#dragonbabbles

It sounds like a joke: three bioweapons, two former bio-terrorists, and five anti-BOW agents walk into a safe house…

The closest secure location had been an old storage facility the DSO had used several years ago. Mostly abandoned, offline enough that no one would come to search it, and nestled deep in the forest where the odds of someone seeing them on satellite would be slim to none. The rest of the Hound Wolf Squad had set up a perimeter and were pointedly told not to eavesdrop. Which meant there was a good chance that at least some of what was about to come was going to be overheard.

Which brings them to now. On one side of the room, Chris sits with Claire and Jill pacing on either side of him, Carlos sitting on a nearby table, Leon leant up against the remaining crates. A little ways a way, Ethan, Mia, and Rose sit on a few boxes in a makeshift huddle. On the other side, Wesker sits in a single chair.

There's a long stretch of silence.

Carlos, to everyone's surprise, breaks it first. "How in the hell are you still alive?"

"After the events in Kijuju, or the ones just a few hours ago?"

"Both."

"Uroboros is resilient. Its regenerative properties would not allow me to perish, even after being dropped into a volcano. I managed to escape into the ocean and swam to safety." His gaze, no longer hidden by the sunglasses, cuts to Ethan. The tensing of the agents' shoulders does not go unnoticed. "As for what just happened, I…believe I am not the one most equipped to answer that."

Ethan shrugs. "You probably can say more than I can. I just know what happened in the mold."

"And what did happen in the mold?" Jill asks sharply.

"I wasn't there for all of it. You—well, part of you appeared in the Megamycete, Eveline kicked your ass—"

"She did not."

"Yeah, she did," both Ethan and Rose say at the same time—Mia's expression does something complicated, Leon turns his head to stifle a snort, Rose continues— "then you guys went to that big house."

"'Big house?'" Carlos asks.

"Spencer Mansion," Wesker says quietly, and both Jill and Chris's heads whip around.

"The mold can draw stuff from your memories," Rose explains quickly when Claire and Carlos look confused, "it, uh, made the house look like what he remembered. Sort of. Some of it was wrong—I was in there, he and Eveline saved me—"

"Saved you?"

Rose's fingers curl into the edge of Ethan's sleeve at Jill's interruption. "Yeah. The, um, the sedative—whatever they used to knock me out when they t-took me, it…cut me off from the rest of the mold. I couldn't feel anything—I couldn't feel Dad or Eveline or anyone I normally can. It, um, it manifested in the Megamycete as me being in this like, test tube thing? Kind of like those old movies and shows where people are like, frozen for a really long time?"

"They're not that old," Ethan mutters.

"You're old, Dad."

"Hey, you and I are in mold years, we don't count."

"Anyway," Rose says in a hurry when Jill's expression darkens, "yeah. He and Eveline, they, um, they got me out of there."

"You were fighting off Uroboros." Heads whip around once more. Wesker's hands, still gloved, twitch slightly where they sit folded in his lap. "Your powers…they activate when you are in combat of some sort, yes?"

"Mostly, yeah."

"Your body would glow upon contact. Uroboros was trying to attack the mold in its entirety, and part of it was in you."

"Upon contact? Contact with what?"

Wesker's gaze flicks to Ethan's again for a brief moment. "I was the one who introduced Uroboros to the system. It stands to reason that it would try and seek me out again once it became clear that…"

"Shit wasn't going according to plan?"

"Quite."

"So you touched me, and it tried to get to you, and my powers killed it?"

"That it how I understood it to happen, yes."

Claire steps forward, her hands clenched into fists. "So you put her in danger on purpose?"

"No. I did not know what was happening at the time." His gaze flickers to Rose. "She wasn't waking up. Eveline was worried."

"Worried," Carlos repeats flatly.

"Yeah." A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Even though she's currently saying she wasn't."

"She's here? Like, right now?"

"She's a part of the mold," Ethan says, "so yeah, she's here. She can't do anything, though, she's just thoughts and feelings for me and Rose."

"You just gotta go with it," Leon mutters to Carlos when the man doesn't look like he understands anything.

"So Rose wakes up," Jill cuts in, "and then what?"

"Then I saved them from the mold monsters and we escaped to a deeper stratum—layer of the mold," she says quickly. "Then, uh, you ran away from me."

"That is not what I did."

"That's literally exactly what you did. We were just talking and then you freaked out about being 'infected' or something and literally ran away."

Wesker's jaw works. "I had reason to believe the mold was…affecting me."

"What, just 'cause you were talking?"

"Yes." He glances at Ethan again. "That was when you appeared at the police station."

Claire's eyes widen. "The police station? In Raccoon City?"

"Why did it look like that? It had statues in the main lobby."

"It used to be a museum. But wait, why—"

"It was a museum," Rose interrupts, "and they turned it into a police station? Why? That seems like the weirdest—"

"You just gotta go with it," Leon says again, "trust me, Claire and I had the same question."

"Why the police station?"

"And why the mansion?" Jill scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. "Clearly they didn't mean that much to you when you were alive, so why—"

"They did."

The room stills.

Jill's glare meets Wesker's, both jaws clenched as the weight of his words thuds against the ground between them. For long seconds, it seems like neither dare breathe. Then Jill scoffs again.

"Sure didn't seem like it."

"The mold was remembering other places too," Rose says quietly, not meeting Jill's gaze when it turns to her. "Other first and last places. It…it remembered the ship where Mom and Eveline crashed, and our house in Romania, and the castle. It wasn't just the mansion and the police station."

"What do you mean, 'first and last?'" Claire asks. "First and last for what?"

"The first time something…happened, and the last time it was…" Rose swallows and Ethan takes her hand in his, squeezing tightly. "The last time things were safe. O-or the last time it was—where it wasn't just being a bioweapon and nothing else."

She pauses, frowns.

"Wait, what was the other place?"

Wesker stiffens. His hands clench into fists. He looks away. "No."

"There was another place—it wasn't there a lot—"

"No," he interrupts, louder this time.

"Rose," Ethan says softly, "don't."

"Why not? They asked what happened, it's not like it didn't happen, the thunder was really loud—"

"Be quiet."

"It's not ours," Ethan says, a touch firmer, "not that one."

"But Dad—"

"Spencer's Estate."

The two of them pause at Jill's voice. Her eyes are fixed on Wesker again, whose head remains turned away. She scoffs, mouth twisting. Her hands clench into fists as she paces up and down.

"I'm right, aren't I? You went back to Spencer's Estate. The night you killed him and kidnapped me."

Wesker's mouth presses into a thin line.

"First and last times, huh? What, you wanted to relive your glory days? The day you killed Spencer, became a god?" She takes a step forward. "You wanted to see me broken and bloody again? Powerless? At your mercy, ready to be turned into your fucking puppet again?"

"No."

"Oh, like hell that wasn't it," she spits, storming across the room, "you chose that place out of all of the—"

"I didn't choose it!" Wesker roars suddenly, the chair nearly flying backwards at the force with which he stands. Hands go to weapons. "I did not choose to return there."

"You expect me to fucking believe you?"

"Alright, stop, stop, enough." Ethan pushes his way between them—the others blink, they hadn't even seen him get up. "Wesker, sit down."

For a moment, Wesker doesn't move, chest heaving, fists clenched, eyes fixed on Jill's equally furious expression.

"Wesker." After a few more breaths, he looks at Ethan. Ethan indicates the chair and he slowly retrieves it, sinking back down. Ethan blows out a breath of his own and looks back at Jill. "I don't know everything, but I promise he very much didn't want to go back there."

Jill doesn't take her eyes off Wesker. "How can you be sure?"

Ethan glances down at him too before lowering his voice. "Because he was having a panic attack, and every time things got worse, that's where we'd end up. Thunder would crash, rain falling, all of that."

Jill's eyebrows nearly touch her hairline. "A panic attack. Him?"

"Yeah. Him."

"What the hell could he possibly have to panic about?"

Ethan's expression shutters slightly. He turns to Wesker again. "How much do they know?"

The man's shoulders do not relax, but there is a weight in the words he speaks. "If they do not know everything by now, then they are not who I believed them to be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Wesker's jaw works. "That night…that place, is where I found out about Project Wesker."

Carlos glances back and forth between the others. Mia offers a small shrug. "What's Project Wesker?"

"A eugenics program run by Spencer, designed to breed a race of highly intelligent super humans. Programmed with his values and built to serve him as the god of a new world order, with a built-in failsafe to seek him out when the time was right." His face twitches. "Pawns."

"And then you killed him and took it for yourself." Jill scoffs again. "Doesn't seem like something to panic over."

"Yeah," Rose says suddenly, her voice cold, "finding out you were secretly being controlled and monitored by someone that wanted to use you as a living weapon because of shit you didn't have a choice about, what's there to panic about that?"

It hits the room like a punch. Jill's gaze flickers to the ground. Leon makes a soft noise. Mia reaches out with a soft call of Rose's name but she pulls away, staring at the floor, jaw clenched. Carlos clears his throat.

"Were there others? From the program?"

"Only two of us survived to the final stage and only I fulfilled Spencer's vision."

"Who was the other one?"

"Alex. Alex Wesker." He glances at Rose. "My sister."

"Sister? You have a sister?"

"Had. She's dead now." He nods to Claire. "Courtesy of the younger Redfield."

Claire folds her arms. "Give recent events, I'm not so sure she's still dead."

"She is. The prototype virus only succeeded in curing the illness she had developed. It did not provide her with any additional abilities. She perished on Sein Island." His expression twists. "She knew more about the program than I did. She and Spencer were…close."

"But you ended it," Jill says, "you stopped the program."

"No."

"No?"

"There were no more candidates, but Spencer's programming did not disappear. His failure was to anticipate that the failsafe would render itself useless once fulfilled, but the other parts of it…" and here he looks up at Ethan, who nods, "I did not realize that Uroboros would take Spencer's place."

"What does that mean," Claire asks, stepping forward, "'take Spencer's place?'"

"Spencer sought to end the world, create anew from the ashes of the old. Uroboros was…hungry."

"So we're supposed to believe that everything you did," Jill spits, "was because of this 'programming?' Spencer and the virus made you do it?"

"No. My actions and choices were my own."

"But not entirely," Ethan says, not unkindly, and Wesker's shoulders tense even further.

"Enough."

"Yeah," Jill agrees, her voice hard. "Enough."

"It's still in you, then," Claire says, "Uroboros, Spencer's programming, all of it. If you knew that's what it was, why did you still follow it? If you hated it so much?"

Wesker's brow raises. "Is that a serious question? You would ask why someone would seek power, control, the ability to reshape the world as they saw fit? Put aside the how, the what, your hatred of the world I would have made, you're telling me that if you could, if you had the power to remake the world, to better it, if you could make it the way you thought was best, free of strife, of pain, of suffering, to be a god, you would turn it down?"

Nearly every mouth in the room falls silent, pondering the question. The world they know does not lack for individuals who crave power with every waking breath, who seek to control every aspect of life as though they would write and rewrite time at will. The ability to make the world safe, free from those who would chase that power and use it for ill, to reshape it, Wesker's question is a persuasive one.

Well, for nearly every mouth.

Rose huffs. "Yeah, no thanks, I've begged enough to be believed."

All eyes turn to her. She looks up, looks at all of them. Even Wesker's brow is furrowed.

"What? That's all godhood is, begging people to believe you. Haven't you ever noticed that? Gods don't have power unless people believe they do, and people won't believe in you unless you're giving them something they want. You don't get to pick what you're the god of, people are gonna pick that for you and then you have to do what they want or they stop believing in you." She gestures to Ethan. "Look at Dad. The Black God is so desperate to live, it'll latch on to whatever the strongest consciousness is in the mold. It used to be Miranda, and she did all that crazy stuff in Romania and was super powerful, and I'm not saying Dad's not powerful, but Dad doesn't want to be crazy the same way Miranda did, so the Black God is different now. It doesn't really have a choice. You don't live anymore, you're just—you're just whatever flat thing people decide you are and you don't get to change. Ever. You just have to keep convincing people to believe you. Why the fuck would I want that?"

Ethan's features soften with something like pride. For Chris, Leon, and Mia, something much heavier, sadder, at Rose describing herself as begging for someone to believe her.

"Well," Wesker says quietly after a long pause, "therein lies the difference between the virus and the mold."

"Is that why you wanted the mold?" Claire asks. "Because it's different?"

"The mold is easier to survive," Leon mutters, "easier than the virus."

"The Connections wanted to see if the mold could be combined with Uroboros to increase its efficacy. The E-series, Eveline, that strain was more infectious but more destructive. They wanted to use the mold from the Winters family because it was the most stable and showed the most promise."

"That's not what you said in the mold." Rose frowns. "You said you wanted more people to survive virus."

"That is what the Connections wanted with the two of you."

"Then what did you want?"

"As you said: to make virus easier to survive."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"It's killing you," Leon says suddenly, "isn't it?"

A long pause. Wesker's hands flex beneath black leather. Jill's hand twitches.

"…yes."

"That's what you meant," Claire says quietly, "when you said it didn't end. Uroboros kept Spencer's programming alive and you…"

"There was not a lot left of me after Kijuju. Even before, the concentration of Uroboros present in me required regular injections to keep it stable. Afterwards, its regenerative properties kept me alive, but…"

He reaches for his glove. Jill's hand goes to her weapon but Ethan holds out a hand to keep her at bay. "Wait. Please."

Black leather slowly reveals a hand partly of metal, partly of flesh. Entire fingertips are missing, flesh growing haphazardly over metal armature and leaving parts of blood vessels exposed. Where the skin and muscle scrabble for a foothold, the metal nearly burns as though acid touches it instead. He flexes his hand and the entire thing ripples, flesh pulling away from the metallic bones and latching back on a moment later. Close to his wrist, his blood turns black and slick. Claire claps her hand over her mouth and Carlos mutters a curse. Even Jill looks pale.

He replaces the glove and flexes his hand again. "The prototype virus that was a part of Project Wesker, the one only I survived with any meaningful results, made me more resistant to infection, but Uroboros is something else entirely. It will consume anything, even if it means killing the host's body."

"So you needed something other than a virus to stabilize it."

"Yes."

"Did it…work?"

Wesker nods. "Uroboros is quiet."

"But not gone."

"No."

"So the programming, or whatever you want to call it, it's still—"

"No. That part is gone. The mold eliminated it."

"The mold is dead, as far as the virus is concerned," Ethan says when Claire's brow furrows. "When he attacked us, Uroboros went to try and eat the Black God, but there wasn't anything for it to latch onto. It's—okay, I'm not gonna know all of it, you should ask Dr. Placia, she went on a whole rant about how viruses are basically just mean screwdrivers that don't do shit—"

Wesker makes a noise that could be affronted.

"—but basically, there wasn't anything keeping it alive so the Black God just…absorbed it. Got rid of it, basically. I don't really know what it's doing now, he's not—" he turns back to Wesker— "you're not infected the same way Rose and I are—or even how other people were, I think it killed enough of it when you were in the Megamycete and now what's left of it in you is trying to kill whatever part of the mold got in you."

"So basically, the mold is the virus's chew toy so it doesn't eat him," Leon says.

Wesker grimaces. "Crude but not inaccurate."

"Great. So're you still trying to kill everyone?"

"No."

"And we're supposed to just take your word for it?"

"You've already taken Ethan's."

Ethan, still standing between Wesker and Jill, doesn't say a word. Jill glares at Wesker for a moment longer before she looks at Ethan. Ethan just nods, ever so slightly. Jill scoffs and turns her back, marching over to sit next to Carlos, who leans a little so their shoulders press together. Rose holds out her hand and Ethan lets her wrap her arms around him, snuggling into his side as they sit back on the crates. After a moment, Mia reaches out and rests her hand on his shoulder too.

Claire watches the three of them for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face, before she turns back to Wesker, arms still crossed. "So. You were working with the Connections. What were they doing?"

"There was a sect of Spencer's Umbrella researchers devoted to attempting to control memories and will using the T-Virus."

"Led by Victor Gideon," Leon says, "they worked out of ARK in Raccoon City. They were after Elpis."

"Yes." Wesker scowls. "Elpis."

"What, not a fan?"

Slick sounds fill the air. Something writhes underneath Wesker's sleeve and he clenches his fists, eyes closed, breathing in deeply. The agents tense, Rose and Ethan clutch each other, but Wesker just blows out a breath and opens his eyes. Still blue.

"Perhaps we best move on," he says through gritted teeth. "Regardless, Elpis was not the answer that the Connections had hoped for, so they turned elsewhere, believing the concept to be possible even if not through use of the T-Virus. Given the mold's abilities as demonstrated by the E-series and the resurrection of Ethan Winters, they decided it would be fruitful to investigate the effects of the mutated T-Virus in conjunction with the mold."

"That matches up with the research found at ARK and the Rhodes Hill Care Center," Claire says, "but then why risk introducing Uroboros?"

"The Connections were a means to an end for me, as I was for them. I had no plans to test whether the mold would be compatible with the T-Virus. My goals were solely to see if the mold would solve the issue of Uroboros's aggression."

Carlos snorts. "And they let you get away with that?"

"No one at the Connections knows viruses like I do, let alone the T-Virus or how to properly handle interactions at that level. They asked for my expertise, and I said I would advise them, provided they in turn gave me access to one of their facilities for my own needs."

"So why'd you give them your DNA?"

Wesker frowns. "What?"

"If you weren't going to actually do what they wanted," Leon asks, "why'd you give them access to your DNA?"

"I used my own samples in my experiments to see if I could produce a viable solution, therefore I suppose my DNA would be on file, but I didn't just give them my DNA. Why?"

A nearly manic grin crawls across Leon's face. "So you never met him."

"Met who?"

Claire snorts. She turns her head and tries to muffle it but she keeps laughing. Even Mia and Ethan have to hide smiles. Leon's smile just gets bigger. "Zeno. You never met Zeno, huh?"

"Zeno?" Rose looks at Ethan, then at Jill and Carlos, who also don't seem to know what's going on. "Who's Zeno?"

"Zeno was the Connections operative in Raccoon City, the one who worked the closest with Dr. Gideon," Leon says, almost gleefully as Claire grabs her phone, "that's funny. I could've sworn the two of you met at some point."

"What are you talking about?"

Claire clicks on something on her phone and wordlessly holds it out to Jill and Carlos. Jill looks at it as she goes to take a sip of water and promptly spits it everywhere. Carlos's eyes bulge out of his head and he nearly grabs the phone, trying to get a better look. Rose scurries out from Ethan's side and leans over to see it too.

"What the fuck? Is he still alive?"

"Oh, no. He's dead. Very dead. Gideon killed him after he injected himself with Elpis and he lost all his powers."

"Stop, stop," Jill nearly wheezes, "you're gonna kill me. Oh, fuck, I needed that."

"That's, uh—" Carlos lets go of the phone as Claire giggles— "that's…a choice. We sure he wasn't programmed as well? 'Cause no sane person I know is choosing that."

"Is that a dangly cross earring?"

"Sure is."

"What is that?"

"Will one of you explain," Wesker interrupts, "or am I to wonder what you all find so amusing?"

"I don't know, you were the one who said you wanted to move on from talking about Elpis and stuff," Leon starts, only for Rose to snatch Claire's phone away. "Rose, wait—"

"Come on, he has a right to know. It sounds like they basically stole his DNA without him knowing about it." She pauses, phone still facing her chest. "Uh, just to warn you, it's…it's bad."

