the poor, doomed dumbass … just in time to see him throwing something, something small and dark, the Sweeper leaping out from behind the corner, still screaming, the object landing at its feet… … and the building was shaking, the screens going white and then black, the deep thunder of explosives rumbling through the floor. Wesker was astounded. And then furious. That creature had been a miracle of science, a warrior created for battle who was this dick who'd just rambled in and blown it to shit? A dead dick, Wesker thought darkly, pushing the crate away and heading for the stairs. He took them two at a time, carefully bypassing a few still burning fires, aware that he was channeling all his frustrations and upsets toward the unknown soldier and not particularly caring. Alexia wasn't at Rockfort, which meant he had to get his ass to the Antarctic of all places, to the only other facility she might be at; why else would Alfred have gone there? And if Wesker didn't get to her before she woke up, he might have to go home empty handed … all of which added up to failure, and if there was one thing Wesker hated, it was losing. He marched through the crumbling leftovers of the training facility, reaching the hall he wanted, silencing his steps as he edged farther along. There was still smoke in the air when he reached the corner where the conflict had taken place, but little left of the Sweeper. Most of it was stuck to the walls and ceiling. There, ahead and to the left; he could smell the intruder, could smell sweat and anxiety emanating from the small working lab to which he'd retreated. This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me, he thought, his mood lifting somewhat at the thought of a little personal interaction. Not wanting to get blown up, Wesker didn't hesitate, didn't give the guy a chance to get paranoid. He strode into the room, saw the soon-to-be corpse standing with his back turned, and moved. Moved the way only he could move one second, he was walking through the door, the next, he was spinning the intruder around, lifting him by his throat… … and then looking into the startled face of Chris Redfield.
Oh, my.
Chris, who'd been on the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S., who'd been led under Wesker's command to the Spencer estate, where he'd proceeded to thoroughly screw up Wesker's plans. Chris Redfield had cost him money, had almost cost him his life but worst of all, he had been primarily responsible for the biggest failure in Wesker's career.
Wesker recovered himself quickly, a dark, wonderful joy spreading through his entire body. "Chris Redfield, as I live and breathe what brings you to Rockfort, if you don't mind me…"
Wesker trailed off, still gazing up into Redfield's increasingly red face as he uselessly pried at Wesker's fingers. The girl, of course! He hadn't even known that Chris had a sister, but the deranged letter that Alfred Ashford had so thoughtfully left behind explained everything… including his plans for the young Claire Redfield. "She's not here," Wesker said, grinning. With his free hand, he straightened his sunglasses. "You … you're dead," Chris gasped, and Wesker grinned wider, not bothering to respond to such a stupid statement.
"Don't change the subject, Chris. Don't you want to know where Claire is, hmmm? Did you know that her plane took a little unplanned detour to the Antarctic?"
Chris was slowly choking to death, but Wesker could see that the news of his sister was hitting him harder than his own imminent demise. Wonderful! "There are experiments being performed there,"
Wesker mock-whispered, as if telling him a secret.
"I plan on going myself, see if I can get an experiment or two of my own going … tell me, is your sister goodlooking? Do you think she might be interested in getting some action, because I've got a hard-on like you wouldn't believe…"
Chris flailed at Wesker, the helpless fury in his eyes absolutely gorgeous. He hit Wesker in the face, knocking his sunglasses to the ground … and Wesker laughed, blinking up at him slowly, letting him see. He still wasn't used to it himself, the gold-red cat's eyes occasionally surprising him when he looked in a mirror and they had exactly the effect he'd hoped for. "What … are you?" Chris rasped out. "I'm better, that's what," Wesker said. "New employers, you know. After the Spencer estate, I needed a little help getting back on my feet, which they were perfectly willing to provide. You think Claire will like it?" "Monster," Chris spat. I'll show you monster, you shit.
