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Chapter Text

July 24,1998

The deep sound of a chiming clock roused you from your slumber. Slowly you sat up, noting how sore your back is as if you were laying on the ground.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you take in your surroundings. The passing thought of you sleeping in the ground turned out to be real as you found yourself sat upon the middle of a grand foyer. You scrambled in a slight panic. Where were you? The polished marble floor was cool to the touch. It also did not provide any answers.

Slowly you stand and wonder what happened for you to have ended up in this mansion. In which now that you've taken in its mahogany doors, exquisitely carved balustrades, priceless art pieces, and the elegant staircase at the center, was familiar.

You don't remember how you got here, what you've been doing before finding yourself here. And yet…

This place you find yourself in was so familiar that you could tell where each door in the foyer would lead. You recognized the painting at the top of the first landing of the stairs. It was a cleverly camouflaged door and furthermore, locked to boot.

"Shit, is this for real?" You utter with a hand covering your mouth. You then pinched yourself. The pain that registered turned into a creeping dread that churned you inside out.

Just as you were about to put a name to the place, you heard gunshots, heavy footsteps, and alarmed voices coming from the  large double doors you knew was the main entrance.

For now, you can't afford to be seen. Not until you're absolutely certain of something. Quickly, you find a dark corner behind one of the pillars near the stairs to huddle in. Luckily, the lighting was both dim and aesthetically placed rather than efficiently. You were in a good spot where you could still see the foyer while remaining hidden.

Just as you've calmed your breaths, the main doors burst open and in came a group four. Three men and one woman. They wore tactical gear and were all armed.

That dread crawling up your spine turned into crippling fear as you watched and listened to the group. You got their names, their purpose, heck you even heard a similar sentence to those god awful lines.

There was no mistaking it now. You were in the Arklay Mansion. The people who just came in were the S.T.A.R.S. You have somehow come into existence in a world that you knew of as Resident Evil. A video game. You squash the fear and panic. Shove it into a box inside you for later. The emotional side of you wants to run to either Chris or Jill and convince them to take you with them. The rational side of you demands you stay, to wait and see how everything unfolds. Bide for the right moment to move .

The latter wins. It would be too complicated to tell them your circumstances. Just imagining how you'd try to explain another earth to them gave you a headache and you're the one stranded in this strange 'game' world. 

Now, the next question was: what the fuck do you do? Strolling out the door the S.T.A.R.S. came in from was out of the question at the moment, what with the zombie dogs circling outside. Your best bet of quickly finding a clear way out of this cursed mansion would be the surveillance room near the labs.

This early in the game, you assume that Wesker hasn't unleashed the more dangerous creatures yet. And speaking of Wesker, you wonder if it would be possible for you to trail after the man. Afterall, it was probably safe to bet the paths he would take would be clear. 

So you wait. Wait for the group to go their separate ways and sucked in a breath at the mention of 'master of unlocking'. It was probably inaudible to everyone else except you. It did increase your heart rate in anxiety at the thought of being caught because you couldn't hold in a laugh.

One by one the group parted until only Barry and Wesker were left. The two parted after the latter gave the other a vague reminder of his tasks.

You waited a bit after the last door– presumably where Wesker went into, was shut before you slowly vacated your dark corner.

You've only taken several steps into the center of the foyer when you could feel the cold barrel of a gun pressed at the back of your head, followed by the click of the safety being released.

How was anyone still here!? You heard everyone walk into one of the doors and even heard it click shut.

"Now what do we have here?" A cool voice of superior indifference asked. You automatically knew who it was it belonged to and without passing your thoughts through a filter you blurted out the first thing that came into your mind.

"You took the prototype already." It was the wrong thing to say. You regret it as soon as his hand is wrapped around your throat, easily blocking your airways. The toe of your trainers dangling an inch from the marble floors.

At least you're still alive, that's gotta be something right? Because he could've just shot you dead right there. It gives you a little hope that you'd stir enough suspicion or curiosity in the villain to keep you alive long enough for answers.

"Who are you to have knowledge of something only a select few know?" And boy does he have the menacing villain thing going strong. What with the loaded threat in that simple question.

Before you could get your words out he drew you closer. Close enough that you can see his inhuman eyes faintly glowing behind his sunglasses. "Lie and you will join them in death."

"I know the future!" There was a pause between you two. His hold on you neither tightening or loosening. Not technically a lie, but also not the whole truth. You doubt he can know that. He's an enhanced human, er, person, not a lie detector. Or is he? Ah, shit. You're going to die now, aren't you?

You braced for the executioner's ax. Hoping you wake up in Stardew Valley next. What came instead was a slight loosening of the executioner's hold on you before dropping you on the ground and a firm order. "Prove it."

Standing steady on your feet, the facts swirled inside your head. You knew this game quite well. Heck, you were in the middle of a speedrun of the whole series to destress.

Having just witnessed the very beginning of Resident Evil One, you decided to start there. You narrate the events of each of his teammates in one breadth, like a word vomit. You recited up until the 'Jill Sandwich', which earned you an astonished brow from the menacing villain and also a little safety as he gave you a little space by stepping back.

You can feel him scrutinizing you behind the sunglasses. No doubt making calculations. Weighing the risks and benefits in keeping you alive. Everything from your lounge pants, loose shirt and trainers, portrayed you as a helpless civilian– thank god you just came back from a grocery run and you haven't bothered to change into your floral "daster" dress. There's nothing more undignified than dying in your nighties. It's in a similar vein as getting attacked while one's pants were down, in the crapper.

Then again, Wesker never did care about collateral damage, innocent civilians, hardened mercenaries under his payroll or anyone else not part of his grand plan.

Again, you feel the executioner's ax drawing close as you await with bated breath for said executioner's decision. Should you have just skipped onto the end on how he eventually gets thwarted by Chris with a rocket launcher to the face atop an active volcano?

Wesker holsters his gun, "You will live for now and as long as you remain useful."

You breathe a sigh of relief. Grateful, but you don't voice it out. Feels wrong to thank a man who kept you alive on a curious whim.

Being in the mansion was scarier than you'd imagine. There was just this dread that sat in your stomach as you followed Wesker in one of the windowless tight corridors to wherever he needed to be– isn't that the spot on the floor with the Armor Key?

"What?" He stopped abruptly, making you almost crash into him.

You cowered at his intense glare, but somehow you're starting to gain some courage as you look at him straight through his sunglasses and into his glowing red eyes. "It's nothing…just…"

Growing inpatient he snarled. "Out with it."

"It's just…you sound so normal."

"Normal," he repeats tonelessly. And it was getting hard not to laugh at his twitching face. Had this been an anime, you could imagine a cross popping vein somewhere on his temple.

"Yeah. It's quite uncanny. It freaked me out a bit, because you're supposed to sound like those cookie cutter villains in those B-rated movies, where you only use pretentious words to flaunt your intelligence during your monologues when confronting your adversaries. In your case, that's Chris, by the way." You finish with an informative finger pointed up like a lecturer.

Without further preamble, the bioterrorist-in-the-making growls then drags you by the arm to wherever his next scheme was set. Forget zombies, how were you going to survive Albert Wesker, who can easily kill you barehanded, when it only took you three seconds to piss the man off?

You breathe out a resigned sigh. Hopefully, he keeps in mind you're worth more alive than dead.

—---

The futuristic door smoothly slid shut behind you as you took in the sterile lab you now found yourself in.

Having finished your errands, –you had a staring contest with the Hunter, almost got eaten whole by Yawn the Anaconda, got your hand stuck in one of the spiders' webs and almost got strung up by the Eldritch Marlboro in the greenhouse, you were summoned to the labs by your Overlord.

And here you were, after almost bumping into Barry Burton in your rush to get here.

Wesker was busy typing something on a computer when he prompted you to sit on the examination chair. You warily eye the sharp and intrusive implements hanging around the chair. You almost voice your refusal, then realize the futility of it. So with much resignation, you followed the villain's instruction.

"Since you claim to know the future, perhaps I should call you Cassandra," he offhandedly suggests.

Blegh. You blow a raspberry in protest. "Boring. If it's mythology," you say, completely ignoring Wesker's 'how dare you' glare. No doubt finding offense at your crude mannerisms. "I'd want it to be a cool one…Freya."

Wesker hummed as he clicked a button and something whirred to life beside you, "Curious of you to prefer Norse over Greek."

You shrug at his comment, letting the needle stab your arm. Probably drawing blood, you surmised. You didn't bother protesting since there was no refusing someone who could crush you like a twig. Plus, you were also curious at what the Evil Scientist would find since you were not from this world. "I like Norse. I'm a big fan of Thor and Loki. Love their sibling rivalry." The instrument quickly retracted after drawing enough. It didn't even hurt.

"Funny, I don't recall them being siblings," Wesker mumbles while staring down the data about your bloodwork. "No match. Perhaps an off the books project?" You hear him say in equal parts frustration and intrigue. Well, duh. You wanted to say you won't match with any database here since you're from another universe then thought better of it.

Instead, you fiddled with the straps on the chair and said, "I'm pretty sure they are. It was in a documentary on the Battle of New York ."

Wesker stopped his mumbling and turned his full attention to you. " Battle of New York ? Which country attacked?"

You straighten your back. Appalled at the grave mistake you've made for running your mouth. Shit.  

Then again it's not like you could stop now. If Wesker's prodding side glance is any indication of bodily harm if you dare to refuse. 

"None. It was aliens." You say impassively, hoping he takes it as a joke and not a fact. At his incredulous expression you add, "Yeah. Aliens called Chitauri ."

"Is this what will happen in the future?" He asks you in a tone more curious rather than demanding.

"Huh?" Or maybe this wasn't a mistake? "Here? No, because…" you pause, because it dawned on you that you can't keep on pulling the 'from the future' card without mentioning things from your world in the long run.

Should you fess up that you're from another world/dimension and that this world is a series of video games? Wesker's slitted amber eyes were now boring into you like you're a specimen under a microscope. A compelling stare that spelled danger if you acted otherwise. Yeah, fuck that. Upon his head it be if his mind breaks from that fact.

But then there's a hesitation in you as the words in your mind struggle to roll off your tongue. It chilled you down to your soul. You can feel how momentous the choice you are about to make here. On the one hand, you can continue to insist you're from the future and make things up as you go along. On the other hand, you could be honest. You blink at your choices. They were both shitty, because either way, it would lead to certain death. Only in the first one, there's a delay between Wesker calling out your bluff and killing you; while the second choice could mean instant death or…

Except on the off chance that Wesker believes you, then…

Fuck it. You feel a feral grin curling up your lips. It'd be interesting to see the soon-to-be megalomaniac struggle to grasp the idea of another world.

"I'm from another Earth and I know things, because this reality…" you sit up straight with confidence, look the slightly taken aback villain in the glowing eyes and pause for dramatic effect. "Is a series of video games, where I'm from."

Except for the scraping sounds of the ventilation scrubbers that kept the room sterilized and breathable many many meters below ground, there was a silent moment that stretched on as you and Wesker were locked in a staring contest.

It was broken by a disbelieving shake of his head. "What utter nonsense," he says, and turns around to continue working on the computer.

Huh. Your shoulders sag in slight disappointment. That was underwhelming, but that momentary stunned expression of his was a memory you won't be forgetting anytime soon.

"How did your world manage to survive an…alien invasion?" Wesker asked in that patronizing tone where you know he's only indulging you as a way to volunteer more information. 

Well, it'll be you who's laughing last when he realizes this 'nonsense' is actually the 'truth.'

"We had the Avengers. Earth's Mightiest Heroes." You answer matter-of-factly.

"Heroes," He snorted, unimpressed, "Like fiction? Comic books?"

You roll your eyes. "Hard to believe, I know, but they fought off the invasion. Three of them have powers, two of them are super spies, and the last one has amazing tech."

"You lived in a strange world," he lazily says once he'd finished his business at the computer and moves towards you.

You shuddered at Wesker's usage of the past tense. Lived . Used to live there, because you're never ever going back to your Earth anymore. You purge the encroaching sadness with a shake of your head.

"For me, it's this world that's strange. This," you raise your arm to gesture around you, then stop to point at Wesker's chest. "And you guys, are works of fiction to me."

He arched an amused brow at you, "That being the case, there should be nothing you can't handle then. Since you seem to know everything about this 'game'?"

There was regret much much later when you braggingly replied an affirmative to Wesker's manipulative question back at the lab. In that moment though, facing the villain, you felt quite confident and somewhat indestructible with the knowledge you had.

"I don't think this is a good idea. Can't I just stay in the control room. I could've just relayed to you the information over the comms." You sighed while you made sure you familiarize yourself with the katana, (where did this even come from?), in your hands. "Shouldn't I at least have a gun for this?"

Really, the best place for a frail civilian like you was way way way behind the front lines and away from this crazy first of a game series that kick starts all the bioterrorism shit later on. It was just your luck that Wesker had found you first.

You swear you could hear the budding Bioterrorist smiling maniacally when he tells you, "Nonsense, it would be a waste of ammo. This," he points to your weapon. "Is much better and quieter too."

He snarls when you roll your eyes, "Yeah, sure until I'm overwhelmed by whatever horror other than zombies comes out of the woodwork! How the heck am I gonna kill a Hunter with this? Their skin is tougher than body armor! What about the plant things or the spider things, or…" you take a moment to swallow in true fear before you whisper, "Lisa."

Small mercies that the elevator was going up and not further down where your worst fears lurked.

Wesker was stunned by your word vomit. Still finding it hard to believe how you knew so much about the lab experiments. Then the virologist arches a brow, "Since you are so knowledgeable about everything, I leave you with the task of releasing all of the above when I say so." He instructs you before handing you an earpiece and an ornate key. "Oh, except for the Trevor child. The underground caverns are hers."

It was your turn to be stunned and you even gaped. You wanted to protest and refuse, because how are you going to be an uninvolved party in this when you're the one apparently siccing the Umbrella monsters on the other surviving S.T.A.R.S.?

You were about to speak your thoughts when the executioner's ax was once again by your throat. Wesker's hand, that is. Your back slamming inside the elevator. And so with all the courage and dignity you have left, you agreed.

Once he let you go though, you resumed your word vomit. It's not like he could kill you now after you just agreed to be his gopher for the moment. Truly, you had a short supply of self-preservation instincts as far as Wesker was concerned.

"And I don't even know how to use this!" You wave the katana a bit to emphasize your point. "You have lots of guns, just give me a small one. I'm sure you won't even be using it." You argue, because in no reality are you going to beg for something from this man. His ego is already inflated enough as it is.

"You are obviously trained in the Way of the Blade. I can see it in how you keep a ready stance as you move with it."

Say what now? Then double back your thoughts. Okay. So maybe you know what he's talking about. It's all that deep method acting you did cosplaying samurais and other fictional characters who wielded katanas. You were quite proud at how fellow cosplayers praised your realism, but that's just form, not actual combat!

Off went the head of a zombie. There was no resistance when you applied enough force into the slash. Your blade cuts cleanly through your target; it was like butter and not flesh and bone. With a sharp flick, the blood and viscera slide from the blade before sheathing it into the ornate scabbard belted to the left side of your hip.

You really don't want to admit it, but the katana was more useful than you expected. Even more unexpected was how you were able to use it like a master swordsman, despite never having ever held a sword for combat. 

Hold the phone, was this your 'cheat'? In any other circumstance, you'd be ecstatic to have a skill like this. In a world like Resident Evil; however, the sword is not quite the best weapon. What with the saying, 'don't bring a knife to a gunfight.'

Your slightly bloodied blade glinted in the dim lights of the mansion hallway. You had many qualms about this weapon and its effectiveness and yet, here you were having just decapitated a handful of zombies on your way to the greenhouse to set loose the spiders and the monster plant. 

After that you need to go back to the underground labs to set the Hunters loose. After that…well, Wesker didn't say what you had to do afterwards, but unless he says so, you're just gonna hang around down there and hope you don't meet anyone there when Wesker imprisons someone later that night.

The night proceeded as scripted in the game. You watched it all happen from the comfort of the super cozy swivel chair inside the surveillance room of the underground laboratory, dog whistle twirling in your index finger. 

You were able to pilfer it from Wesker's prisoner. You weren't a kleptomaniac, but you had a feeling the unassuming whistle was going to be a key item in the coming days.

You resisted trying to help the unconscious Jill Valentine. You were an outsider while she was one of the protagonists and you've clearly thrown your lot in with the villain, albeit unwillingly, so really there was no choice. For now, the world did not break when you revealed your truth to Wesker. Both a relief and a dreadful thing. The former because you won't feel as lonely having someone know you and the latter, because you're not sure what the villain would do with that information. You don't plan on doing it again– spilling the beans about your origins that is. Especially to the protagonists of this world. Fate may not be so kind to you if you meddle too much.

Sinking down onto the chair's deep leather cushions, you wonder if there was any watching done by the security people if the chair was as good as a bed and the AC was set at the optimal temperature for napping on the job.

It was also a wonder how coordinated the S.T.A.R.S. were in tackling the mansion obstacles despite having no means of communication with each other. You notice how they always leave a little of the resources they found in each room they'd venture. It was for the others to use if they passed by.

It was a smart move. The game was divided into Side Chris and Side Jill, but happening right in front of your eyes was something of a mix between the two routes, working in tandem at certain points. It was fascinating how one unlocked doors the other left alone earlier only to come back later and fit in the missing piece for both to move to the next section.

Makes you contemplate if this was pure skill or immense luck. Could also be a bit of both. They would all evade death by pulling off outrageous stunt after outrageous stunt in their future missions.

For a mere outsider like you, it would have been even better if you had some salty popcorn and an orange soda right about now.

Except for a quick sitrep, Wesker (your bloodthirsty Overlord) did not contact you for frivolous chatter, much to your consternation. He also sounded quite miffed when you casually said that Jill escaped. And that you did nothing to stop it because of the timeline, when he asked why. 

Other than that you were itching to banter and add some commentary to what was happening on the screens.

You felt a rush when Chris finally put down Yawn, the Anaconda well placed shot in its eye.

Or earlier that night when Jill dodged the Crimson Head at the very last second and jabbed it with a knife into its head.

Or when Chris shoved the Hunter aside mid-charge to run past it.

Chris looked like an action star when he torched the Marlboro with the flame thrower.

You've never been a sports fan, but this must be what it's like to watch something and be at the edge of your seat in excitement.