Wesker holds out his hand. Rose hesitates for another moment before she gives him the phone. He looks down at the screen.

A pause.

Pieces of the phone scatter across the room as Wesker crushes it.

"Yeah, you know what, that's fair."

"Rose," Ethan says warningly as his sleeve ripples again, and Rose backs off. He glances at the still-snickering others. "Maybe let's try not to piss him off so much?"

"It's fun, though, Dad."

"I'm not saying it isn't, I'm just saying it's maybe not the most productive thing we could be doing right now."

"It's not like he's much better, he looks like a reject from that really old movie series you guys tried to get me to watch."

"You gotta stop describing stuff like The Matrix as really old, Rose," Leon groans, "you're making me feel ancient over here."

"Holy shit, he does dress like he's in the Matrix," Carlos mutters.

"Enough." Wesker pinches the bridge of his nose. "The Connections are capable of advanced cloning technology, then, alongside their progress with the mutated T-Virus. That means they're closer to their goals than I thought."

"What does them making a clone of you with the worst fashion sense ever have to do with them achieving their goals?"

"Clones like that do not just happen. They were able to produce a clone of me, complete with the abilities from the prototype virus, and it was stable, in less than half of the lifetime required for it to look like that. That does not just happen. The only other stable bioweapon with an altered growth rate is standing next to you."

Leon reaches out and pulls Rose closer, tucking her into the lea of him.

"That means that whatever process they're using to produce said clones, it's advanced enough for them to closely affect and control the virus in the lifeform as it grows."

"And Spencer's research was about using infected blood to transfer specific memories and abilities into other host bodies," Claire finishes, her eyes growing wide. "And now that they have the mold—"

"It's only a matter of time before they reach some form of success, yes. And the failure to properly balance the mold with the virus's mutagenic properties…the consequences would be disastrous."

That effectively saps the remaining humor in the room. Rose reaches for Leon's hand and holds it tight. He looks at Ethan, who watches the two of them closely.

"Can you control all of the mold?"

"What?"

"The mold. You can feel it, right? Can you control it?"

Ethan's expression contorts. He shakes his head, pulling away from Mia. "It doesn't work like that. I can feel it, sure, but I can't—I'm not—Eveline could. I can't. I can barely feel Wesker at all, there's not enough mold in him. If it's gonna be like that, then I can't—no."

"I had to ask."

"I know. It's fine."

Rose clutches his hand a little tighter and looks to Wesker. "What about the BSAA? What does this mean for—for how you were able to get me?"

His voice softens, almost imperceptibly. "I don't know the extent to which the Connections has infiltrated BSAA, or how much it's been compromised. For better or for worse. the BSAA is fractured across the globe, with only a few people knowledgeable about the extent of its reach and capabilities. That is the main reason why it was so difficult to reach you and your father. That and the fact that you were very well guarded."

"But I wasn't," Mia says.

"Not as well guarded, no. But the Connections underestimated you. I did not make the same mistake."

"But someone at BSAA HQ is working with the Connections," Jill interrupts, "that's why you were able to attack the base, and why they've been shutting me out from investigating Romania."

"Wait, what? Why—why were you investigating Romania?"

"Because BSAA's using bioweapons now. They used them in Romania. Chris wasn't the only person trying to take down Miranda or save you and your parents. And the one bioweapon he was able to recover disappeared like it never existed as soon as he touched down."

"BSAA's using bioweapons?" Rose's eyes dart from Jill to Ethan to Wesker. "Like—actual bioweapons? You weren't lying?"

"No," he says, voice still soft, "I was not."

Rose's lip trembles. Leon wraps his arm around her shoulders but she pushes him away. "Did you know about this?"

"Rose—"

"You did. You did know and you didn't tell me."

"I knew they were in Romania, but I didn't—" she pushes him away again. His jaw works. "I didn't know until after we'd met."

She doesn't look at him.

"They are not mold-based," Wesker continues, as if that would be some form of comfort, perhaps, "only virus based. They learned their lesson after the events of Louisiana. The latest generation uses a modified version of the T-Virus to enhance the clones."

"Clones of what?"

"Of the only viable option," he says, and here his eyes land on Chris.

Chris, the only person yet to say a word since they boarded the helicopter and flew away. Slowly, the rest of the room turns to look at him too. He remains silent, staring at Wesker.

"Wait," Claire says, "what makes Chris the only viable option?"

"He alone has survived without infection from any of the threats he has faced. His DNA is uncorrupted by the touch of any virus, any parasite, any infection. He is the most experienced warrior in the BSAA's crusade against bioterrorism, his abilities as a soldier and a leader make him an invaluable asset. He is determined, stubborn to a fault, relentless in his pursuit of what he believes is right. And despite all of what the world has thrown at him, he remains a good man." Something almost like pride colors Wesker's voice. "Who else would they choose?"

Chris's jaw works. His gaze flickers to Ethan.

"So what do we do," Ethan asks, "how do we stop this?"

"We need to go to the press." All heads turn to Claire. "We can't let them just get away with this. We need to expose BSAA for what it's become."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Jill says, getting up, "what exactly are you going to tell them?"

"That BSAA's using bioweapons, that they're working with the organization responsible for the disasters in Raccoon City, Louisiana, Romania."

"Do you have any idea what a broadcast like that would do to people? The panic that it would cause?" Leon shakes his head. "BSAA is the world's only global anti-BOW organization—"

"And people deserve to know it's been corrupted! If they're putting their safety in the hands of people who caused these attacks—"

"But it's not everyone in BSAA, that's the point. Good people, good soldiers, people fighting the good fight, that's BSAA too. If you release a story that BSAA is no better than the organizations it's trying to fight—"

"It isn't!"

"That's not true, Claire," Leon says firmly, "look at Jill, look at Chris, look at Carlos. Yes, there are corrupt people in BSAA, sure, but—"

"Yeah, there are, at the highest levels. Sure, maybe not everyone at the highest levels, but people high enough that they can stop Jill, stop Carlos, hell, even stop Chris! If we keep it quiet, it'll just get swept up under the rug in another cover up. We need to blow the lid off of this thing so they can't hide in the shadows anymore."

"I'm not saying we let them do that, I'm not saying we keep it quiet, but we can't just leak this to the press and expect it to work out! BSAA is trusted by the UN, if we're gonna expose this in any meaningful way, we need to know everything beforehand. I'm saying we get names, we get locations, we figure out who all is involved, and then, when we have that, we go to BSAA HQ and we—"

"And what if they find out what we're up to before that? Then they kill us and frame us as the corrupt ones. The longer we let them hide, the more shit they'll do and the more time we give them to come up with another story to cover their asses. You want boots on the ground to fix this? We need as many people to know about this as possible." She throws her hands up. "But I guess you wouldn't know anything about that."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm saying this isn't your first time participating in a government cover up, so maybe—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, is this about the Mad Dogs?"

"So what if it is? You knew the public had a right to know what the US government was doing, how there was a private bioweapon army being run out of the US military, but you helped cover it up!"

"Yeah, 'cause Jason wanted it released!"

"What?"

"Jason. He wanted the information released because he knew it would spread terror. He thought that if he showed the world the truth of what Wilson was doing, it would prevent something like that from happening again but it doesn't work like that and you know it, Claire. Not only would it not stop anything from happening, it would make it worse by causing public panic. I wasn't going to give you the chip because it would've done what he wanted and spread the fear."

Claire scoffs. "Since when do we care what bioweapons want?"

Rose flinches. Hard.

Claire's ire drains away in an instant. "Rose, I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, you did."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did." Her hands curl into fists. "But what does it matter, anyway? I'm just a bioweapon."

"Rose—"

Rose pushes past Claire, her head down, Ethan already on his feet to meet her halfway and wrap his arms around her, holding her protectively against his chest. He tucks her chin over his shoulder, his own resting against her temple. Claire watches them, her hand outstretched, guilt heavy on her features.

"No one else knows about them," Leon says quietly, his eyes on them too, "no one outside of BSAA, not even all of BSAA knows. If we blow the lid off of this without any other consideration, we expose them to the world and leave them defenseless. I won't be able to protect them, and neither will you. Nor Chris, nor Jill, nobody will. Them and everyone like them we've ever managed to save, everyone, they won't be safe. And if the Connections doesn't have anything to lose? They'll just take them, Claire, again. And everything we've sacrificed to keep them safe will be for nothing. I can't let that happen."

Claire swallows heavily. "So what do you propose? We just find somewhere to hide them while we try and gather all the intel you want, and just hope they don't find them again?"

"If I may," Wesker says, tearing his own gaze away from the father and daughter, "you might have more time than you think."

Leon frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The reason the attack on the base was successful is because only a select few BSAA members outside of the base knew about it. The same goes for your attack on the facility. The BSAA can't risk openly searching for you without acknowledging its own role in putting you at risk. Neither can they search for me without revealing they knew I was still alive. The Connections can pursue you more openly, this is true, but…they have been remarkably futile in their efforts so far."

"So you're saying they can't come after us any more than we can go after them right now."

"Yes."

"Why are you helping us?" Jill asks suddenly. "You were hell bent on destroying the world again less than a few hours ago, and now, what, you're just…on our side?"

"Is it truly so hard to believe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it really fucking is. Your eyes changing color and Ethan's word isn't good enough for me, no offense, Ethan—" Ethan just shakes his head— "so if you want me to believe that you've changed, that you've beaten your programming, or whatever it is you want us to believe, I'm gonna need something a little more concrete than that."

"What sort of proof would you like? Shall I tell you all the locations of the Connections facilities that I know of? Perhaps the names of the officials at BSAA that I've corresponded with?"

"We can start there, sure, and you're gonna give them to us anyway, but what do you want? Why are you helping us?"

A pause. His head bows slightly, and his hands flex. "For the first time in my life, the only voice inside my head is my own. I would have thought that you, of all people, might understand why I would choose to embrace it."

Jill's fists clench. "Not good enough. You expect me to believe there's secretly been a decent part of you all this time? Prove it."

Wesker's expression twitches. Slowly he starts to reach towards a pocket in his coat. In a flash, Jill's gun aims at his head. He holds up one hand, the other still moving slowly. He reaches inside and retrieves something small, held tightly within the black leather of his glove. There's an almost imperceptible tremor in his hand. He holds it out to the side and his gaze shifts.

"Chris?"

A long silence.

Then slowly, Chris stands up. Jill moves instinctively to cover him as he crosses the floor, coming to a stop near Wesker's outstretched hand. Like this, he towers over the man in the chair. Wesker looks up at him for a brief moment.

"Be careful with it."

Chris nods once. Wesker's hand slowly opens to reveal a small, round keychain.

Chris's breath catches in his throat.

"What is it, Chris?"

Eyes wide, almost unseeing, Chris reaches for it. He picks it up, its familiar weight settling in the palm of his hand. He holds it up for the rest of them to see. Jill's mouth drops open, her gun lowering.

"Is that…"

"No fucking way."

"He—the whole time?"

"How—"

Jill just stares, her eyes as wide as Chris's, as the Tamagotchi swings gently from his fingers.

"That's impossible," she mumbles, "that was—that went missing decades ago, how…?"

"The four of you were out on a call," Wesker says quietly, "Chris had left it on his desk for safe keeping. You did not return before it was time to feed it again."

"Time to…are you telling me it's…"

Her eyes flick to Chris. Chris presses a button. A series of familiar beeps rings out in the still room.

"It's still alive. You—you've kept it alive since 1998?"

"No, no fucking way," Carlos mutters, "those things die if you forget to look at 'em for too long, it can't be the same one."

"It is," Chris rasps, his voice hoarse from disuse and heavy with memory, "it's the same one. The pixel in the corner's dead and the scratches on the case are the same. It's…it's ours, Jill. It's the one we had."

"Is that proof enough for you, Captain Valentine?"

***

Jill runs her fingers over the split ring at the top of the Tamagotchi. The metal catches on a callus over and over and over.

Chris sits in Wesker's chair, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed.

The others have left. The Winters, to see their wounds taken care of, Leon and Claire to verify the information Wesker offers, Carlos to discuss next steps with the rest of the squad at the perimeter.

The two of them remain in the quiet room.

Neither speaks.

She could lash out at how reckless this is, point out how trusting Wesker has gone in the past, how terribly foolish it would be to do so again when they have seen the destruction he's wrought.

She could scream that he has no idea what it's like to see him again, after he reached into her body and pulled her out of it, after he forced her to take actions that made her want to rip her own hands from her arms and throw herself into the volcano, to have to sit and talk with him like he hadn't unmade her.

She could taunt him for his inability to let his desperate search for their Captain's approval go, bring up all the other stupid things he's done just to get him to look at him, seethe at whether or not his feelings have once more gotten in the way of his thoughts.

She could point out the very real possibility that this is a trick, that he's just biding his time, that he's waiting for them to let their guards down and make his real move.

She could name half a dozen people that would feel as betrayed as they once did, if they found out that they let him live, rescued him, and now sought to work with him.

She could dig deep into the wounds she knows they both have and point out how easy it would be, now, to make them bleed out this time.

She doesn't.

He could point out that this is what they do, they save people, they give them second chances, they have to be better than those they fought.

He could reason with her about their tactical standpoint, that they had an advantage the Connections wouldn't see coming, that there was no other person, alive or dead, that had as much of a reason to get back at those that started this war so long ago.

He could say that if anyone had shown their willingness to do anything, it was the bastard that made their lives a living hell for decades, both on the earth with them and from beyond the veil, and they'd be fools not to at least consider it.

He could say that somewhere, she already knew he was right, and she was pissed at the circumstances and the truth of it, but she knew, and that pissed her off more than anything else was ever going to.

He could scream so what, so what if his emotions were high, this is the man that made and unmade all of them, that built them just to break them, of course his emotions were high, it would be far, far worse if he felt nothing at all, but his feelings wouldn't change their position any more than hers would.

He could confess that deep down, somewhere, they both know he had longed for something like this, a chance, just a chance, and so had she, that maybe, just maybe, if all those years ago, they had been told the truth, they had been asked for help, things would have gone differently, and perhaps they all could have been spared so much anguish.

He doesn't.

They both know already.

The silence stretches across the room.

Jill presses a button.

The Tamagotchi flickers to life, beeping and dancing on the pixilated screen.

With movements rusty from disuse but worn with habit, she feeds it. Plays with it. Puts it back to sleep.

She turns, picks up a water bottle, and crosses the room.

Chris looks up as she holds it out.

"I'd get you a real drink if I could," because he hadn't lost it after all.

He swallows, manages to crack a smile. "'S okay. I won't make you pay me back."

The water bottle crinkles slightly in his grip and the two former S.T.A.R.S. stay there, holding the plastic water bottle and the tiny little pet that should have died decades ago.

"This is about to be some bullshit, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah."

Jill sighs, grins, and for a moment, they're both in their twenties again, ready to run into danger with nothing but each other and the determination to survive it. Chris stands up.

"Let's do it."

Rose gasps.

Her eyes fly open. She's on her back. Why is she on her back? How did she get here? Is she still in the tank? What happened? Is Dad okay?

She's staring up at the sky. There are clouds. There's something big and dark covering one side—that's the ground. She's staring up at the ground and the sky at the same time.

All at once, her body makes it known that she is sore. Her head throbs with a strange pain, her limbs all protest like she's run a fucking marathon, and her chest is—is—

She gasps again, hand flying to her chest, a white glow coming from her fingertips. She can feel the mold again. She can feel it. It's not screaming, it's not hurting, she can feel it. Something else wraps around her ribs from the inside and she never thought she'd be close to tears in relief from feeling Eveline's presence again but here she is, fighting the urge to cry as she feels prickling in her chest, almost like being hit and pushed by tiny fists. She keeps her hand there and feels Eveline pulse back.

Dad…Dad!

She looks around frantically. She's in a huge crater, bigger than their entire house is. Only one side of it is actually tall, though, basically a cliff—the other half just opens into thin air. Was the facility on a cliff already or something? She suddenly doesn't give a shit about that, though, because she's just spotted a body lying a few feet away from her with a blue coat.

"Dad!" She scrabbles across the uneven ground, sending rocks and dirt flying. "Dad!"

There's a low groan coming from his mouth by the time she gets to him. His hand comes up to rub at his temples, eyes cracking open—he's real, he's solid under her hands, her fingers are still glowing. He's here. He's here and he's alive and so is she and—

"Rose," Dad says, his voice cracking as he surges up to wrap her in one of his fierce Dad hugs, "Rose, my baby, you're okay. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…"

"I'm okay, are you okay?" Golden sparkles start to drift around them too. "You're okay, right, Dad?"

"I'm okay, sweetie, I'm okay. We're both okay." Dad laughs and it's a little wet and he's pulling back to take his face in his hands and she's crying too. "Oh, my baby Rose…my Rosie…oh, sweetie, I love you so much. I'm so proud of you."

"I—" she hiccups— "I lost your stuff, they took your stuff—your r-ring and your coat—"

"Oh, Rosie, I don't give a shit about those. I got you back and that's all I care about."

"I love you, I love you—"

"We're okay." Dad pulls her back to his chest. "We're okay."

Rose closes her eyes and just sinks into her dad's hold. If she pretends hard enough, she's a little kid again, wrapped up in Dad's hugs where nothing can get her and she doesn't have to worry about anything because Dad's here, Dad will fix it, Dad will make everything feel better. Dad's hand rubs firmly up and down her back and she half-heartedly wishes anyone who wants to pull them apart good luck. 'Cause they won't.

After a while, Dad's head shifts slightly and his hand suddenly comes to a stop.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

Dad doesn't respond right away. She pulls back, looking at his face, but he's looking over her shoulder. She turns.

There's another body lying on the ground, a little way away from them. Her hands flex on Dad's coat when she sees black leather and blond hair, but…the mold isn't screaming. It's not even doing anything about him. Not even when he starts to move too. Dad holds her a little tighter when he raises a hand to block the light.

Oh.

His sunglasses are gone.

Wesker pushes himself up on one elbow with a grunt, squinting through the glare. She watches as he blinks, once, twice, then looks down at himself. The first thing he does is reach for his pocket, patting around like he's looking for something. Whatever it is, he must feel it because he breathes out like he's relieved. He puts a hand on his chest, watching it rise and fall, before slowly turning his hand over to look at it.

"It…it worked," he says in a rush of breath, voice rasping but…different, somehow, "it's quiet."

Only then does he seem to realize they're there and he looks up at them. Her mouth drops open.

Blue eyes stare back at her.

Dad breathes in sharply. There's a small tug in her gut as the three of them stare at each other before Wesker winces at the light and shields his eyes again.

"Dad," she mumbles, "what…what does that mean?"

"I don't know, sweetie. I…I don't know."

Movement. Voices. Approaching footsteps. Dad sits up properly, pushing her slightly behind him as silhouettes appear around the edge of the cliff, guns at the ready. She peers over his shoulder and spots Chris in the front, leading Leon, Jill, and Carlos into the crater.

"Chris!"

"It's them," he calls, only to notice Wesker on the ground and immediately aim at him, "all of 'em."

Leon darts out from behind him, gun aimed at Wesker too as he hurries over to them. He glances down, expression softening the slightest bit. "You two okay?"

