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
wanted 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."
She waited to see if he was finished and then
laughed, long and loud. Wesker felt himself flush. It was
clear from her tone exactly what she thought of his request.
Fine. Nice time is over.
Wesker stepped forward and held out his hand. "We
want a sample of T-Veronica," he said, the gloss disappearing
from his voice. "And I'm going to have to insist
that you give it to me."
As she started down the stairs, for just a second he
thought she was going to do it, but then she started to
change, and he stopped thinking anything. He could
only stare, his awe returning tenfold.
A step down, and her dress burned away in searing
veins of golden light, the light coming from her body.
Another step, and her flesh changed, turned a deep gray,
her hair disappearing, gray flesh locks growing from the
top of her head and flopping down to frame her face.
Her nakedness was transformed with her next step, as
rough, pebbled armor grew over one leg and her groin,
curled up to support a rounded breast, to cover her right
arm. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs,
she no longer resembled Alexia Ashford.
His breath taken away, Wesker reached for her - and
with the back of her hand, she struck him, and then he
was flying, landing in a heap by the front door.
Such power!
He stood up, understanding that force might be useful,
and prepared himself to move, to use his own
power...
... and with a smile, she waved her hand and fire burst
up from the marble floor, lines of it surrounding nun,
beckoned to life by her slender fingers. She lowered her
hand and the flames went down but didn't die, still burning
from stone, from bare stone.
Wesker knew then that it was over. If she chose to
spare him, he'd be lucky. Without another word, he
turned and walked out, running as soon as the door had
closed behind him.
The part-creature left, and only seconds later, the
young man followed, believing that he'd escaped unseen.
Alexia watched them run, amused but slightly disappointed.
She'd expected more.
The part-creature was no threat, and she decided to
spare him. His arrogance had pleased her, if not his pathetic
"offer." The young man, though ... brave and
self-sacrificing, loyal, compassionate. Physically, a
good specimen. And he loved his sister, who was about
to die - it would make for an interesting physiological
reaction.
Alexia decided that she would create a confrontation
for them to interact. She would test a new form for herself
and see if his grief made him bolder, or if it proved
to be a liability...
She laughed, suddenly imagining a suitable, an apt
form to take. Except for Alfred, no one had known the
simple secret of T-Veronica, that it was based on the
chemistry of a queen ant. She would try an insectile
configuration, experience the strengths and advantages
that such a form would propose.
Her disappointment was past. The girl and her boy
would die, and then she would indulge herself with the
young man.
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