It was very tempting to press that call button on your earpiece and talk to the least friendly person and the only person who you could probably trust at this point in time. It was still debatable if that trust was; trust to keep you safe or trust to kill you at a drop of a hat. You shake your head, befriending villains and throwing your lot in with one was a complicated thing.

Like the semi-sane person that you were, you had remained silent from your end of the line. Until Chris and Rebecca confronted Wesker in front of the Tyrant tank in the lab.

Oh, no. He's doing it. You scrape a hand down your face. The villain monologue and you can't hold your funny bone. 

"Wesker!" Chris yells as he barges into the lab with Rebecca right behind him .

Without turning away from the Tyrant specimen inside the glass enclosure Wesker replies, "So you've come... Chris, you make me proud. Of course, you are one of my men."

"Thanks!" Chris scoffs then is met with a pistol aimed towards him.

Having seemingly no sense of self preservation Chris begins his questioning. "Since when, Wesker?"

And true to his textbook Villain tendencies, Wesker doesn't shoot his adversary, thinking them weak, overly underestimating them until it was too late and chooses to indulge Chris. Villains, you sigh. They'd win if they just shoot first and ask later. Then again where was the fun in that?

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

Agitated, Chris retorts, "Since when have they been slipping you a paycheck?"

"I think you're a bit confused…" Wesker says patronizingly, "I've always been with Umbrella. And S.T.A.R.S. were Umbrella's... No, rather. .. mine. My little guinea pigs."

And oh gods, they all sound so…campy. Is this the inevitability of the 'game' universe at work? Wesker hadn't spoken like that earlier.

"The Tyrant virus leaked, polluting this whole place. .. and unfortunately, I had to give up my lovely members of S.T.A.R.S."

Wesker speaks his lines just like you remembered in the games. Chris points a finger accusingly at his Captain, like he was in one of the Ace Attorney game series.

"You killed them with your own dirty hands!"

Rebecca gasps, "No." Understandable, there probably wasn't time to brief her on Chris' discoveries.

"Oh, yes, dear. Just like this." He aims the pistol at Rebecca, then with a smirk, he shoots, hitting her in the abdomen and knocking her over.

"Rebecca!" Chris cried and tried to rush over to her side when Wesker stopped him by aiming his gun at him. "Don't move!"

The glare Chris faced Wesker with was nothing short of thunderous.

It did nothing to deter Wesker's wicked grin. "I don't think you want to die just yet. I have something that's of some interest to you." Leaning a little over to the computer, Wesker taps two buttons on the keyboard. The Tyrant's containment unit was quickly drained of its liquids and in moments, its eyes opened.

You snort and try to stifle it, but try as you might, the laugh simply bursts out of you and over the comms, which you've unknowingly pressed. 

He was too busy with his two teammates to cut off his end of the comms. While you were to busy laughing your socks off to notice the man ball his hands into trembling fists.

Not realizing your unfiltered thoughts were being sent to the other end. "Man, no wonder the Tyrant got all stabby. It got sick of you guys." You say in between the breaths you take during your giggling fit. It's not like anyone else could hear it.

It wasn't and you'd feel it's repercussions for quite a long time yet.

Seeing Chris and Rebecca leave the lab after having seemingly defeated the Tyrant, you wait for the 'down but not out' bio weapon to reawaken and pursue the Protagonists Party before deciding to make your way down to the very same lab.

Before heading out, you secure all your measly possessions. You weren't really looking out for anything in particular, but it got boring watching the screens after a few hours, so in between the viewing, you explored the room, pilfered the drawers and cabinets. You took the first aid spray, the master card key, dog whistle and stowed them into the hip pouch you also found in one of the drawers. You took out the pack of bullets that were inside. No use for those if you have no gun to use it for. You also pack the copy of the Mansion's Master Key Wesker handed to you earlier that night, despite having no use anymore. For sentimental purposes. The metalwork looked fancy too.

Wesker was still lying unconscious on the spot where he landed when the Tyrant threw him, when you reached the lab. You creep closer to him and crouch down to his level.

You were fascinated at the ghastly hole in his chest that was slowly being healed over despite the man not breathing. So much so that you didn't notice his hand move towards you until it was too late.

You felt yourself being yanked towards the man and the next thing you felt was pain on your shoulder.

What in the seven hells? You pry the undead off your shoulder and move away.

You risk a glance at your shoulder riddled with round teeth marks. At least he didn't bite a pound of flesh out of you, maybe just a small chunk. Gross.

"What the fuck was that for!?" You glare at the undead only to be taken aback when your gaze is met with dazed reddish yellow eyes. You were expecting anger, not deer in headlights shock from the man.

We don't have time for this shit. Chris and Co. are about to blow this place up. You must've voiced your thoughts aloud for Wesker to have elicited a brief reaction.

Just as you were about to question the peculiar situation, your vision blurs and you begin to feel faint. Not soon after, your face met the cold metal floors.

Shit. The bite. Wesker may not be a zombie, but he still injected himself with the Tyrant virus and now you're infected!

So much for this life. You laugh, but it came out as a pathetic choke.

The last thing you thought of was how relieved you were that you were going to die as painlessly as you possibly can given the violent universe you found yourself in and that hopefully you'd next wake up in Stardew Valley.

September 22, 1998

"Audio log on T-Virus Resistance Observations. Subject: Freya. The date is September 22, 1998. Almost two months since the direct exposure to the Tyrant virus, the subject consistently show no signs of infection. If not for Wesker's inputs regarding a scar from where she was bitten, I would not have been able to discover the subject's accelerated healing factor as evidenced by the almost healed neck wound only mere weeks after the bite. Despite this development, the Subject remains in stasis for yet to be determined reasons."

"Son of a…" you interrupted whoever was speaking with a pained moan. You were having the mother of all headaches. There's also vertigo and by the gods did the light make everything swirl when you tried to open your eyes.

You hear a rattle of metal on metal and the man mumbling some scientific terms you're too out of it to even care.

You calm yourself by taking a few deep breaths. You sit up slowly then open your eyes so you can figure out where the fuck you are now. The fluorescent lights burn your retinas so you close them shut again with a hiss.

Judging by the soft sensation beneath you, obviously, you're in some bed. The bright lights and the sterile interiors you got a brief glimpse of means a hospital of sorts. The smell of disinfectant tells you that you probably did not wake up in Stardew Valley. Dammit.

"Wesker?" You try calling out to the one person who you'd never thought to cry out for help. It only takes a biohazard incident to make for strange bedfellows. "Ugh." Then you clutch your head. This was the worst bout of hangover you'd ever experienced and you haven't even drank anything yet!

"The subject is awake. Charts are reading normal and there are no outward signs of any negative effects from exposure to the Tyrant virus. Further blood work is required to validate Wesker's hypothesis regarding the subject's existing antibodies that may prove vital in formulating a regulating medication for the Tyrant virus." A voice perfunctorily says. It didn't sound like Wesker. There wasn't that lilted arrogant confidence and deep tones. This one did sound familiar though.

One thing's for sure, it annoys the heck out of you how you're being talked about while you were there."This subject has a name," you snap and squint at the scientist sitting by your bedside. He was looking down at a console beside him. There was also a tape recorder running atop the clipboard next to his keyboard.

Your eyes having adjusted, you can finally take in the man's features. Pale blond hair cascading down the sides of his equally pale face, probably due to lack of sunlight. 

"It's Freya, Dr. Birkin."

That made him turn his head. Sharp eyes widening in astonishment.

"How could you have known my name? You were unconscious ever since Albert brought you here. Are his claims of precognition also true?"

"Precognition?" You parrot dumbly. You also can't stop looking at his right shoulder and seeing the giant eye that's going to be there soon…soonish. You shudder at a foreboding chill that runs down your spine. Shit, what day was it? If you're now in Birkin's lab down under Racoon City and the last thing you remember was being in the Arklay Mansion then…?

He mentioned the date earlier, right?

September 22, he said.

"Is there something wrong?" Birkin asks, seeing your fearful expression.

The lights went out before you could answer. The dim emergency lights came on while some specimen jars also lit up eerie colors. Uneasiness wrinkled his already tired face. You know what's coming and from the anxiousness rolling off of the doctor, you know he has an idea too.

"They can't have it!" He says while frantically rifling papers, taking vials and shoving them into an attache case. He suddenly grabs your arms, not even mindful of the needles and instruments stuck to them, with a manic eye. "And neither can they get their hands on you!"

"Calm down." You look him straight in the eyes and grip at his wrists. "You know that I know what comes next so if you're concerned about me falling to Umbrella, then don't. Just let me go and I can fend for myself."

Birkin shakes his head. "I can't take any chances. We can't."

You're not sure whether the 'we' in this case was him and Wesker or him and his family. As you pondered, you didn't see the doctor pull out a syringe until he had already stuck the needle in you and pushed down the plunger.

You hastily, but carefully, pull out the other things stuck into your arm and whatever was attached to your chest. "What was that?"

Without looking at you, Birkin replied, "A sedative."

You wanted to fume and rage, but the quick acting sedative made your eyes droop and your body floaty. Breathily, you question, "What the fuck for? We need to run!"

"I'm leaving you here until Albert can come get you. I'll leave the key here and he'll know where to find it."

Panic and fear made you want to protest. Your consciousness; however, wanted you to sleep. With you now as limp as a noodle, Birkin made short work of depositing you inside the specimen enclosure. He places a dry bag with a biohazard symbol by your feet before closing the lid over you with a press of a button.

Dammit all. You lament how you were definitely going to die this time unless something extraordinary like Leon or Claire searching for the antivirus for Sherry and somehow stumbling upon your hiding place.

Yeah, fat chance that was happening. Throughout your acceptance of your imminent death, Birkin leaves you with his final words as a human. "G is my creation!"

Chapter Text

September 29, 1998

Everything had gone to shit. The night had not been kind to one Leon S. Kennedy. The series of shitty events all started when on his first day on the job as Racoon City Police Department's newest member, he was late. It would only go downhill from there. For after he'd hustle towards the city, there was the disaster in the gas station where he'd encountered what he thought were cannibals, but actually were zombies. 

The scene was nothing short of a gory horror movie, only it wasn't, and that made it all the more surreal. It was also there in the carnage, he'd made his first shot at someone to save one Claire Redfield. It helped to know later that the people that clawed at them were already dead. At the time though, Leon had been rattled by the fact that he had shot to kill.

Thinking they'd gain better protection and intel, the two headed for the city with the police department as their goal. Misfortune struck again, as two blocks out from their destination, they were hindered by an oil tanker that crashed onto their car.

Separated by a fiery blaze of crushed metal, each went their way to investigate their respective sides of the Racoon City Police Department and figure out what happened.

During which Leon met a fellow officer, Marvin Branagh (he was a deadman and Leon had to tamp down on his emotions to move forward), a shady FBI agent, Ada Wong and the guy in lock-up with the key to the parking garage. 

He'd take a bullet for her at some point after escaping from the Police Station. Leon took the serve and protect motto too literally sometimes.

Meanwhile, Claire found another survivor. A young girl called Sherry, who she later discovered was also infected with whatever was causing everyone to turn into the undead and was also the daughter of the scientist who made it possible.

A lot had happened since their last meetup at the station and after their information exchange, Leon, rookie cop, who'd just gotten through a hell of a ringer was not quite done yet.

His next objective was to investigate NEST. A city block size, underground Umbrella facility. He had no idea how he would be able to find a sample and the cure in an unfamiliar territory with limited time, but one thing he had in spades was the perseverance to get through the night.

Once Claire had opened the way for the West block, he went on ahead to search for the antivirus for the little girl and a sample that would help Ada expose Umbrella's doings.

He was inside Dr. Birkin's, Sherry's dad's, lab, rifling through his notes and anything that seemed like a clue. On his way in, he noted the carpet of bullet casings and the large pools of blood outside the door. It was unclear what exactly happened here, but after seeing the dead bodies in black tactical attire had Umbrella Security Service (U.S.S.) on their sleeves, Leon had lost interest and proceeded through the sleek sliding door.

Birkin's lab was not any better than the hallways outside. There was less blood, but everything else was turned inside out. Tables flipped, papers and other smaller scientific instruments scattered everywhere.

Leon didn't know what prompted him to play the tape recorder sitting on the wheeled metal table, while he rifled through anything that could lead to what he needed.

It was a series of logs about a subject called "Freya". It sickened him how the doctor clinically narrated about someone, like the person was a thing. Still, there might be something useful so he let it continue playing back. There was. She was immune to the virus! She could be the key. There must be something here that could lead to her.

The tape continued and Leon stopped what he was doing when he heard a different voice in the playback. The date the doctor mentioned in the tape was September 22. It was not that long ago and it made Leon hope for the best for this person. And something else.

Precognition? Is that even real? Judging by the conversation, it was. Leon also liked the woman's snark and how she was annoyed at being talked about while also in the same room.

When the part about Freya being shoved into a glass tank played, Leon was equal parts hopeful, fearful and anxious. Hopeful because she was here. Fearful because she could be dead. Anxious because someone else could have found her already.

For the moment, the virus sample was put on the back burner as Leon double timed in his search for a button or key that would show him where Freya was.

After a few minutes, Leon found an out of place numerical keypad behind the overturned hospital bed. He didn't want to think that the woman in Doctor Birkin's care was restrained at any point in time when he saw leather straps dangling on the sides.

Leon cussed some choice words at the mechanism. He needed the code, which might not even be in the office, if his luck tonight was any indication.

Thinking to start where he was before heading out to search, Leon turned back to Doctor Birkin's desk. He still had no clue what a code was supposed to look like in the clutter of papers and folders. Until he saw an out of place item. It was a photo of Doctor Birkin and his daughter, Sherry.

Sherry, the little girl who had a locket containing an important key to her father's research. If this was a pattern, then…Leon thought as he reached out to the picture frame and flipped it open to reveal a six digit code. 

"Yes!" He exclaimed after punching in the code and was greeted with a small green light. The hydraulics hissed in response. A panel opened and out slid a human sized container.

Leon peered into the glass and saw a woman in scrubs. Glad to see the person's chest moving up and down, Leon pressed the open switch and waited as the lid of the machine opened, expelling a white mist around.

Once the mist cleared. The woman stirred awake with a moan and mumbled complaints. Good, Leon released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, not a mindless zombie.

Leon moved closer to help the woman sit up. Telling her reassurances to not alarm her. She grabbed his forearms to sit up with a strong grip he hadn't expected.

"Leon?" The woman questions with a tilt of her head. Rather than be shocked by how a woman who was supposedly sleeping when everything was spiraling out of control knew his name, he was alarmed by the inhuman color of her eyes.

One hand gripped on his pistol, Leon jerked away. The woman grabbed the edge of the container to balance herself when she lost her support.

"Who are you?" He asked. Almost saying ' what' instead, when he couldn't turn away from the reddish brown eyes that were regarding him curiously.

He keeps his gun pointed downward to his side; however, one wrong move and he won't hesitate to do something. If this night has taught him anything, it was to never let his guard down.

He didn't say a warning when the woman shifted and bent down towards the glass. "Oh, that's new." She peers closer to the glass to check her eyes.

"Thanks for getting me out of there." Satisfied, the woman sits up and faces him with slightly raised hands and the palms out. "I'm Freya," she takes a look around her, "and to answer your question...I worked with Dr. Birkin?" She says, sounding unsure.

He had heard the tape, but it wouldn't hurt to be thorough. "You work for Umbrella?"

She snorts then swings her bare legs off the container, "More like they worked on me." He winced when she showed him her injection mark riddled arms. "Probably gave me some form of the virus," she casually adds while gesturing to her eyes, which seemed to be searching for something in the room.

"You're not like them ?" Leon flinched at the question. It was a bit insensitive to ask Freya, who was very far from being one of the undead monsters outside.

Unfazed by his question, she shrugged. "I've got something , but, no, not like the walking undead. Huh?"

Only now did Leon notice how Freya seems to have found something back inside her container. "What is it?"

She answered by dragging a bag with shiny gray lining and a yellow biohazard warning at the center.

Finally having snapped out of his high strung paranoia, Leon moved beside Freya. "Should you be opening that? It could be dangerous."

Freya pursed her lips and paused at his advice, then completely disregarded them when she tore the bag open to reveal...

"Hey!"

A dark blue shirt. With an Umbrella Company logo on the breast pocket. Ok. That was unexpected. "I doubt Dr. Birkin would put something dangerous in there with me," the next item she pulled out was an important looking purple glowing vial, "…or maybe not." 

"Is that…?"

"Yeah." She offers the vial to him like she knows he needs it. What she said next confirmed it. "It's probably what you need for Sherry."

And now that he's past the cautious stage with regards to the mysterious woman, Freya, he puts the deductive gears in his head back on.

Leon takes the offered vial and examines it while keeping Freya in his peripheral vision. "The tape mentioned you have precognitive abilities? Is that why you know my name and also why I need this?"

"Tell you what," Freya tugs on her scrubs and smiles, "Give me a moment to change out of these and we can talk as we go."

Leon did not know what to expect when he'd find the Subject Freya mentioned in the tape recorder. From her unassuming appearance, it was definitely not a sword wielding, snarky and funny woman.

As they walked down the dark and barely lit hallways of the NEST's Greenhouse area, Leon couldn't help but feel like he was in an RPG as he trailed after Freya with her sword out and moving forward like how a game character moves to clear a dungeon. There even was soft banter between them wherein he'd learned a lot about the virus and Umbrella from her. 

It also amazed him how she knew almost everything that had happened that night, to him, to Claire and to Sherry even though she was asleep the whole time. 

And yet despite her cordial openness, Leon knows there are a lot of things she's not telling him. Like why she was hidden behind a secret compartment of one of Umbrella's lead researcher's lab? (It's complicated.) Why does she have two vials of the G virus? (I have an idea, but I don't think I should tell you. Plausible deniability.) Why did she hide an earpiece that they could use? (It can't really help us, sorry.) Why did she have a sword? (Eh.) Basically any question that involved her involvement was effectively deflected into him or Claire or Sherry or even Ada. Once she'd run out of those, she shared her likes, dislikes and what she'd do once they escaped the city. Likewise, he did the same and fervently agreed with the mention of a shower as the first thing he'd do, maybe get a burrito after the shower as opposed to Freya's cheeseburger. 

It was so bizarre to even have this line of conversation. Had they been in any other place than here, it'd have been even like a date.

Really, Freya was even shadier than Ada, but he could see moments of uncertainty, fear, and a caring smile. It was a slither of the 'real' Freya behind her playful mask he could discern. Not unlike Ada, who's just a never-ending bag of tricks, especially after that 'kiss' she tried to pull in the cable car. Leon knew better than to fall for that.