"Yeah, we're good. Uh—there's something you should—"

A ragged breath from Chris cuts her off. They look over to see Chris standing over Wesker, his gun slowly lowering as he stares down in shock. Wesker hasn't moved, only turned to face the others as they came in. Chris's shadow falls over him, blocking the light, and his hand lowers.

"Chris?" Jill asks sharply, stepping up behind him. "What is it, what's wrong?"

She looks down too and Rose can see the second she realizes Wesker's eyes are blue. She nearly stumbles back, Carlos catching her as he looks too.

"Oh, fuck," she mutters as Carlos curses too, "what the fuck?"

Leon crouches down next to them, gun lowered as soon as the others did. He swallows, glancing at Dad. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"How long were we out?"

"Not that long. It's been—I think maybe, twenty minutes since Rose went through the floor and we lost you? There was a big explosion and we thought—" his mouth tightens— "well, we weren't sure. We all woke up on the ground afterwards and we had no idea where you were, then Carlos saw the crater and we came as fast as we could."

"We were in the mold." Dad nods to Wesker. "So was he."

"What…happened?"

"With him? I don't know. Not really. I…wasn't really there for all of it."

Leon's gaze flicks to hers and she shrugs. "I wasn't either. I, uh, there was—there was a house? A big one, the—I think it was Spencer's mansion. Then there was a police station—I think your one in Raccoon City. I wasn't there for that part."

"Are you infected? Do we need to—"

"No," she says with surprising certainty, "it's not—it didn't get me."

"Me neither. The mold—I'm pretty sure the mold, like, ate it, or something."

"Ate it," Leon repeats, and both of them nod, "okay. Uh, what about him?"

They look over. Wesker still hasn't moved, still staring up at Chris. Both of them are breathing heavily. Rose swallows. "He said it was quiet."

Leon just nods. He grabs Dad's shoulder, pulling him to his side, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She leans into it, wrapping her arms around Dad again. He holds her tight.

There's a quiet crackle of dirt as Wesker starts to move and instantly all four of them adjust their grip on their weapons, but he stills. Slowly, he moves so he's lying on his back, weight propped up on his elbows. He's still staring at Chris. His breathing is beginning to slow.

"Hello, Christopher," he says quietly, and Chris's jaw works, his hands stuttering on his gun. Wesker looks over at Jill and inclines his head. "Valentine."

Jill's nostrils flare. "Why the hell are you not dead?"

"Would you believe me if I told you it was a long story?" Up above them, there's a boom and the ground shakes, rocks and dirt falling from the towering crater's edge behind them. "One we may not have time for right now."

Jill scoffs. Chris's head turns slightly like he's listening to a comm and Leon puts his hand to his ear. "There was another explosion. Chopper's reporting activity a few miles out, looks like they're sending in the cavalry."

"We gotta go," Carlos says. "We shouldn't stick around to figure out what the hell a place like this calls in for backup."

"Chris."

Jill's voice is sharp. Leon gently urges Rose and Dad to their feet, keeping a hand on both of them. Chris still hasn't moved, still looking down at Wesker. His jaw clenches again. He looks up at Dad.

Dad nods.

Chris's chest stutters again and he turns to look at Jill. Rose is too far away to see what expression he's making but she sees the way Jill's darkens before she turns and storms off, Carlos following behind her.

"She's right," comes Wesker's voice, "you should leave me."

"Shut up."

He does. Chris stares off in Jill's wake for a few more seconds before he sets his jaw and turns back. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out a hand. She's not alone in her surprise as Wesker's eyes widen and he takes it, letting Chris pull him to his feet.

"You try anything and I'll make sure it sticks this time, you understand?"

Wesker's gaze flicks down to Chris's vest and back up. "Yes, Captain."

"Move," Chris says gruffly, jerking his head towards the way out. Wesker glances over at her and Dad one more time before following Chris's directions out of the crater. Chris looks back just once before he's moving after him.

"Well," Leon sighs, "never a dull moment, huh?"

Dad huffs. "That's one way to put it."

"Don't run off again like that, okay, Ethan? You just about gave us all a heart attack. Wait a second for us next time, we'll run with you." Dad nods a little sheepishly and Leon just shakes his head. "Rose? You sure you're okay?"

She nods wordlessly.

"Okay. You let us know the second that changes, yeah?"

She nods again.

"Are you guys okay?" Dad asks. "You were in the explosion too, weren't you?"

"We were far enough away that it only got us at the very end. And, uh, however you survived, I think you helped us out a bit too."

"Mold stuff."

"Mold stuff." Leon glances toward the edge of the crater and winces. "Gotta say, I'm not really looking forward to this helicopter ride."

"You did great with me and Mia, didn't you?"

"Are you kidding? I was ready to throw myself out a plane with nothing but a knife into a bioweapon-infested island."

"Ouch," Dad laughs, "well, at least you won't be alone this time, right, Rose?"

Rose doesn't say anything. Dad squeezes her hand, frowning. Leon puts his hand on her back. "Rose? You okay?"

"Are we—" to her horror, she feels tears welling up in her eyes again, fuck, what she wouldn't give to stop being a crybaby all the time— "are we gonna get to go home now?"

"Yeah, sweetie, we're going home."

"…do we get to keep the house?"

She hates the way her voice cracks and the way it makes Dad's face fall. "I don't know, Rose. I…I hope so."

"Even if we don't," Leon says, and she's missed him, she's missed him so much too, "you got us, okay? Chris and I aren't going anywhere, and neither are you two. We're in this. Together. Yeah?"

She nods, still sniffling. Dad pulls her in for a quick hug and Leon rubs her back. She closes her eyes and sinks into the warm comfort of Dad's embrace. Golden and white sparkles dance around them.

"I gotta say," the figure remarks as the door closes behind them, "this is not what I expected a police station to look like."

The man does not respond right away, red eyes lingering on the statue directly in front of them, its marble flag held aloft, faint light streaming in from the windows behind it. Warm glows spill from sconces tucked against the marble on either side, giving its face a nearly forgiving softness to it. His jaw works and he looks away.

"What is happening to me," he says again through gritted teeth, "why are we here?"

The figure sighs. "I'm not a scientist, so you'll have to bear with me on this, but, uh, the mold is fighting the virus and you're…not part of it."

"The fact that I'm here seems to suggest otherwise."

"Not exactly. If you were just part of—if the mold thought you were part of the threat to it, you wouldn't be here. You'd be down in the deepest stratum where the Black God is while it tries to destroy you."

The man's head jerks around. "Aren't you the Black God?"

"Again, sort of? I don't—look, it's not like there's a handbook that came with this shit and the last person who could've been considered an expert was seven different types of crazy, so I'm figuring this out as I go. I'm not—my consciousness is mine. The Black God's is separate. In here, at least, we're not the same thing. But out there—" the figure waves a hand— "then it's…in me. 'Cause I'm the strongest thing in here other than it and it—look, it's weird and I don't fully know how it works either. Short answer, no, not right now, and you being here with me is proof of that."

The man stares at the figure for another moment. "Then why am I here?"

The figure shrugs.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"What part of 'I don't know how any of this really works' wasn't clear? I didn't know you'd end up here with Eveline trying to kick the shit out of you—which was kind of funny, I'm not going to lie—"

"It was not."

"Are you kidding? Of course it was. You two are so similar—"

"I am nothing like that failed experiment," the man growls.

"Hey." The figure's voice grows stern. "Don't talk about her like that."

"How can you do that? You would defend the bioweapon that ruined your life? That killed you, held your wife hostage, is responsible for the fact that your daughter will never know a normal existence, the source of all of your misery—and you would defend it?"

"Aside from the fact that that's not true—"

"How is it not true?"

The solemnity on the figure's expression stills the man's tongue. "My wife was a member of a bioterrorist organization. If it wasn't Eveline, it would have been something. My daughter is alive, that's all she needs to be for me to love her and want her to live. There is more in this world and the outside one responsible for me being miserable. And as far as failed experiments go, technically? So am I. And so are you."

"I am not a failure," the man snarls, surging forward to pin the figure against the round reception desk, "I am a triumph, you—"

"For who?"

The man's arm stutters against the figure's chest. The figure coughs slightly from the impact of hitting the desk but does not struggle.

"Eveline was deemed a failure because they couldn't control her," the figure continues, "what does that make you?"

"I—" the man's expression contorts and he stumbles backwards with a pained yell, hands gripping the sides of his head as the gun clatters to the floor. The figure follows him, one hand outstretched, but the man recoils. "Don't touch me!"

"Okay, okay, I won't. I'll just…stand over here."

Panting breaths echo harshly against the walls, the marble statue watching on wordlessly. The man's hands ball into fists, pressed hard against his temples. "What are you doing to me? Why is this happening?"

"Uh, can you be a little more specific?"

"You," the man bursts out, "you're in my head, what are you doing to me? Why—"

"I'm not—does it hurt? You gotta give me something to go on here."

"Whatever you want from me, I won't give it to you. I refuse to be a pawn again!"

The building around them ripples. A crash of lightning and they are before gaping windows, bare marble floors, rain pounding against the glass—

The man lets out another pained shout and the police station reappears. The figure looks around for a moment, as if checking to see where the two of them have ended up, before returning its focus to the man huddled on the floor. His fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at the blond strands, breaths wheezing harshly against his knees. The figure's hands twitch. It lowers itself to a crouch too, keeping some distance between them.

"I'm not going to touch you," comes the quiet voice, "I'm just gonna stay over here, okay? I won't move until you're okay with it."

"Stop it," the man croaks, grabbing at his chest, "get out of me, stop it—stop—I can't breathe—"

"You're having a panic attack."

"That's ridiculous, I—" the breaths just come faster— "I can't—I'm not—I—"

"You are, it's okay, it'll pass. You won't die." An incredulous shout and the figure simply places a hand on the floor to steady itself. "Just—"

Another crash of lightning. The room flickers back to the cold stone floors, the glaring windows with the storm raging outside. Candles flicker from an elaborate candelabra in the corner and the creak of wheels—

"No!"

The room disappears, the police station appearing once more. The man's eyes squeeze shut, bare hand scrabbling at his chest as if to try and dig something out. Spittle froths at the corners of his mouth. Cries and roars choke themselves to battle their way from his throat.

"You gotta breathe, buddy," the figure says gently, "I know it's hard. Just try and focus on being here, okay? In the police station? This building that has a big marble statue in the lobby, like that's a normal thing to have in a police station?"

The lights near the statue pulse warmly.

"That's it, there you go. We're in the police station, yeah? There's, uh, there's some skylights right above us, which are kind of cool, actually, and then there's a door leading off to the left and another leading off to the right, there's a railing up above us on the second and third floors, there are more stairs behind the statue and—-another statue? Yeah, there's, uh, there's another statue back there, it looks like…one statue in a police station is a little weird, two seems like a pretty deliberate choice, but hey, I guess anything's possible…"

The man's breathing begins to slow as the figure continues its rambling descriptions of where they are. The tension ebbs from his limbs and he sags to the floor, sweat beaded on his brow, hair wildly askew. A shaking hand goes to rake it back into place. A piece still falls out, curling over his forehead.

"Hey," the figure calls quietly, "you back with me?"

The man nods. He's still breathing heavily, but under his own control. He pulls his bare hand from his chest, looking at it. He turns it this way and that, watching it tremble.

"Here."

He looks up to see the figure rolling a bottle of water across the floor. He picks it up. He twists the cap and hears the seal break. The plastic crinkles as he drinks.

"Was that your first panic attack?" He nods. "They suck, right?"

Another nod. The figure eases down onto the floor, sitting with its back against the reception desk. The man watches with wild eyes. The figure raises its hands again.

"Hey, I told you, 'm not gonna get any closer 'til you say it's okay. We can just…sit here, if you want. We don't have to talk."

The man watches a moment longer, as if waiting for the figure to change its mind, but when only silence follows, he looks back down. Every few breaths, he sips at the water. The gun sits within reach and he turns to look at it. Light glints off the S.T.A.R.S. logo engraved into the grip. The figure just sits there, patiently tapping its fingers together.

After a long while, the man lets out a breath and sets the bottle down.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" A single jerk of his head. "Okay. That's good. I, uh, I have some questions, I'm pretty sure you do too, can we—can we try talking now? I can talk first if you want. You can just nod or shake your head if you don't feel up to it yet."

The man nods again, still looking away.

"Okay. Are you hungry?" His head whips around. The figure chuckles. "Weren't expecting that, were you? Are you hungry?"

A shake of his head.

"Okay. Do you want more water?" Another shake. "Okay. If that changes, let me know."

The figure sits back, looking up at the ceiling. The man does too, his gaze traveling over the walls, the windows, the statues.

"This was where you worked with Chris and Jill," the figure asks softly, "isn't it?"

The man nods.

"The other place—" the man shakes his head violently— "we don't have to go there, stay here, we can stay here, it's okay. I just wanted to know if you recognized it. Do you know what that place was?"

The man nods, his knuckles white.

"Okay. Thank you for telling me. We don't have to go there. We can stay here. Nothing's gonna hurt you here, I swear." The man eyes him. "What, me? I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

The man looks around, as if expecting something to leap out of the shadows. When nothing does, his shoulders relax the slightest amount. The figure waits for him to nod to keep going.

"Before, you said that I was doing something to you. Was it—was it just the panic attack you could feel, or does it still feel like something's happening?"

The man's lips press together and he puts his bare hand to his chest again.

"It still feels like something? Okay, uh—is it…does it feel like something's actually in you? Like something's moving around, or is it just like, a pull or a tug or something like that?" The man shakes his head again. "Okay…is it, uh, warm or cold?"

Another shake.

"Okay…uh…" The figure scrubs a hand over its face. "I don't really know what else to ask."

"It wants me to talk," the man says through gritted teeth.

"It wants you to talk? What does it want you to say? Right, right, okay," the figure says when the man shakes his head again, "okay…it wants you to talk but you don't want to…that's a new one. I've never heard that one about the mold before."

"R—"

The figure waits but the man sets his jaw. "Rose? Were you going to say Rose?"

A begrudging nod.

"Okay, Rose…oh, yeah, you said something to Rose about wanting to talk—or not knowing why you were talking." The figure's brow furrows for a moment before smoothing again. "Okay, uh…slight change of topic, but, um…Uroboros, what does it normally feel like for you?"

The man frowns.

"You don't have to tell me if that feels too—if you don't want to, but you can—you can normally feel it, right?" A nod. "Can you feel it right now?"

A pause. A long pause. The man's hand trembles again, pressed hard against his chest. Something flickers over his expression and his eyes widen. Slowly, he shakes his head.

"Okay…is it possible—and I'm just, I'm throwing it out there," the figure says, holding its hands up again, "is it possible that what you're feeling isn't something I'm doing, or the mold is doing, but it's…you're feeling that something's missing?"

"Why would that make me—" the man cuts himself off.

"Have a panic attack?" A nod. "You used to be a police officer, right? You saw people in distress. There'd be times where they'd be out of danger and then they'd freak out, right?"

The lights in the police station glow warmly.

"You're safe," the figure says, voice gentle, "I meant what I said: nothing's gonna hurt you here. That includes Uroboros."

"It's gone," the man says, his voice hoarse, "it's…gone."

In the distance, off through the halls, a radio begins to crackle. Two heads turn towards it, one with mild curiosity, the other with something akin to careful wonder.

The man swallows, slowly getting to his feet. Without waiting, he starts walking towards the stairs. The figure follows him through a doorway, into a library, through another door out into a hallway with several windows. The radio crackle gets louder with each step. They come to a stop outside a door that reads 'S.T.A.R.S. Office.'

For long seconds, there they remain, unmoving. The radio babbles softly from behind the door. Slowly, so slowly, the man begins to reach for the handle. His bare fingers brush the metal.

Outside, there comes a low boom of thunder.

"It's okay," the figure repeats, "take your time."

The man's fingers close around the handle and turn it. The door opens with a low creak. Light filters into the room, chased by the flicker of fluorescent bulbs as they step inside. The door shuts behind them as if to shield them from the windows.

His gaze fixes on the leather jacket hanging from the wall in front of them. He swallows, walking towards it, taking one of the sleeves and tugging slightly to get out a crease. Next to him sits a guitar, a pick tucked between the strings. The radio chatter switches for a moment to music, soft strains wafting through the otherwise still air, before switching back to garbled voices. The desk station at the man's right, laden with half-finished paperwork and pens strewn about, receives not one glance as the man turns away.

The figure steps aside as the man opens the door to a second, smaller office, pausing once more at the threshold. Behind the desk, on a small set of drawers, sits a photo with golden sparkles drifting around it.

"What does that mean?"

"Sorry," the figure mumbles, "that's, uh, that's me. The mold can tell when certain things are, uh, important, I guess?"

The sparkles drift towards the man's hand as he reaches for the photo. As his bare fingers make contact with the worn wood, a soft hum ripples through the air. The man's chest stutters.

"Is that them?"

"S.T.A.R.S.," the man says hoarsely, "my S.T.A.R.S."

The radio crackles again and loud, joyful laughter rings through the room. The man flinches.

"Why are we here," he asks again, "why are you doing this to me?"

"Why are you so convinced I'm the one trying to do something to you?"

"Why else would I be here?" The man's voice cracks slightly on the last word. "Is this to be some sort of guilt trip? You would shame me into repenting by dragging me through memories of what I've lost?"

"I'm following you, man. I don't know where we are other than what you've told me and the signs I can read."

"The mold infected me. Eveline said it's pulling from my memories."

"Well, yeah, but—" another roll of thunder— "okay, I definitely am not the one doing that."

"I don't believe you."

"You know, for someone who's as big of a control freak as you are," the figure huffs, "you really don't seem to appreciate when you have it. I've already told you: I'm not doing anything, other than the light around the picture. That was me, I didn't do it on purpose. Everything else? That's all you, buddy."

The man's mouth tightens to a thin line.

"You picked the police station," the figure continues, "you chose it when you were freaking out and it showed up for you. You chose this office, you brought us here. The mold might be drawing from your memories but you're the one guiding it."

A slight pause before the figure huffs again.

"And also, trying to shame and guilt you into changing—what, do I look Catholic to you?"

"You are a god," the man says, voice slightly less accusatory, though no less sardonic, "am I not a sinner in your dominion?"

The figure's shoulders drop. Its head hangs, the hand with three fingers curling in on itself, tucked against its side. "I'm not a god. I'm…barely human anymore. I'm just—"

Its voice cuts off. A hand scrubs over its face, which looks less and less defined from moment to moment. It looks down at its ruined hand, sloppily wrapped in a bloodied bandage.

"Every day," it mumbles, "I wonder whether I'm going to wake up as me or as just this thing that shambles around after the people I love. It's like this…this pit inside me that doesn't ever stop. It just keeps going and going and going and it wants to be alive so bad that it keeps me alive just so it can be and…"

It cuts off again, shaking its head.

"Sorry," it says with forced lightness. "Didn't mean to make this all about me. Point is, I'm not a god. I just really wanted to live and that was good enough, I guess."

"You didn't choose it?" the man asks, voice halting.

"I chose to live. So did it. It…chose me, I guess."

The man nods. The radio babbles in the background.

"Uroboros was…hungry," he says eventually, words clumsy and unpracticed. "It was not anticipated. I could…feel it trying to take me over, especially in the later stages."