Wesker started to close his hand, slowly, watching Chris's eyes bulging, a vein on his forehead popping out… … and was stopped by the sound of laughter. Cool, female laughter, filling the room, surrounding them. "Don't you want to play with me?" a voice said, the same woman, low and sexy and dangerous, and then she began to laugh again, an unmerciful, beautiful sound that finally trailed away to nothing.
Alexia!
God, she was awake … and the kind of power it would take for her to look in on him here, to project herself so far… Wesker threw Chris to one side, barely hearing the plaster wall crack beneath his useless skull, his thoughts full of Alexia. He had to go to her immediately. He had to have her, and not just for the sample … though he'd take what he could get. "I'm coming," he said, scooping up his sunglasses and then moving, speeding through the broken facility to where his private plane waited. Chris Redfield was his past; Alexia Ashford meant his future. Chris crawled to his feet soon after Wesker left, aching in about a dozen places, his throat horribly sore. He didn't know what had happened, exactly, didn't know who the woman was or why Wesker had seemed so eager to get to her but he understood now who had attacked Rockfort, and suspected the reason. Albert Wesker should have died when the Spencer mansion had burned, but it seemed he'd sold his soul to someone new at the price of his life, someone obviously as nasty and amoral as Umbrella someone who was perfectly willing to kill for whatever it was they wanted, for something that Umbrella had. Chris didn't care. At the moment, all he cared about was Claire, and getting himself to this Antarctica facility. He knew that Umbrella had a legitimate base there … it had to be the same one, and if it wasn't, somebody there would know where the experiments were taking place. He had one grenade left. If he could find the underground airport, he'd have no trouble getting inside, and he could fly anything with wings. He'd radio on the way for a read on the Umbrella base, and if he couldn't find a weapon to get her out, he'd use his bare hands. All that mattered was Claire. And he was on his way.
FOURTEEN
They were mere hours away. Two men connected by history, one her enemy, the other … Alexia didn't know about the other, not yet, but knew that he meant to reclaim the girl she'd taken from the snow machine. Probably the boy, as well. None of them would be leaving, of course … but she was looking forward to the petty intrigues and overblown, self-important dramas that their humanity would bring to her home. She would enjoy the chance to observe their natural tendencies and instincts before forever altering their lives. She stood in the great hall considering things: possi-
ble futures, her next transformation, the structural and psychological changes her new synthesis would create in humans, how she should welcome her new guests… … and it occurred to her that her home, deep beneath the ice and snow, might be difficult for them to achieve. She immediately wished for the doors to be opened, for obstacles to be removed … and she heard and saw and felt the result in the same instant, existing in a hundred places at once as locks were broken and walls were taken down, as debris was pushed aside and apertures were widened. She was prepared. Things would move quickly now … and what happened in the next hours would, to a degree, define her choices for some time to come. It was all still so new, the templates of her new life written only in sand… Smiling at her own poetic notions, Alexia went to see about the first series of injections for the boy.
FIFTEEN
Something was very, very wrong in Umbrella's Antarctica facility, but Chris didn't know what it was. On the fifth basement level of the dark and deserted compound, hundreds of feet beneath the snow, Chris stood in front of what appeared to be a full-blown mansion made of white brick. There was a fountain behind him, potted plants, even a decorative merry-go-round. He'd been led there, presumably because someone wa
nted him to go inside, but he didn't know who or why. His instincts were telling him to get the hell out, but he ignored them. He had to, not knowing if he was a lamb being led to slaughter or if he was being taken to Claire. Since landing the jet in the roof hangar, he'd been guided every step of the way walking into halls and having doors lock behind him, others opening up in front of him … twice, he'd found jewels on the cold cement floors, pointing him in a particular direction, and once, after taking a wrong turn, all of the lights had gone out. They'd come back on when he'd groped his way back to where he'd gone "wrong." It had been strange enough just getting to the facility, passing over me endless miles of gray ice and snow … and then seeing it for the first time, rising up from the blank plains like an illusion…
But to be herded someplace like an animal, shuffled along without knowing the reason…
Chris was scared, more scared than he wanted to admit. He'd tried to stop, to look around for weapons or clues, but everything had been shut off, every door he tried locked except for the ones he was supposed to go
through, of course. The cameras that had to be watching his every move were so well hidden that he hadn't seen even one of them … but it almost seemed that his shepherd knew his mind, knew what signals to give him, knew how to keep him going. He'd thought initially that it was Wesker, that it was all some setup to trap him, but why bother? He could have strangled Chris at the island if he'd wanted to. No, he was being guided for some other reason, and it seemed he had no choice but to follow along … not if he wanted to find Claire. He took a deep breath and opened the front door of the mansion, stepping inside. It was beautiful, as extravagant as the front of the building had suggested, grand staircase, arched pillars and strangely familiar, though it took him a moment to see how, the colors and decorations different. It was the layout the same basic layout as the front hall of the Spencer mansion. It was surreal, but so perfectly harmonious with all the other weirdness that he didn't bat an eye. Chris stood for a moment, waiting, looking around for another signal and then he heard what sounded like a laugh coming from behind the stairs. It was the same laugh that he'd heard at the Rockfort facility, that woman.