Freya's 'precognition' was unsettling, to say the least. Freya tells him that it works like some kind of hyper awareness in the five senses. It sounded believable, but it didn't seem like the whole thing either.

Then again, did Leon really want to know what Umbrella was trying to do with Freya? It was scary to imagine that she could, to an extent, manipulate outcomes. Morality wouldn't even matter, because no one would be none the wiser if she made the right or wrong choice. How could she even live with that much responsibility? He wonders, which he realizes he's been doing much more frequently, ever since he'd woken her up. 

Since he'd found her, everything had gone smoothly. They had laughably breezed through the labs– Freya pointing out weak points, saving both time and also bullets when she'd slash down enemies he was able to stun.

Of all the things to get those long-tongued crawlers out of the way, never had it occurred to him that a dog whistle would do the trick. Three headshots with a 9mm and the fast crawling things would still come at him. One blow of that whistle and they scurry away like ants fleeing water. He resisted scrubbing his face with his hand in raging frustration. Wouldn't want to add to his face all the gunk stuck to his hand.

Hence the extra time for his musings as they waited for the machine in the Testing Labs to synthesize an antivirus for Sherry.

They've got to this point through questionable means, but as long as it ups their chances of survival, Leon figures he can trust Freya and her 'precognition' that much.

September 30, 1998

All four of them were now at the crossroads. They've left the secret underground train station of Umbrella, and the doomed city with all its monstrosities, Birkin and Mr. X, far, far behind. 

Leon wasn't sure what to feel about what happened to Ada. He was distrustful of her, but that didn't mean he wanted her to die. "That won't be the last you'll see of her." Freya cryptically told him on the train. And he'd left the matter at that.

The late morning sun was starting to turn into the arid desert heat of the vast American midwest as they slowly made their way to a highway that would lead to the nearest settlement.

With Claire and Sherry walking a bit further ahead, Leon takes the opportunity and offers Freya with what he hoped was a charming smile, "Come with us." Laying his charm thick. He's been told his dimples were killer so this should work?

"Leon," Freya takes hold of his hand. Immediately, his smile fades when she doesn't budge. "I can't let Umbrella find me," she says gravely.

"The government can…"

"No, they won't. And don't deny that a lot of those in government are in Umbrella's pockets. I'm sorry to say this, but I'd sooner be back in the labs if I go with you."

He sighed at the hard truth and at his confusing feelings about the woman he only knew for a few hours. He feels protective over her and hates that he can't keep her safe with him.

Leon doesn't express his inner thoughts, instead he asks, "Where will you go?"

Freya tucks her hair behind an ear and he again catches sight of the mysterious earpiece. "I have a friend waiting for me. He's a former employee of Umbrella. And he's got a different kind of revenge in mind."

Leon bristles at the mention of Umbrella and almost protests if not for Freya's pointed look.

"Just a friend?"

She rubs the back of her neck. "Yeah. He kinda owes me big time," Leon is a little dubious when she pauses for a bit. "And I'm cashing in with this."

Ultimately, even if Leon doesn't want to part ways with her like this, it's not like he can protect her either, seeing as his situation is not any more better than hers. She also had strong points for being wary of the government. Her condition would no doubt be of interest to anyone connected to Umbrella.

With resignation he asks, "Will we see each other again?"

Freya forces a smile of reassurance, "Maybe."

Attempting to make light of the somber farewell he tries a jab, "I thought you could see the future?"

Instead of answering she reaches out and places both hands on his face. Pulling him closer to her. It makes him feel giddy with excitement inside and also a little startled at how fast his feelings were developing. He was a romantic, so sue him, but even he knows this was not normal.

He doesn't move. He waits and watches Freya who was so close to him. He could tell the enigmatic woman was having an internal debate with herself. Finding the right words to say to him.

"Never doubt yourself." She finally says and something clicks into place inside him. Like whatever last night had broken in him was pieced back together. No doubt, the cracks would always be there, but these three words were the best goddamn glue there ever was.

"The word impossible doesn't exist in your dictionary," he must've grinned because she grins back, bringing the somber mood back into a more playful one.

"Is that something I have to remember so it'd lead me back to you?" Leon couldn't help the laugh that freely came when Freya blushed.

"No, you idiot." She smacked his arm in retaliation. "It's advice from someone who knows what comes next." Then she lets him go and steps back. 

"Take it or not, it's up to you." Freya starts walking backwards, away from Leon and the other two survivors. Somehow, Leon feels that she can't turn away from him, just as much as he does.  And there's this tension in his restraint from chasing after her.

"I'll take it!" He shouts.

And she nodded, then shouted back, "See you around, Leon!"

July XX, 2002

This shouldn't be how it was supposed to end. Logically, Leon knew this was the best possible outcome he could've hoped for. Manuela was going to continue living as normally as possible. She was going to be taken care of and…

Leon's sigh was masked by the whirring rotors of the helicopter flying them back to the nearest air base. This situation was too similar to Sherry's. Could he really truly believe that Manuella could find happiness if it included prodding experiments and constant supervision?

And what would the alternative be? Leon thought reproachfully. His tightly clasped hands shook. He hated this frustration and helplessness. Leon hated himself for not being able to do more. He should've been better, he internally berated himself as he looked over to where Major Krauser's writhing form on the stretcher. That could've been avoided had he been faster…

Never doubt yourself. With eyes closed, Leon slowly breathed in and out of his spiraling thoughts, as he immersed himself in the memory of that moment in the desert. How he agreed to take her advice.

October XX, 2006

Leon trailed after Claire up to one of the side gates of the White House. Another bioterrorism case has been resolved and another ordeal triumphed over.

The sunset marking the end of the day drew near and so did their reluctant yet nostalgic partnership. Outside their survival of Racoon City two years ago, Leon didn't really know Claire. They'd occasionally bump into each other a few times between the years when visiting Sherry, but the last time they'd spent the longest together before these past few days was last year during the Harvardville bioterror incident. 

That aside, they were barely friends. Almost strangers even. Trauma bonding was strange that way. He smiled at how Freya-like that thought was.

"Maybe she was right," Claire suddenly says, turning to face him with a disappointed furrow of her brows.

"Freya," she said in answer to his silent question. "Maybe she saw this future where you choose to stand idly by while the world continues to suffer for Umbrella's consequences." Not surprising for Claire to know of Freya's ability. They were sitting in the same train car for a few hours and it was also likely she overheard a few things. He doesn't mind. Despite not really knowing Claire, he knows she won't tell anyone. He trusts his fellow Racoon survivor with his life. Again, trauma bonding makes for strange bedfellows.

Had Leon been more uncertain of his decisions, he may have quietly accepted Claire's criticism. He was not that man. "We have different ways to fight this battle."

Claire seemed to have something to add, but he won't let her as he says, "and we're both doing what we think is right." It made him feel a tiny bit happy to have made Claire purse her lips. Conceding to his point.

"Take care, Leon." She finally says. And with one last look she leaves him.

"You too, Claire," he replies back then goes the other way, back into the White House for another debrief.

This wouldn't bring him down. Not even the horrible Operation Javier four years ago, which almost did, had it not been for their meeting in the last place he'd expected them to see one another again. Leon fiddled with the nondescript watch on his wrist. He had her 'gift' to keep him going and he would continue doing so. She promised him after all.

May XX, 2013

Without saying anything, Sherry slides a book to him just as he'd taken his seat.

Late afternoons were slow in D.C. and there were only a few customers inside the chain store coffee shop.

The cover is washed out gray with undead hands reaching past barbed wire. Finished with bloody red text titled World War Z . It kinda hits closer to home than he admits and he shivers at the memory of Racoon City.

Leon flips the bottom part of the pages with his thumb and raises a silent brow in question.

"It's not mine." Sherry fidgets, tucking a lock of her short choppy cut hair into her ear. Leon would never get over how fast time had gone since that fateful night many years ago. Sherry, now a teenager, was stark proof of the years passed.

He'd visited her at least once or twice a month and every time he'd see her, it would always go back to that night when she was the scared little girl, then he'd blink and it was the Sherry of the present. 

She'd be a bit taller each time. Her blonde hair tied up or down in varying lengths. She'd approach him with a bit more confidence and a blinding smile. 

Has it really been fifteen years already?

"Is it any good? It must be if you asked to see me," he humored, though he knew Sherry to be a serious enough kid to not joke about things like this. Or maybe this was some form of late teenage rebellion?

Sherry reached across the table and tapped the part of the cover with a circled "A" with her pointer finger.  

"After they found a place for me to settle down, I started getting books with this symbol."

This was the first Leon was hearing about this and he was not pleased. Probably sensing his disappointment Sherry quickly adds, "I told Claire when she came after I got the second one and I asked if it was her. She told me it wasn't her and that maybe it was just a gimmick the previous owner did."

After taking note of the logo, Leon cracked open a few pages. Aside from the logo there doesn't seem to be anything strange. "Huh. There's a circle here." It was the word 'Each'.

"If you write it out with the others, they form a message."

That set off some warning bells, "A message? From who?"

"I didn't know at first because the messages were just quotes that cheered me up."

"Oh." There's a bit of guilt and a feeling of failure that surfaces at seeing Sherry's less than happy admission. 

Of course the monthly visits weren't enough. How could it be when he'd only get to be an insignificant part of everything that's happening in her life? How different would things have been if they could just talk freely anytime? He had tried to get a phone for her, but was always denied. Always citing it was for her protection.

Still. He could've tried different ways, but he didn't. He and Claire may have taken it upon themselves to help raise Sherry, but they were not her parents. They were similar to siblings who act like her parents.

Claire may have been stronger than him, to be able to move forward from that night. Him, not so much. To forget the horrors of that night, he immersed himself into training and learning how to be a better killer. Afterwards, came the missions that took him away from home and time with Sherry.

It took Sherry tapping the back of his hand for him to snap out of his thoughts.

"Sorry. Spaced out there for a sec." He cleared his throat. "So, you know who sent this?"

"Yeah." Sherry affirms and takes out another book from the hanging on her chair. "This book arrived yesterday and this message gave me an idea who it is."

Leon took the smooth paperback with the bright textbook color. It was a language book titled, Mandarin for Beginners . Incidentally, there was also that same encircled 'A' on the bottom left corner of the cover. "How so?"

"Because it's definitely for you."

"Me?" Leon flips the book open and follows the dog eared pages Sherry had undoubtedly marked for him.

"Uh-huh. You'll get a sentence when you put the marked words together."

And with that, Leon rifled through the book and put together the circled out words. It was a short sentence and it made him gasp in disbelief. "No way."

Sherry smiled in excitement for him.

"I think you should think about what to tell her so she won't leave this time."

His smartphone ringing saved him from answering Sherry's ribbing. Although it caused a gloomy shift in the mood when Sherry sat back with her hands now on her lap. "You gotta go." She states sadly, when before it had always been a hopeful question.

There was an event the President was going to be attending in a month. Given the recent string of bioterror incidents, Leon, with his particular experience and skill sets, was specifically assigned to shadow and protect the most powerful man in the country.

"I gotta go," he stands to leave but not without reaching out to ruffle Sherry's hair. "I'll see you again, kiddo."

There was a pep in his step when he exited the cafe. His thoughts run one sentence over and over with anticipation.

Ori's restrictions will be released. We'll see each other again soon.

Chapter Text

August XX, 2004

Other than the inevitable showdown between Wesker and Chris in Resident Evil 5, you never planned on getting involved in the plot of the series. And yet here you were, on an uncharted island off the coast of Spain, sneaking around the mining facility/research facility/cult headquarters. The last area Leon explores in Resident Evil 4.

Somehow the game universe threw you a curved ball in the form of a freak connection between your hodgepodge ABC virus ridden genetic makeup and Saddler's Las Plagas.

You weren't quite sure of the date the President's daughter, Ashley, would be kidnapped. Krauser suddenly leaving Wesker's employ hinted at some estimates.

The current year of 2004 was as good enough a sign for you, as was your worsening condition. You had no choice but to go and kill the SOB cult priest. And if you could do it without anyone knowing none the wiser, better. Again, you had no plans of joining the RE 4 plot. Sadly, the game universe said otherwise.

The sky was overcast, perfect for a day of confronting a delusional cult leader, you grimaced. You timed your arrival just past late afternoon. Wesker had arranged for a boat to take you to a drop off point several kilometers away from the island. The remaining distance you'd have to jet ski your way to avoid detection. Luckily, there was a fog rolling in so you were able to convince the captain to drop you closer. It was your first time driving a jet ski over a long distance of open sea. You felt nervous at first but after a few minutes of skipping along the choppy waves, you felt a little invincible, despite your nonexistent armor. Compared to Leon, who was more or less a walking arsenal at this point in time, you were just a gal with a sword.

You took a glimpse at your watch. Inside was a restricted version of your AI, Oracle. She has many capabilities, but for all intents and purposes of this mission, you've limited her capabilities to that of a glorified GPS with level one hacking abilities. You didn't want to risk altering the game world with your tech and break reality, no sirey.

It would soon be dark once you've touched down on the island where the Los Illuminados HQ was. Your task was simple. Get in, get a sample of the Plagas, maybe some of Luis' research notes, kill Saddler or watch him be killed by Leon then get out. Simple and straightforward. Not. Your only objective was to take care of your problem and not be Wesker's gopher again. As if you had much of a choice, your creature comforts, the fabricator and your workshop, were being threatened by your Overlord.

But of course, all plans do not survive first contact and nothing goes the way you want it to when you bumped into Leon in the Amber Storeroom. And by bumped into, you meant as in bodily slamming into him around a blind corner. Where afterwards the two of you toppled and had a good roll or three in the dirt.

Leon hid the blunder well with a joke about you probably gaining weight over the years.

The two of you were now sitting closely on a pile of cargo. Both catching a breath before storming through where Ashley and Luis' lab was. 

Seeing his strained smile, you took no offense at his joke. Leon may be putting up a strong front, but his dull eyes, shaky limbs and sickly pallor told you otherwise. His time here and the Plaga had weakened him. Placing your hand on his forearm, you told him plainly and offered to help him with his Plaga problem.

"You haven't changed," he says with faux exasperation and yet you glimpsed his lips twitching, trying not to smile.

"Well," You jut your chin. "Someone's gotta pick up being the wisecracker between the two of us, because your quips are just…bad, Leon." You shiver at the memory of some of the lines you remember him saying, both in games and in this reality. "Horrible."

All your irritation and frustrations about your Plaga connection predicament were blown away by Leon's mirthful laughter. You're glad he seems to also be happy to see you again. In some weird way, Leon is your only non-hostile friend in this world.

"Why are you really here, Freya?"

"Payback. That trick Saddler is doing?" Leon flinches at your mention of his current bane of his existence and there's panic in his eyes.

"It's fucking annoying is what it is." You continue ranting, completely unaware of his fear of you succumbing to Saddler's manipulation.

"Annoying?" You swore you could've heard his voice going up a few scales higher.

"Yes." You groan while unconsciously rubbing your temple. "It gives me migraines so bad I start spitting out blood, get nosebleeds and eyebleeds." You gesticulate rapidly with your hands. "Crying with tears of blood sounds so gothic and romantic, right? Think again, Leon. It's unpleasant to ugly cry like a vampire!"

"You mean you don't get controlled like everyone else?" Completely ignoring the point of it all. Ugly crying like a vampire. Leave it to Agent Kennedy to leave out that point. 

At your affirmative answer, Leon sighs in relief, "At least there's that."

"Stop ignoring my other point", You lightly punch him on his forearm. "And also why are you not more surprised?"

"I'm just relieved that you won't be stabbing me with that sword of yours. Besides, I've learned to expect the unexpected with you and just take it as it is." He deadpans. "It's so very you, y'know. This situation."

You gasp in mock offense, "You've become so cynical! Where did the 'fun' Leon go?"

"Hey, I am still fun," he protests by lightly shoving you back.

You cross your arms and huff, "Stoic Leon is boring. You used to be so expressive."

Leon shakes his head in tired amusement, his stupidly perfect hair distractingly swishing to and fro his eyes like no one's business. "Like I said, I've learned to just roll with whatever surprise gets thrown at me next."

Yeah and you know better that by 2014, when Resident Evil: Vendetta takes place, Leon would be a salty uncle who'd be spending his downtime excessively drinking and bar hopping. You should probably do something about that. Provided he doesn't hate your guts and he's still willing to talk to you after the events in Africa and China following the series of events from Resident Evil 5 and 6 respectively, that is.

The cheerful moment passes when he asks, "Why are you really here?" It's at his more serious tone that you also change in demeanor and seriously meet his gaze.

"Half of why I'm here is really because of Saddler."

"And the other half?"

"That," you point at the amber with the Plaga. "Or rather, whatever data and samples there are in Luis' lab."

He was taken aback for a moment when you mentioned Luis. He recovered quickly and uttered a "Of course you know the guy."

"Of the guy," Leon corrects himself when you regard him with a flat glare.

A moment of silence passed before he continued his questioning, "Is this related to a cure for your condition?"

"No." You answer curtly. " It's for my partner."

Seeing something in your eyes, he nods in acquiesce. "Ok."

Ok? How was he so accepting of this? His indifference caused you to blink dumbly and even gape. "That's it? You're not going to interrogate me?"

He throws back a question at you. "It's not for something good is it?"

"No."

He sighs at your blunt answer, "Then I don't wanna know."

You continue staring dumbly at him. It was difficult to believe Leon, who was literally a paragon of truth and justice and not one for tolerating questionable morals, was letting this go. Letting you take the sample for unsavory schemes.

"Is he…" Leon begins, "does your partner treat you okay?"

So dumbstruck were you that you almost didn't catch his concerned question.

You snap out of it with a huff at the thought of your roommate. "Between living on a Keto Diet, which is just the worst, believe me; and the occasional training within an inch of death, which is just, ugh…"

"Freya."

You deflate in the face of Leon's righteous glare. "In his own way, he cares. He's kept me hidden all this time and that's what matters. Safely hidden with three meals a day and a roof over my head." And a workshop to tinker in, you add internally.

There was a tired resignation in Leon's agreement. He understands now why you needed to be hidden. He's seen how the two girls involved with viruses lived a very isolated and lonely life. He would not wish the same for you, especially since you had a choice in the matter.

"I think we've rested enough," he stands with his game face on.