As if unconsciously, his gloved hand covers his chest again.

"I didn't notice it." His voice is quieter now, almost muttering to himself. "How did I not notice it?"

Thunder, distant. The man's expression contorts.

"Of course."

"Figure something out?"

"Mm."

"Wanna share with the class? You don't have to, if it feels like it, uh, isn't you that wants to."

The man shakes his head to dismiss the idea. "Project Wesker—the project that created me, had a single failsafe. An underlying directive to seek out Spencer. I did not realize what it was until I—"

Thunder, again. Closer.

"I had lived with the feeling for so long," the man says, quieter, "that when Uroboros replaced it, I…"

He swallows with difficulty.

"Your daughter was right."

The figure nods. "She usually is. I got warned that teenagers always think they're right when they're not, but…"

The radio, for once, is quiet.

"I'm sorry," the figure murmurs, "that's an awful thing to have to confront."

The man looks back down at the photo, holding it in both hands. Black leather and bare skin cradle the wood as though understanding just how little effort it would take to break it in twain.

"Will you tell me about them?"

The man's breath shakes slightly as he exhales. "S.T.A.R.S. was split into two teams, Alpha and Bravo. This was taken before Bravo's medic was recruited—I…do not remember this person's name."

There is a grief that underlies the words that makes the lights pulse.

"Bravo Team was sent in first," he continues, "they were…they were Marini's team. He was a good Captain."

Unspoken words litter the floor.

"Then we were sent in. We did not—" another breath— "I was…I believed I was prepared."

"For what?"

"To lose them." Another breath. "I was not."

The radio crackles back to life. Shouts. Gunshots. The barking and snarling of dogs. The man flinches. Thunder rolls outside.

"Who were they?" the figure presses gently. The man gives himself a shake.

"There were six of us in total. Brad Vickers—" he points to a man in a yellow vest— "Barry Burton—" a man in a red vest— "Joseph Frost—" a man with a bandana tied around his head— "and…"

"Jill and Chris," the figure finishes when the man's hand falters.

"Yes."

"What were they like? Back then?"

"Young. Reckless. Assured of their own capabilities to the point of arrogance." Still, there is a fond grief lacing the words. "They were the youngest of Alpha Team, but they were…electric. In ways that not even I had anticipated."

"It's weird to think of Chris as young," the figure admits. The man lets out a breath that could be a laugh, were it not so laden with sorrow.

"Yes. You and I met very different Chris Redfields."

Another burst of laughter from the radio, bombastic and hearty. Both turn slightly towards the noise, both expressions softening at the sound.

"At least he still laughs the same," the figure says. The man's hand twitches. The figure notices. "You two were close."

It's not a question. Barely an invitation. Still, the man nods. "I…do not have the words to describe it."

"I don't think he does either."

"I…also do not know what we have become." His hands flex on the wood. "He is remarkable, he always has been, but now…"

He lays a hand next to the visage of the young man kneeling on the tarmac. His thumb brushes the edge of the man's pictured jaw.

"Up until this moment I would have claimed credit for making Chris the man he is today, in more ways than one."

"What changed?"

The man does not respond for a moment. When he looks up again, the look in his eyes has shifted. "What are you?"

"I, uh, feel like we've been over this?"

"Not the mold, you. Ethan Winters. What are you?"

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

"You. A systems engineer who defeated several of the more advanced bioweapons the world has ever seen without so much as a decent training."

"Okay, wait—"

"Please," the man scoffs, "do not lie to me or yourself. You and I both know that what little Chris was able to teach you is insufficient."

"Don't talk about Chris like that."

"I'm not. I'm talking about you." The man sets the photo down on the desk in front of him. "You, who somehow managed to outwit death more times than even I have. You, who have somehow managed to create a safe haven for yourself when you should be one of the most hunted bioweapons in the world."

"I didn't do it alone," the figure interjects, "I had help. Lots of it. I wasn't fighting by myself—"

"You've never fought for yourself!" The man shoves the desk. It lists perilously on one edge before thudding back on the floor. "You have sacrificed yourself many times over and somehow, you refuse to let it lie. They refuse to let you lie. You have somehow won the loyalty of men who have sworn their lives to ridding the world of things like you. You—"

A bit of light reflects off the glass of the photo, catching the red gleam of the man's eyes. He looks down at it again. The radio buzzes with static. Rain begins to patter against the windows in the hall.

"You have made this," he says, words heavy, "of me."

The figure is silent.

"You have every reason to despise me," the man continues, his voice growing quieter, "I kidnapped your daughter. I tried to kill you in every way that matters. I am responsible for nearly ever tragedy that has plagued the lives of those you care about, in one way or another. I can think of no one who would fault you for doing as Eveline did: attack me, try to kill me, destroy me, stop me from hurting anyone else, and yet here you are, being kind to me."

He spits the word as though it were bitter on his tongue.

"Why are you being kind to me?"

The figure sighs. Its shoulders slump, head drooping. Its hands begin to fidget together, worrying the end of the bandage. "What would be the point of me trying to fight you? I don't have that much power in here, not like Eveline and Rose do. I could try and shoot you again, sure, but you—we both know I'm not a match for you. You could try and kill me, but it won't stick in here anyway and you'd eventually get bored of it—Eveline did. Besides, it—" it sighs again— "it didn't seem worth it. To fight you."

"Choosing not to fight me and being kind are two different things. You are being kind."

"Well, you basically showed up having a panic attack, so yeah. I'm being kind."

"Why?"

The figure's brow wrinkles. "Why am I being kind to you because you had a panic attack? Uh, because it's the decent thing to do? I've had panic attacks and I know how much they suck? This mold shit is terrifying and I've already had to do it more than once? I don't know, take your pick. You don't have to fight me either, you know. You can just let me be kind to you."

Rain patters against the windows, creating a soft counterpart to the low crackle of the radio.

"You should never have been forced into this," the man says finally, "you should have lived and died without knowing anything about this world."

"Yeah, well, can't squeeze the milk back into the cow's udders."

The man blinks several times. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry. That, uh, that's something Mia's uncle used to say. He was a rancher—I think it was his version of 'don't cry over spilled milk,' but it, uh, was visceral enough that it stuck with me."

"What a fascinating creature you are."

"Thanks? I think?"

The man's eyes fall to the movement of the figure's hands. "You'll do more damage by irritating the wound."

"Oh, this? This is old. Like—really old, at this point. It's not—I always sort of revert back to this form—" it gestures to itself, worn jacket with snow still dusting the edges, boots with mud on the laces— "when I'm in here for…a while. I had my hand back for a little while when Rose came here for the first time, but it didn't stick. It's, uh, it's not usually like this, though."

He watches the edge of the bandage begin to slip loose. "It should at least be wrapped properly."

He turns and opens one of the cabinets behind him, retrieving a first-aid kit. With a jerk of his head, he indicates the desk in front of him to the figure before opening the kit. Swift, practiced movements see the remaining leather glove laid aside and replaced with a latex one, soon followed by its partner as the figure takes a seat on the desk, holding its hand out. The man begins to remove the bloodied bandage, slow enough not to tug on the wound.

"How was this injury originally sustained?"

"In the village, in Romania. I…I'd just watched one of the villagers die, he gave me a gun, and I tried to shoot the lycan that got him, but I wasn't fast enough. I ended up in the basement with a bunch of other dead bodies and it…got me too."

"Was anything applied to it, other than the bandage?"

"Didn't exactly have much on me. I was lucky I had that."

The man hums, removing the last of the cloth and examining the wound. The end of several bones jut from torn flesh. Blood threatens to pool just under the barely closed skin. He lets out another noise and reaches for another item from the kit. "And the mold has never healed this?"

"The mold is really good at staying in shapes. It, uh, shit, Eveline's so much better at explaining this than I am. But basically, this version of me is the version that it…remembers the most. So it remembers me with my hand like this."

"Hold still." The man takes a can of first aid spray and begins to liberally coat the wound. The figure flinches, hissing through its teeth. "I said to hold still."

"I know, I know, it…stings."

He takes a hold of the figure's wrist, stilling its hand, and continues to work, albeit in smaller bursts. "Why is this the version of you the mold remembers? Would it not make more sense for it to remember you as you were when you were first infected?"

The figure gets quiet for a moment, biting its lip. The man sets aside the spray and reaches for another bandage. "This is the version of me that died wanting to live to protect my daughter. Rose—how much I love her, that—that kept me alive. The Black God wants to live. It…keeps the version of me that wants that the most too."

The man's fingers gently brush the figure's as he takes its hand once more. "With all the pain that comes with it?"

"Yeah."

Slowly, with a practiced care, he begins to rewrap the wound. The figure allows it, watching the cloth swaddle the mangled flesh bit by bit. The radio switches to soft guitar music, the rain still falling in the distance. The figure turns its head slightly to listen.

"This place is nice."

The man huffs. "Hardly. It's a police office, in a station run by corrupt cops that do the very things they supposedly swore to prevent."

"You picked it," the figure retorts lightly.

Together, they look through the half-closed blinds at the rest of the office. The edges of the leather jacket and guitar are just visible.

"I didn't know Chris played." The figure tilts its head towards the radio. "Is that him?"

"I believe so." A softness in the man's voice. "On slow days, when there was nothing to do and no paperwork to finish, he would sit and play. It was…not bad. Barry would scold him and tell him to ensure there was nothing else pressing he needed to do, and yet he would be the first to request a song."

"I think there was a compliment in there somewhere."

"He would always try and get me to come out and join them."

"Did you?"

The man shakes his head. "I wonder what might have happened, had I."

They sit there, unmoving, listening. The song continues to fill the space, gentle pluckings accompanied by faint humming only truly audible in the moments when the player anticipates the next chord before their fingers find their places. Unbeknownst to them, outside, the rain slows and stops.

The song reaches its conclusion. The final notes echo around the room. For another breath, the two remain still, until the man clears his throat and finishes wrapping the bandage.

"Leave it be," he instructs as he strips off the gloves and packs away the kit. "There is no reason to aggravate it further."

"Thanks." After a moment, the figure laughs. The man pauses as he closes the cabinet.

"What?"

"Just…" It gestures about the small office. "This place suits you, that's all."

The man looks down at his hands, now both free of gloves. "I suppose it does."

"You called them your S.T.A.R.S.," the figure prompts, "you did that for a reason."

"They were mine. I was put in charge of creating a team worthy of testing the combat abilities of Umbrella's creations, but they were my team. They were—" he stops, mouth twisting as if the words begin to fail him— "they were mine."

"Was that the first time you had people there for you, not just for what you could do?" At the man's sharp look, the figure offers a shrug. "Look at where we are. We're in your old office, surrounded by memories of people you're claiming as yours. It's not the hardest conclusion to reach."

"Has the BSAA recruited you as a psychoanalyst?"

"Fuck that." The figure shudders. "I hate those rooms. They make my skin crawl."

The man huffs. "Such is the joy of being a bioweapon."

"Yeah."

A hush falls over them once more. Without the hum of the radio or the patter of the rain, their only noise is the buzz of the fluorescent lights. Almost unconsciously, the man begins to reach for his pocket, only to stop and force his hand away.

"What are you thinking?"

The man lets out a breath. "For so long, I have believed sentiment to be a weakness. Something that cannot be afforded in pursuit of power, or strength of any sort. And yet here I stand, forced to admit that I—that there have been moments where I cannot excuse my actions as anything but."

"Sentiment isn't a bad thing," the figure says softly, "caring isn't a bad thing. After all, look at me."

"You have suffered more than any single person should suffer for your love of your family."

"And yet I'm still here, because I love them." A smile tugs at the corner of its mouth. "You know this one too, don't you? 'Curiosity killed the cat…'"

"'…but satisfaction brought it back,'" the man finishes, "how quaint."

"It's true enough."

"I suppose." He turns to face the figure properly. "And what about me, then? Am I to be brought back as well?"

"I told you: I'm not a god. I can't atone or redeem you or whatever else. That's…not up to me. It's up to you."

"…I don't know."

"That's okay. We, uh, have time."

"Do we?" The man's brow quirks. "Uroboros is many things but slow to act is not one of them."

"I don't think that's gonna be a problem. Eveline told you, everything in here is dead, as far as Uroboros is concerned. It's the same reason I don't get sick. Viruses—well, most viruses, I won't say all because I know better—don't really react to the mold." The figure snorts. "One of the doctors went on a whole rant about it. It was almost impressive."

"So…"

"So, Uroboros isn't something you have to worry about right now. You said it yourself, you can't feel it anymore. It can't hurt you in here."

"But if I was out there again," the man says slowly, "it would be. It's still in my real body."

"Well…yeah."

The man braces his hands on the desk. It puts their heads a little closer together. "Eveline said something earlier…about everyone hating her when she has a body."

"Yeah."

"…I am not unfamiliar with what that feels like."

"Hey." Red eyes flicker upwards. "If you had your body back, right now, what would you do?"

The man is quiet for a long moment. The figure just waits. Eventually, the man blows out a breath. "I do not know. I…do not know."

"Would you try and kill me?"

"No."

"Would you try and kill Rose?"

"No."

"Would you try and kill Chris? Or Leon? Or anyone else?"

"…I do not think so."

"Less convincing, but I'll take it."

The man huffs, looking away. His head bows, another lock of hair falling from its place. His shoulders heave with the weight of his decision. "I have only ever known...that feeling. I do not know what I am in its absence."

"That's okay," the figure says, reaching out to place its freshly bandaged hand on his arm. "Figuring that out is hardly the worst thing in the world to be doing."

Another huff, one that might be a laugh. He raises his head again, meeting the figure's gaze. Deep inside of eyes that for so long, in his own words, have only known hunger, there now flickers behind them something almost like wonder.

"You are remarkable," he says again, "and you do not seem to know it. Why is that?"

A slight flush begins to stain the figure's cheeks. "I don't know, man, that's—that's beyond me too."

The man's gaze drifts towards the blinds separating this small office from the rest of the room. A weariness washes over his features. He swallows. The figure turns to see where he's looking and hums softly.

"Would you like a moment," it asks in a hushed voice, "to say goodbye?"

"Yes," the man says hoarsely, "I believe I would."

He moves from the small office. In front of him sit the desks, each with their own desktop computer, chair, and a short stack of files. Seven of the chairs have a box atop them, the closest of which has the only active computer. At the sight, the man's jaw tenses. He moves to the closest one, pressing down on an errant cardboard flap, tucking it under its neighbor to close the box properly. He swallows. With a jerkiness that comes from using reflexes long since buried, he reaches for a marker and prints a name carefully on the top of the box, reaching out to turn off the computer.

The radio crackles. A voice speaks. "Brad Vickers, Alpha Team. Pilot."

The man moves to the next desk, repeating the careful closing of the box and the writing of a name. He places the box back onto the desk alongside an incomplete request form for replacement gun parts.

Another crackle, another voice. "Joseph Frost. Alpha Team. Vehicle and equipment maintenance."

Each box is closed, sealed, neat letters at the base of the flaps where it would be covered by shipping tape. The quiet sounds of shuffling cardboard fill the room, joined only by the chorus growing over the radio.

"Kenneth Sullivan, Bravo Team. Chemist," for a box next to a dog's collar and leash.

"Enrico Marini. Captain, Bravo Team," placed above a set of golf clubs.

"Forest Speyer, Bravo Team, marksman and cyber-security," with a set of car keys jangling inside.

"Edward Dewey. Bravo Team, pilot," and a quiet refrain follows on the radio speakers.

"Richard Aiken, Bravo Team. Comms," from right by the broadcast itself. "S.T.A.R.S., signing off, Captain."

With one last click, the radio falls silent.

The man lets out a breath. He looks over his shoulder. Of the desks in the room, only four do not have boxes accompanying them. He moves to the nearest one, reaching out for the photograph laid face down atop the desk. He picks it up. A family smiles from beneath the glass: a father, a mother, and two daughters. He sets the photo upright. On the wall next to another empty desk hands a medical pouch. He opens it, checks the contents, and closes it once more.

As he turns the corner towards the last two desks, he stops.

He does not move any closer to them.

One hand drifts towards his pocket. He does not reach inside, but feels for something through the leather. His fingers trace the outline of some object and some relief makes its way through him at the touch.

His mouth opens, as though there are words he would say, but no sound comes out.

The beret and the leather jacket stay untouched as he slowly turns away.

The figure stands at the door, waiting patiently. The man walks over, head bowed, jaw tight, but shoulders down. After a moment, he nods.

"I think we can go now," the figure says quietly, "it feels like it."

"Have I completed whatever esoteric puzzle was set for me?"

The figure laughs, "You're gonna be a lot of fun in therapy, aren't you?" only to laugh again at the expression on the man's face.

"Will I remember this?" he asks when the figure goes quiet.

"Maybe not everything, but yeah, you should."

"And Uroboros?"

"I don't know. I don't think—I'd be really surprised if it was just, like, completely gone, but…" the figure shrugs. "I guess you're just gonna have to see."

"Will you kill me?"

"We talked about that."

"Will you try?"

A sigh. "That depends on you."

"Would you—"

The man stops himself and looks at the door. His fingers find the object in his pocket once more.

"…would you help me?"

The figure's bandaged hand reaches out to rest on his arm. "If you'll let me."

The man closes his eyes for a breath. The light pulse and glow warmly. The door to the small office shuts with a soft click. He reaches out and rests his hand on the figure's arm. Then he opens his eyes, reaches out, and turns the doorknob.

The man appears on the vast, endless plains. For a moment, he does not move. Then he lifts his head and looks around. His brow furrows slightly and he touches his face as if surprised by the presence of the sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

They clatter away as he is knocked forwards by the blast of telekinetic energy.

"Go away! Get out of here!" the child yells as she clenches her fists. "No one wants you here!"

The man gets to his feet, putting the glasses back on. "Who are you to think you can tell me what to do?"

"I'm in charge here!" Another blast of energy knocks him backwards. "And you're stupid if you don't know that! Get out!"

"Insolent brat—" the man flexes his arm. Nothing happens. He looks down as if confused by it and the next blast hits him squarely in the chest. He flies backwards and the sunglasses fall from his face once more. "Stop that!"

"No!"

The man rolls out of the way of the next blast, once again replacing the sunglasses. He bares his teeth and lunges for the child but she disappears. He is left grasping at thin air, looking around. She appears and blasts him to the ground once more.

"How are you doing that," the man snarls, "what have you done to me?"

"You're so stupid!"

"Enough!" He gets to his feet and attempts to brace himself for the next wave. "What did you do? Why is nothing working?"

The child screams and he crosses his arms over his face. The blast does not succeed in knocking him over, only pushing him backwards. She screams again and the next blast is stronger. He lands with a wet thud in a damp spot. Mold splatters across his leather coat and across his cheek, sunglasses landing just out of his reach. He grits his teeth and reaches for them. Another blast knocks them away. He lets out a frustrated shout and attempts to reach the child but she vanishes once more.

"Face me!" he shouts, voice echoing across the plains. "Show yourself!"

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of his own heavy breathing. Then he turns, hand just brushing the child's arm before she vanishes, reappearing behind him to send him sprawling into another thick clot of mold. He wipes it from his face and his next shout is nearly a howl of rage. The child does not give him time to speak, disappearing and reappearing long enough to batter him with waves of telekinetic attacks until he struggles to stand, red eyes darting back and forth as if hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

"You can't even fight me."

