Run Like Hell

Birth

30

Wesker couldn't help but smile to himself as he made his way along the catwalk towards the elevator, a lively and almost skittish spring in his step - almost as though he were strutting the stage of a Broadway musical.

- And why not?

HCF's money was in the bag; by the time Umbrella became aware that something was amiss, he'd be long gone.

They could keep the girl for all he cared. What did it matter? He had a blood sample containing the dormant G-virus variant... which was all he'd really needed from the start. Alexia Ashford's virus was too slow, and the T-Virus was flawed, incomplete in its programming; the G-Virus was too quick, too violent; but not this strain in the girl's blood, weakened by Devil. That jackass Lawrence had proved quite useful in the end... as had Ada Wong.

A deep sense of satisfaction suffused his thoughts and he tapped the briefcase lightly against his leg as he walked. He could finally say goodbye to Chicago, and to those Umbrella tight-asses on their sinking ship; get a plane to Paris and leave this one-horse outfit for good. It had never really been the same since Birkin got the project leader's position at the Raccoon lab.

No more pretending to be the dead man... he had a whole new identity waiting for him. Picking a name had been the hardest part; and he was still undecided with the middle one, though he rather liked the sound of -

Just then, he caught a scent that yanked him rather violently into the present.

"Well... if it isn't the Phantom of the Opera," a cold, sarcastic voice snapped from behind him. "Drop the shit, wise-ass."

He froze, but a grin of dark recognition began already to creep over his hidden face.

"I said drop it," the voice commanded; he heard the click of a gun's safety being lifted off. Placing the case on the ground carefully, Wesker let out a brief, furtive chuckle that echoed eerily around the dim shaft.

"Did you come for the girl, Ada?" he asked, voice filled with an eager mirth. "She's here; I left her in the V.A.M. room if you want her..."

"There's one bullet in this gun, Wesker," she answered, ignoring him. "I think it belongs to you."

"Then I'd keep it for yourself," he answered, hands stirring slightly at his sides. "Kill me, and you'll never find the vaccine."

"I didn't come for that."

"Don't tell me this is personal," he snorted, and shrugged. "That's not professional, Ada."

"Screw professional. Seeing you dead is worth it."

He fell silent, turning around. She gripped her gun tighter.

"Do it," he whispered, fathomless eyes boring into her from behind black mirrors. He held out his arms, offering an open target.

She tensed, wary of a trap. Did he really think he was bullet-proof?

Another wave of sickness was coming on, and there was no time to contemplate. She felt suddenly weak and shaky, and wondered how long it would be before she lost control. What would he do? Make a lunge? Run? Did he have the vaccine on him or had he hidden it somewhere? If he had it, now was the perfect chance to take it, nonetheless... this would all buy Leon time, anyway.

Seconds passed, and Wesker stood firm.

"Where's the vaccine?" she demanded hoarsely, what was left of her patience taut and fragile.

Wesker was silent, examining a fingernail cheerfully.

"You used me to get that girl, you asshole. No more games!"

"I've never seen you so desperate, Ada," he chuckled darkly. "Don't tell me you found your conscience somewhere out in the Nevada Desert. No, of course you didn't... that's not the Ada I know. You came to double-cross me, didn't you?"

"Where is it?" she hissed, not taking her eyes off him, motionless as a rock, but growing ever more shaky by the moment. At first he hesitated, then broke into another inane grin.

"Hell, we're both playing the same game... so I might as well spill my guts," he laughed, dropping his arms. "There never was a vaccine! I made that all up. And you... believed it." He chuckled for real now; callous, snickering joviality that made her blood boil. "There's no cure for the Tyrant-Derivative... but there IS a suppressant. Without it, you'll lose control of your muscles and become mindless within hours... to be honest, I'm amazed you're still standing."

"How did you keep from transforming, then?"

"I took what was left from the Raccoon labs before they went up," he explained in his most obvious matter-of-fact tone. "Don't you see? They were using it on their latest models of the Tyrant to keep it under control - even allowing it a measure of intellect. Those Tyrants were the ones Umbrella sent in to get the G-Virus back; resistant to mutation and more controllable than their predecessors from the mansion. But they too have a limited use. They have to be injected regularly with the suspended G-virus to keep them sane. Devil wasn't a vaccine for human use, it was intended to be used with the G-Virus from the beginning, to create intelligent Tyrants."

"And you're one of them," she remarked, frostily. "Though perhaps less intelligent than the others. Where's the suppressant?"

"In that girl, if you must know," he laughed. "The G-virus worked against the Tyrant-Derivative in the prototype tests. But since Raccoon was destroyed, the only source now is the girl. All I needed was a sample to create a full suppressant. So you see, I really needed to get my hands on her. Without her, there's nothing; and without me to get it, you're screwed."