You unsheathe your blade yet made no move to step ahead of him. "After you."

With a raised eyebrow he simply asked, "Still useless with a gun?"

You shudder at the memory of firing one back in Racoon City and also in the shooting range where Krauser tried to teach you. "Unfortunately so. I've been told multiple times that 'I'd have better chances at hitting something by throwing the gun itself, rather than shooting with it'." You indignantly say with air quotes and in that inflection of posh superiority Wesker used.

Leon chuckled while giving his pistol a quick one-handed check (the show-off), "And the world is all the more safer with one less maniac with a gun."

"Very funny," You stick your tongue out. "Now walk ahead and be a proper human shield. I won't be watching your back. Can't have any of Saddler's goons see me, because if they do…"

"Then so does he." Leon finishes with understanding that you were an ace in the hole and for that to stay that way you had to remain undetected. You affirm with a nod and apologize, genuinely sorry to not be able to assist him directly.

"But you'll be bailing me out in the toughest pinch, right?" He says over his shoulder, beaming at you with his puppy dog eyes.

You roll yours in a put out manner, "Yes, yes." You wave your hand in a shooing motion. "Now let's go. The sooner you finish this, the sooner you can get those creepy lines out of you and Ashley. I'll stick with you until then. I'll see you at Luis' lab if we get separated."

No sooner than you had expected were you separated with Leon when the goons manning the entrance into the Sanctuary spotted him. 

Immediately, you stuck to the shadows. Going low and around the firefight, sneaking into Luis' laboratory. Since it was clear inside you immediately got to work, plugging in Wesker's thumb drive and copying everything in the computers. You also pilfered a vial of Plagas sample sitting prettily inside the containment box.

While waiting for one of the computers on the side to download data, there was a loud crashing noise far ahead. You strain your barely enhanced ears for any more sounds and catch the sound of dragging footsteps– you had immunity to viruses, but other than faster than normal healing, you weren't superhuman like Wesker.

Not a moment later the doors to Luis' lab were bodily slammed open and in came a delirious Leon carrying an unconscious Ashley.

"Leon!" You cry out and hurry to his side to help him.

Once Ashley is strapped onto the chair, Leon grabs your arm. "She goes first," he tells you before collapsing on the ground next to the chair where Ashley was laid.

You take a moment to admire Leon's prone form. "Wow, the protagonist's halo must be strong in this one." You shake your head as you start the machine to remove the Plaga inside Ashley. "I mean, who faints so gracefully and all nicely arranged like that, huh?"

"No one. That's who!" Ashley yelps and grunts painfully in the background as you continue to rant while still keeping an eye on the progress of Plaga removal. Though the procedure is automated, it gives you something to do to pass the time. Everything was so slow in 2004 it's painful. Bandwidth, technological progress, pop culture. You really wanted to know what happens next in Season three of Warriors . Plus, it won't do to accidentally electrocute the US President's daughter. 

Upon laying her sights on you Ashley tried scrambling away from you with a shriek. Fearing she'd fall off the chair you grab her only to spook her more.

"Let me go, you monster!"

You freeze then blink dumbly for a few moments wondering why the college student was so hostile towards you then your eyes met and she flinched. Oh. She thinks you're like the Plaga infected people here.

"I'm not going to become one of you anymore!" She screeched while keeping up her struggle against your hold.

You roll your glowing brown red eyes. "Of course you're not, because clearly I'm of a different league from those Plaga hordes."

It was when you heard yourself say those words that you realized how haughty and supremacist you sounded. So much like a certain megalomaniac. You also blame this on the more superior version of the ABC viruses running inside you. You groan. "Forget I ever said that, got that?"

You stood up straight and offered Ashley a handshake. "Okay, let's start over. Hi, my name's Freya. I'm a friend of Leon's." You gesture to the still unconscious Agent with your shoulder. "We go way back. As in Racoon City way back, but that's beside the point. The point is, I need your help to lug this musclehead up into that chair you're in so this machine here can zap the Plaga away."

Ashley by some automatic response shaked your hand while gaping at you. Probably stunned by your word vomit. You've already stepped a little away from her and so had to prompt her with a "Well?" then offered her Leon's other side to lift.

"Yeah. Okay." She stammered then proceeded to help you lift Leon up onto the chair. "So we just need to press that button?" She looks to you with wide curious eyes then points to the console controls. What a cute kid, you think.

"Yep. Go ahead, we're clear." You gesture to Leon's prone form on the chair.

"Huh?" Nothing happened when Ashley pressed the button. You prompt her to try again. Still nothing.

You hear a crackling noise of electricity and find the source to be some wires by the generator on the other side of the room spewing sparks. "Damn. It must've torn during the last charge. These things are so old it was only a matter of time for it to give"

"What are we gonna do?" Ashley's voice wavered.

"I'll hold the wires together. When I say so, push the button. Ready?"

She turns around the console, "Yeah."

You hold the wires as close as you can and as far as your hands can avoid the uncovered part. "Now!"

At the sound of the switch, you felt the jolt of high voltage electricity run beneath your fingers. It was fascinating to see the electric blue flowing between the gaps in the wire as the machine whirred to life and got to work. You kept your position when suddenly there was an increase in voltage during the last stages of the removal and just before it beeped a completed tone, an arc of electricity hit you straight in the chest, causing you to fly across the room and lose consciousness on the floor.

Someone is rhythmically pressing down on your chest. Someone is also pushing air down your throat.

Then you hear a gasp. "Leon, her wounds…they're healing."

"Yeah…she's…not…exactly…baseline…human…like.the.rest.of.us." Leon replies in a staccato beat with the press on your chest and your mouth.

Oh…wow. The fangirls would kill you for this. Time to get up.

Which you did, but in a pathetic wheezing and coughing gasp. "I guess channeling thunder is harder than it looks or maybe I need a hammer."

"Freya!" Leon cried as he helped you sit up. "Are you okay?" He didn't wait for your answer as he cupped your face, tilting your head left and right then continued looking you over, making sure you were alright. 

You wave aside his outburst. "I'm fine. I heal quickly, remember?"

Leon nods with a sigh, then as if his mood switch flipped, he grabs your arms with a vice grip and shakes you. "What the hell were you thinking, holding those wires like that?"

"Not the first time I got blasted in an explosion." His brows were furrowed in frantic concern at your slip. "I love to tinker things, engineering, robotics stuff and sometimes there are explosions."

"What." 

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, right?" You took a side glance at Ashley, hoping for some support. She just shrugged. The little traitor that won't go against her teenage crush, ugh.

Facing the fuming Leon, who looks way better than the last you've seen him, you scratch your cheek. "It was a good idea at the moment," you stress. "And there wasn't enough time for me to figure out how to rewire these ancient machines to power the Plaga removing device."

"But…" Leon began to protest which you cut off with a raised finger. "You were running out of time. The Plaga was in its final stages and you would have woken up turned."

With much resignation Leon slumps his shoulders in accepted defeat. "Thanks, but don't do that again." He quickly recovers, realizing he still had to be the responsible Agent for Ashley.

You smile, "I'll take that under advisement." Then you turn to the teenager and put her on the spot again. "Ashley agrees, right?"

Leon raises his hand in a stop gesture. "Don't answer that." He tells the college student, who huffs in indignation. It's cute in the way it reminds you of a pufferfish.

After sorting yourselves out: you wiping the blood that trailed down your wounds and pulling the thumb drive from the terminal you stuck it in at the very beginning; Leon double checking his arsenal and; Ashley putting her game face on, the three of you head out of Luis' lab.

"Are we nearing the end?" Leon suddenly asks you over Ashley who was walking between the two of you. The elevator that would take you to the final boss battle was just around the corner. You weren't really surprised by the question as far as you can tell, Leon's pretty sick of this place already. So were you, to be honest. Small mercies that you can kiss those apocalyptic headaches goodbye once Saddler is dead.

"Yeah, you're almost there." You put your fist on top of your other palm. "Which reminds me, I should come with you guys when you go confront Saddler. I can distract him long enough for you to do your thing, Leon."

Fingers clipping his chin, Leon weighed your proposition. "I need your help to watch Ashley while I confront Saddler."

Ashley protested with a stomp of her foot which you both ignored.

"Done," you quickly accepted while Ashley pouted and just looked put out at being talked over so you pointed to your sword. "I can handle myself in a fight, but I can't for the life of me shoot a gun." Ashley snorted a little at your humorous statement. "Just know that I can cleanly decapitate whatever comes at us. Even those chainsaw guys are no match for this." You then proceeded to pull out your sword to prove your point.

The three of you exit the elevator and end up at the very rooftops of the facility. All metal frames and open spaces. Yeah, this was a boss battle area alright, you mused.

The sight of Ada strung up high by her hands made you cringe. She must weigh just about right for her wrist to be able to support her body weight. Anyways, you let the situation (cutscene) play out where Leon valiantly jumps onto where Ada is at, then is consequently confronted by Saddler. He shoots a few headshots and the villain, instead of dying, transforms into his grotesque final form.

You nod in agreement to Ashley's grossed out comment as the two of you admire Leon raining bullets and explosions on the transformed Saddler.

Once you see Leon critically hit the weak points (why does it always look like an eye with a gross pink eye?) you pull onto the connection you feel with the Plaga and send down disturbing images, of the psychedelically gory hellscape kind that really gets under your skin, to the other side.

"It stopped?" You heard Ashley say. Then moments later the teenager whooped in triumph. "He got it!"

You broke from your trance just in time to see Leon perform a graceful backflip away from Saddler's tumbling mass of mutated flesh. What an extra protagonist.

Anywho now that that's done, it's time for you to exit stage left. But not before leaving Ashley a few words and a C# for Dummies book with a scavenger quest.

Ashley scrambles to the side of the railing where you were just about to jump with your arms out to activate the glider. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to Leon?"

You turn to Ashley and tilt your head in silent question at the teenager.

"He cares for you."

"Of course he does. We're friends." You say as a matter of factly then with a wink you wave your farewells and jump. You didn't catch Ashley muttering, "Not to him, you're not."

Leon took a moment to catch his breath as the monstrosity that was Saddler disappeared down into the ocean depths. He would not have made it had it not been for that distraction Freya made and the rocket launcher Ada provided.

The sound of clicking heels grew closer then stopped within speaking distance. "That could've gone worse. You were lucky Saddler froze at the right moment."

If Ada thinks she can fish for answers about Freya then she can think again. "Must've been a side effect of the Plaga," Leon deflects. "Are you done here? Got whatever it is you need?"

There was a flash of hurt that disappeared behind a cocky arch of her brow and half smile. Leon had no time for games. He wanted off this island. The sooner the better. 

"Figured I owe you one for the save earlier so I came here to give you this." Leon, upon instinct, catches the small object Ada throws at him before proceeding to jump off the ledge and onto the helicopter hovering by the ledge.

See you never. He thought as he watched her fly off. Though Ada helped him in her infuriatingly roundabout way, she carried with her the kind of trouble he doesn't appreciate. Not that Freya's trouble wasn't any less frustrating, but there was just something intrinsically different about her kind of trouble and overall between the two enigmatic women. And really, he was biased towards the one with the glowing eyes.

After getting back to where he left the two to find only one person, Leon turned to Ashley and asked

"Where's Freya," to which the First daughter simply shrugged and held out an offensively yellow paperback. 

"She asked me to hand you this and tell you that she had an evil megalomaniac partner to wrangle into not completely destroying the world. Was she being serious, Leon?"

"Not unlikely." He purposefully says in double negative to confuse the teenager.

Not surprised by Freya's whimsical  tendencies, he shook his head without answering, "Come on. This place is gonna blow."

And so ended Leon's mission with resounding success that even came with the unexpected perk of meeting up with an old friend. Once back stateside, he immediately devoured the dry reading and promptly deciphered the clues in between the pages.

The result of which was a geocache location inside the cafeteria of Tall Oaks University. The Tupperware hidden behind one of the vending machines contained a sleek black nondescript sports watch and an earpiece.

Leon took a moment to examine both devices and decided there was nothing suspicious about it. Well, beyond its dubious origin, that is.

Hello, Leon. A female sounding voice said when he'd put on the devices. There was a faint echoing quality to the female voice that made it sound unnatural. I am Oracle, an artificial intelligence created by Freya. It is a pleasure to meet you.

"Uh, yeah you too," Leon managed to reply. "Freya created you?"

Correct.

"Can I ask why? And also why did she give me, uh, you?" This was getting a bit too sci-fi even for him. Biorganic weapons, sure. An AI that's just too human sounding? That's way out of his league. To think Freya could create something like this, wouldn't that make her some kind of genius?

My primary program is to be a personal assistant to Leon S. Kennedy. Unless overridden by my Creator, I am at your service.

"Like my secretary?"

A part of it, yes.

"Ok, and the rest?"

I am not sure. I am a learning AI. I aim to learn from you and everything else around you to further enhance my programming.

"So you can take over the world?"

No. That is far too much work just to see humanity fall. Besides, your misuse of biorganic weapons is but one of humanity's many self-destructive tendencies. 

And ain't that a hit in the head? Leon thought in silent agreement.

I can simply wait it out. Oracle concludes.

Leon immediately takes a liking to the sassy AI. "Now that your nonexist plans for world domination have been settled, what now?"

Now, you simply go about your days and I will simply be here.

"Can I get in touch with Freya with these? I'd like to thank her."

Regrettably, no. Due to security concerns, Creator Freya has set a lock on my programming on the matter of establishing real time communications with her. I can only send her time delayed text format messages.

Leon was a little sad to not be able to get in touch with his friend. "I see. Well, just leave her a 'thank you', then."

Message sent, Leon. Is there anything else you need?

He feels like he'd just made a new friend then thought of something to cement that fact.

"Can I call you Ori?"

I would love that.

Chapter Text

August 17, 1998

Two weeks have passed since the Arklay Mansion incident. I have mixed feelings as to the conclusion of it. On the one hand I am vindictive of Chris and the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. for escaping, while on the other hand, I am also a bit proud of the same. Perhaps this is sentiment as their former superior or perhaps this is anticipation for the next time they can provide combat data against the new prototype B.O.W.s.

On another matter, I have stumbled upon a civilian inside the Arklay Mansion. She first claims to have precognitive abilities and demonstrated them when she'd know who and what I was at first glance. She even proceeded to narrate to an accurate extent how the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members navigated the mansion. It was fortunate that I did not eliminate the woman for she was quite useful in the setting up of the traps and the creatures in the mansion.

Not an hour later from my discovery of her, she had a slip of the tongue and had no other choice but to reveal a more preposterous tale. A tall tale wherein she claims to come from a different universe and that this one existed there as a video game. She even explained the science fiction drivel that is the "Multiverse Theory".

I never for one second believed everything the Subject claimed. Yes, a Subject, there was no other explanation in her being there. For she was neither an unfortunate civilian entangled with Umbrella's projects nor was she an employee of the company.

While we were in the lab, I checked her DNA against all the staff in Umbrella on file. 

Frustratingly, there had been no match. The next plausible explanation was that this Subject was a top secret project of Umbrella, perhaps even of Spencer himself, that even I wasn't privy to until this encounter– truthfully I thought Cassandra fitted her better, but her chosen name was also suitable.

The Subject was an eccentric person to say the least. Her unusual reactions to certain situations and sudden verbal outbursts baffled me as to what even was the purpose of study for Umbrella to warrant the need for such a 'Subject'?" 

Seeing that she had no combat skills whatsoever– except for her swordplay which I believe is a fluke. Her abilities may be some form of precognition which she explains via an imaginative story to maintain a mental and emotional stability perhaps?

With that in mind I have decided to bring the Subject to my fellow virologist, William Birkin, in order to confirm my suspicions that she has a formidable immunity to the T-virus. I relayed to him how I had bitten into her shoulder on instinct, in a desperate attempt to survive the mortal wound I had received from the Tyrant and that the Subject had not exhibited any signs of turning several minutes after my bite. 

Unfortunately, the Subject has remained unconscious a week after the Mansion incident and still remains as such. It is also worth noting that the bite wound in question is healing much faster than a baseline human would. I am looking forward to whatever results William will surely provide.

September 26, 1998

Racoon City is lost. The cries of the undead echo along the burning streets.

In a safe house just a few hundred meters away from the barricaded mountain tunnel that leads to the city, Wesker stares down the computer screen, elbows atop the desk with steepled fingers. The more he saw the stream of information, the more tightly woven his body became. His hands began to tremble in rage.

How dare Umbrella send a kill squad! How dare they steal their work! He and William would've worked to perfect the G-virus. Not only was his colleague gone, but the sample was also moving out of his reach!

Nothing snaps his temper more than wasted plans. He had an operative assigned in the city to delicately extricate Umbrella files through subterfuge for months and now in instructing her to retrieve William's work, he risked losing an exceptional pawn. All because of Umbrella's trigger happy tendencies!

Wesker was about to bang a fist down the table when his communicator alerted him with three sharp beeps. It wasn't the one he was wearing, but the one across the table he'd set aside, the one specifically connected to William's.

After putting it on and answering, Wesker was met with the voice of a fuming woman.

"I see your nap has not affected your impudence," he drawled back at the unexpected acquaintance on the other end of the line.

"And you know damn well what caused that nap in the first place, Wes..!"

Wesker interrupted the agitated woman, "Do not speak of my name. These lines may not be secure."

"Fine." There was a slight pause from the other end and Wesker could hear the amused smirk in her question. "Are you coming to get me, Neo?"

The name makes him arch a quizzical brow. It didn't sound like an insult, yet, there was no doubt it would be someday. For now, it doesn't seem like there's a mythological reference to it, other than it being a word that means "new".

"Much as it pains me, I have to, as you are still a valuable specimen, delusions aside."

"Right." She scoffed. "Just so you know, I also have a vial of your friend's, uhh, work. So, really it's in your best interest to come get me. And don't forget, you owe me for that chomp back at the mansion!"

Wesker flinched as the disrespectful woman threw him a sore point. He thought he'd had more control at the time and yet he'd bitten at the first thing that approached him. He was also loath to admit that her blood had pulled him back from the brink of turning into a mindless B.O.W. and stabilized his enhancements.

"Unfortunately, personally picking you up is not possible, even for me." He says. "The city is under lockdown. There are military barricades on the main thoroughfares in and out of the city."

There's a litany of curses, but at the end of it it doesn't sound as if she was deterred in the least. More like exasperated at an inconvenience. "I gather you know of another way to escape?"

"Haha, very funny. Yes, I know how and it'll be a hell and a half to get through, but it is the only way."