He whirls around but she has already disappeared.

"No wonder no one cares if you die."

"Enough!" Mold splatters as he looks around to spot her. He sees her for a moment before she is gone again.

"Just shut up and go away already!"

She does not disappear as quickly this time. He keeps turning, turning, and when she reappears with her fists clenched, he grabs for her arm. He does not succeed in holding onto her, but a glove comes off in his hand.

"Give that back!" A blast hits him in the chest and he clutches the glove in his fist. "That's mine!"

"By all means, come and get it."

She screams again and attacks him but he does not let go of the glove. She does it again, and again, and again, but still he does not let it go.

"Give it back!"

"No!"

"Give it back! It's mine!" The ground beneath his feet begins to churn. "You're being mean!"

"You attacked me first! I did not start this!"

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!" The mold begins to wrap around his legs and he yanks himself free, but stumbles and falls. The child appears next to him and attempts to retrieve the glove. He grabs her arm. "Let go of me!"

"Tell me what's going on! Where are we? What have you done to me?"

"You're so stupid!"

He roars, surging upwards and knocking her over. She screams in his face. "Tell me!"

"I didn't do anything to you! You started it! You hurt us first!"

"Who is 'us?' What are you talking about?"

She screams again and knocks him off of her. She reaches for the glove, but he pulls it away, the mold splattering over both of them. She clenches her fists, but the blast merely pushes him away a little distance. "You ruined everything! It was fine and then you ruined it! And you're so dumb you don't even know what you're doing!"

"You are the one who refuses to tell me anything!" Moldy water drips from the glove as he squeezes it tight. "You just attacked me and screamed at me!"

"You deserve it!"

He lunges for her. The wave does not impede him this time and she yells as his hand wraps around her arm. He throws her across the ground. She splashes into a puddle but does not get wet. Green eyes meet red eyes as teeth bare and fists clench.

"Give me my glove back!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on!"

"You're so dumb! How do you not know what's going on? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"This? You think this is what I wanted?" His arms spread wide. "This barren wasteland? Where I have no power and the only thing here is you?"

"Shut up!"

"How can this be what I wanted?" he roars, spittle flying from his lips. "There is nothing here! I am nothing here! I have no power, no strength—I can't even fight a pathetic child!"

She blasts him off of his feet. He lands in the muck. She tries to wrest the glove from him again and he holds it tight. She bares her teeth at him. "You're nothing!"

"I am a god!"

"No, you're not! You're just scared you don't know who you are anymore!"

His eyes widen. His grip on the glove slackens and she yanks it free, disappearing only to reappear a few feet away, pulling the glove back on with a glare. He stares at the space where she once was, breaths still coming in deep, heavy pants.

For long moments, there is no other movement.

His head turns. The sunglasses lie a pace or two away, despite the fact that their fight has raged over quite a large area. He gets to his feet with a shake or two and walks over to them. As he picks them up, he wipes a bit of mold from one of the lenses.

The child watches him, her hands held to her chest. He turns to watch her too. When neither of them makes a move to attack the other, he looks around again.

"What is this place?"

"You mean you really don't know?" He shakes his head. "We're in the mold."

"In the mold?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it?" When he doesn't respond, she frowns. "Why are you surprised? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"No. I didn't know this was…possible."

"But that's what you were after. You wanted the mold's hive mind."

"I knew that the mold was capable of sharing memories, information, storing what was known by people it had infected, but this…" He gestures about. "This is beyond anything I could have imagined. An entire world within the mold itself…"

Another pause. He looks back at the child.

"You're Eveline."

"Obviously."

"And you're…here. How are you here?"

"Really?"

"Mhm."

She shrugs. "The mold is the mold. It stores things. It stores people. This isn't really my mold, but my mold made Ethan so I'm here now."

"What do you mean, this isn't your mold?"

"The Connections made me. My mold is mine. This mold is the mold, the Megamycete's mold. Miranda's mold, but I guess it's Ethan's mold now."

"Miranda…" He says the name as though it tastes strange. "She was the bioweapon in Romania, the one conducting the experiments on the villagers."

"Yeah. She's the one who found the mold first. Ages ago."

"Is she here?"

"No. She used to be but Rose killed her."

"You can die in here?"

"You can die anywhere. But she was dead out there first and then she was here and then she was stupid and Rose killed her."

The man huffs something that might be considered a laugh. "How was she stupid?"

"She was trying to get out. She tried to make her stupid daughter again using Rose but it doesn't work like that, and then she actually made Rose come in here and tried to do it again and it didn't work and Rose killed her. I mean, Miranda made Ethan really mad and that was stupid too." She glares at him suddenly. "You made Ethan mad too."

"I did."

"That was stupid."

He hums but doesn't respond. The child watches him for a little before speaking again.

"What did you want? If you didn't know how the mold really worked, why did you want it so bad?"

The man looks down at his hand. He opens and closes it a few times, his leather glove squeaking slightly. "Viruses are inherently destructive. Uroboros, to be specific, is particularly…aggressive. The majority of people infected simply perish. But the mold…the mold is capable of infecting without destroying right away. I wanted to use the mold to increase the chances of surviving the virus."

"That's stupid."

He scoffs. "You're very fond of calling things 'stupid.'"

"Well, that's 'cause a lot of things are stupid. If you wanted the mold so bad, why didn't you just steal some of it? Why'd you try to kill Rose and Ethan?" He doesn't reply. "Were you trying to infect them with your stupid virus?"

"It's not—" the man sighs. "Yes, I was."

"That's dumb. There's not anything to infect. They're both mold. Especially Ethan. He's basically dead, he just moves still 'cause the Black God wants to live more than anything else."

"What?" He turns to face the child properly. "The Black God?"

She glares at him. "It's not you and it won't ever be, so shut up. You really don't know anything about the mold, do you?"

The man glares back at her for a second, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "What is the Black God?"

"It's the mold's consciousness. The thing that makes it be alive."

"And it's controlling Ethan?"

"It is Ethan, aren't you paying attention?" The child rolls her eyes. "The Black God wants to live, so it latches onto the strongest thing in the mold to help keep it alive. That's why it's in Ethan, 'cause he's really bad at staying dead, or so he says. He's died so many times."

"He has, hasn't he." The man looks at the ground for a moment, then at his hand again. "What happened to me?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"It means I don't know, dummy, what do you think? You just appeared in here."

"Does that mean I'm dead out there?" The child shrugs. "For someone who calls things stupid all the time, you don't know that much more than I do."

"I know way more than you do! I know how the mold works and I know how it doesn't and that's more than you can say." She crosses her arms. "Besides, you're not dead."

"You just said you didn't know if I was dead or not."

"You said out there. I don't know what you're doing out there, but you're in here and you're shouting at me and that means you're not dead. Not entirely."

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. "For the record, you started shouting at me first."

"So?"

He sighs. "What happened to me? Why don't I have Uroboros anymore?"

"You know this isn't really you, right?" She flaps a hand at him. "This is just whatever part of you ended up in the mold. Your body's still out there somewhere."

"But then why—"

"Besides, you said Uroboros or whatever likes to destroy things, right?"

"…essentially, yes."

"Then it's probably trying to destroy the mold. And the Black God's probably trying to destroy it before it can do that. Obviously."

"Obviously," the man mutters, turning around again to stare off into the distance. "Is that…close?"

"No. It's on a deeper stratum."

"A deeper what?"

The child rolls her eyes again. "Stratum. Level. The mold has different levels. The deeper you go into the mold, the more stuff there is. The harder it is to get out again."

The man turns back around. "Why are you still here?"

"Hey!"

He waves a hand. "You said Miranda was trying to get out. Ethan has somehow come back from the dead, which means he was able to get out, and you claim to know so much about the mold, so why haven't you gotten out?"

"Of course I could get out!"

"So why haven't you?"

The child gets quiet. She looks down at her gloved hands. She starts to fiddle with the parts of the fingers that are too long for hers to fill. When she speaks again, her voice is lower. "They hate me out there. It's better when I don't have a body."

A pause.

"They hate me out there too," the man says, his voice as quiet as hers.

The child peers up at him. He isn't looking at her, but at the sunglasses again. "You hurt a lot of people."

"So did you."

"Yeah."

Another pause.

"I told Ethan to tell Mia I was sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yeah." She shuffles in the cold muck. "I didn't mean to hurt everyone. It's not my fault people are so fragile."

He lets out another quiet huff. "They are, aren't they?"

The child shuffles again. "I didn't want them to be. They were supposed to be stronger. They were supposed to stay with me."

Another pause, deeper, heavier.

"Ethan killed you," the man says, "didn't he?"

"Yeah."

"And you…forgave him for it." The child shrugs. "How?"

"I mean, he's not sorry he killed me. I was hurting people, I hurt M—I hurt Mia and all that. But then he died again and he was here and then I showed up 'cause my mold made his mold, and then all the Rose stuff happened again and Miranda died and Ethan died again and Rose left and then Ethan came back again and he stayed."

"He stayed?"

"Yeah. He stayed with me. He made me go on walks with him even though there's nowhere to walk to." She eyes the landscape. "He…he made me gloves 'cause he said my hands were cold."

She glares at him suddenly.

"Don't try to take my gloves again."

"Don't attack me again, then." She sneers at him. "So, what, Ethan was nice to you, and you forgave him for killing you? That's it?"

"Hey!"

"You really are a child."

"So what? Just because no one's nice to you doesn't mean that you get to be mean about it!"

"I don't need people to be nice to me."

"Oh, yeah? When's the last time someone was nice to you?"

The man doesn't say anything.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment.

The child's shoulders drop. "Oh."

"How do I get out of here?" the man snarls, putting his back to the child, eyes scanning the horizon. "You know how to get out. Tell me how."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"Why would I tell you how to get out?"

"Were you not the one screaming at me to get out earlier?"

"Yeah, but you want to kill Ethan! And Rose!"

"Why do you care? Ethan killed you!"

"He was mine first! So was Rose! You can't have them!"

"The Connections made you," the man snarls, stalking over to her, "you obey orders. That is your purpose."

The child glares up at him. "I'm dead. That doesn't matter anymore. And I don't have to listen to you if I don't want to. And the Black God's not just gonna let you leave."

"Then show me where to find this Black God and I will make it."

"You really are stupid. I told you that's not how it works."

He reaches for her and she vanishes. He lets out a shout of rage and smashes his fist into the ground. The ground cracks. He does it again, and again, and again, until he's falling through space.

He lands on a dirt path in the shadow of a towering mansion. He looks up at the building and his eyes widen, scrambling away from it. He looks around wildly, as if expecting something to jump out at him, only to return to starting at the front door with a slack jaw.

"How…how…"

"I told you there were levels." He startles violently as the child reappears next to him. "We're on a deeper level now."

"How is this possible?"

"You're in the mold," she says slowly, as if he were the child, "it infected you when you tried to infect it. That means you're a part of it now. It can see your memories too. It's your fault for remembering this place."

From behind them comes a low snarling. They both turn as something moves in the brush just beyond their sight. A creature with four legs, crystalline patches on matted fur, fangs protruding past a drooling tongue, sniffs the air and charges at them. The man scrambles to his feet but the child just stands there, her eyes widening as the creature leaps for her throat.

The man manages to catch it by the jaws before its teeth sink into her, ripping the lower half of its skull free. The creature collapses to the ground, petrifying in its own mold.

"What were you thinking?" the man snaps. "Why didn't you move?"

"I was! I tried!"

"You just stood there!"

"I tried to go, like I always do! It didn't work!"

"You tried to disappear and it didn't work?"

"Yes, that's what I said!"

"Do your other powers still work?"

The child clenches her fists, but before she can do anything, more snarling forces them to turn. Several of the creatures emerge from the brush. The child screams at them and a blast of telekinetic energy issues forth, but it does barely more than stagger them for a moment. The man glances behind them at the house, then back at the creatures.

"Make me a gun."

"What?"

"You said you knew how the mold works and that it's possible to make things," he says as the creatures begin to prowl towards them. He grabs the child's arm and starts moving them backwards. "So make me a gun."

"I don't want to!"

"Do you want to be ripped to shreds and eaten alive instead?" The front creature lets out a rasping howl and dashes forward. "A gun! Now!"

"Fine, fine! You're so bossy!"

The creature leaps at him. The man catches it by the throat, expression contorting as it thrashes in his grip, snapping at his face. Its drool splatters across his head and neck and he manages to throw it off, just as the child shoves the gun into his hand. He aims and fires and the creature's head explodes, turning it into the same petrified form as the other. The remaining creatures rush at them and he steps in front of the child, shooting each in the head until they all lie still.

"We can't stay out here," he mutters, glancing about, "there will be more. And worse."

Without waiting for an answer, he takes the child by the arm again and makes for the door. She pulls free of his grip but keeps at his side. He kicks the door open and pushes her in, glancing at the path one more time before letting the door shut.

He looks down, examining the gun. His fingers stutter ever so slightly as he traces the grip.

"How did you know this was mine?"

"What?" The child's face contorts. "That's the gun Ethan killed me with."

"How is that possible? This was mine. How did Ethan get it?"

"Chris threw it from a helicopter and told him to use it."

The man's head whips around. "Chris? Chris Redfield?"

"What other Chris would I be talking about?" The child eyes the gun and turns away. "It makes sense why it was called the Albert if it was yours."

For long, long moments, the man does not say anything. He just looks at the gun, turning it over and over in his hands. The child allows it, glancing at him every few breaths, until she looks up at the room they now stand in.

"What is this place, anyway? It looks weird."

The man looks up too. Red eyes roam over the details: the grand staircase directly in front of them, the second floor looping about the perimeter with a small walkway spanning the width of the hall to allow for passage without making use of the stairs, the ornate chandelier suspended over the blood red carpet, leading further into the house like some luring tongue. Mold pools in great dark bodies, their depths unfathomable, rippling with a strange iridescence. Some of it climbs the columns and wraps about the railings, turning into almost flower-like sclerotia whose tendrils block off parts of the stairs and doors. As they stand there, more of it grows, covering the door behind them.

"Spencer Mansion," the man says, his voice slightly hoarse, "but not quite. What—what are—"

A growling sound and in an instant, the man has the gun aimed at one of the pools, the child moving slightly behind him. From the depths, a long-limbed figure emerges, faceless and shambling, its body entirely of semi-petrified mold. Part of its head peels open to expose a black void that sucks in all air around it. The man fires a shot and the figure barely staggers. He fires again. The same result. The child thrusts her hand out, but the blast has no observable effect. The man turns and aims at one of the sclerotia and the shot bounces off. He curses under his breath as more figures emerge from the pool.

"Run."

"Where?"

"There's an open room over there," he barks, "west side, run!"

The two of them dash through the hall, the figures following behind. They burst into a dining hall, table laden with the carnage of a half-finished meal left to rot, more thick tendrils of mold covering the walls and ceiling. The man turns, preparing to walk towards something, only to stop. The child turns to look in the direction he was walking, staring at the large desk with a typewriter atop it.

"What?"

"That's not—that wasn't there."

The child rolls her eyes. "This isn't going to be exactly like it was. It's just a memory, remember? Stuff's going to be weird."

The man looks over his shoulder. "How do we defeat them?"

"The monsters? I don't know. I've never seen them before."

"I thought you knew everything about the mold."

"No, I said I know more than you." The child scuffs the toe of her boot along the floor. "Rose could help. Her powers get rid of the mutamycete blocking the stairs and stuff."

"How do we find her?"

The child glares at him again, her fists clenched. "It's your fault I don't know where she is!"

The man scowls. "I grow weary of you blaming me for your own incompetence."

"You did something to her! When you took her away, you did something to her that made her go to sleep and it cut her off from the mold! I couldn't find her and neither could Ethan! You took her away from me!"

The man opens his mouth to respond when a loud roar comes from behind the door. "We need to keep moving. If this place is anything like I remember it, there's another staircase this way."

The house groans and the mold rumbles as they move from room to room. Figures emerge from bottomless pools and the sprawling tendrils, chasing them down halls and through doors. The man buys them precious seconds with well-timed shots, the child warning him when new ones are about to spawn. They stumble down a staircase rippling with terrible blood-red mutamycete flesh and into the basement, through a long-abandoned kitchen towards another corridor. By the time they reach the elevator, the child clings to the man's leather coat, the man's brow damp with sweat.

"Where are we going?"

"There's a statue on the second floor that can open a door into the garden. We can get out of the house that way."

"How does a statue open a door?"

"Spencer was obsessed with puzzles," the man says as the elevator doors creak open, "this mansion was not built to be survived by those who did not earn it."

"That's stupid." The man just huffs. "Why were you here? What is this place to you?"

"I was on a mission here."

"So? Why this place?"

The doors slide open before the man responds. He steps out, checking the way is clear, before motioning for the child to follow him.

"You didn't answer my question."

The man's jaw works. "There was an outbreak here that infected the entire staff, leading to an outbreak of several BOWs and the deaths of civilians. The case caught the attention of the Raccoon City Police Department. S.T.A.R.S. was dispatched to investigate."

"You know Chris told Ethan and Rose about you betraying him, right? I already know about that. I asked you why we're here because you're the one who was thinking about it, not me."

The man gives no reply. The child scoffs as they cross the entrance hall, the figures still roaming the ground floor. The sclerotia prevent the figures from coming up the stairs just as they prevent the two of them from going down. They pass a few more doors until the man pushes one open, leading to a small art gallery.

"Rose!"

The child dashes across the room, coming to a stop in front of a towering glass cylinder. A teenager stands inside, clad in a simple white shirt and dark trousers, her eyes closed, her veins and hands glowing with a soft white light. She does not respond as the child bangs on the glass with her fists, nor does the cylinder budge when hit with blasts of telekinetic energy. The child whirls about to glare at the man.

"Do something! Get her out of there!"

At the base of the cylinder is a raised metal plinth with something carved into its surface, as if something is to be placed inside. The man runs his fingers across it, frowning. The moment he touches it, words being to glow just beneath the hollow space.

"What does it say?"

"Have a moment's patience, would you? It says: 'Restore Her.'"

"How do we do that?"

"How about you come up with a suggestion for once?"

The child sneers at him but looks up at the teenager again. "There's a thing that Rose used to give her back her powers when she'd used them. We should find some of it. It's an herb."

"Of course it is," the man grumbles, "what did it look like?"

"It was white."

"White…it must be unique to the mold. We need to find the greenhouse."

"There's a greenhouse in here?"

"What did I just say?"

"Look out!" the child yells as another figure begins to emerge from the corner of the room. The man goes to fire but the gun clicks. He blocks a swipe from the figure's clawed hand, grunting as it rips the sleeve of his coat. He shoves the child ahead of him as they flee from the room. "Are you hurt?"

"Why, Eveline, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," the child says, a little quickly. "Why didn't you shoot it?"

"I'm out of ammo."

"Here."

The man blinks as she holds out a box of ammo. He takes it and reloads his gun. "Could you have done that earlier?"

"I didn't know you were out!"

"Show me how to do that."

"No."

"You're so obstinate," he seethes as he hurries them back across the walkway. "Can't you see that it's in your best interests to help me?"

"You're literally trying to kill us."

"I'm trying to keep both of us alive since you are incapable of defending yourself!"

"I beat you, didn't I?"

"Do not," he warns, raising a finger at her when her fists clench again. "You have no way of defeating these enemies any more than I have a way of getting out of here."

