odd, but I would leave it alone for now. I was more interested in getting him to pay attention to me, and honestly, I was dying for him to just kiss me again. I brought a hand to his right cheek, getting his attention so I didn't have to force him to turn and look at me. "Hey," I whispered.

He grabbed my hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss, but I didn't get dressed and drive over here for that. I didn't know what was going on between us, but I didn't want to make it all awkward by telling him that I liked him. Fighting that urge to ruin the moment, I slid out of the stool.

He parted his knees to allow me to get closer, now holding both of my hands. I knew this was leading to a kiss, but I didn't know where that would lead. I'd only known him for a month, so I wasn't in any rush to make it upstairs with him, but I found myself being increasingly drawn to him as the days went on. Not seeing him every day was becoming harder for me and I didn't want to overdo it with texting. Maybe he preferred not talking about it and he just wanted to continue the way we were until we reached a point where a conversation had to be had. Now we were just getting to know each other and being cute about it. The only issue I had with all of this was that I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

As he pulled me in closer, I lost my train of thought, forgetting all of my worries. "What was the worst that could happen?

Today had mostly been spent checking emails on my phone, none of them from Alfred, but a few of them did pertain to the goings-on of Rockfort Island. I would save that to read for later when I either needed a good laugh or something to take my frustration away from another matter. For at least an hour, Alex and I sat in complete silence, each of us busy with our mobile devices. Then I could no longer hear his fingers tapping against the glass screen, but I told myself that he was probably reading. That was a perfect explanation for me until his gaze became disturbed, and I could tell that he was no longer paying attention to the words on his screen. He didn't even attempt to stop it from dimming and going black as the phone locked itself. Perhaps he had been deep in thought, and I hoped that eventually he would return from his ponderings and let me in on what was bothering him.

The troubled expression that my eldest wore was unsettling to me. Alex usually did a much better job at hiding his thoughts, but something was so heavily weighing on him that it broke his character. The wrinkles that he chose to wear only exacerbated his show of concern, giving me the idea that perhaps he had intended on encouraging me to ask him what was the matter. There was little that I wouldn't do for him, and there was little that held more importance to me than his well-being. I'd put far too much effort into his success to allow him to descend into such a sullen existence. Had Isabella said something to him?

To start up a conversation I asked, "Must you wear that face?" Alex played his little games, and the appearance of a slightly older man brought some ease to the average people out there. I, for one, did not care if my appearance intimidated anyone, but I did feel pity for those that weren't at least given a pleasant face.

With little change to his expression, he thought about what I had meant for a moment. "Who was my mother?"

Taken aback, I locked my phone, not caught off guard enough to begin babbling like a fool. My son had never expressed any interest in his parentage, and his question of it now was suspicious. "Why are you asking this?"

Conversationally he said, "Isabella seemed quite concerned with Albert's mother. It made me wonder about my own. Was she one of us?"

Without pause, I replied, "Yes." I knew that my face would not betray me, but Alex had a knack for reading those around him. I felt certain that he wouldn't end the conversation there, and I would be displaying guilt if I decided to steer us away from this topic.

Pressing on, he asked, "What happened to her?"

I did wish that Isabella would return now, if anything to take his mind off of the past. He did mention that she was the reason he was inquiring in the first place though. Seeing no way out without appearing as though I had something to hide, I decided to give him just enough to satisfy his curiosity. "She died." My response was casual, perhaps too casual. I didn't want my son to believe that I held any notion of fondness for his mother, but I wanted him to believe me when I said that no good would come from the revelation of her identity. The truth was that I did not know who she was before what she had eventually become. The history of our kind could turn nasty at some points, too much for many to swallow when they held on to the belief that we were better than humans. However, knowing what I did, I would never believe us to be beneath them; we as a race did what we had to survive.

With the same nonchalance that I employed, he asked, "Did you kill her?"

For a moment I almost caught myself exploding with laughter. Alex knew me all too well it seemed, but not well enough to know that I didn't dispose of those that had little meaning. He was a gift from his mother, but her presence in my life after his birth was very much unneeded. As I stared into his eyes, I said, "Of course not."

Without a moment's pause, he aggressively inquired, "Then what happened?"

Honestly, I replied, "I don't know who killed your mother. Now I will tell you this: there are parts of our history that you should let die." My response was not what he wanted or expected, and though telling him the truth was preferential, it was not what was easiest. Alex didn't need to know more about our history than he did; he would only begin to thirst for more, and more I did not have. Some things were unknown to me, and he would only find frustration and disappointment if he took his questions to Isabella herself. She would not be as nice as I was.

As I looked upon him, the displeasure was made evident by his expression. His mouth was held in a straight line, his jaw was taut, and his back was straight. Rarely did my son express his upset with me, but the mention of mothers had bothered him on some level. Alex had never asked me about his mother before, and Isabella's interest in Albert's could not have been all it took to make him so defiant of me. One problematic son would do, but now I was left with the possibility of having two. Would Alex prove himself to be just as bold as his brother?

A/N: The disparities between Wesker and Alex are based on the differences between RE 4 Wesker and RE 5 Wesker. I always preferred the idea of RE 5 Wesker being an imposter (Alex).