What had she said? Something about wanting to play?
It definitely felt like a game, like he was a character being moved around for someone else's enjoyment and it was starting to piss him off. That he was afraid only made him angrier. Chris stalked toward the back wall, ready to confront this woman, to demand some answers, but when he stepped around one of the decorative pillars, he saw that there was no one there. "What the hell is this," he muttered, turning –
-and there was Claire. Webbed to the back of the stairs as if by some giant spider, her eyes closed, her head hanging limply. Wesker wasn't surprised to find that parts of the Antarctic compound had been built to look like parts of the Spencer estate. The underground extravagance was an incredible waste, but as he'd noted many times before, so like Umbrella.
It was all about intrigue for them, back at the beginning. Before it all turned into a bad spy movie.
Oswell Spencer and Edward Ashford had been responsible for the creation of the T-virus, but it had been their only real accomplishment; the rest was money thrown away. Truly, the entire facility except for the laboratories, of course was an expensive joke, set up by old men and children with little imagination and too
much money. Aware that Alexia was probably watching, Wesker took his time, moving from level to level, clearing away a few wandering zombies as he walked. He wasn't carrying a weapon, had simply snapped their necks and left them to asphyxiate. Twice, he was spotted by other creatures, things he'd sensed and not seen, but they hadn't attacked, perhaps recognizing him as one of their own. Wesker kept moving, sure that Alexia would find him when she was ready. He'd landed his jet some distance from the compound, wanting to be sure that she understood how he was different that the elements didn't affect him, that he was physically stronger than any five men put together, with better endurance and sharper senses. He also wanted her to see that he was respectful of her space, that he was willing to be patient … and that he was extremely determined. Whenever you want, my sweet, he thought, walking through a cold room corridor on the fifth basement floor. He'd been through the area already, but knew that the "mansion" was there, and suspected that she would want to greet him in high style. It didn't matter to him, she could drop in on him in a toilet stall for all he cared, but he thought she was probably as vain and spoiled as her brother. However powerful and brilliant she was, she was also a twenty-five-year-old rich girl who had spent fifteen of those years sleeping. Rich, beautiful … playful. She probably didn't even understand her powers yet, but it wouldn't be long now, he could feel it. He left the icy stillness of the cold corridor and started for the mansion once again. Claire woke slowly, her aching body gently supported by warm hands that lifted and held her. She was laid down, the cold floor bringing her around, and when she opened her eyes, she saw her brother. Smiling at her. "Chris!" She sat up and embraced him, ignoring her sore muscles, so happy to see him that for a moment, she forgot everything else. It was Chris, it was him, finally! "Hey, sis," he said, fiercely hugging her back, the familiar sound of his voice making her warm and safe. She wished it could last forever, after so long!