"Fine," she grumbles, "but I'm not teaching you how to make things. You haven't earned it."

"And how many times do I have to save your life for you to deem me worthy?"

"Get Rose out of that stupid glass thing and I'll think about it."

The man grumbles under his breath. They retrace their steps, returning to the elevator, to the basement, to the west wing. The child wrinkles her nose as they step in the greenhouse, squinting at the various colored stones littered about the floor. The man looks at the different tables laden with plants of staggering colors, housed in their own glass capsules, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Is this a puzzle?"

"Appears to be."

"Hurry up, then."

"For someone who constantly insists she's smarter than I am, you do not seem eager to prove it."

"Of course I'm smarter than you!" The child glances at the plants and stones. "That's why you should do it. You need the practice."

"How generous of you," he grumbles, but proceeds with the puzzle. The stones must be placed in careful order, in accordance with the complementary color provided by the plant behind the necessary alcove. When the last one has been placed correctly, the table at the far end of the room reveals a bunch of white sage. "I see. Combine the colors of the visible spectrum to create pure white light."

The child rolls her eyes and hops off the barrel upon which she had sat. "Come on. We have to get Rose out if we're gonna get out of here at all."

"Back to 'we' now?"

"Shut up."

The plant sits neatly in the alcove on the plinth. It begins to glow with the same white radiance as the teenager, beginning to dissolve into motes of light that fly towards the capsule, through the glass, landing on pale unmoving skin. A moment later, the glass disappears and the teenager collapses to the floor.

"Rose?" The child grabs her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Rose! Wake up!"

The teenager does not stir. The child looks up at the man, her teeth bared.

"Why didn't it work? What did you do?"

The man glances over his shoulder as if listening for something, before stowing the gun and moving closer. "Let me see her."

"No!" The child blocks his path. "What are you going to do to her? Don't hurt her! I won't let you!"

"I'm a medic," he snaps, "now let me look at her."

The child glowers but moves aside, letting the man crouch over the teenager's limp form. Some of her veins still glow, though with much less intensity than they had while she was inside the capsule. His movements are swift, sure, efficient as he checks if she is breathing, if there are any injuries, if there is something else affecting her. Despite the chill, no goosebumps rise on her skin. The child watches him closely.

"Why isn't she moving?"

"I don't know. From what I can tell, she's just asleep."

"Well, wake her up, then!"

"It's not that simple. If I try and wake her up without knowing what's keeping her asleep, I could hurt her. I'm going to see if she has a fever." He reaches for his hand, pauses a moment, then removes one of his gloves. As his bare hand reaches towards her, the glow grows stronger. "Curious…"

The child edges closer. "What's happening? Why is it doing that?"

"I don't know."

"You say that a lot for someone who doesn't like being called stupid."

"Not knowing something doesn't make you stupid. Especially not if it's something you can't be expected to already know." He lays his bare hand gently on the teenager's shoulder and gives it a shake. She doesn't stir, but the glow slowly moves to center on the place where their skin touches. When he lifts his hand, it lingers for a few moments before fading back to its former intensity. "Have you seen anything like this before?"

"No. Rose's powers aren't like mine. She normally glows when she's fighting something or destroying something. Or when she and Ethan are doing their stupid hand holding thing."

"Fighting or destroying something…" The man glances around. "We're not safe here. We need to move her."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the dining room. I have a theory."

With slow movements, the man takes the teenager into his arms, draping her over one shoulder with a hand on her back to keep her secure. The child stays close by, one hand wrapped around the limp teenager's fingers. Their return to the dining room is slowed by the addition of the still form, but her condition has not altered by the time they reach the desk with the typewriter.

He lays her down. Her hair spills over the edge of the desk. He places his bare hand against the exposed skin of her chest, just above the neckline of her shirt. Once again, the glow begins to coalesce about the point of contact, growing brighter and brighter.

"What are you doing?"

"You said the mold was fighting Uroboros," the man says, "or that it was trying to destroy the Black God before the Black God could destroy it. If her powers glow when she's fighting, then—"

"She's fighting right now." The child steps a bit closer. "You have to fight it, Rose. You have to wake up."

As the light grows, it begins to spread. First across her chest, then down her arms, then down her torso. When it reaches the tips of her fingers, black begins to trace her veins, stark against the whiteness of the glow. The child gasps and reaches out but the man stops her with a sharp word.

"Don't. We can't risk it infecting you as well." He grits his teeth as the black begins to stand out more and more against the light. "Don't touch her."

The child pauses, then reaches out and takes a hold of his coat once more.

The man winces slightly as the light continues to flare. The darkness in the teenager's veins begins to shrink, traveling upwards, higher, higher, climbing past his hand to reach her throat, her face. She starts to convulse on the desk, limbs twitching, her head thudding lightly against the wood. The man keeps his hand pressed against her, even as the glow begins to engulf the tips of his fingers.

With a sudden jolt, the teenager's eyes fly open and she jackknifes from the table, leaning forward to retch. The man is quick to wrap his other arm around her back, hand switching to hold her up as she vomits strings and strings of writhing black viscera. The child shrieks as the substance pools on the floor, sprouting limbs of its own, a fleshy head of writhing tendrils, an ear-splitting screech leaving its half-formed mouth.

"Get down!" the man barks, reaching for the gun. "Don't let it touch you!"

The child yanks the teenager behind the desk as the man fires into the creature. It shrieks and lunges after him. He dodges once, twice, still firing, moving to draw it away from the desk. It follows with great swiping attacks that catch the ends of his coat. With a cry, it rips the gun from his hands and throws it across the room. The man curses and reaches for a knife, swiping at the tendrils as it tries to restrain him. It catches his gloved wrist and shrieks again, beginning to reel him towards its gaping maw.

White light glows from within and it screams, exploding into a burst of white particles that float harmlessly down to the ground.

Panting, the man looks up to see the last of the glow fading from the teenager's hands, the child gripping her shirt. Her eyes are heavy-lidded but focused as she braces herself against the desk.

"Rose?" The child tugs her shirt. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the teenager grits out. The ground beneath their feet rumbles and shakes. "We have to get out of here."

The man quickly retrieves the gun, jerking his head towards the door. "This way, quickly. We can get out through the portrait at the back of the main hall. Can you clear the way?"

"Yeah, I can."

"There are monsters out there!"

"Don't worry, I can deal with those too." The teenager takes the child's hand in hers and squeezes. "Come on. We don't have a lot of time."

The walls crawl with mold as they race through the hall. The teenager stuns the figures in their path with bursts of white light, sclerotia withering as she focuses her powers on their exposed cores. The floor trembles and ruptures under them. They manage to reach the top of the stairs, only to discover the wall has given way to an endless pit.

Behind them come snarls and they turn to see another wave of the figures approaching.

"We have to jump!"

"What?" The child stares at the teenager with wide eyes. "Are you crazy?"

The teenager grabs her arm. "We have to jump, now!"

The man takes one last look behind him at the walls of the mansion, disappearing behind crawling mold and shambling figures. The other two leap off into the darkness and he pauses only a breath longer before he follows them, falling down, down, down—

The three of them appear in the middle of the barren landscape once more. The man is the first to get to his feet, gun drawn, scanning their surroundings. When he does not see anything else that moves, he slowly lowers it, frowning.

"We're back here?"

"It's a deeper stratum," the teenager says as she gets to her feet, wincing slightly, "even if it looks familiar. See?"

She points off into the distance. The edges of a castle are just visible through the fog and mist. Other silhouettes peer out: the edge of a shipwreck, with its bow jutting into the air like a fractured bone, or a smaller house with strange smoke rising from a half-obscured chimney. The man turns around a few more times, frowning.

"The mold's remembering," the child says, still holding onto the teenager's hand. "The deeper we get, the stronger it gets too."

"And the harder it is to get out."

"Yeah."

The man turns to look at the teenager. She raises her chin slightly to meet his gaze. He seems to consider her for a few moments in silence. Then: "What do you remember?"

"From before or after you tried to kill me?"

"I didn't try to kill you."

"Yes, you did."

"Yeah, you did."

"You wouldn't have died. I made sure of that."

"You did a shit job of it," the teenager scoffs, "but fine: from before or after you tried to infect me?"

"After."

The teenager shrugs. "Not much. I could hear the two of you talking but I couldn't see anything. Everything was really fuzzy, like being held underwater."

"Is that what you were like when you were taken too?" the child asks. "When Ethan and I couldn't find you?"

The teenager squeezes the child's hand. "No, that was different. That was just…empty."

"Don't ever do that again. You're not allowed to."

The teenager raises an eyebrow at the man. "You heard her. Don't do that shit again."

The man rolls his eyes. The child bares her teeth and snarls at him but she does not move away from the teenager, nor does her free hand clench into a fist.

"I noticed you dodged the question, by the way," the teenager continues, "why did you think of that place?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters," she says without hesitating, "so either you don't know, which means you need to figure it out, or you do know and you just won't admit it."

The man scoffs, turning away. His shoulders grow tense and he looks down at the gun in his hand. The teenager follows his line of sight and lets out a quiet noise.

"What?" The child tugs on her hand. "What is it?"

"Remember what Chris said? The stuff that happened at Spencer Mansion was the first thing that really kicked off all the bioterror stuff that's happened since, the start of it all. It was the first time…and the last time."

"Last time for what?" The teenager gestures to the gun. "Oh."

"Enough," the man says suddenly, "how do I get out of here?"

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"I am not weak to such things like sentiment," he snarls, "you would do well to remember that."

"Really? 'Cause it doesn't look like it."

"And what if it was?" He glares at her, red eyes stark against the bleakness of their surroundings. "What good has sentiment ever done anyone?"

"You're holding a gun that you only have because Chris saved it long enough for it to be turned into a weapon to kill Eveline, which is the only way the mold knows about it," the teenager shoots back. "He even named it after you. Face it: that saved your life and the only reason it did was sentiment. You also haven't let go of it and you went out of your way to go and get it even though you knew we had to run."

"That's ridiculous."

"No," the child sneers, "she's right."

The man barks out a laugh. "You? You're agreeing with her about sentiment? How can you?"

"Shut up!"

"Don't talk to her like that," the teenager snaps, pulling the child behind her. "You know we're right, you're just not able to admit it."

"Now who's dodging questions? What does any of this have to do with getting out of here?"

The child glares. "The Black God isn't just going to let you go. You have to earn it. Which means you have to figure out what it's trying to tell you and what you're even doing in here in the first place."

"Uroboros—"

"Is a virus trying to kill something that's already dead and doesn't have anything to do with you showing up," the teenager interrupts, "you're here. You. Not Uroboros, although it's probably somewhere around here too, but you showed up. That doesn't just happen. The only people that can do that are me, Dad, and Eveline. And Miranda, but she's long dead, so…"

"So you have to do something," the child says, "before you can leave."

The man scoffs. "And you two—I suppose you can just leave whenever you want?"

The child disappears. The teenager glances about before shrugging. "She does that a lot. I'd say don't take it personally, but…"

"Are you going to do the same?"

"Nah. My powers don't do that."

"So, what, are you to accompany me while I try and solve whatever esoteric puzzle this has turned out to be?" The teenager shrugs. The man shakes his head. "Of course."

"Why did you save me?"

"What?"

"Back there. With the sage and helping me fight off the black stuff." She steps a little closer. "Why did you do that?"

"You were the only one capable of clearing the way out of there. It was the only decision to be made."

"You didn't know that. You just took Eveline's word for it. You could have tried to use the white sage yourself or made Eveline do something with the mold or tried to find another way out, but you chose to help me." Another step. "Why?"

The man doesn't say anything. The teenager's gaze flickers down, then back up.

"You also haven't put your glove back on."

He looks down, as if only realizing that himself, He looks at his bare hand, wrapped around the grip of the gun, but makes no move to replace the glove. Instead, he examines the gun once more, holding it in both hands. The teenager watches him quietly.

"Does Chris still have this," he asks after a long pause, "out there?"

"I don't know. Probably. I think he recovered it when they were done in Louisiana."

"Does he still use his?"

"His gun?"

"His Samurai Edge," the man corrects, "they were custom models developed specifically for a select few of the S.T.A.R.S. members."

The teenager snorts. "That's such a dorky name. I don't know. I've never seen one like that one before."

"His has a dark blue S.T.A.R.S. medallion on the grip—" he traces the black emblem on the gun with bare fingertips— "a stainless-steel trigger, blued finish slide."

The teenager is quiet for a moment. "I've never seen it, but there's a gun he keeps in his—well, I guess kept in his office on the base. He doesn't use it, at least I don't think he does, but sometimes I'd see him looking at it. He never answered any questions when I asked about it."

"No, I don't suppose he would."

Another pause. Then the man looks up, eyes lingering on the faint silhouettes in the mist.

"What is it remembering?"

"That's the shipwreck where Eveline landed in Louisiana," the teenager says, pointing, "and that's…that's the house Dad and Mom had in Romania before Miranda."

"And the castle?"

"Also in the village. I think it belonged to one of the Four Lords—they ruled the village under Miranda. Dad told me about it once, said that's where they took him first." The teenager shifts her weight back and forth. "This is all of our last places too."

"Or first," he says, only for her to give him a look. "What makes you so certain?"

"Aside from the fact that you haven't actually denied it, a single time?" He looks away from her. "I can feel it…sort of. It's not—it's sad."

"Sad."

"Yeah. And lonely." She wraps her arms around herself, goosebumps beginning to pebble over her bare arms. "I don't fully remember it, 'cause I was just a baby, but they—when Miranda cut me up into the four flasks, it—I remember being so cold. So cold and so—so—so made."

At the man's furrowed brow, she elaborates.

"You know, like—like they didn't—obviously they weren't Dad and Mom, but it felt like they made me. Made me the way you…I don't know, the way you made a tower out of LEGOs or something, like it's just plastic pieces you can put together and take apart in whatever way you want. Like I was just…pieces to make and unmake however they wanted. It made me feel…"

"Lost," the man finishes quietly.

"…yeah."

They stand there, the mist blowing around them.

"What did they do to you?"

The man bristles, as though to deny the implication, but she only gives him another look. His jaw works. "I was part of an experiment—a eugenics program, created and driven by Spencer."

"What for?"

"The creation of a new, superior human race. Spencer sought to install himself as a god of a utopian world of highly intelligent superhumans. The program bred children with Spencer's ideals so that when the time came, they would serve him faithfully." His grip on the gun tightens. "Indoctrinated and programmed to serve, nothing more."

"Did it…work?"

The man scoffs. "Hundreds of children, all across the world. Do you know how many survived to the end of the program? Two. Only two. And only one that fulfilled Spencer's vision of the forced evolution of mankind."

The teenager holds herself a little tighter. "Who was the other one?"

The man's shoulders relax ever so slightly. "Alex. She suffered an incurable disease that the virus counteracted but failed to develop any additional abilities."

"Is she…?"

"Dead. Killed by Claire Redfield." His thumb passes over the S.T.A.R.S. emblem once more. "Seems a pattern, does it not?"

"Chris killed you, his sister killed your sister."

"She was not my sister."

"What else was she?" The man has no response. "Wait, so is that why you're doing all of this? Because you were programmed to?"

"No," the man snaps. "My goals and aims are my own."

"But you just said Spencer wanted to—"

"Spencer was a feeble old man with no right to claim godhood. His only fail safe was rendered moot the moment it was enacted. He was already on death's doorstep when I deigned to finish the job."

"What job?" the teenager asks quietly, and once again, the man does not respond. "Why do you want more people to survive the virus?"

"What is this," the man snarls suddenly, "why am I telling you this? Why are we not fighting? What—what's happening to me?"

"Whoa, calm down, dude." The teenager raises her hands. "I didn't do anything to you. We're literally just talking."

"Why? Why are we just talking? And why am I answering you?"

"I mean, what else are we gonna do? Would you rather just stand around here silent, or something? And I'm not, like, forcing you to answer me, or anything."

"I don't do this." He rakes a gloved hand through his hair, blond strands falling askew, "I don't—I don't talk to people like this, I don't say things like this out loud, I don't—"

He cuts himself off with a furious yell. The hand holding the gun, his bare hand, trembles as though warring with itself on whether to let go or not. The teenager takes a step back and he whips his head around to stare at her. She raises her hands again, stilling.

"What—" his voice breaks— "what are you doing to me?"

"I'm really not doing anything. I'm just talking. Uh—Dad says that people say that to him sometimes too, that he's easy to talk to. I don't—"

"The mold—" his hand goes to his chest— "I'm infected. Eveline said I'm infected. What is it doing to me?"

"Wesker—"

"No! I will not be your pawn!"

"Wait!" the teenager cries but the man is already running.

The mist swallows him whole.

"There is no point in power if it consumes itself."

"Are you saying that I was manufactured?"

"Chris? Stop it!"

"I've always been with Umbrella."

"I don't need anyone else."

"Why can't you understand, Chris?"

He emerges from the clouds to the outside of another building, its clock tower looming over him. He skids to a halt, panting furiously. On the steps leading to the front door stands a figure, who turns to look at him. The man raises the gun, and the figure holds up its hands, the one with three fingers waving slightly.

"Hey, easy. No need for any of that."

"What is this," the man hisses, the tip of the gun trembling ever so slightly, "what do you want from me?"

"Well, putting the gun down would be a nice start. Besides, uh, I think we both know that shooting me isn't gonna do that much."

The man slowly lowers it, red eyes still trained on the figure. The figure lowers its hands, turning to look up at the building.

"Haven't seen this place before. This is the Raccoon City police station, right?" The man nods. "Why'd you pick this place?"

"I…" Several movements flicker across the man's face. "I don't know."

"Jill? Like, used to work with Chris, Jill?"

Jill laughs as Rose take her hand, pulling her up. "Yeah, kid, that's me. Chris been telling you stories about me?"

"N-not really. Sometimes. I—uh—there was a Tamogatchi?"

"Oh, the one he killed?"

"I thought a kid stole it from the police station," Rose says as Jill starts to lead her back down the hall, past the corpse of whatever the fuck that thing was, "is that not true?"

"That's the story we eventually settled on, but between you and me, I still think someone lost it and Chris was the last one to have it, so…" She tosses a wink over her shoulder. "Come on. We have a safe room just down here."

"Chris is here? Already? Does he have Leon with him? Is Dad here too?"

"No, not Chris. My partner, Carlos. He's the one down here."

She slows. "But…but Chris does know you're here…right?"

Jill slows too, turning around. She must be able to see the wariness on Rose's face because she holsters her gun, holding her hands out. "No, I don't know if Chris knows I'm here. Originally, I didn't think you were going to be here. Carlos and I were checking this place out because it's tied to some of the shadier things BSAA has been trying to bury. Then we saw that they somehow got a hold of you, and we had to come get you out."

"BSAA? So—" her throat runs dry— "so he was right?"

"Who was right?"

"Wesker. He said—he said BSAA were trying to use me as a weapon, just like the Connections are."

Jill's face darkens. She steps closer, pausing when Rose tenses. Her hands come up again and her voice is still gentle, but firm. "Trust me: don't let him get in your head. He'll twist the truth around until it doesn't sound like anything anymore and he'll use it to get whatever he wants."

"But if it's not true, then why are you here?" She takes a step back. "And why should I trust you?"