Wesker hears her sigh again before asking him for tips, which he provides in the form of access codes for NEST. Again he reels in his astonishment into a mild snort at the Subject's knowledge of NEST.

"Alright. I'll contact you again when I get out." 

He was ready to cut the line from his end when she suddenly spoke. "I'm sorry about what happened to your friend. I tried."

The line clicked and he was left hanging in the air. Truly, this woman's impudence knew no bounds. Never had he ever been treated as rudely as she has.

Shaking his head of the sentiment that creeped up, he ends the transmission from his side and resumes watching the surveillance feeds around the doomed city, focusing on the activities of the bioweapon Nemesis, Jill and the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service (U.B.C.S.).

December 31, 1999

Seventeen months had passed since my discovery of the Subject known as Freya in the Arklay Mansion. The Subject's claim of foreknowledge due to the multiverse and her true origins of coming from a different universe was still as far-fetched and unscientific now as it was a year ago. I maintain my hypothesis that the Subject has precognitive abilities and requires the aforementioned ridiculous story to maintain a stable emotional state. Although, truthfully that is also debatable given the Subject's penchant for childish mischief and being an absolute menace of a housemate.

I have debated many times on whether to abort this study and be rid of her. For I already had extracted a general timeline of events to come and have no further use of the subject's precognitive abilities. It was only a matter of confirming the intel, dubious origin notwithstanding, and see how to better the results.

However, after that botched attempt of killing her via prototype virus and discovering her immunity extended to a different strain and possibly to any other strain in the future, I had to reconsider. For the sake of my research. Nothing else.

It is also of interest to note that oftentimes than not, there is some merit to her future knowledge. 

Case and point being the events surrounding the T-Veronica. Around this time last year, the Subject's knowledge of events in Rockfort Island and Umbrella's Antarctic Base proved useful as I was successful in extracting Ashford's research files from the former and amassing much combat data from both facilities. I had been skeptical when the Subject had pointedly informed me that Chris and his little sister would be involved and as a result, have failed in procuring the actual sample. Perhaps, if I had not dismissed it as an improbability, I may have successfully retrieved a sample of Ashford's T-Veronica virus…a thought for another day.

Other observations of note regarding the Subject are her skills with computers and sophisticated machinery. At a glance her creations are whimsical and serve no purpose other than to irk me; however, delving deeper, I was able to discern how advanced they were, despite not knowing exactly as to what their full capabilities are. I am a virologist, not an engineer.

In short, she was a genius. Not only had she modified the appliances and the computers on hand to be more efficient with added functions she had also created a basic program for an AI.

Curious myself, I provided the Subject with a workshop and anything else she'd need. It proved both fruitful (useful upgrades to the espionage tools and weapons) and troublesome (explosions, mishaps and pranks) to the point that I question whether it was worth the trouble of getting her the equipment that causes me grief on a daily basis.

September XX, 2001

I had observed abnormal behavior in the Subject as of late. I had initially thought nothing of it as it was not uncommon for her to be severely engrossed in her work to shut everything else out. 

Several days later, I found the Subject obsessively hunched over a single piece of paper. It was suspicious, but I let it slide until now.

The Subject jumped in her seat unconsciously gripping the paper under her hand, causing it to crumple, when I confronted her erratic behavior. 

With a few well placed threats on her creations, I was able to convince her to reveal her schemes. The Subject then proceeded to show me on her computer screen an Edonian birth record. A boy named Jake Muller, who she claims to be my son and lives with her mother in Edonia. She explains further that she was trying to find a discreet means of communication to introduce herself with the intent of helping Ms. Muller to make ends meet.

Her claim was a likely possibility. I had relations with Dr. Muller during my Umbrella days and it continued until I had acted upon my plans. Back then she was also on the same team as me. It had never occured to me that it would result in this…

In the end, I suggested she introduce herself in a letter as Aunt Freya and keep watch over them. She gives me an approving look before scurrying away to do so. She does not mention or suggest I do the same. It comes as a surprise that she understands my decision on the matter.

July XX, 2004

Freya has been exhibiting strange behavior as of late. At certain times of the day she would stop everything she was doing and sit very still, unmoving and unresponsive– even dropping delicate tools, which she would never under any circumstances do, as some of those were highly flammable and prone to cause a small explosion. She would also speak cultish nonsense during those episodes. In fluent Spanish.

Even more alarming is that she is unaware until I have told her and shown her the recording. After which, she began suffering severe headaches and expelled blood from the nose, eyes and ears. As if her becoming aware of the phenomenon caused it. 

Contrary to panicking, once the symptoms subsided, Freya began cursing someone called 'Saddler'.

I personally do not believe in something as irrational as claiming to be from a different universe; however, her claims of precognition still warrants further observation. In this case, and I loathe to admit that in her knowing the impossible, my plans and my next moves, it is nothing short of alarming. 

Had I not explicitly banned her AI from my computer, I would've simply dismissed her foreknowledge as a result of her spying using her AI.

Nonetheless, I was still able to steer the situation to my advantage despite her knowing of my plans. 

As she had no choice but to go to Valdelobos, a village in rural Spain, to deal with her 'Saddler' problem, I had offered my help (transport and support in the form of Ada, only if needed) in exchange for an original sample of the Plaga that was discovered in the amber deposits there.

Chapter Text

January 1, 2000

You've been in this universe for almost two years. It was both astounding and anticlimactic. Astounding because you still exist even after the first three games. Honestly, you had not foreseen your life expectancy to reach this far. Anticlimactic because nothing happens in between the games. Oh, something was happening with Wesker alright, what with his plans having plans of their own, but in terms of 'Events', there was nothing. Everyday just passed on by like there was no megalomaniac plotting a global bioterror incident.

Living with a villain was not as bad as you'd expect. Sure, there was the constant toeing around the man's volatile moods, especially during the first few months where you were absolutely certain he was going to unalive you the moment you hand him your written timeline. You recall how anxious you were that week after you'd escaped Racoon City and had just settled down in one of his safe houses. That morning as you looked down your rough draft of a barely useful diagram, you again wished to all the gods that your death would be swift and painless.

October 5, 1998

Wesker lifted a skeptical brow at the presentation of your timeline over the table. Having cleared the modest breakfast and shoved aside the coffee mugs, you smoothed out your A3 size paper like a map.

You cleared your throat and began explaining. As you did, Wesker grew grouchier as his inhuman eyes– he didn't bother with the sunglasses in your presence anymore, narrowed at you in that miffed glare of his that spelled imminent death. How far you've come to casually brush aside Wesker's death glare and categorize it as "miffed".

He pointed to the words the "Umbrella Chronicles" and the encircled "Fall of Umbrella" tacked with a red question mark above it. You wrote it in the branched portion of the numbered games. 

"Tell me more about this."

"I got nothing else aside from what I've told you!" you pulled your hair. "It was on a different console!"

Wesker clicked his tongue in distaste. His fist clenched and unclenched. Yeah, you were definitely walking on thin ice here.

"Look, I don't remember ALL the tiny little details in each of these." You slammed your hands on the table, hard like Phoenix Wright, making Wesker rear back in his seat. Irritation rolled down his shoulders as you dared to speak back at him.

"But I do know the gist of it." You press on in gesticulation, ignoring the Villain's Medusa stare. "Think of it like a story. There's the Setup, the Confrontation and the Resolution."

You trace your hand down the timeline. "Each of these involve you both indirectly and directly." You stop and tap a finger at Resident Evil 6. "And here is where your role ends."

Wesker scoffed. "And Africa is where I'll meet my supposed end?" He squints at your hard to read writing. "On top of a volcano, was it?"

You wave a finger at several words: T-Veronica, T-Abyss, and Uroboros. "Are you planning to stop your heinous schemes any time soon?"

He leaned back on his chair and crossed his arms, "No," he says. "I will take back what is mine."

You nod in understanding. Umbrella and Wesker were complicated.

"And after?"

This time Wesker tilted his head, seriously regarding your question with a neutral expression.

The sight of him in contemplation caught you by surprise. Had he not yet thought of forcing humanity's evolution through virus crap? Could you nudge him to do something differently?

"Neo…new. A new age in humanity." He smiles with that manic spark in his eyes.

The universe apparently tells you "fuck that thought" and you imagine it also just shoved you the "you shall not pass" meme for good measure.

Ok. You tried and now you're throwing in the metaphorical towel. Can someone just kill you now so you can yeet to Stardew Valley? You ask the universe as you slump in your seat like the diva that you are.

January 1, 2000

Other than that, Albert Wesker was a decent housemate, if not more on the indulgent side. Money was apparently no object to the man.

Having moved around with him in his numerous safehouses around the globe, you've become aware of the certain luxuries that were mandatory.

A study complete with a library. A sitting room with TV. A futuristic kitchen freshly stocked with food. At least two bedrooms. A gym complete with combat dummies. And last, if not the most important of all, a state of the art lab in the basement. Equipped with cutting edge, clunky monitors technology, well whatever counts cutting edge for the late 90s, that comes attached with one or two holding cells for creature experiments– depending on the underground space available on which safe house. There were also a few grunts, usually mercenaries who are paid for their work and to ask no questions, circling the properties. Money was no object indeed.

But there is a line you have just reached as Wesker lays down the plate of food that serves as lunch.

You stare it down like it has greatly offended you. It did, there's only so much bland chicken breast and garden vegetables you can take before you explode. And that day is today.

"Look, I get that your body is your temple and all that, but…" You skewer a piece of chicken with your fork and grimace at it before letting it slide down soundlessly back on your plate. "Life is too short for tasteless food. It's great for your body, but emotionally, I. Am. In. So. Much. Pain."

Wesker ignores you and continues eating. You soldier on and appeal to the Devil.

"I'm begging here. Please, could you add spices, sauces or I dunno salt!?"

"Why should I when it doesn't bother me? Also, it amuses me to see you like this, so no," he smiles at your expense.

You slump and drop your head on the table side first as you eye the plate of food that seems to even lose color the longer you stare it down. You curse your nonexistent cooking skills. You lament on how they're so bad you can even burn water.

It was then that inspiration hit you and Wesker tensed at your sudden attitude change. He can see how there is mischief in your eyes and is anticipating how to deal with it.

"I've got something to do in the lab." And off you go to build yourself something that will solve your lack of culinary skills. Thus, the mother hen AI, Kara, was born. The first of your three AI creations.

October 31, 1998

"I'm immune?"

"Had circumstances been different, I would have celebrated such a discovery." Wesker tells you in that disappointed drawl of his.

You pieced together what he was not saying and the fact that he may, no, had injected you with Alphabet Soup virus while you were asleep!

"You tried to kill me in my sleep?!" You jumped and rudely pointed in accusation. "The least you could do was look me in the eye as you did!"

"I already have everything you know of the future." He crossed his arms. "Seeing that you do not know what happens if there is a deviation, then it is sufficient for me to have knowledge of the bare facts and do away with the unnecessary freeloader."

You fumed, but it was more towards yourself than him. In retrospect, he had a point, because had you not told him everything, the megalomaniac would still need you. If only you could lie to save your life.

Wait a minute. You go back to what Wesker said. He'd looked pained at the admission and judging by what he'd just said…

You smirk, "Now, you can't kill me!"

Yet again, you pointed at the unflappable man who now held a conflicting and frustrated expression. He growled at you. His fingers, you noticed, were balled into a tight fist in the crook of his elbow. Knuckles turning whiter than his actual skin color. Wesker was trying to reign in his strong urge to kill you and it made you roll your back onto the chair, guffawing.

"I can't believe fucking COVID made me immune to the ABC viruses!" You screeched incredulously at how something that caused your world so much grief is now what protects you in this crazy world.

"What is COVID?" Wesker asks demandingly. His hand suddenly gripped around your arm.

Oh no, he had his researcher-interrogator face on. You and your big mouth. That day saw you narrating what you knew about the CoronaVirus, the less scientific parts of it much to Wesker's annoyance– and he definitely showed it by how much harder he was stabbing the needle down your arm to draw blood. 

You relayed how you've never caught the virus itself, but had taken the full dose of vaccine plus the booster shot as precaution.

February 26, 2000

Now that things between you and the villain had lulled into a calming routine, a listlessness constantly followed you. You had your projects to occupy your thoughts, the coding for your yet unnamed third AI was going well– you were partial to the name 'Oracle' and maybe even planning to give it to someone who really needs a friend they can bring with them anywhere.

You've also modified all the appliances in the house to play back recipe suggestions and also helpfully tell you the time and the weather when prompted. A shame about the toaster, when Wesker punched through it. It had only suggested he add marmalade instead of raspberry jam. You were definitely going to put Kara somewhere more discreet.

After Kara, of course you'd create Connor. You were a big fan of Detroit: Become Human. Much like the Cyberlife investigative and combat specialist android, you modeled your AI Connor as similar as you possibly can to the coin tossing and straightforward android. In essence, your Connor was a digital field specialist, linkable from the servers to Wesker's sunglasses. The latter function of the AI hanging out in his eyewear was surprisingly Wesker's idea. 

He didn't ask you to make the glasses per se, but him telling you he wanted one had you high strung the whole time you made the damn thing. Talk about unnecessary pressure, which in hindsight must've been what Wesker had been aiming all along, the manipulative bastard.

You slouched back on your executive chair, putting your feet up the footrests and stared out onto the space beside the computer monitor. You were just waiting for the program to compile and now had a moment to ponder the mysteries of the universe and you.

On the other side of the safety glass, you spot the villain in his lab, hard at work with his research and sigh at the prospect of the future. It would probably be a bleak one since you'd end up inevitably losing him and it would hurt because he was definitely a constant in your messed up afterlife. Wesker was not a good person. He may have deserved that lava bath, but you were a selfish person and Wesker was the only one who truly knew you – his skepticism about you aside.

Leon was your friend and of course you have a little crush on him, (who doesn't?) But the universe has much more in store for him as a protagonist and you don't see him blinking out of existence anytime soon, unlike you. The world would most likely break if you do something about your feelings and get involved with him…so yeah.

Romantic interest aside, you had two kids you were sort of pen pals with? Ok, so sending one kid anonymous packages with wire transfer receivables through money mules and books with code to the other kid with both having no way to reply back was not proper pen pal etiquette, but the intention was still there so, you considered that a social circle of four people and two, no almost three AI kids. Yay, you were a functional adult.

Then there's the future of you, the outsider who doesn't belong; and the villain, who is scheduled to be thwarted in a few years. What could you two look forward to after the events of Resident Evil 6?

Swiveling in your chair, you close your eyes and think about the games. The 7th one was a good game. You enjoyed the creepy vibes and the unnerving atmosphere of the Baker House. However, there was no way you were going near that Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Swamp Edition with a ten foot pole. Besides, Eveline is scary, with her long hair, creepy voice and mommy issues. Not to mention Mind Control .

At the thought of Eveline and her powers you are reminded of something else. Mold . 

Now there was an idea, you stopped your swivel and hummed. The 8th game hadn't come out yet, but you knew a bit about the characters and the location. It was somewhere in the snowy rural mountains of Europe, a little like Resident Evil 4.

For villains, there was a super tall vampire lady with the fancy hat, the lady in black with a doll, the hunchback guy in robes, and the hobo looking one with the old fashioned tinted glasses, trenchcoat and hat.

It hadn't been released yet so you had no knowledge of it whatsoever, with only the trailers to theorize upon. Somehow, the prospects of not knowing anything and just discovering something new excited you.

Maybe seeking out the very foundation of the game series, which really is a bit mystical sounding now that there's actual sentient mold around, would help 

alleviate this emptiness?

Hopefully by then Wesker would agree to come along, because this was the world of Resident Evil and this was not just an adventure game, it was a survival horror. You'd need a superhuman with you if you were to explore and survive what laid beyond the Plot.

You clear your thoughts of the less than pleasant future. It was only the year 2000 right now. Resident Evil 4 hadn't even occurred yet. Not much use to think about the far future when you're not sure you'd be able to reach it. Once again you dive back into your projects and piece together some very useful gadgets and a whole lot of nonsense ones, just for kicks.

"Right, gotta ask if Wesker knows how to turn herbs into tic tacs." You snicker at the commentary you remember from a video review of Resident Evil 6, while you draw up a new list of things you need before the events of Resident Evil 5 roll along.

You scribble in shorthand the word 'metal', "I wonder if there's something like vibranium here?"

Next you write under that 'escape plan' and bullet points of: super cooling container, transport, phoenix down? (lol), below it.

With the beginnings of a crazy plan, you immerse yourself into a routine for the next few years until the interference from Saddler's Plaga.

Chapter Text

August XX, 2006

I am receiving a distress signal from Connor.

"What?" You almost fell off your backless swivel chair. Connor was the combat AI you programmed into Wesker's sunglasses. He rarely used the lovable murderbot, outside of the hacking and data syncs. Something was very very wrong if Wesker was using Connor to reach her.

Literally putting down everything you were doing, you ran to the armory. "Where?" You asked Kara while suiting up with your trusty katana on close by.

Coordinates displayed on your HUD.

You take out the smartphone in your pocket just as it lights up. It was a one of a kind prototype closer to form from the one on Earth. Much thinner and lighter than the PDA looking counterpart here. No way you were using that cubical nonsense of a phone that Ada uses later on. Besides, yours can display holograms just fine.

Thinking of Ada also had you thinking of the last time something Plot-related happened as you buckled your boots and zip up your under armor, made out of a fabric compound much sturdier than Kevlar. It won't save you from an explosion, but it'll lessen your bruises and up your chances of survival when faced with BOWs and their sharp claws.

It's been two years since Resident Evil 4. You've kept in touch with Leon, or as much as possible through voice or text messages, AI to AI. He'd mention the case he and Claire got involved in Harvardville last year then the Penamstam Conspiracy earlier this year.

You'd read up on it, but it didn't seem connected at the time as you also had no idea what the Penamstam Conspiracy was or its place and role in the game's timeline of events. You set the fact aside, left Leon some words of encouragement and asked him to keep you posted at the time.

Zooming in on your phone, you double take at the coordinates on the map. The red dot marking Wesker was hovering in the middle of nowhere. In the ocean. It's not that far from here, at least he was just somewhere off the coast?

That's strange, what would he be doing there? "Kara, where is this?"

Connor relays that they are taking shelter from the storm inside a sea cave.

They?  

Ignoring the oddity of the term Kara used, you take a closer look at the surrounding area in the map and curse upon spotting the Manor atop the cliff. 

