Wesker stepped into the grand foyer of the under-
ground mansion, and saw it wasn't quite so grand any-
more. Something had happened to the stairs, part of the upper balcony now smashed to the floor.
He heard someone moving around behind a huge,
jagged piece of balcony still hanging from the tattered
carpet, and took a step toward it...
... and there she was. Standing at the top of the stairs
in a long, dark dress, silky blond hair tied back from her
pale, beautiful face.
"Alexia Ashford," Wesker said, surprised to find him- self somewhat in awe now that the moment was at hand.
She looked human, delicate and helpless, but he knew
better.
Make your pitch, and make it good.
Wesker cleared his throat, stepping forward and tak-
ing off his sunglasses. "Alexia, my name is Albert Wesker. I represent a group who has long admired your
work, and have been eagerly awaiting your, ah, return."
She watched him impassively, head tilted slightly, her
back straight and stiff. She looked like a debutante at her
first society party.
"And may I add that it's a personal honor to meet
you," Wesker said sincerely. "My employers told me all about you. I know your father sired you with the genes
of his own great-great grandmother, Veronica - that
with her genetic material, the very foundation of the
Ashford line, he created you and Alfred to be the culmi-
nation of genius. Veronica would surely be proud.
I know you created T-Veronica in her honor..."
careful, he probably shouldn't mention what had hap-
pened to her father, don't bitch this up, "... and that you are the only, ah, being alive with access to the virus."
"I am the virus," Alexia said coolly, studying him through narrowed eyes.
"Yes, of course," Wesker said. God, he hated this diplomatic shit, he was terrible at it, but he wanted to
impress her, to impress upon her how valuable she was
to certain interested parties.
"So," he continued, thinking how much easier things would have been if he'd gotten to her in stasis, "I would like it very much - we would all appreciate it if you
would agree to accompany me to a private meeting with
my employers, to discuss an alliance of sorts. I can as-
sure you that you won't be disappointed."
She waited to see if he was finished and then
laughed, long and loud. Wesker felt himself flush. It was
clear from her tone exactly what she thought of his re-
quest.
Fine. Nice time is over.
Wesker stepped forward and held out his hand. "We want a sample of T-Veronica," he said, the gloss disap- pearing from his voice. "And I'm going to have to insist that you give it to me."
As she started down the stairs, for just a second he
thought she was going to do it, but then she started to
change, and he stopped thinking anything. He could
only stare, his awe returning tenfold.
A step down, and her dress burned away in searing
veins of golden light, the light coming from her body.
Another step, and her flesh changed, turned a deep gray,
her hair disappearing, gray flesh locks growing from the
top of her head and flopping down to frame her face.
Her nakedness was transformed with her next step, as
rough, pebbled armor grew over one leg and her groin,
curled up to support a rounded breast, to cover her right
arm. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs,
she no longer resembled Alexia Ashford.
His breath taken away, Wesker reached for her - and
with the back of her hand, she struck him, and then he
was flying, landing in a heap by the front door.
Such power!
He stood up, understanding that force might be use-
ful, and prepared himself to move, to use his own
power...
... and with a smile, she waved her hand and fire burst
up from the marble floor, lines of it surrounding nun,
beckoned to life by her slender fingers. She lowered her
hand and the flames went down but didn't die, still burn-
ing from stone, from bare stone.
Wesker knew then that it was over. If she chose to
spare him, he'd be lucky. Without another word, he
turned and walked out, running as soon as the door had
closed behind him.
The part-creature left, and only seconds later, the
young man followed, believing that he'd escaped un-
seen. Alexia watched them run, amused but slightly dis-
appointed. She'd expected more.
The part-creature was no threat, and she decided to
spare him. His arrogance had pleased her, if not his pa-
thetic "offer." The young man, though ... brave and
self-sacrificing, loyal, compassionate. Physically, a
good specimen. And he loved his sister, who was about
to die - it would make for an interesting physiological
reaction.
Alexia decided that she would create a confrontation
for them to interact. She would test a new form for her-
self and see if his grief made him bolder, or if it proved
to be a liability...
She laughed, suddenly imagining a suitable, an apt
form to take. Except for Alfred, no one had known the
simple secret of T-Veronica, that it was based on the
chemistry of a queen ant. She would try an insectile
configuration, experience the strengths and advantages
that such a form would propose.
Her disappointment was past. The girl and her boy
would die, and then she would indulge herself with the
young man.
SIXTEEN
THROUGH THE ROOMS AND HALLS OF A MAN-
sion, Claire had run, afraid to hear him scream again,
afraid not to because she didn't know where to look.