"Claire … I think we ought to get out of here, now,"
he said, and she could hear a thread of concern behind his words that woke her up, that reminded her of all that had happened. "I don't know exactly what's going on, but I don't think it's safe." "We have to find Steve," she said, and started to get to her feet, worried. Chris helped her, supporting her while she steadied herself.
"Who's Steve?" "A friend," Claire said. "We got away from Rockfort
together, and we were about to get away from here, too, but something … some kind of creature grabbed our snowmobile and threw it…"
She looked up at Chris, suddenly more than just worried. "Before I blacked out, I heard him say my name… he's alive, Chris, we can't leave him…" "We won't," Chris said firmly, and Claire felt weak with relief. Chris had come, he knew all about Umbrella, he'd be able to find Steve and take them away… Laughter. A woman was laughing, a high, cruel laugh. Chris stepped out from behind the stairs, Claire following, both of them looking up to the balcony, and there was the woman, it was…
Alfred?
No, not Alfred. And that meant… "There really is an Alexia," Claire said softly. Go goddamn figure.
Still laughing, Alexia Ashford turned and walked away, exiting through a door at the top of the stairs. "She might know where Steve is," Chris said urgently, even as it occurred to Claire, and then both of them were running, climbing, Claire quickly outpacing him, ready to slap the truth out of Alfred's creepy sister… … and CRASH, behind her, the stairs falling away, Claire rolling to the floor as a huge tentacle smashed through the balcony, like in the snow cat… … and then it was gone, retreating through the hole it had created, leaving a trashed set of side stairs behind. The main staircase was still whole, but Claire was stuck on the second floor on a shattered wood island. She'd have to climb down.
"Claire!"
She crawled to her feet, saw Chris down below, wincing at some pain in his leg amid the broken wood and plaster. "Are you okay?" Claire asked, and Chris nodded and then there was a scream, and she felt her blood run cold. It came from beyond the door that Alexia had gone through, and it was Steve, there was no question in Claire's mind. It was Steve, and he was in pain.
Can't leave Chris, but… "Chris, it's him," Claire said, looking between her brother and the door, not sure what to do. "Go, I'll catch up!" Chris called. "But…" "Go! I'll be fine, just be careful!"
Terrified, Claire turned and ran, hoping she wasn't too late. Wesker stepped into the grand foyer of the underground mansion, and saw it wasn't quite so grand anymore. Something had happened to the stairs, part of the
upper balcony now smashed to the floor. He heard someone moving around behind a huge, jagged
piece of balcony still hanging from the tattered carpet, and took a step toward it… … and there she was. Standing at the top of the stairs in a long, dark dress, silky blond hair tied back from her pale, beautiful face. "Alexia Ashford," Wesker said, surprised to find himself somewhat in awe now that the moment was at hand. She looked human, delicate and helpless, but he knew better.
Make your pitch, and make it good.
Wesker cleared his throat, stepping forward and taking off his sunglasses. "Alexia, my name is Albert Wesker. I represent a group who has long admired your work, and have been eagerly awaiting your, ah, return."
She watched him impassively, head tilted slightly, her back straight and stiff. She looked like a debutante at her first society party.
"And may I add that it's a personal honor to meet you," Wesker said sincerely. "My employers told me all about you. I know your father sired you with the genes of his own great-great grandmother, Veronica that with her genetic material, the very foundation of the Ashford line, he created you and Alfred to be the culmination of genius. Veronica would surely be proud. I know you created T-Veronica in her honor…"
careful, he probably shouldn't mention what had happened to her father, don't bitch this up, "… and that you are the only, ah, being alive with access to the virus." "I am the virus," Alexia said coolly, studying him through narrowed eyes. "Yes, of course," Wesker said. God, he hated this diplomatic shit, he was terrible at it, but he wanted to impress her, to impress upon her how valuable she was to certain interested parties. "So," he continued, thinking how much easier things would have been if he'd gotten to her in stasis, "I would like it very much we would all appreciate it if you would agree to accompany me to a private meeting with my employers, to discuss an alliance of sorts. I can assure you that you won't be disappointed."
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