"Seriously, did that Spencer guy just have a prefabricated mansion on hand and just place it wherever he wanted like this was Minecraft or something?" Only Kara heard you gripe and offered only blessed silence.

And then everything hits you like a damn revelation. The signs had been there, you were just too preoccupied with other things to connect the dots!

Heck, how did you miss how the stupid coat that inspired you to nickname Wesker after the Matrix protagonist already made its appearance? That was weeks ago! How could you even forget how Wesker had been complaining about an 'Excella' the other day?

August 2006. The date on your computer screen stared back at you.

Shit. The Lost in Nightmares DLC was today wasn't it? Or rather it already happened and now you're in Plot territory yet again.

"Boat's ready to go?"

On standby and awaiting your orders.

You thank Kara before heading to the docks where Wesker's getaway boats were and swiftly sailing it out.

The dark clouds and choppy waves speak of more than preparing for a bumpy ride at sea. You should probably also be ready for how you're going to deal with the unwilling guest, you thought as you kept the boat steady through treacherous waters. You will never admit how much you appreciate Wesker and Krauser teaching you how to drive anything with wheels as part of your spartan training.

And suddenly things were hurling into the plot huh? You muse with a dry laugh. Good thing, you've already got something of a plan for the final act at the Volcano, you hummed as you park the boat in a shallow area near Wesker's last known coordinates.

After ensuring the boat won't get swept away by the waves, you step out of its helm. Ropes, floaters and life jackets in hand you head to where the red dot on your HUD was. Time to go pick up your Overlord and his guest (read: hostage).

Two broken bodies were picked up; however, by the end of your trip only one remained on the brink of death while the other was already strong enough to walk around and do his own thing.

The game mentioned how Jill should've died, looking at her now, with her bones bent the wrong way,  multiple internal injuries and barely breathing form, she really should be dead by now. Had it not been Wesker bodily shielding her vital organs during the fall or the ABC Virus Medical Kit you'd brought beforehand, plus her previous exposure to the T-Virus, giving her the fighting chance, the former S.T.A.R.S. would've died. Yeah, the protagonist halo is strong in this one too, you snort.

It's unclear whether Wesker saved Jill out of a moment of sentimentality or out of precise calculation to use her in the future.

Observing the man now meticulously going over the readouts on the machines stuck to Jill, you safely assume it could be both, but knowing the villain, he'll insist on the latter.

November XX, 2008

"Whatever you do, don't order her to kill anyone." You say over your shoulder as you continue shoving books and other things you believe a typical sixteen year old would appreciate in one box while the other also contained books but with a whole lot more of different things. 

Solar battery chargers, a swiss knife, a custom made tent, and a whole other survival gear you weren't sure would be useful to a teen mercenary as you had no idea where he would wander off to. There was even a spile for god's sake! What if Jake ended up in a desert, could he tap cacti?

You surrender with a groan and turn to Wesker, who didn't even acknowledge you as he busied himself with his project.

Moving close enough to the tank similar to the one Birkin had hidden you in many years ago, you peer inside to find the former S.T.A.R.S. now blonde and more pasty skinned than ever blinking awake.

Setting aside her unfocused pale blue gaze, you implore to the man ignoring you, "She'll hate herself and you less. Also, as her former commanding officer, shouldn't you be looking out for her in some way?"

"You think me sentimental enough to do this?"

"Hardly," you snort. "I'm asking this purely out of self interest."

Finally, Wesker deems to look at you with an arched brow and an indulgent twitch of his lips. "Do tell."

You point at Wesker like how a school teacher lectures a child, "When she's free and I emphasize 'when' not 'if', she'll be less likely to go for your head and in connection, my head. Same logic applies for Chris."

You raise your arms in a 'what can I do' gesture in reply to Wesker's glare. "They're a set. Antagonize one, the other steps in. I know, you know this." With that said, you turn your back to him and exit his workspace, dramatically. Damn, you should've worn a lab coat for the billowing robes effect. What a missed opportunity. Maybe next time.

December 1, 2008

"And that's how I ended up being on babysitting duty. I don't recommend trying to escape as you'll just get caught and then you'll be tasked to do exactly what I got you off of, after getting brainwashed. Strawberry?" 

Jill Valentine stared at the offered bowl of strawberries. Its tops were already removed. All she had to do was take it. 

The cheerful woman's back was to the large tinted window. The sun stretched its rays into the room, the woman seemingly enveloped in its light. 

The world beyond these sterile white walls was a vast forest. Trees as far as her enhanced eyes can see. No hints as to where this safehouse (prison) is located.

Not wanting to risk the eerily friendly woman's ire, Jill took a strawberry and slowly ate it. The burst of flavor made her remember how much she loved the sweet and sometimes sour fruit. She also recalls dipping them in cream or condensed milk when they were too sour. 

Slowly, Jill's consciousness rose from its deep slumber of compliance. Her mind is not yet as sharp as before, but a little above the haze of indifference fogging her thoughts.

"Brainwash?" She blurted.

The woman, whose name Jill had to dig deep into her memories. She'd heard it spoken many times. It was Freya, yes…that was her name. The woman who willingly stood by Wesker's side, but was not a follower.

The interaction she'd witnessed between the two bewildered her. Firstly, Freya was still alive despite the shenanigans and disrespect she'd paid Wesker. Secondly, not only did Wesker not react negatively, but to the contrary, he retorted back, with equal snark and dry wit. Lastly, it reminded Jill of normal interaction in people, which in and of itself was strange given that the two were anything but normal, their inhuman eyes said it all. With the little interaction she had with the bubbly woman, Jill couldn't say if Freya shared the same ideals as Wesker or if she was also a killer like him. 

Her mannerisms didn't place her in law enforcement, military, mercenary. Freya also didn't have the super strength or speed that she and Wesker had. Although she was something of a mad scientist. The computer kind, judging by the glimpse of the lab she'd seen across from the virologist's, which doesn't make sense in relation to Wesker's plan– the explosions were definitely unintentional everytime Jill saw Wesker scowl at Freya, who'd give him a shit-eating grin with a blackened face and her hair standing up on ends. An explosion that would have permanently disfigured her had it not been for her enhanced healing.

Freya, putting down the bowl of strawberries on her lap, did a quizzical tilt of her head. "Oh, you're awake ?"

Yes. She, Jill Valentine, former S.T.A.R.S., an agent of BSAA, was awake . It had been months, almost half a year since she had fallen to her death in the hopes of taking down the enemy. And to save Chris…

The memories rushed into her. She gasped and grabbed at her head in pain at the thought of the last memory. The Nightmare. The fall. The fact that she was supposed to be dead. There was no other explanation, right? How could she be still alive as Jill when she previously didn't have blonde hair, sharp hearing nor fast reflexes. Jill Valentine was a good agent. She was strong, but she was a normal human. Not…this.

How was she still alive? What had Wesker done to her? Who is Freya to be able to live together with Wesker? A red gaze met hers and it drove her into a panic.

Unknowingly, Jill had stood up. A fuming tension bursting at the seams of her splintered mind. And just as fast as she'd had it, she lost her wind when something pricked dead center in her chest. Its contents pushed down into her blood.

"Thank you, Kara." Freya is still looking at her, but it wasn't to her the gratitude was addressed to. No, it was something in this place that was everywhere all at once.

Jill had heard it before. The voice of a woman that is distinctly different from Freya's. Young, yet matronly and kind sounding. Kara, an AI that acted too much like a human with motherhenning tendencies. And those were her last thoughts as her consciousness was driven down into the depths of her mind.

January XX, 2009

Jill Valentine awoke to voices talking over her. One was agitated while the other sounded unrepentant. Jill found herself seated in a chair, back straight and hands atop her lap, she could feel the sleek texture of her dark blue futuristic looking tactical suit. Like a set aside marionette. She was now in a safehouse somewhere in Africa, Jill recalls as she slowly surveyed her surroundings and compiled the differences.

The space was smaller than the safehouse in Europe. Freya and Wesker had to share lab space with only a sheet of reinforced glass dividing their designated space. The absence of windows and the staler than usual air told her enhanced senses they were underground.

"Have you forgotten what I said about making her kill people?!" Freya shrieked, followed by the sound of something thrown at the wall. By the dull sound of impact nothing broke. "Do you have a fucking death wish or something?!"

With crossed arms and foregoing his usual sunglasses, Wesker calmly regarded the fuming woman, "My orders to her were to act in self defense. Never had I told her to shoot someone in cold blood."

Freya let out a frustrated shout of, "Fine, see if I care enough to fish you out of lava!" And promptly left the room with hurried stomping.

May XX, 2009

It wouldn't be until she was back in a BSAA base weeks after processing what happened in Kijuju and the years she was under the influence of Wesker, did Jill realize what Freya meant by the 'fish out of lava' comment she angrily made a few months back.

Having gotten over with the harrowing debrief, Jill was now undergoing an intensive medical examination in the BSAA's medical ward. Wearing nothing but a flimsy hospital gown, Jill settled herself inside the CT scanning machine and caught a glimpse of her eyes and hair reflected on its glossy surface. She smiled at the signs of them returning to its natural colors, darker blues and hazel brown starting from the crown of her head.

Rationally, she knew no one could survive a dip in lava. Not even superhumans with fast healing. Yet, Jill couldn't get rid of the thought of the enigmatic Freya saving Wesker and succeeding. Truthfully, Jill held nothing against the woman– except for when she injected her with drugs to put her to sleep. Jill hated to admit it, but Freya had tried to help her in a strange roundabout way from the extremely volatile man. Were it not for her, Wesker could've made her do more horrible things she'd had no way of coming back from.

Jill released a sigh when the machine was done and had released the mechanism keeping her in. The last three years may be mostly a blank page for her and there was definitely a lot of guilt to process for all the things she'd done, the deaths her actions had indirectly caused. However, there was also a small part of her that was relieved to still be alive and be able to see her friends again. Recovery was going to take a while and by no means was it going to be easy for her. There may even be side effects to her newfound abilities she doesn't know yet. For now, she'll deal.

Seeing the worry behind Chris' easygoing smile outside the examination room made her want to quickly move past what happened and ever forward. Her friends needed her and maybe the world would need them to save it again. She returned Chris' expression with a smile of her own that seemed to silently convey "I'm back" to the man as his smile turned genuine without the worry behind it anymore.

Chapter Text

March XX, 2009

Fuck, your butt crack itched but you couldn't scratch it right now because it was too quiet in the ramshackle warehouse seemingly one strong breeze away from collapse, where anyone would hear a pin drop, even more so the scritch of your stealthwear if you do scrape your nails on it– the material was similar to Jill's bodysuit minus the huge matrix studs along the spine and also designed a little like Wesker's coat with hidden zippers instead. You were dressed for practicality, not like a protagonist under a villain's thrall or the villain himself.

There were some goons shuffling about, some standing around and not really doing anything, hence the silence.

You curse the lack of cameras in the whole area where Resident Evil 5 takes place and the nonexistence of drones in this universe. Had that been the case, you wouldn't even need to be on the scene.

Tinkering you could handle, but creating complicated things like drones from scratch…yeah, no. Your creations were limited to the digital, everything else was just an improved version of what was available already.

And god did you hate this unbearably sweltering heat. You felt like a toad with all this slime covering every inch of your skin. Your skin tight suit was breathable but your sweat was accumulating faster than the suit could air out. It was just that hot. Oh, the things you do for your 'friend'.

So, here you were staking out the warehouse in Kijuju where you'd overheard over comms from Wesker's goons (Irving and Excella) of BSAA sightings, to try and figure out where everyone was. You hope it was Chris and Sheva this time. You've been missing them by a margin a few times and almost got caught by the wrong group twice. It was frustrating work that had to be done, much to your displeasure.

It's not like you could go up the volcano and do a stakeout there. You'd melt first before witnessing the Chris versus Boulder scene.

And speak (think) of the devil, Chris Redfield in all his rugged hunky built like a shit brick goodness kicks down the door and charges in guns ablazing. Relief and trepidation struck you at the sight. Maybe also a little starstruck? Must be the Protagonist Aura causing it.

Not a step behind him, Sheva provided impressive supporting fire. It was so unfair that everyone except you was a crackshot.

Now that it was pandemonium below, you took the opportunity to scratch that itch, stretch and pop your joints. "Fucking finally," you moan obscenely at the relief. 

All you need to do now is observe the two from afar while fiddling with your radio frequency device which would allow Kara to listen in on the two BSAA operatives' comms and keep track of their progress. Like how much longer till they make it to the Excella encounter and calculate how much time you need to head back to the safehouse and get everything ready. You wouldn't have needed to resort to such archaic means of hacking into radio frequencies if this universe's special ops communication signals weren't still stuck in the 90s. Seriously, there's wifi now so why were their devices still running on infrared?

While waiting for your device to sync, you can't help but admire the real life action scenes happening before you. The combo takedowns, follow-up shots, compliments. Yeah, this was how a partnership between well trained operatives should work. Like a well-oiled machine.

It really was a world's difference to be the outsider looking in as against the one running around for your life– although that was probably just you.

Only when Chris and Sheva had left had you realized the sync had already finished ages ago. "That's enough dawdling. Why didn't you say anything, Kara?" You admonish the AI under your breath as you put away the device and exit out a side door, boots squelching in the muddy ground.

I did. You didn't hear me. Kara's voice spoke into your ear.

"Guess I was really out of it huh?"

Safe to say by then you'd have enough time to get everything ready at the volcano. You muse as you get on the ATB you had hidden nearby and made your way back to the safehouse.

Luckily, Connor had noticed there was a large enough space halfway up the volcano to land the helicopter that's going to help you fish out Wesker and also be your getaway vehicle.

Seriously, how in the nine circles of hell are you not melting right now? Your mind boggles at the question as you watch over the raging battle between Chris, Sheva and Wesker. Probably the same reason why those three are not burning despite the proximity to the lava. This was the Game Universe after all, and there are such things as Protagonist and Antagonist Plot Armor. Maybe it affected you now due to your close involvement with one or maybe because of how you were around close proximity of both people with either Plot Armor. Who the fuck knows?

"Wow, that's stupid." You comment on seeing Chris punch a boulder like it was a punching bag. Seriously, how does he still have fingers? He's a baseline human right? Had no exposure to any ABC viruses unlike Jill and Leon, right?

You rub your chin. "Wonder if it's steroids or just Protagonist Awakening Powers or some Shonen Manga Shit."

Perhaps it's both. Kara, bless her kind digital soul keeps you sane by affirming your loud thoughts. She keeps your more unbridled thoughts on anything under the sun to a controlled focus so you don't miss the pivotal moment when Chris launches an RPG on Wesker's face which he plucks from the air and redirects to the side with his tentacle mutated arm– blegh, that bit is staying in the lava. It was enough for you that Wesker was already a monster inside, no need for it to be on permanent display outside. He can be made of tentacles for all you care, as long as it's all inside .

"Showtime, Connor." You whisper the signal for the AI to rev up the chopper, just as Sheva takes a shot leading to that cool team-up move with Chris that finally downs the villain and pushes him over his fiery doom.

The once sterile room chocked full of state of the art medical equipment smelled like burnt barbeque. 'Through hell and back' aptly summed up your current situation. You smelled like badly charred meat doused in vinegar, which would've been funny if not for the pieces of your singed flesh and melted parts of your tactical suit (definitely beyond third degree burns) painfully pulling with your every movement. 

You were healing, but not fast enough to not be bothered by the excruciating pain wracking all over your body. Not looking forward to reopening all your wounds later to remove everything lodged into your skin before letting the healing process continue, you look over what remained of Wesker.

The villain looked like the ends of a barbeque that got burnt so bad to be unrecognizable and you don't even dare to imagine what he smelled like. It was simply the smell of death and just awful, so you hastily stick the IV drips containing your blood and whatever concoction Wesker had prepared beforehand and hope to the gods of this Game Universe that your anomalous genetic existence can kickstart Wesker's enhanced healing and bring him back.

With the deed done you hastily make your exit. Kara can take over the rest, that's what the sophisticated robotics inside the room were made for. 

Dropping down on the white floor outside of Wesker's room, your eyes focused on your hands. They were caked in blood and burnt viscera. So was the rest of you for that matter and you were definitely ruining the floors, but fuck that.

Everything had gone swell until this. Seeing the battle at the volcano was fun. You know Wesker was going to take a swandive into lava and melt a few bits of himself. What you hadn't expected was the encroaching fear as you see the lava splash the moment Wesker sunk into the fiery pools. Fear of a lot of things, but simply fear of an unknown future alone . As if all the years since you've first awoken had suddenly caught up. The end of the road was in sight and the great unknown stretched beyond.

Clumps of your hair stuck to your fingers when you run them in anxious frustration. They've gone brittle from exposure to all that high heat from the volcano. There's probably a bleeding spot on your scalp, you can't feel it and frankly you don't care at the moment. It'll eventually heal.

"Fuck." You were having a breakdown of sorts. Overhead, Kara was reciting Wesker's medical chart. Affirming to you his state of not-dead despite the lack of limbs and a number of burnt to crisp vital organs (before you administered your blood, now he has the important bits to stay alive). He was breathing and stable. Brain activity was normal and so on and so forth.

But you heard none of it as the weight of uncertainty solidified around your shoulders. It suffocated you. The not-knowing. Because this was the start of it. Wesker had no more involvement in the games from this point forward, much less you, the literal Outsider, the Anomaly that should not even exist. You only had knowledge until Resident Evil 6 and 7. The 8th was as enigmatic to you as the developer's use of the Roman numeral number in the title for the unreleased game.

Suddenly, something else played back over the speakers. A voicemail.

Hey, you remember when you left Ashley that book about C# and sent me on a scavenger hunt that led me to Ori?

You snicker at the memory of the events of Resident Evil 4. You felt like shit then, what with Saddler messing with the Plaga. A tiny part of you was happy to see a friendly face. Giving Oracle to Leon had always been your plan and it made you all the more happy that Leon seemed to have benefited from it.

It made you smile at how Leon nicknamed the Oracle AI, Ori. It was so typical of him.

Turns out there's going to be a big event at that place I got Ori, Tall Oaks University. It makes me wonder if this was all a coincidence or is this your way of warning me that shit's about to go down?

You stare at the white futuristic door where the defeated villain slept inside. Taking care not to hear the sounds of Kara surgically removing flesh, bone, and other damaged parts of Wesker. Just phantom sounds, you tell yourself. You've made sure to design the room to be soundproof.