From behind them, there comes another screeching noise. Jill's eyes flicker up, then back to Rose. "Please, just—just come with me to the safe room. We can talk more there, but I don't want to risk running into another one of those bastards."

The mold isn't screaming at Jill—well, it's not screaming any more at Jill than it is everything else around here, so Rose nods and starts to follow her again. Jill swipes a card to open a few doors and they have to step over a few more corpses of things that she doesn't want to think about for too long before they reach another door, this one with a keypad.

"19165," Jill says as she types it in, "in case you ever need to get in here and we're not with you."

"Wh-why wouldn't you be with me?"

"Better safe than sorry," she says with a grim smile. She opens the door and steps through. "Carlos, look who I found."

As soon as she steps through the door, her shoulders drop almost two inches. Jill wasn't kidding; this room feels safe in a way that no place in here has ever felt. She almost collapses into the wall from the sheer relief of it, her body no longer screaming, her hands trembling slightly.

It's not a large room. There's a long table against one wall with a desk chair wheeled to one side, a massive crate against the other. On the table is a single laptop, an old-fashioned typewriter for some reason, and a warmly lit lamp. Standing at the laptop is an older man with curly black hair, a beard, and a similar getup to Jill, except he has what looks like a sniper rifle slung over his shoulders. He looks up when they come in, his face breaking out into a wide smile.

"Hey, look at that! Rose, right? Nice to meet you, I'm Carlos. I see you've already met Supercop."

"Supercop?"

"That's me," Jill sighs, "he started calling me that when we first met and he hasn't stopped since."

"When it stops making sense, I'll find another nickname for you." He winks. Jill rolls her eyes and walks over to the big crate, rummaging around inside. "How're you holding up, kiddo, you okay? You hurt at all?"

"I, uh, um—" her hand goes to her throat. Clearly the first-aid juice worked if they can't tell she's been choked to within an inch of her life, or maybe they're just being polite. "I got choked a-and they definitely did something to me while I was asleep, but nothing really hurts."

"You got choked?" Jill pulls a bottle out of the crate and beckons her over. "Let me see, c'mere for a second."

Jill tilts her chin up with careful hands, dampening a cloth with the liquid and running it carefully over the skin of her throat. Rose swallows, trying to follow her directions of how to breathe, how to check if anything else is damaged, if she feels any pain anywhere else. Eventually, Jill pronounces her fine and she drops gratefully into the desk chair.

"Was it him," Jill asks with a low voice, "did he choke you?"

"Y-yeah."

"Did he infect you?"

"With the gross black slimy stuff?"

"Uroboros, yeah. Did it get in you?"

"No. It got close—really close, but I didn't—it didn't get to me. I got away."

A small smile curves up the corner of Jill's mouth. "You fought him?"

"I broke his nose. And his stupid sunglasses."

Carlos whistles lowly. "Look at you. Bet the bastard didn't see that coming. Good for you, kiddo."

Jill laughs, reaching over to ruffle her hair. It's the same way that Chris does it and fuck, she never thought she'd miss him this much. "Oh, yeah. You and I are gonna get along just fine."

"Why does he wear those stupid sunglasses all the time?"

"Who knows? He's been doing it as long as I've known him." The crate shuts with a thump as she turns to prop her hip against it, crossing her arms. "Alright. Carlos, how're we looking?"

"No luck with trying to figure out what else they're keeping in here, records are locked up tighter than Fort Knox. All I've got is internal communications from the scientists and the engineering staff." He tosses another wink over his shoulder. "That and how scared they are someone's gonna come for you."

"But you guys said you didn't come for me."

"Not originally. But then we saw Wesker chasing you and we weren't just gonna leave you here," Jill says. "Besides, I've been wanting to meet you for ages."

"You have?"

"One of the two people somehow capable of making Chris Redfield willingly talk about his feelings? Are you kidding?"

Despite everything, a giggle bubbles up. "He is really bad at that."

"You're telling me."

"Wait, so you saw—were you the ones who shot the rocket?" Jill nods. "Thank you. I didn't know what I was going to do, what he was going to do if he—"

"Hey." Jill sets a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It didn't come to that. You got away from him, you found us, we've got you. That's all that matters right now, okay?"

"…he's so scary. The mold hates him."

"Me and the mold have that in common, then." She squeezes her shoulder. "We won't let him get his hands on you again."

"You're damn right," Carlos adds. "And I'm sure once Chris and the others rock up, they'll say the same thing."

Rose's eyes widen. "I-it's a trap. Chris and the others, Leon, Dad—he wants them to come. He took me as bait. We have to—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy, kiddo," Carlos says, turning around when she nearly bolts upright, "slow down, what did you say?"

Rose swallows. "Wesker, he—he took me knowing that the others would come after me. It's a trap for them. He doesn't just want me, he wants my Dad and Chris and Leon to come too. We have to do something!"

"We have to get out of here," Jill says. "That's the most important thing. If we get you out, then we can call Chris and tell him to stay the fuck away from here."

"You haven't done that already?"

"Place has comms locked down," Carlos says, jovial nature finally fading just a little, "that was the first thing we tried when we realized you might be here. There's a damn wall around this place, digitally speaking. No communication in or out."

Rose collapses back into the chair. Jill crouches down in front of her, hand on her knee. "Hey, look at me. Chris is one stubborn bastard, okay? So is Leon, and so is your Dad. They're not just gonna roll over, okay? Chances are they're already here and tearing the place apart looking for you. All we gotta do is meet up with them, we all tell Wesker to go fuck himself, and we all get the hell out of here, okay?"

"It sounds easy when you say it like that."

Jill laughs. "That's the spirit, kid. When's the last time you had something to eat?"

"Uh…"

Jill reaches into her pocket and pulls out a protein bar. "Here. Eat that and sit for a few more minutes, have a bit of a rest. Carlos and I will figure out where we're gonna head next, okay?"

Rose takes the bar, chewing slowly as she watches Jill and Carlos huddle around the laptop, murmuring to each other. She misses the weight of Dad's coat over her shoulders, misses the weight of his ring on her finger. She scrunches herself into the chair as she eats the rest of the bar. The mold wriggles a little bit under her skin.

"That sounds good. Rose?" Jill glances over her shoulder. "You good to move on?"

"Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the food."

"No problem. You need anything else? You have a weapon on you?"

"Uh—I have a knife and a taser. And a map, but it's really old."

Jill walks back over to the crate and digs around for a few seconds. Then she holds out a gun and a box of ammo. Rose takes them, going to shove the ammo in her pocket before realizing she does not have any more room in her pockets because these jeans suck. Jill laughs at her expression and digs around again, finding a holster and a small pouch.

"I see why Leon hates these things," Rose mutters as she tries and fails to get the stupid pouch to sit on her waist properly.

"That's 'cause he always gets sent off with cargo pants that naturally have a million pockets and he's spoiled for space." Jill shuts the crate and draws her gun. "Stay between me and Carlos, okay? We're gonna head towards the north sector—there's been a lot of alarm tripped over there which either means our friends are here or there's something we'll need to stop before it gets very far. There's also a better security office in that area that will have access to more cameras."

"Do we need to avoid the cameras? So Wesker doesn't see us?"

"There's only so much we can do. Even if he is watching, not even he can be everywhere at once." She cracks open the door, looking up and down the hall. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Right behind you."

"Let's go, then."

As soon as she steps foot out of the room, the mold churns her nerves into a froth. She takes a shaky breath and slips in behind Jill, Carlos's footsteps following.

They move down the hall in a unit, weapons ready. Jill's flashlight cuts through the few darkened spaces as they pass by, Carlos's low calls of where to avoid stepping in gore just behind her. It's different from being with Chris and Leon, though she guesses most of that came from being in a place that might be dangerous, looking for Dad, and a place that definitely dangerous where any corner could have something that wanted to kill them.

It also doesn't help that this place seems to be ridiculously convoluted. When she was sneaking through the back tunnels and going to extreme lengths to avoid being seen by the cameras, it made sense that she was taking long winding paths from Point A to Point B, but even now, when they're moving through the hallways that most people probably used, they still have to double back and try and find access codes hidden in random places, turn on generators and redirect the power to open certain doors. Once they even have to loot a pass off a dead body—well, no. Jill does that while Carlos rubs her back as she tries not to puke about it.

"How do these people normally get around in here? It can't be this hard by design."

"Don't put it past them," Carlos grumbles, "there's always weird fucking puzzles all over these places. Don't even get me started on the police station where Jill and Chris used to work."

"But like, what if you have to use the bathroom? Are you supposed to do this all the time?"

"We had a joke once, me and Chris," Jill says as they get back to the place with the door they need to open with the stupid card from the dead guy's body, "that there were always three things we were gonna find in one of these: stupid puzzles, some reference to the Umbrella Corporation, and an RPG."

"Umbrella? Isn't that the old pharmaceutical company?" Both Jill and Carlos groan. "What? Is that not it?"

"No, you're right, kiddo. You're just making me and Supercop feel old."

"Umbrella are the ones that are behind basically most of the bioterror shit that's been happening since the start," Jill mutters, peering around another corner. "Wesker used to be Umbrella before it went under. Basically every significant bioterrorist has some sort of relationship to them."

"Oh. E-even the Connections?"

"That's a little more complicated and I'm gonna be honest, I'm not sure I know it well enough to explain it to you right now. When we get out of here, I'll see if Rebecca can explain it for you."

"Who's Rebecca?"

"Damn, Chris really hasn't been telling you stories, has he? Rebecca—Dr. Chambers, she was a member of S.T.A.R.S. too. She's the scientist of us, she'll know the most about it."

"She won't…try and do a bunch of tests on me, will she?"

Jill looks over her shoulder, expression softening a bit. "No, Rose, she won't. Chris and I won't let her, even if she tries."

"…thanks."

"We're almost there," she adds, "then we'll see what all the fuss is about over here."

"And if it is some big scary thing that we have to stop before it gets any further?"

"Then we'll stop it."

When Rose doesn't say anything, Carlos lightly nudges her. "You already broke the nose of the scariest piece of shit in here, anything else is gonna be a breeze. Besides, you got both of us backing you up."

She huffs out a laugh. "Yeah. You're right."

They reach another set of doors, the words 'SECTOR N12' emblazoned on the wall in bold, block letters. Jill motions for her and Carlos to get behind her, reaching out to swipe a card across the scanner. There's a click, a hiss, and the doors slide open, revealing a long, dimly lit hallway.

"Well, that looks fun," Carlos mutters, stepping a little bit closer. "The room we're looking for should be close by. We just have to make our way through the main server room and up into the control office."

"Stay close, stay quiet." Jill crouches slightly, flashlight and gun at the ready. "We have no idea what might be in here."

Rose crouches, wincing as her borrowed boots make a loud squeak. Carlos's gear makes a slight rustling noise as they start to creep along the hallway, interspersed with the clicks of Jill's flashlight as they peer around corners. Unlike the places they've been through so far, there's a chill in the air that sends shivers up and down Rose's spine. The air smells different here, drier, emptier, almost like something was actively scrubbing it clean every few minutes. Other than the quiet sounds of their breathing, there's a faint whine and hum bouncing off the walls. Blue and red lights flash from strips along the floors and ceilings.

"Take a left here," Carlos murmurs, "there should be a T-junction up ahead."

Jill nods, going to round the corner, only to freeze and throw her hand back. Rose and Carlos freeze too. Jill makes some sort of hand motion that Rose doesn't understand but Carlos puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her back a few steps, moving to stand partly in front of her, his gun at the ready.

Oh.

There must be something there.

Jill crouches low, her head tilted slightly. Rose adjusts her grip on her gun, palms slightly slick. One breath, two breaths, then Jill rounds the corner with her gun raised, flashlight on, aiming at—

"Jill?"

No.

No, it can't be—

Jill laughs. low and relieved, all the stress going out of her stance. "Hey, Chris. Long time, no see. Got someone else who's gonna be real happy to see you too."

Chris.

Chris.

Chris is here, Chris is right there, Chris came for her, Chris is here—

She doesn't realize she's shoved the gun in the holster and shoved past Carlos until Jill is stepping back and she's rounding the corner and he's still holding his flashlight and his gun and he's wearing the big vest thing with all its stupid pokey bits and he's almost too big to hug but she doesn't care because that's Chris—

She slams into his chest so hard he stumbles back. He smells like gunpowder. He's real. He's here. He's alive.

"Rose?" She nearly sobs at the sound of him saying her name. He makes a noise that might also be a sob and then she's being crushed against him, his arms wrapped so tightly around her she can hardly breathe and it hurts and it's glorious and it's everything and it's Chris. "Oh, thank God. Thank God, you're okay."

"Ch-Chris—"

"Yeah, sweetheart, it's me. I've got you. 'M right here. Oh, God, I'm so glad we found you." He holds her even tighter and she can feel his nose in her hair, breathing her in. "You okay? You're not hurt? You're alright?"

She nods, eyes squeezed shut, holding on for dear life. He lets her hang onto him for another moment, holding her just as fiercely, before he's taking her by the shoulders and pushing her away just so he can run his hands over her, check her over, make sure she's okay, and at the sight of his face she almost sobs again. His eyes snap up as soon as he hears it but then he sees her smiling even though she's so close to crying and he just cups her face in his hands and kisses her forehead, hard.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you."

"I might have some idea." She swipes away a stray tear and hangs onto his hands. "Are you okay? I-is Mom okay?"

"Yeah, Rose, I'm fine, Mia's fine. We're all okay. What about you, are you okay?" She nods. "Good, that's good. I see you met Jill and Carlos, huh?"

"About damn time, Redfield," Jill teases as Carlos comes around the corner. "You've been holding out on me."

"Chris, good to see you."

"Good to see you both too. And, actually—" he turns, calling over his shoulder— "Leon! Over here!"

Quick footsteps and another flashlight and Rose can't stop smiling because there's Leon, his expression melting in relief as he sees her, holstering his gun and jogging over to let her nearly tackle him with a hug too.

"Hey, you," he says softly, running his fingers through her hair and giving her a good squeeze, "missed you for game night yesterday."

She laughs and she feels more tears slip from her eyes. He must be able to feel them too because he's making another soft noise and holding her close. Chris puts his hand on her shoulder and she hears him talking quietly to Jill and Carlos. Leon pulls back a moment later, doing the same thing Chris did of checking her over, making sure she's not hurt, before winking at ruffling her hair again. She wraps her fingers through a loop on his jacket and grabs Chris's hand tightly.

"Sounds like we had the same idea," Chris is saying, "we haven't found the security office either."

"Up this way should be the big server room," Jill says, "the office on the other side."

"Hey," Leon calls, getting Rose's attention again, "you sure you're okay? Anything Chris and I need to know about?"

The relief of seeing them starts to wane, the mold's discomfort rearing its head once more. Unconsciously, she tugs them both closer and they come, Chris squeezing her hand as Leon holds her shoulder. She swallows. "It's a trap. This whole thing is a trap. He—Wesker wanted you guys to come after me, he wants you guys here, he wants Dad, he—"

Her eyes widen.

"Dad, where's—where's my Dad? Is he here? Is he okay? Where's Dad?"

Chris and Leon glance at each other. Chris clears his throat. "He's here. We got separated, but he—"

"You what?"

"Shh," Leon murmurs when her voice raises nearly to a shout, pulling her close enough to take her face in his hands, "calm down for a second. Just look at me, okay? Yes, we got separated. We were coming up here to find the security room and then there was an explosion and the room we were in got hit with something and it collapsed. We were on one side, he was on the other. He knows the plan, okay? This floor is one big circle, he's gonna come around the other side and meet us here. He knows that, he's probably right behind you guys—you came from that way, right?"

Rose nods.

"Okay, then you probably just missed him. He'll be here soon and you'll get to hug him and then we'll all get the fuck out of here, yeah?"

"B-but Wesker said—"

"He said?" Chris steps closer, his grip on her hand getting tighter. "He said that to you? In person? You—he—you saw him?"

"Oh, she did more than see him," Jill says with a grin. When both Chris and Leon look confused, she just nods to Rose. "Tell 'em what you did, Rose."

Their heads swing back, Chris's face tight with concern. "What happened, Rose? Did he hurt you?"

"I broke his nose."

Chris goes absolutely still. Leon's eyes widen. "You what?"

"I broke his nose. And his sunglasses." She manages to smile at Chris. "I told you I would, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," Chris says as Leon lets out a disbelieving laugh. "You sure did."

"That's our girl," Leon says proudly, "bet he didn't see that coming."

"He got…mad about it. I ran away from him but there wasn't anywhere to go and then Jill blew up the catwalk so he couldn't get to me."

"Yeah, that's probably what the explosion was."

"Well, can't be mad about that." Chris runs a hand over her head and steps back. "We'd better keep moving. The sooner we can find Ethan and a way out of this place, the better."

"Wesker said some other stuff too," Rose says as they all start gearing up to move again, "stuff that…has to do with you guys."

"Let's get to the security room first, okay? You can tell us there. It shouldn't be too much farther. Jill, with me. Leon, Carlos, take the rear. Rose, stay in the middle, okay?"

"Got it."

She has to admit she feels a little ridiculous in between the four of them with her gun, a bit like a kid playing pretend while the adults do their jobs. Still, she can't deny it's a comfort to have Chris's giant silhouette nearly covering her completely, Jill next to him, moving in sync. And every time she glances behind her, she sees Leon and Carlos, each trading off the chance to give her a reassuring nod. It's almost nice.

She just wants Dad next to her too.

They move through a giant server room, covered with towers of little blue and white lights like tiny eyes watching them as they pass. This must be why this section is so cold—there's more computers here than she's ever seen in her whole life. At the far side of the room is a raised office, glass windows separating it from the room below. Stairs lead up to it on either side. Chris leads them towards the closest ones, he and Jill kicking open the door and making sure it's clear before the rest of them come in. He hits a button and the doors to the room slide closed, a light above them turning red.

"Alright, nothing's getting in here without us knowing about it."

"I'll check the feeds," Carlos says, heading over to one of the big monitors, "see what we're working with."

"There's an exit about half a mile out through one of the service tunnels, that's where we came in. It wasn't too heavily guarded, but they're probably fixing that now. Planned exit is from the roof, the rest of the team is supposed to be there in about an hour."

"You have a way to get up there?"

"Well, we didn't know exactly what the place was gonna look like. All the maps we could find were pretty outdated, blueprints didn't show anything past the first level." Chris jerks his head towards the servers. "They did have this place as the hub for all digital activity, so we figured we'd be able to find some sort of complete schematics in here."

"They went full H.H. Holmes on this place," Leon adds, glancing at a few things hanging on the wall. "Separate contractors building different parts of it, no one has the full picture, no final drafts showing the entire space. We managed to secure a way up to the roof from the top floor, at least—not that much up there from what we could see."

"Weird shit's always in the basement," Jill mutters.

"What does that mean for Dad? Is he—is he gonna be able to find us?"

"I'm looking for him right now." Carlos starts typing. "You said you guys were on this floor when you got separated, right?"

"Yeah, over in Sector G62. He was on the southwest side."

"Copy that."

"Rose?" Leon calls. "You said you wanted to tell us something?"

Right. She twists her fingers together, stuttering over the spot where Dad's ring should be. She looks up at Chris and Jill, both looking at her expectantly. "You…you guys all work for BSAA, right?"

Chris frowns. "Yeah, Rose, we do. Why?"