"We're both screwed," Ada rasped. "And you owe me, Wesker."

"I owe you?" he cackled. "On the contrary - I think I deserve a little credit for saving your ass back there. But as usual, this is the thanks I get."

Ada's eyes narrowed. "You only saved me because you knew I still had a mission to complete."

"Does it matter? We've got the sample now; we can get the hell out of here. We can both start over, Ada! Once I get this to Paris I can formulate a full suppressant." A strange cajoling tone came into his voice and his eyes glistened behind his dark lenses. "It's what you always wanted, isn't it? A new start..."

She grimaced, searching vague memories of her life and work, and the unhappiness that permeated all of it. A new start - something she'd wished for so many times; to be born again, perhaps...

Was he really offering to take her with him?

For a moment she seemed to consider. Then she withdrew, shrinking from him; knowing his habit for deceit and playing one against another, she was repelled. She felt sure he was lying; that his sudden change in character was merely a feint, and if he were to offer such help it would only be in order to test his new suppressant on her, or to distract her long enough to escape. No... Wesker deserved to die. She fixed him with hardened eyes, and her voice was stony and resolute.

"It's too late," she answered levelly. Even if you did, you'll never escape Umbrella's legacy, and neither will I. It's over, Wesker. I'm going to end it here; it's gone far enough."

"Oh it's not over, Ada," he sighed, disappointedly. "Not by a long shot. In fact, Raccoon was only the beginning. I thought at least you would understand."

"Understand what?"

"I injected you with my own blood after you fell. You were still alive, but Tyrrant-Derivative's regenerative capabilities are, as you see, unparalleled. Even a fall of fifty feet couldn't kill you. Don't you see? We're indestructible! Nothing can stop us - not even a bullet in the head."

Now his face was set with glee as he advanced with slow, deliberate steps.

"Stay back!" she warned, raising the gun higher.

"You ought to have brought more than just one bullet Ada," he laughed, shaking his head. "You can't stop me. But if death is what you really want, it's possible for one Tyrant to tear another limb from limb."

She watched, transfixed, as a hideous change came over his body: first, a shuddering, born of intent to force some violent metamorphosis upon the apparently human flesh; then a dilation of capillaries that flushed the skin blood-red. Wesker's form seemed to grow with each pulsating tremor, till his clothes were close to tearing under the strain. His face and head remained unchanged, though they were now crimson and the veins were standing out across them; but his voice had become a deep gurgling growl, only distantly human, and full of malice.

"You want to kill me?" he bellowed. "Then try!"

The muzzle-flash and report of her gun seemed far away to Ada's senses. A dark hole appeared in Wesker's skull, oozing sluggish black liquid, but he kept advancing and did not falter. She backed away, everything seeming slow and far-off, even as his eyes bore down on her. He raised a massive claw, slicing the air in front of her face, and she could smell the thick, sweet scent of the disease in his fevered sweat.

31

Leon froze as he heard a single, muffled shot from somewhere deep in the complex.

He strained his ears for the sound of a second shot; a cry, or an answer of some sort; but nothing came. Only the patient thrumming of the cooling system from down below sounded over his bated breath; the place was otherwise deserted.

For a moment he hesitated, checking mentally that his Desert Eagle was close to hand, and that a clip was inserted - something he'd done a thousand times in training, a time that seemed so distant now. He waited a few seconds longer, before bringing the gun to bear, distrusting the silence. Then he made his way further along the dim corridor Ada had opened for him.

This was, after all, what he had been trained to do... and with the Magnum-shooter to hand, he knew he need not fear any human beings who might get in his way. Even against zombies and other creatures it was a force to be reckoned with, and it had saved his neck more than a few times before...

Jogging lightly to the end of the corridor, he stole a brief look in both directions at the junction. An elevator stood close on the left; the other direction was blocked by a heavy steel door.

"Down, I guess..." he muttered to himself as he inspected the elevator. Orange panel lights blinked back at him, though its doors had been forced open. He checked the inside, glancing up at the ceiling involuntarily before he went in, and hit the button for one of the lower floors. The doors refused to close, but somehow the mechanism was still active, and he began to descend.

His thoughts turned to Sherry - where she might be, and whether she might still be alive; but were soon overtaken by a seething dread of the gunshot he had heard, and who might have made it. He wondered if it had been Ada, and what she might have been shooting at, and if she'd been caught - and he thought also of Wesker, half-man, half-tyrant, and the fleeting glimpse he'd had of his inhuman power back at the cabin. He began to doubt that even Magnum rounds would daunt such a creature.