It's also got me thinking. If this would also mean I get to see you again?

Embarrassed at what he'd said, Leon cleared his throat with a fake cough before adding. You always seem to make an appearance in these kinds of things and it just got me thinking, that, it'd sure be nice to have your help in whatever mess that's going to come.

Yeah, Resident Evil 6, you snort. Everyone was going to be dealing with a lot of things there. Your friendship with Leon may not even survive afterwards, when the truth, yours, inevitably comes to light. You only hope he won't throw away Oracle out of hatred for you. All the same, you had a way to pull her back to the servers in case the worst case scenario occurs.

Naively you thought you'd have things figured out by now. Yet here you were now, faced with the path of uncertainty. Fearfully frozen in the elusive crossroads with no signs nor direction in sight or mind.

Even with Wesker off the stage, there were never any shortages of bioterrorism in the world. The rest of the world unaffected by the consequences of bioterrorism didn't even seem to fare any better than the Earth you were from. Problems like climate change, hunger, poverty, and pollution also existed here. At least back on your Earth, the Arc reactor solved two of those…and you could try and recreate that and…be rich enough to rule over the world from the shadows?

Wesker had resources, shady Connections and you had other world ideas to tackle worldly problems. If it resulted in low key taking over a more grateful world…maybe Wesker could be convinced of this heinous plan?

Kill with kindness and all that shit, yeah?

"Kara, start a file named Arc Reactor and get me some Palladium."

Maybe it was time to step out of the shadows, even if just a little.

"Connor, Protocol Evil Overlord Down is now activated. Override code, TKFKU007. I need everything on Wesker's computer. Information, contacts, plans, financials and everything I need to keep our operation afloat with the intention to expand."

A different voice responded overhead. Curt and professional. Override accepted. Protocol Evil Overlord Down is now active. All requested information is now downloaded into your terminal. Would you like me to monitor and alert you of any changes relevant to your immediate plans?

"Yes, please."

"Someone has to pick up the slack of running your enterprise." You cheerfully say in the direction of Wesker. There are other less destructive ways to take over the world and this was your chance to demonstrate to the bioterrorist how one does it the Smart™ way.

With your mental state stabilized and a questionable goal clear in your sights, you rise from your literal slump with renewed vigor– and also all the pain your existential crisis had numbed until now.

Limping to a corner with a similar setup to Wesker's room, "I should send Sherry something to pass on to Leon." You say as an afterthought, just as you carefully position yourself on the medical chair. "A Mandarin language book sounds about right." 

This may be the last time you'd be able to interact with Leon as friends and you were gonna savor it until the very end.

Chapter Text

Tall Oaks Cathedral. June 29, 2013

With the large wooden doors secured and the wreckage of the bus left far behind them, Leon took the relative safety of the church to breathe in the moment of respite.

Sitting at the pew across from him, Helena Harper sat in a similar pose to his. Hunched with elbows on knees, with the gravity of their actions weighing on their shoulders.

She may not have been the one behind the outbreak; however, Leon was sure she had a hand in the incident at the university, and him? He had shot the president. His friend. What a mess. He'd just ran his fingers down the side of his head, just past his ear where the communications bud was. He was about to talk to Ori for advice when…

Hey, Leon.

And like a lifeline from his pit of despair, a voice he'd hadn't heard from for a long time pulled him back to the light.

"Freya?" He shakily responded not quite believing yet who he was hearing. It has been years since he'd last heard her voice.

There's an airy laugh and the very sound lifted Leon's dismal mood up a notch to a more working level.

I know it's been a while since we last spoke. Don't tell me you've already forgotten my voice?

Remembering the times you reacted hilariously to the things you two had encountered in Raccoon, Leon snorted, "I couldn't forget those squeals and screeches of yours even if I wanted to."

That time in Spain didn't really count. Too short of a reunion for shenanigans to happen.

Hmph.

What Leon wouldn't give to see that pout of hers in person. Hopefully soon.

"It's good to hear your voice, Freya."

I wanted to contact you sooner, but well, you were kinda preoccupied and I didn't want to be a distraction.

His watch told him it'd only been three and a half hours since their escape from the university. It felt like half the night already. Or maybe it was just the bus crash bruise talking.

"Sooner would've been much appreciated, but I'll take what I can get." Leon discreetly shifted his position, turning away from his partner's prying ears. "So, does this mean you're sticking around?" 

Leon resisted slapping his face at his question. Because that wasn't what he really wanted to ask.

Not all the time. There are others I have to keep an eye on and I don't think it's a good idea to meet up.

Her answer was disappointing, for now; however, there was a silver lining somewhere in that statement. Freya had a plan of meeting up. 

"Thinking about stepping out for some sun?" Leon taunted. "Careful you don't burn your pasty ass."

Excuse you, but my pasty ass is the finest there is! After the volcano, my ass is practically indestructible.

Yeah…Leon blinked incredulously at the image. What the hell? Volcano? Why did that word pull at him? Something he'd read somewhere mentioned a volcano. A significant event, but what?

Besides you have Ori to help you 24/7, while I'll just be checking in on you from time to time. By the way, I've already taken out almost all of Ori's restrictions…

He'd understood why you had to do so much cloak and dagger with your correspondences throughout the years, but hearing you say that all those precautions were now gone, well, Leon could not help but blurt out, "Expect lots of calls then." And feel a flush in his cheeks at how desperate that kind of sounded.

Another laugh, but it wasn't the ridiculing kind. You were simply delighted. Don't expect I'll always answer. If you get too annoying, there's this thing called 'screening calls' that Kara can do. Plus, I'm also gonna be busy on my end. Don't you worry though. I'll give you enough heads up when shit's about to stir. Speaking of, there's one coming up the moment you open the secret passage Helena is dying to tell you about.

To his less than surprised reaction to Freya's jab and sudden info dump, Leon got a disappointed click of her tongue, What, no 'what the hell?' or scowls of irritation? Leon shook his head at Freya's exasperated gasp. Where has my fun Leon gone?

His stomach flipped at the possessive comment. Unintentional as it were, Leon took it as an opportunity to drive the point to the dense woman on the other line. "Didn't you know? Serious claims like that need to be made in person."

Judging by the choking stutter from the other end, Leon would take that as a win. Satisfied, he cut the connection.

With a heart much lighter and a mind less burdened, Leon put back his Agent mask on and got back to the task at hand. Bracing for whatever shitstorm about to blow over him and his 'partner'.

China Airspace. June 30, 2013

The long haul flight gave Leon the much needed time to finally read through everything Ori had been able to dig up on everything that was going on. Wonders will never cease with how the AI was able to gather that much information while also assisting him during this FUBAR of a mission.

Leaning deeply onto the window of his seat several rows away from his partner, Leon tapped the watch to bring out the holoscreen and start reading.

The file on Jake Muller that indicated he was Wesker's son did not affect Leon as much as it should have. This was not what the Agent expected to unearth when he decided to check in on his pseudo daughter.

Much to his dislike, Sherry was a DSO agent like him. He'd only known that her first mission, which happened soon after their little meeting at the coffee shop back in DC less than a month ago, was providing assistance to families of those working in the US embassy fleeing the civil war chaos of Edonia when intelligence of bio-organic weapons were confirmed.

What Leon hadn't known was her real mission. That of finding Jake Muller, suspected son of Albert Wesker, and ascertaining his immunity to the C-virus.

It was beyond suspicious to send in a rookie, who had just been made an agent last January, to a sensitive mission like this. Not to mention the mission area of Edonia, a country burning in the fires of a civil war, was no cakewalk for even veterans like him. He knew it even if he hadn't wanted to. His time at Holigrad could attest to that.

The long and short of it was firstly, he was worried and secondly, he was anxious. Lastly, was Sherry's last mission log, wherein she'd reported that she had found Muller and had confirmed his C-virus immunity. That was a week ago. Radio silence ever since. Even having Ori look through Sherry's last whereabouts in Edonia via hacking of questionable methods yielded no results. She and Muller vanished.

What did catch him by surprise was reading your name from Jake's file and not just your name, but with an 'Aunt' at that. It was a small footnote in his list of family and associates, if not for his eyes landing on a particular spot on the screen, Leon would have missed it.

Incidentally, it had also been the last puzzle piece for him.

Throughout the years as an agent in an intelligence agency dedicated to stopping bioterrorism, Leon had suspicions as to who was your partner. Having first-hand information within arm's reach, how could he not connect the dots and try to find you? Ori's non-answers before her lifted restrictions were a confirmation in itself.

There was always a feeling of anticipation, dread and relief in him finding out that you'd have nothing to do with the recent incidents of bioterrorism. It also threw him off the trail of the person he most suspected was your partner and in effect, you.

Honestly, Leon didn't know what he'd do or how he'd feel to have his suspicions confirmed back then. You'd be his enemy were that to happen and he really didn't want that. Still, he couldn't let this go.

And now with Ori's restrictions gone. His mind was made up. Leon dug his fingers deep into the arm rests, stomach swooping at both the air turbulence and the AI's would-be answer, "Is Wesker her partner?"

Yes.

Damn it.

Macau. June 30, 2013

"And there goes my friendship with Leon." You tell the unconscious person on the bed beside you as you dismiss the blinking alert icon beeping on the upper corner of your laptop with a tap of your finger on the touch screen.

Sherry and Jake had made their explosive escape after your help with the doors in the Neo-Umbrella facility in China. Chris' memories were never lost like in canon, which you scratched your head at then shrugged it as a non-issue. Ada, both the phony and the real one, was doing whatever Ada does. And Leon and Helena were enroute to China, getting closer to their climactic confrontation with Simmons. Everything is going according to the events of Resident Evil 6, as it should.

It had only been a matter of time for Leon to ask a fully unlocked Ori the right questions. The agent was not stupid, he'd obviously have enough clues to draw a conclusion. He'd only stalled because of Ori and also because he was your friend.

Discovering about Jake and his parentage would've been the match that lit your funeral pyre.

You had been amazed by how forgiving and tolerant he was of your admission way back when. It wasn't in the character you knew of him from the games and frankly, you felt guilty for using his fondness of you against him.

Not anymore though. Now, the jig was up and with his suspicions all confirmed, there's no more reason for him to stay friends with you. You were most definitely an enemy now to him.

The same icon appeared on your screen with a soft insistent beep. It was a call from Oracle. "Time to face the music. Wish me luck Wesker." You ask from the unconscious man, tapping his hand for false bravado or luck.

China Airspace. June 30, 2013

Helena Harper sat down in the plush seat of the chartered plane and for one moment relaxed, in an attempt to tune out everything that had happened. Her betrayal, Deborah, Simmons's treachery and whatever was waiting for them in China, she put them all on hold for now. Soaking in the reprieve of being in a safe environment.

She sighed as she put all her weight on the too comfortable seat. The chartered plane's shower with the new change of clothes improved her mood. One of the perks of working for the only anti-bioterror agency under the US government, the Division of Security Operations, was that they spared no expense for the mission. Hunnigan was a godsend to be able to arrange all this despite their supposed deaths.

Leon, having also taken advantage of the plane's facilities and now wearing a set of different clothes, stood at the opposite end of the plane, having a stare down with his phone.

Helena was aware of the D.S.O. agent having been in contact with another. Two of them, if she was not mistaken. She'd seen many times how his black wristwatch would light up and Leon may have thought himself subtle by looking away everytime, but he wasn't and Helena caught the small quirk of his lips every time the watch blinked to life. It was especially evident when he'd constantly rely on the person on the other line when they'd face obstacles to their goals.

Then she'd seen something in his ear when he grabbed her in the rolling bus. It was an earpiece. Barely visible with how it was colored to blend seamlessly with his skin; however, in that moment when they were both up in the air, she saw the earpiece light up. Helena had also heard a voice, being as close together as they were at the time. A concerned female voice. Their time of respite at the church further confirmed this, when Leon had thrown caution to the wind and spoke to the person on the other end in her presence– he'd tried to move away, but voices carried well inside stone walls.

"Well, I'd say the same, but Wesker, really?" She heard Leon's voice from the other end of the chartered plane.

Never did Helena think that Leon would be so affected by whoever was on the other line that he'd lose his cool and raise his voice. He'd glance at her and their eyes met. She arched a questioning brow at him and was returned with a dismissive wave before turning his back on her.

"No, Freya, don't!" Leon slammed one of the partitions in frustration. "Ori, call her back."

"Damn it, of all the times…" the agent snarled then composed himself in a span of a breath between turning around and facing her.

"Helena, with me," he instructs her with a gesture to the cabin. Seeing him take out his gun from his holster, she did the same.

"Can I ask…?"

"No," and Helena jumped a little at Leon's uncharacteristically menacing reply. Noticing her uneasiness, Leon reeled his animosity in with a deep sigh. 

"Never mention to anyone about whatever you heard. Also, you never saw these." He quickly pointed to the earpiece and his watch. Leon's eyes burned with something she couldn't describe, but his tone was clear. An unspoken 'or else', a threat, which he could make good on given his knowledge of her involvement in Tall Oaks. "Got it?" 

She never expected he'd resort to blackmail for these mysterious people. Helena acquiesced, "Understood."

Then as if their confrontation never happened, Leon's agent mask was on as he informed her of the stowaway in the cargo hold and warned her of possible hostiles.

She had thought Agent Leon Kennedy was just the run of the mill, do-gooder agent. She'd even thought him a little naive and found his indignant complaints against mechanical locks quite endearing.

In any case, there was more to Leon than meets the eye and she's not really interested in getting between the mysterious Freya and whatever intentions the even shadier Ada had.

Neo-Umbrella Facility. China. June 30.2013

Something was up. They should have been caught by now. Sure, she was an exceptional agent, but not Leon levels exceptional. Heck, even Leon could have gotten caught by now.

The main parking garage was just a few doors away. Funny enough how all the doors just seem to magically open in their presence much like back on the research wards where they were able to regroup, gather their equipment and escape.

"This is too easy. Is escaping a heavily secured blacksite location supposed to be this easy?" Crouched beside her behind their shared cover, Jake quietly asked.

"Not usually." She replies absentmindedly. An idea formed in her mind. "Unless someone is helping us."

Jake shrugs, "You tell me. You're the one working for an organization. I'm just a one man merc."

Macau. June 30, 2013

You couldn't help but whistle in admiration at your screen which depicted a side by side of the plans on one side and the security feeds of the offshore oil refinery turned bioweapons development facility on the other. No wonder the Jake campaign and Chris campaign didn't overlap. The place was huge!

Patting your cheeks to psyche you back into focus, you monitor the two pair's progress inside and provide some remote assistance. Your main goal was to get everyone out alive. Including Piers Nivans. Poor puppy didn't deserve to die. And Chris shouldn't have to see another subordinate die in a senseless war. Wesker may tell you otherwise, but too bad he was still busy being in a coma to make his opinion known.

Once you were properly set up, you leaned back onto the wingback chair. Somehow this situation also reminded you of that time you got cozy in the Arklay Mansion's surveillance room while watching everyone else battle for their lives. Well, at least now you have popcorn to gnaw on as you kick back and enjoy some real time action sequences.

Watching Jake effortlessly do some Wesker moves left you baffled at how different genetics here worked. How was it even possible for the kid to do such a feat when he'd never even met Wesker? Video footage was impossible as any file on Wesker would either be heavily redacted and under lock and key in the BSAA HQ or taken care of by Connor during Protocol Evil Overlord Down.

Washington National Cathedral. July 10, 2013

A funeral was the least expected place Leon thought he'd be meeting with Ashley again. Dressed in all black, the once plucky college student now a woman on her own path stood at the side in subdued grief, arms crossed and shoulders hunched in a universal pose of 'I don't want anyone to talk to me.'

Ashley brightened for a moment when their eyes met then it was quickly replaced with a tense pursing of her lips.

The Agent didn't know what to make of it so he decided to go and talk to her. At his approach, Ashley latched onto his arm and pulled him behind a tree.

"What happened?" She hissed. "And don't give me the official story crap. Did you kill Uncle Adam?"

"Yes."

"Did he turn?"

"Yes." Leon expected a verbal onslaught, a slap, a kick, anything and yet nothing.

"You…"

"Are taking this better than you expected?" She finished for him with a proud grin that disappeared too easily behind a wry grimace. "I'm not the person I was nine years ago, Leon."

"Yeah, I can see that." He lamely says, suddenly lost of all composure against the calm of the woman before him. "Ashley, I'm…"

She gripped his arm tighter, "Don't. I know it wasn't your fault."

"Hunnigan."

She agreed with another light smile before pulling back, releasing his arm. "Hunnigan."

Once the heavy moment passed, Leon had no idea what to fill the silence with. Ashley, noticing the same, jumped him with a, "How are things?"

Caught by surprise Leon hesitated, "You know…"

"Not that. I meant with Freya."

Not one to roll his eyes, but for this, he did. "You too? Geez, why is everyone and their mother invested in my business? And no. We're not anywhere and I don't think we'll ever be anything more than friends…actually I don't even think we're friends anymore."

Arms crossed, Ashley tilted her head, "So she was serious with the megalomaniac housemate?"

"I'm fighting against what Umbrella started years ago in Racoon and the people who want to do the same. Freya knew all of it and she just let it all happen. In the end she even saved him ."

"Leon, you say one thing, but from how I see it, you've accepted this about her a long time ago." There was a hint of deliberation in her tone as she regarded him with discerning eyes. "Besides, you sound like you're just jealous of this him you keep talking about."

"I'm not jealous of Wesker." Leon replies in a tone he knew sounded indignant, even for him. 

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you totally are."

"She worked with one of the worst bioterrorists out there. That incident in Africa? That was him and he'd have succeeded had it not been for Chris…"

"You're not exactly on the side of angels either, Leon." She pointed out.

There was nothing else to say, because she was right. The government was not a perfect moral standard and agendas could easily twist what good intentions it had. Case and point was this incident with Simmons. Leon was not naive enough to think it all ended with the Former Security Adviser. He and Helena had uncovered mention of a Family down in the crypts. Connections between powerful people who are involved in Bioterrorism. It wouldn't surprise him if the alleged Neo-Umbrella was funded by one of them.

The thought of it made bile rise from his stomach and leave a sour taste in his mouth. This fight he'd signed up for had never seemed as endless as it did now. 

"Is the gun itself good or bad?" Ashley suddenly asks, ending the brief silent break between them.

"If you're trying to use that analogy to BOWs," Leon pointed a critical finger at her. "I'm not risking my neck to save you the next time you get kidnapped."