Past the plushly decorated halls she found herself in a
prison area, cells on either wall, the environment cold
and dark once more. A lone virus carrier reached for her
from behind bars, wailing.
"Steve!"
Her voice echoed back at her, full of tension and fear,
but Steve didn't answer. There was a thick metal door to
her right, different than the others, reinforced by bands
of steel. She opened it, stepping into a small, bare room
that opened into a much larger one.
"Steve!"
No answer, but the bigger room was long and dimly
lit, a kind of huge hall, and she couldn't see what was at
the other end. She saw that there was a suspended gate
between the small room and the hall, which definitely
gave her pause. She looked around and found a piece of
broken wood on the floor, then wedged it between the
outer door and its frame, not wanting to end up locked
inside.
She hurried into the giant hall, intimidating, over-
sized statues of knights lining the heavily shadowed
walls, her anxiety growing with every passing second.
Where was he, why had he screamed?
She was halfway down the hall when she saw him,
slumped in a chair at the far end, some kind of restrain-
ing bar across his chest.
Oh, God...
Claire ran, and as she got closer she could see that the
bar was a huge ax, a halberd, the blade firmly entrenched
in the wall next to him. He seemed very small and very
young, his eyes closed and head down, but she could
see that he was breathing, and felt less anxious.
She reached his side and pulled at the giant axe, but it
wouldn't budge. She crouched next to him, touching his
arm, and he stirred, opened his eyes.
"Claire!"
"Steve, thank God you're all right, what happened?
How did you get here?"
Steve pushed at the long ax handle but couldn't move
it either. "Alexia, it had to be Alexia, she looked just like Alfred - she injected me with something, she said she
was going to do what she'd done to her father, but she was going to get it right this time..."
He shoved at the ax again, straining, but it wasn't
moving. "In other words, she was whacked. I guess she and Alfred were pretty close after all..."
Steve trailed off, his cheeks suddenly flushing with
color. His hands started to twitch, his body trembling.
"What is it?" Claire asked, afraid, so afraid, because his body was hunching over, his fingers clenching to
fists, his eyes wild and terrified.
"Cuh ... Claire ..."
His voice dropped an octave, her name becoming a
growl, and then he was writhing in the chair, his clothes
ripping. He opened his mouth and a liquid moan came
out, frightened at first but then angry. Furious.
"No," Claire whispered, started to back away, and Steve grabbed the halberd, wrenching it out of the wall,
standing up. His body continued to hunch over, his head
dropping down, muscles rippling beneath skin that was
turning a gray green. Spikes rose up from his left shoul-
der, two, three of them, as his hands elongated, as a
giant, bloodless wound grew across his back, as his eyes
turned red and animal.
The thing that had been Steve Burnside opened its
mouth and screamed, enraged, and Claire turned and
sprinted away, sick with loss and fright, running for all
she was worth.
The monster came after her, swinging the massive axe,
the sharp edge whistling through the air. She could feel
the wind from the swinging blade and somehow found
more speed, her legs pumping, pushing her faster.
The monster swung again, hit something, the sound vast
and deafening. Faster, faster, the small room just ahead...
... and the gate was coming down, was about to lock
her into the hall with the monster, how, didn't matter,
she had to go faster still or she was dead...
... and with one final, brutal push, Claire dove for the
shrinking space between the bottom of the gate and the
floor, sliding in on her stomach, the gate crashing closed
behind her.
The monster roared, began swinging the axe with
abandon, sparks flying as it attacked the metal bars. In
shock, Claire watched it break through three of them,
bending the steel by the very ferocity of its blows, be-
fore she realized she could get out.
Door, I propped the door open, she thought dazedly, and stood up, took a single step toward her escape...
... and then something broke through the wall with a
crash, not the monster, a thing that wrapped around her
like a constrictor, lifting her, another of the tentacles.
The monster continued to hack at the metal, it would
break through in seconds, and the tentacle had her tightly in its rubbery grasp.
Awakened from her daze, Claire beat at her captor,
pried at it, but the matter was impervious. It simply held
her, waiting for the monster to breach the gate.
It wanted to beat her and cut her, it wanted to rip her
apart, so it slammed the weapon into the bars over and
over, and finally, there was a hole it could pass through.
She was making noises in the grip of the thing that
held her, gasping noises that made its blood hot and ex-
cited, that made it raise the ax, lusting for the end of her.
It brought the axe down, hard, remembering what he'd
told her, promised her -
- you can get the next one -
- I will -
- and it, he, stopped, the blade almost touching her
skull. The tentacle waited, gripped her tighter, and he re-
membered.
Claire.
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