Before long, the elevator stopped, and the shaft came into view through the gaping doorway. A shaft just like the one he'd seen in the Raccoon Facility, though the breakers were functioning this time. If the layout of the place were similar, it would certainly work to his advantage -

Hurrying along the familiar catwalk, he half-expected to see Ada. But instead he saw a man, thin and tall, walking away from him towards one of the corridors. He was wearing a white coat, and he was talking avidly to himself - so loudly, in fact, that he didn't even hear Leon stealing up behind him.

"Freeze."

"What?" the man said absently, spinning round. Suddenly confronted by Leon and the barrel of the gun, he grimaced, confused; then he began to back away, raising his hands. "Look, man, I don't want any trouble," he stammered. "It wasn't me, it was -"

"Where's the girl?" Leon growled.

"In... in... the Project room," the youth answered. "What's goin' on?"

"Take me there."

The youth nodded, his face pallid with fright, walking quickly on ahead. He gestured to a door on the right, and entered a fingerprint code. Leon motioned him quickly inside. All traces of the rookie he'd once been had vanished from his demeanour - he was cold and almost mechanical about his movements, voice and eyes sharp with alertness.

The room they entered was much like the one he'd discovered at the Raccoon facility, all smashed up and crawling with horrors, except that it was sterile and undamaged. A row of large tubular glass tanks flanked the far wall, and piles of nondescript equipment was stacked on either side of the central tank, while several thick tubes fed a viscous pink liquid into it from valves on the side. It was already half full, the fluid slapping lazily at the sides as a dark mass clawed vainly at the smooth surfaces. Leon gripped his gun tighter, grimacing at it. The wet thing inside stared back at him for a moment, and then it screamed.

"Help! Leon, help me! I can't breathe..."

Sherry...

"What the hell are you doing?" Leon shouted, grabbing the youth by the collar of his coat and shaking him roughly. "Get her out of there, now!"

"I can't," the youth stammered back. "I've initiated cryogenic suspension procedure! Once it starts, I can't stop it."

"Bullshit," Leon yelled. "Shut it down! She's drowning in there!"

"No, no... the subject simply inhales the cryogenic fluid - it won't actually kill them -"

"Subject? What in the hell are you people on? She's a human being! Understand?" He pulled the youth in close and his voice was low and seething with hate. "A fucking human being! You people make me sick -"

With that, Leon pushed him aside and approached the tube. It was fast filling, Sherry beginning to disappear into the bubbling pink ooze. There were no visible signs of a lid or opening of any kind... and there wasn't time to look for one. Sherry cried out brokenly between breaths, choking as the cold heaving fluid began to seep into her nose and down her throat.

"Hold on!" Leon called. He brandished the Desert Eagle. It was the only thing to hand he might be able to break the glass with, though he figured it would most likely be shockproof and bullet-proof. It gave him some comfort to recall that it was not mutant-proof...

"Wait!" the youth gasped. "Don't -"

Leon brought the handle of the Eagle down with all his might on the outermost part of the tube. The glass fractured slightly, but did not break.

Sherry screamed again for the last time, her voice cut short as the cryogenic slime found its way to her lungs.

Leon hammered madly on the glass of the tube. Four hits... five... six...

Suddenly the whole cylinder went white, fractured into thousands of brittle segments. For almost a second it stood; then gave way under the weight within. The glass fell like a screen, while Sherry and the contents of the chamber spilled out onto the floor in an unceremonious mockery of birth. Leon and the youth were splattered with glass and fluid. Sherry lay coughing and retching in the midst of the pool, her head and clothes slick with a clinging choking sweetness that made her want to vomit. She spat the stuff out of her mouth and throat, but there was still some in her lungs, cold and alien to her senses, and she felt too weak to move.

"Oh man, oh man," the youth whispered fearfully. "I cannot believe what you just did... do you know how much that thing cost...?"

Leon ignored him. Wiping the slime from his face, he stooped over Sherry as she crawled towards him like a drowned rat, gathering her up in his arms.

"The door," he snapped at the youth. "And don't even think of calling for help, or I'll put you down like one of your goddamn 'pets'."

He was surprised at the viciousness of his own voice, and the youth was apparently impressed too, because he struggled up and opened the door for him, his face a smeared mask of vacancy. Perhaps he would call for backup as soon as they were gone, Leon thought, but too bad. He'd even thought briefly of shooting him in the leg, but there was something about the idea he couldn't quite justify, even though the guy probably deserved it. And there wasn't time to think. Not about him... or Wesker, or Ada. They just had to get out... and fast.