"Is…is BSAA trying to use me as a weapon?"

She wants Chris to say no. Wants Chris to scoff and shake his head or get mad and say what Jill said, that she shouldn't listen to anything Wesker says. But he doesn't. Instead he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and the mold is screaming again.

"Yes and no," he says carefully, "there's a reason that I've had to fight so hard to keep you will us, to take care of you at our base, with the Hound Wolf Squad and everybody there. And why it took so long to get you out of there, to the house and with Ethan and everything. I—shit, Rose, I wish I could say no. But BSAA hasn't been what I—what we built it to be for a while now—" Jill nods in agreement— "and I don't…I don't know what it is now."

"Chris had to basically get them to sign him off as his own branch of the BSAA to keep you away from most of this," Jill adds, "it's one of the main reasons we've never met before, as much shit as I give Chris for it. I'm trying to figure out what the hell's going on, but it's not—I don't know what the hell's going on either."

"That's also why Leon's here." Chris gestures to him. "You're—technically, Mia surrendered custody to the United States, with me as the BSAA's representative taking point. Leon as a DSO agent is the State's equivalent. We—fuck, this sounds so fucked up when I say it out loud, but we're—I guess you could say we're sharing custody of you and Ethan to keep you guys away from the people that want you guys as bioweapons."

"Don't think that doesn't mean we don't care about you both," Leon says quietly, "we do, Rose. So much. But this is…Chris is right. There are people after you both everywhere. We're just…trying to keep you safe. Both of you."

"You promise?"

She hates how young and stupid she sounds when she says it, but she hates the way both Chris and Leon make noises like she just punched them more. Chris is moving before she realizes it, grabbing her shoulders and looking at her with a desperation she never wants to see on his face ever again.

"I promise, Rose, I swear on my life. You're not some damn bioweapon to me, you're—you're—you're an amazing kid and a good person and that's so much more important to me."

"I know, I know, I just—" of course. Chris has stuck his neck out for her so many times. He's fought for her, helped make an actual home for her, he's been there for her when literally no one else was, he—he— "I'm so scared, Chris."

"I know, sweetheart." He hauls her back in for another hug. "I promise I'm gonna look after you, okay? Remember? I promised that a long time ago and I'm not gonna break it any time soon."

"Me neither," Leon says, his hand on her shoulder so she can look at him from in Chris's arms. "I'm all the way in, yeah? You and Ethan have got me."

"You have us too," Jill says, and Carlos hums his agreement, "you've got all of us and probably more people than you know. Wesker's got a way of making shit feel hopeless. Don't let him."

"I know."

Leon brushes a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Did he say anything else stupid that we should make fun of?"

"S-something about me and him being the next step in human evolution or something?"

Carlos huffs. "Is he still on that bullshit?"

"Of course he is." Jill rolls her eyes. "'Complete global saturation,' what a fucking asshole. Did he say something about only the strong surviving too?"

"Something about not everyone being equipped to handle such power, or something, yeah."

"Ugh."

"He, um…he also said some stuff about me and Dad."

Chris pulls back, hands on her shoulders. "What did he say?"

"A, um, a bunch of...mean stuff, it doesn't matter—"

"He has a god complex the size of the fucking Sun," Jill scoffs, "take whatever insults he tosses out with a grain of salt."

"—but he also said something about the mold having a built-in doorway."

Leon frowns. "A what?"

"The—the viruses, he said that they—that people don't have a natural affinity for them. That's why they haven't worked or something like that in the past. Even Uroboros, it wasn't—it didn't do what he wanted it to do. But he said the mold has a—a doorway, and all he needed was the key to open it. He wanted to take the mold from me and Dad and use it somehow to—I guess make the viruses work better?"

"The mold takes you over in a way that the viruses don't," Chris mutters, "he's after that."

"The Black God is scared of him."

"The Black God?" Jill frowns. "What's that?"

"The mold is like a really big hive mind of everyone that's ever been infected by it or been exposed to it for long enough. Consciousnesses can exist in it even after they're gone. But the mold has its consciousness, the Megamycete, it's alive in its own way. It's—it's the thing that controls all of the mold, sort of."

Jill blinks a few times. "O…kay?"

"Just go with it," Leon advises, "it's simpler that way."

"Okay. And this Black God, it's afraid of Wesker?"

"It started showing me him in nightmares, him and Uroboros—like it was warning me about him. There was a picture of him in the village in Romania, where the mold originally came from, so it knew about him a long time ago."

"Is there a way we can talk to this Black God?"

"Oh, it's in Dad."

"It's in your Dad," Carlos deadpans and she hears Chris stifle a snort.

"Yeah. Dad's the strongest thing in the mold right now, it's—the Black God sort of latches on to whatever force is the strongest inside of it and right now, that's Dad. It, um, it sort of is him right now? Kind of? I don't know, it's complicated."

"Sure. Black God, mold, your Dad, got it." Carlos turns back to the monitors. "Probably means we should find him sooner rather than later."

Rose wanders over to the screens, watching as Carlos flips between the different cameras. Chris and Leon come with her, each still holding onto her in some way. She rests her head on Chris's shoulder, feels him press a little bit closer, and reaches out for Leon's hand. He takes it and holds it against his chest so she can feel his heartbeat.

"I knew you weren't trying to use me," she mumbles, feeling Chris's chest stutter a little bit, "that wasn't what I meant."

"I know, Rose."

She squeezes Leon's hand. "You either."

He squeezes back.

"There's not that many cameras on the other side, for some reason," Carlos says. "Look. We go from the halls from here, to here—" he points at a map with the listed cameras— "but then there's nothing for that whole stretch. It's like they…disconnected them or something."

"Check the floor below."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

Carlos frowns but does as Chris says. Rose's stomach drops when the screen shows a gaping hole in the ceiling and blood everywhere.

"Shit," Jill mutters, "he must've run into the other one of those fucking things and crashed through the floor."

"Carlos—"

"I'm looking, I'm looking." The screens flip faster. Every single room has blood and bodies everywhere. Not one of them looks like Dad but there's so much blood. "Shit, it's a containment floor."

"What does that mean?"

"Places like this have levels where the scientists work and levels where they keep whatever they make."

Rose's knuckles turn white on Leon's hand. "So my Dad is—"

"We're gonna find him," Chris interrupts, jaw tight, "we're gonna find him."

The tanks start appearing. Empty, at first, then empty with broken glass and some sort of fluid all over the floor, and more blood. Always so much blood.

"It's injured," Leon says quietly, "either from falling through the floor or Ethan's hurt it in some way."

"Any alarms triggered in the sector?"

Jill runs over to another monitor and starts typing. "Four. All containment breaches. Moving towards the northeast corner. Looks like he's heading for this big room, right here."

She points at the map of the cameras. Sure enough, there's a massive room with six cameras all mounted somewhere inside. Carlos switches the feed over and all the massive screens on the front display light up with all the cameras from the room and—

It's pandemonium.

There's a fucking giant monster with building sores on its head, six arms, a huge tongue like the thing that tried to eat her before, claws that look like shards of bone—it's disgusting and horrifying and there are tiny monsters crawling all over it like parasites and there's blood trailing behind it and the camera shakes every time it opens its mouth which means it must be screaming so fucking loud and there are also so many other smaller monsters that look like dogs that have been put in a blender and put back together wrong that are snarling and lunging at—

Dad.

That's Dad. That's just Dad in his blue coat with the broken zipper and the pocket with a hole in it.

"Dad!" she screams, even though she knows he can't hear her. Leon grips her hand so tight she loses feeling in her fingers, but she doesn't even notice.

"We gotta go," Chris barks, "we have to—"

"Look!"

On the screen, Dad raises a shotgun—Rose feels her fingers start to glow—and shoots one of the dog monsters out of the air as it jumps at him. Then he shoots down a second, then a third, then he aims at one of the pulsing sores on the big monster and it explodes with a shower of blood. The monster screams and flinches back and Dad grabs something else and throws it and fire explodes all over the big monster's head. The tiny monsters shrivel and jump off, bursting into gross green stuff that starts to get on the dog monsters as they run forward again. Dad grabs the shotgun again and jumps up on a stack of crates, shooting them before they can get to him. He goes to reload but one of them leaps up and he shoves something in its mouth before it can bite him, kicking it into another and they both explode—where did Dad get grenades?

He gets the shotgun reloaded and goes back to shooting the big monster, still on fire, somehow, and it screams again and something wet and slimy emerges out of its throat behind its tongue and Dad grabs a pistol and starts shooting whatever the hell that is too and its whole body shudders every time it gets shot and Dad's still shooting it and then it screams again and explodes and the rest of its body goes still as red and green stuff starts oozing out of its mouth. The tiny monsters that had been crawling over its body all jump off and start swarming towards Dad, but Dad takes something else off his back and screws it into a thing she doesn't recognize and—it's a flamethrower. Dad has a flamethrower and he's burning all the tiny things before they can get to him. The last one explodes into a splatter of green ooze and then nothing else on the screen moves.

It's all over in a less than a few minutes, but Rose—

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Dad just—Dad just won. He fought all those fucking monsters and he won.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Carlos reach into a pocket of his vest, take out $20, and hand it wordlessly to Chris. Chris takes it without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Oh, you never stood a fucking chance, did you, Redfield?" she hears Jill mutter.

"We, uh—" Chris's voice sounds a little weird. He clears his throat and tries again. "We should…go."

"Mhm."

No one moves. She looks around. Carlos looks bewildered, but he's got the same smile on his face that he did when she told him she broke Wesker's nose. Jill looks impressed, but she's got an amused smirk on her face, staring mostly at Chris. Chris is still staring at the screen with a strange expression she's never seen him wear before. She turns to look at Leon. He's got a similar look too.

"Are we, uh, can we go?"

Both of them jump a little bit. Leon squeezes her hand one more time before looking away quickly—what's that about?—and Chris just grunts and turns back to the screen, muttering to Carlos about how to go about meeting up with Ethan. Jill just winks at her.

"Your dad's pretty cool, Rose."

"I know. He's the best."

And—look, okay, she knows Dad's cool. And on some level, she knows that Leon and Chris are cool too, but she mostly just sees them being idiots arguing about the rules of Uno and being mean about making her do push-ups when her shoulders already hurt from doing so many push-ups yesterday.

But then they get down to the containment level and Leon's cracking a monster's skull against the wall with his foot and Carlos is shoving his gun into a monster's chest and twisting it while he reloads so he can shoot its spine out, and then Jill pins a monster to the wall with a crate and shoots its head off and Chris is grabbing a monster's tongue and ripping it out with his bare hands and they're all acting like this is normal. And they're doing more cool stuff and making jokes about it and Rose just ends up standing there with her gun staring at them.

"Rose?" Leon asks when he notices. "You okay?"

"Why are all of you cool and you didn't tell me?"

"Blame Chris for not telling you any of his cool stories, apparently," Jill calls from where she's pulling her knife out of another big monster that she somehow managed to kill with just a knife because she was reloading when it jumped at her.

"Chris!"

"What? I thought the squad already told you all of them, why would I tell you them again?"

"They told me about the ones where you lost your guns and then that part of one where you punched a boulder, for some reason. They didn't tell me about the cool stuff!"

Leon just laughs at Chris's face. "Their job is to make you laugh at him, that's why."

"You haven't told me any stories either!"

"I told you about Raccoon City, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't, Sherry told me about that, and you still won't tell me about Monopoly night, let alone any of the other stuff you've done."

"Oh, no," Jill says before Leon can say anything, "we are not talking about that right now."

"Wait, you know about this too? Why does no one tell me anything?"

"Come on," Chris says, trying and failing not to laugh, "let's get a move on. Ethan should be close."

Rose scowls at his back for a little while as they move out.

Come on, Chris. She's a fucking teenager, do you know how hard it is to earn the 'cool' label?

They're moving through a hallway that sort of looks like the one she woke up in when she feels it. The mold, still screaming, tugs at her gut and she instantly turns to look. There's a door to her right leading into another big room with a mirror on the other side. At least she thinks it's a mirror, until she sees a flash of movement on the other side.

"Dad!"

Behind her, she hears the others turn, trying to figure out what's going on, but she doesn't care. She's bursting through the door and it slams against the wall and on the other side of the window Dad turns and sees her and he's rushing to the glass and pressing his hand against it and that's Dad, there he is, he's right there, he's smiling and laughing and crying and she's crying too—

"Dad! Dad, it's me, I'm okay!" His lips move but she can't hear him. "Can—can you hear me? Dad!"

His face contorts and he points to his ear, shaking his head. Her smile drops but she presses her hands against the glass and so does he and his eyes look up and his shoulders relax and she looks behind her. Chris and Leon have come into the room too, Jill and Carlos staying by the door. Chris puts his hand on her shoulder and mouths 'she's okay' and Dad slumps against the glass, still smiling, still crying. Leon points to his nose, then at the ceiling, then moves his fingers next to his eyes and ruffles her hair. Dad looks confused for a second until Leon mimes something else and then he laughs, eyes shining, and mouths 'that's my girl.' Rose just grins.

"How do we get over there?"

"I don't know." Chris glances behind him at Carlos. "Is there another way around?"

"There should be. Just up the way there should be one of their big loading bays, the other side should open up there."

"How many doors down?"

"Uh, like, eight, maybe?"

Chris nods and turns back to Ethan, starting to mime something. Rose elbows Leon.

"Bet you guys are happy Dad and I made you play Charades with us now, huh?"

Chris huffs at the same time Leon does, and she looks up to see Dad's making the same joke, miming an old-fashioned camera through the window with a knowing look on his face. He catches her eye and laughs again. Chris rolls his eyes and motions for all of them to get a move on. Dad nods, and the moment Chris's back is turned, quickly sticks his tongue out.

"I saw that!"

Leon tips Dad a lazy two-fingered salute as he follows Chris and Dad returns it. He looks at her one more time, and puts his hand up against the glass, golden sparkles glowing from his fingers. She puts hers up too and her fingers start to glow white.

Thunk.

She wheels around. Glass. Slid up in the blink of an eye, cutting her off from the rest of the room. Chris and Leon stare in horror. Chris rushes back and pounds the glass with a fist. She hears a dull thud but nothing else. She turns back—Dad is still pressed against the glass on his side, eyes wide—Leon's pounding on the glass too, she pulls out her gun and tries to shoot it but Chris waves at her to stop—it's not glass, it's the same bulletproof stuff the tanks were made out of—oh, God, she's in a tank.

She's in a tank.

The mold's screams are deafening.

She's moving. The tank is moving. The floor is moving. She's going further down. She's losing sight of Dad, Dad's staring at her, pounding the glass from his side, Chris is shouting something but she can't see anything but their legs anymore, she's going through the floor, she's in the middle of the floor, she's going down again, she fell for this again, how could she be so stupid—

The room she appears in this time is so much worse.

Far from being the big open space from before, this place is barely bigger the room she woke up in. All the walls are metal. Her tank attaches itself to the floor and settles there with a clunk of finality. There's one light the ceiling that bounces off every single wall from every single angle until her eyes start watering. There's another whir of machinery as something behind her lights up red, red, red, and two mechanical arms start to reach for the sides of her tank.

A quick click and the static of a speaker.

"I see you've taken on the bad habits of my former S.T.A.R.S. officers."

She does her best not to jump when Wesker stalks out of the shadows like a fucking vampire, looming in front of her tank with a satisfied expression. He has a new pair of sunglasses. Does he just have, like, a drawer of them?

"Here I am, selflessly offering you my time, and you waste it by running around in my basement?"

She glares up at him. "How's your nose, you asshole?"

His smirk falters for a moment, but then there's a loud noise as the arms lock into slots on the sides of the tank and the whole thing shudders. She flinches and by the time she looks back, he's walking away. Her fists thud against the glass.

"Hey! What the hell is this? Let me out of here! What are you doing to me?"

"It's all perfectly simple."

Those words. Those words. Her blood turns to ice.

Two panels inside the tank slide upwards. The arms were tubes, pipes, ready to pump something into the tank with her. She hits the glass again and again. It doesn't budge. Deep inside, from the darkness, she hears a wet squelch.

There's a scream in her head that never leaves her mouth but rings endlessly in her ears.

"There have always been disposable life forms," Wesker continues, pressing another button on the small table in front of him. "You simply happen to be one of the more useful ones. It's a pity you couldn't see that."

No. No, no, no, not like this. Not like this, these were always the worst ones, she knows this terror, she's tasted it before—she can hear it slithering towards her. She throws herself at the walls of the tank, trying to tip it over, break it open, but she's not going anywhere and he knows it. He comes to stand in front of her again, just watching, and she wants to scream and rage at him and break his nose again but she can't do anything, not from in here, not with that noise getting closer and closer—

"Get the fuck away from my daughter!"

Wesker grunts, flinching from some unseen impact. He turns and there he is, there's Dad, aiming his shotgun right at Wesker's stupid face.

"Ethan Winters. Just as irritating as I expected you to be."

"Shut the fuck up and let my daughter go, you asshole." Dad cocks the shotgun again. "Or I'll shoot those stupid glasses right off your face."

Wesker tilts his head. Then, before she can blink, he's already across the room, ripping the shotgun from Dad's hands. She screams. Dad tries to reach for another gun but Wesker punches him right in the stomach and he drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

"Pathetic."

"Don't fucking talk about him like that! Dad! Dad!"

Dad's coughing on the ground as Wesker turns his back on him, so he doesn't see the way Dad glares and grabs something else and throws it on the ground—

A bright light fills the room and she blinks furiously, trying to clear the black spots in her vision and then Dad's right there, on the other side of the tank, face frantic as he tries to find some way to open it.

"Rose! Rose, are you okay?"

"I can't get out! I don't know how!"

"It's okay, we'll figure it out, we just have to—"

"Dad, look out!"

It's too late. By the time Dad turns around Wesker's already grabbed him by the throat and shoved him up against the tank so hard it shudders. His arm writhes as the black tendrils emerge and Rose screams as they burrow into Dad's flesh. Wet, gurgling gasps fill the air as the sounds from the pipes get closer and closer.

"Is that all you had," Wesker snarls, "a cheap trick and no plan?"

"Let him go! Let him go, let go of him!"

"Don't you get it? It was always going to end like this!" She can't tear her eyes away from Dad but she can see the black tendrils reaching for her, emerging from the pipes. "We are all bound for the dark and there is no amount of sentiment that can save us."

Dad starts to go limp.

"No, no, no, no—" she presses herself against the tank, scrabbling for a way to reach him— "Dad, no! No, I'm here, don't go, you have to stay, you have to, don't leave me again, I'm here, Dad, please—"

Dad's hands fall away from Wesker's wrist.

"No! Dad, Dad, please!"

"There is a new world coming," comes Wesker's voice over the screaming of the mold, "you have to earn your place in it."

"Dad, Dad—" she's not listening to Wesker anymore. How can she? Her dad is dying right in front of her, and she can't do anything to stop it.

Dad's hand thuds limply against the tank and stays there. She presses her hand against the other side, fingertips glowing white.

"I'm here, Dad," she whispers as the black tendrils lunge for her, as Dad's fingertips start to glow with a soft gold, "I'm right here."

Dad's fingertips twitch and press against the glass. The tank shatters as Uroboros falls upon her, mindless hunger trying to eat them both from the inside out. Gold meets white.