"No, jeez, Leon." She huffs in that youthful way. "I meant the science behind the BOWs. Look, everything didn't have to start out as evil, even Umbrella. It's just that somewhere along the way, someone or a lot of someones came and made it evil."

There was logic in her words but no. "What does it matter that they didn't start out wanting to disregard innocent lives? What matters is now they do." Leon counters.

"If you want to be stubborn about it then fine, be that way." Disgruntled, Ashley turned away from him. "Sooner or later you're gonna see that the reverse is also true." She tells him over her shoulder as she walks away.

A coffee shop in D.C. July 30, 2013

Leon looked down at his mug of latte. Not really the type for this kind of drink. The weary Agent kept a hazy focus on the foam, as if one could divine answers from the swirling latte art. Questions of which included: has it really been just two weeks ago he'd had that clusterfuck? And why the heck did he order a latte? It's too early in the day for a latte.

The sound of a small cup being placed on his table and the scraping of a chair across him pulled his attention, before his thoughts could spiral into nowhere. 

"Mind if I take this seat?" A familiar voice cheerily asked.

"No, go ahead…" agreeing without bothering to look up. He did a double take when he saw who sat before him. "Freya?"

"Hey, Leon," she greeted once she'd settled herself in her seat. Deep brown eyes instead of the reddish brown– contact lenses, of course, carefully took him in before settling to hold his gaze.

"What are you doing here?"

She switched their cups before answering. "Just wanted to see how an old friend is doing and take Oracle off your hands if you don't want her anymore."

"Why?" Leon couldn't help but be affronted by her assumption that they are still friends even though he himself thinks it too.

"Well, it's a bit of a hassle to back her up into the servers remotely, the bandwidth would take forever for her to finish, so I figured it'd be faster to just take her back and…"

Not one to beat around the bush Leon presses onto the issue. "Your partner is Wesker."

She freezes for a moment. Her cheery demeanor turned serious. "Yeah, we're partners of sorts." She reluctantly said with a twitch to her eye. "Collaborators, more like. Well, not at first."

"Sounds like you're just using different words here for the same thing." Leon says which earns him a flat glare.

Their staring ended when Freya opted to take a sip of his latte. Leon likewise did the same, not at all surprised that she'd picked the triple shot espresso for him.

Back to a calmer state, Freya continued, "You wouldn't believe how many times he'd plotted and actually tried to off me the first few years. Oh, actually, I think you can," she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Since you've probably got a pretty good grasp of how he is? Anyways, what were we talking about again?"

And there were so many things wrong with what she'd just said, that Leon was almost tempted to let bygones be bygones. Key word: almost. His agent mask snapped into place as he asked another probing question.

"Chris made sure he was dead so…how?"

"It wasn't easy, believe me." Freya took out a thinner version of his standard issue phone from her jacket's inner breast pocket and made a few swipes before handing it to him.

There was an image of someone lying on a stark white bed in a room that belonged to a sophisticated looking medical facility. It shouldn't take Hunnigan much effort to figure out the location if it were a hospital, public or otherwise, but Leon knew better that this was most likely an in-house infirmary.

What Leon focused on was the state of the person on the bed. "That's…"

"It's a wonder, I know." Freya casually whistles. "There was barely enough of him at first. He was just like RoboCop, y'know? With how he only had his head, torso and an almost detached arm when I fished him out of the lava. It was gross and I told him if he ever did that again, he could swim in the bedrock for the rest of his life. Granted, he wasn't conscious, but I just had to say it."

"This is him now." She reached out to swipe and the timestamp on the image showed a closer date to the current day. The previous figure lying on the bed was now propped up and sitting with all four limbs intact as if he'd never lost them.

Before he could repeat his question, Freya stopped him with a pointed finger. "Don't ask me how he healed."

"Or else what? You'd have to kill me?"

"What!" Freya leaned back in horror, "Don't be silly. If I tell you, then how are you not going to tell your bosses? I mean you can't lie for shits, Leon."

Yeah and putting this tidbit on the record would bring more problems than solve this, Leon internally huffed. The man was better off officially dead. For now. 

"Fine. Then can I ask why Wesker? I get that you needed him for a cure, but I highly doubt you haven't found it after all these years. Unless…you never looked for it in the first place..."

At the sad smile Freya gave him, Leon knew this was something she'd also rather not admit out loud. "And because there never was one."

"Got it in one."

A painful silence passed between them amidst the low chatter of the coffeeshop. 

It was Leon who broke the tense silence. "So what now?" He slid the phone back to Freya and crossed his arms while leaning on the backrest casually, like he wasn't bothered by how she was going to answer his next question. "Is he gonna try to kick off where he left things?"

She took another sip of her coffee before pinning him with that burning gaze of determination, "He could try, but it'll definitely be harder for him to start something when I basically control all his resources."

Leon almost fell out of his chair as he stammered. "You…what?"

"Don't act like you're surprised, Leon…" Realizing that she overestimated Leon's intuition, Freya reared back in embarrassment. "Oh, shit. You're not acting. Uhm, ok. This is awkward…"

"So," She began while rubbing the back of her neck. "I did mention he was in literal pieces when I, y'know, got to him?"

Leon neutrally agreed, internally though he was a bit freaked out at Wesker's inability to die. "You did."

With a pained expression, Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Can you imagine how long it took for him to reform," she made a face and shivered, "his body and how much longer it took for him to wake up?"

Reform? What, was the man a lizard or something? Holding a chuckle in, Leon stroked his chin instead. "I'm guessing it took a while."

"Understatement, right there." Freya rolled her eyes. "It took years before he looked as decent as he does in that last picture and he only regained consciousness a few weeks ago. Plus, he's only got his bearings pretty recently, so no world domination plans are on the horizon yet."

Before Leon could get in a word edgewise, Freya continued.

"He's not really a reformed anything, but I'll try to keep him in line. I do have control of his resources. Also, if you need any help from either of us, because let's face it, I'm not an expert in squishy sciences..." 

Really, Leon wants to take the olive branch for what it is, but he'd compromised enough. This was the line. And…even though he's very much tempted to draw another one over it. The one that would allow him to remain friends with Freya and maybe even something more…this was not the time.

With a weary sigh, "You do know I'm gonna have to come after you if…"

"Yeah, I understand," she says with her head down before looking up at him with a forced cocky half smile, "I'll be good, don't worry."

"Ori stays with me." Leon immediately says.

There was disbelief, sadness and also relief in Freya's reaction before she wrapped it all into a mask of nonchalance. "Yeah, sure. Oracle, run Protocol Out of the Nest. Access code Teenage Rebellion."

Leon raised a brow that silently conveyed to her a 'seriously'?

Access code acknowledged. Protocol Out of the Nest is now activated. Please state a new administrator.

"Leon S. Kennedy."

Acknowledged. Goodbye, Creator Freya.

"See you around, Ori."

"Take care of her, Leon." Freya says, then without further ceremony, the woman stood up and left. 

Preoccupied with everything else, Leon remained unmoving and watched his friend walk away from his life forever. Probably.

That coffee shop in D.C. August XX, 2014

This was the second time someone intruded on his vacation time. Leon wanted to bang his head on the table and if the woman before him had a biohazard crisis that needed stopping, well, tough luck. He was already exhausted from that last one in New York with Chris and Rebecca.

"How'd you find me?" Jesus, even he could hear himself sound exhausted to the point of not giving a shit.

The freelance agent clicked her tongue. "Too easy Leon. You're only in three places during your down time. Your apartment, a bar or here." Ada gestured with a finger for each place mentioned before putting down her hand again. "Much as I want to drop by your place, I got curious as to why you keep coming back here."

"Place has got good coffee." He slightly raises the cup in appeal.

Ada places her elbows on the table and steeples her fingers just under her chin. "Maybe or maybe it's something else?"

Setting down his cup with a sigh, because laments the loss of a relaxing downtime, Leon tiredly asks, "Why are you here, Ada?"

"I've recently accepted a job from a dead man. An odd and simple one at that too, which makes me wonder." Ada places a small object. It appears to be a uniquely shaped palm sized metal box. "What have you gotten yourself into Leon?"

Getting no warning pings from Ori, Leon takes the dodecahedron object and wonders what he was supposed to do with it. "Maybe if you try telling it to me straight, I'd be more likely to answer that. No guarantees though." He adds when he realizes what the object is once he'd touch the surface. Afterall, it wasn't until recently when he'd worn a wristwatch made of the same material all these years, Leon knows exactly what's inside and who it came from. Sadly it caught the double agent's attention.

"Your reaction tells me you know what this is and you're also aware who this dead man is."

"And what are you going to do, offer him your services?" Leon's attempt at misdirection didn't work. Judging by Ada's smug tilt of her chin.

"Honestly, I don't know what to make of this." She leaned back and crossed her arms, "I've had several dealings with the man. Enough to know that this job is unlike him at all."

Hands preoccupied with the box, Leon asked. "You think someone is pretending to be him?"

"If that person is using Wesker's resources for something other than world domination, I'd count that as a win. The world doesn't need another megalomaniac who wants to create another age of evolution or some other lofty ideal."

At Ada's impassioned admission which was the earnest he'd ever heard from the woman in the many years of their acquaintance, Leon leveled his gaze on her."Why are you telling me this?"

Ada met his probing gaze with cool predatory ones. "Because I have a feeling you know who this 'person' is and the fact that you're not the least bit bothered by the mention of Wesker's name tells me a lot."

"No comment."

There was an equivalent of a snort coming from the comms in his right ear. "If only someone could've been a bit less obvious."

When Freya said he now had administrator privileges, Leon thought it was just more functions, not this . Ori has been more than his digital assistant throughout the years. She was his friend and partner through thick and thin; to Hell and back. Having an idea of Ori's semi-sentience and actually experiencing it now with no inhibitions, it dawned to Leon how amazing Freya was to have created Ori from a string of letters and numbers. Even more mind blowing was that Ori has siblings and that she was the youngest of the three.

What got Leon so conflicted even more was how much trust Freya had in him to have handed him one of the most sophisticated AI there ever was, to just be his friend –wherein said friend could probably take over the world or end it with just a few metaphorical keystrokes if she wanted to was a whole other matter.

At Ada's expecting look, Leon stalls by taking a slow sip of his coffee. It was cool now, which tells him how long he'd spaced out.

"If Wesker really is alive…I have a feeling he's not the one spearheading the operation."

Dubious, Ada arched her brow. "I won't ask what makes you so sure since I doubt you'd tell me, but for what it's worth, I hope you're right, Leon. I really do."

When the free agent left, Ori suggested (pestered) he open the box. Funny, how much more expressive Ori was nowadays, as if the final shackle released was not her computing capabilities as an AI, but her soul .

Examining the box, there was nothing to indicate to Leon how it opened. No latch, hinge, keyhole or even a button. It was smooth all around.

"There's a very slight grove on one of its surfaces. Once it captures your fingerprint the box will open."

Had Ori not told him, Leon would've missed it. It made sense though, the box was delivered by Ada and he wouldn't put it past her to try and pry the box open.

Following Ori's advice, the box opened with a slight hiss. Inside laid an unassuming bracelet that Leon knew was far more than its perceived appearance. He had guessed correctly, but it doesn't diminish his astonishment.

"Did you tell her I lost the watch?"

"No, I told her how you used it to block an attack, causing it to crack."

"W-what did she say?" He asked, knowing that this yearning for someone he had sworn not to be involved with was just sad and pathetic. But he was stubborn and proud. Even though it broke him to cut off Freya from his life. His resolve would waver especially when Ori would mention in passing how Freya is faring and is not doing anything diabolical.

"Tell him my shop is always open for repairs or replacement. I don't want him getting hurt on account of damaged equipment."

Freya's voice said in the recording Ori played back.

It took Leon a lot of his willpower to not backslide on his decision and call Freya then and there. He'd decided a year ago that he'd move on. And yet how could he when his constant companion was a creation of hers. It only made Leon miss his friend more. And to drive the point home, lately he's begun lamenting on the lost time they could've had to to become something more.

Nonetheless, a betrayal was a betrayal. The wound, although no longer bleeding, in his heart still stung.

Putting on the new watch, Leon couldn't help the smile that creeped upon his face when the lost weight on his wrist finally returned.

"Tell her thanks for me Ori."

This wasn't him compromising, but perhaps this was the start of it.

Control Room A. Alcatraz Island. July XX, 2015

Leaving Maria one last glance, Leon forced his battered body with spite and adrenaline to move back to his task, which was to stop whatever the hell Dylan's plan was.

"Ori, what have you got?" He asked heavily. His fight with Maria had taken a lot of the wind out of him. Literally being strangled and flung around like a ragdoll would do that.

I cannot activate the kill switch for the Biodrones since those are connected via a closed network. According to the logs, controls have been transferred to a small device.

"A killswitch, fantastic. Why can't things be easy?" Leon groaned. "Let me guess, Dylan has it?"

Most likely.

Tiredly running a hand down his hair, Leon made a questionable split second decision.

"Copy everything here and send it to her ."

There was a pause before Ori's response. You sure?

"No," He sighs. "But better the devil you know, right?"

Ori didn't respond to his question. The flashing monitors corresponding to his wristwatch lighting up told Leon her answer.

Ashley had a point. Leon thought as he sank down on the ground, pointedly ignoring the cooling body of Maria, and took a breather while waiting for Ori to finish. He could now see it and it only took him two years of crap consequences arising from people who used BOWs for their own selfish desire of simply wanting the world that failed them to burn.

In the end, the BOWs themselves were tools. They were created for the purpose of destruction, but he'd seen the blighted creatures in Holigrad be used to aid and protect allies. He'd been saved by one from another one that was about to pound him into dust.

On principle, Leon hated the hive mind control scheme of the virus. Overriding sentient beings. People. The atrocities he'd seen and experienced firsthand in Spain made his stance on the matter quite clear. However, the Agent cannot deny the value it presents if used with the right intentions– another challenge to find people with those.

It could've neutralized the outbreaks resulting in fewer lives lost on the field.

Copy complete and sent. Should I wipe everything?

Leon smoothed out the cricks in his neck as he stood up. "Yeah, wipe everything here. Can't be too sure who might come snooping around, finding something that'll bite us back in the ass." He ranted. "Can you also show me where the others are?"

No problem! Ori chirped.

Front Gate. Alcatraz Island. July XX, 2015

Dawn came and with it followed the closing of another chapter in their fight against Bioterrorism. Right. Leon winced at the thought of the daunting paperwork he'd have to deal with in the next few days.

Aside from him and Rebecca, Jill and the siblings, Chris and Claire all had this satisfied expression on their faces.

The destruction of the Bio Drones made Leon question the trigger happy tendencies of this temporary team. He would have also been of the same thinking had it been before Holigrad or even before as far back as the Las Plagas incident now that he thought about it.

Aside from Rebecca who also seems to lament the loss of such technology, haven't the others realized how easier their life would have been if they had this on their side?

"Don't think I didn't notice that comms in your ear, Leon." Jill suddenly asked, invading his personal space.

Leon resisted the urge to jump. What the…where was everyone else?

You've been spacing out for a while. Ori unhelpfully supplies.

The question probably meant nothing, he thought. "Yeah?"

Jill crosses her arms with judgment. "I remember seeing Wesker and her having something like it. The voice sounds a little different, but I know the voice doesn't belong to a human."

Shit. Leon blinks. She remembers.

Sensing something amiss, Jill stepped back. "I didn't tell anyone about her, if that's what you're worried about. I don't really know why I didn't when I should, but it seemed like a bad choice at the time. Looking at you now, I understand why."

Too stunned to say anything, Jill continued.

"If something happened to her, you'd probably do something we'd have to stop you for."

"What?" Leon says in an embarrassing pitch higher than his speaking voice.

Jill meets his bewilderment with a knowing gaze. "You have that look that says: the world can go to hell if she's not in it."

I like her. She gets it. Ori adds. There’s something in her voice that tells Leon she’s impressed with Jill’s intuition.

Seconds later, Jill's mask of bravado cracks and her shoulders droop in uncertainty. "I think she tried to help me."

Before Leon could ask Jill to elaborate further, she growled. 

"But she also drugged me to be complacent." And just as easily as one mask fell, another one replaced it. Emotions suddenly dialed up to eleven.

Neutrally Leon asks, "Did she say why?"

Once again Jill's emotion shifts into a somber one. Eyes unseeing as she wades inside a memory. "That Wesker would have done worse." Then she looked at him imploringly. "Did she mean it?"

It was with the conviction from having secondhand knowledge, provided by Ori, of Freya's activities during that time that Leon replied, "She did."

Knowing what happened to Jill in Africa and as someone who'd also experienced being mind controlled, albeit only briefly, Leon can understand a little of what Jill is feeling. Wesker had made her do horrible things; however, Leon still believed Freya did her best to help Jill. And it wasn't only because he wanted to believe, but because he'd seen the footage Ori provided.

Without Freya's intervention– forceful application of drugs or otherwise, Jill would have walked away from Wesker’s clutches in a much worse state than now.

The invisible scars of trauma were still there. The involuntary flinches when he’d unintentionally moved close to Jill, the overly alert sheen in her eyes, the slight jumpiness. 

Still, observing how Jill is coping now, Leon could see how those moments of respite with Freya during the whole ordeal was a tether to Jill. An anchor point to pull her out of the darkness.

Leon's Apartment. February 1, 2021

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. Resting his eyes from the glare of the holomonitor. Things had been quiet for a while. On his end that is. After the Alcatraz Incident, Leon had gone back on his mission logs and ran through every piece of information he had with a fine toothed comb (read: Ori). 

Just as well, because after Simmons's death, the government washed their hands of the incident and covered it up. It was the biggest red flag that clued in to Leon who the Connections are or are connected. It sickened him how the events in Edonia, Tall Oaks and Lanshiang were all wrapped up nicely as the machinations of one man who was now dead. What could a cog in a machine like him do against the system?

Get out.

It was the simplest solution and seeing what Freya did these past few years, never has going the free agent route looked more appealing to him than now.

Looking back, perhaps it was inevitable that Leon would seek reconciliation with Freya. He'd  harbored doubts on his belief in the organization he worked for then and now that he's arrived at this point of disillusionment…

Leon tapped the holoscreen to close before slumping into his chair. He'd tried to change the system from within and he'd gotten nowhere. Would fighting in the shadows be better?

"I'm receiving a distress call from Connor."

Who?

There was a sense of urgency when Ori forwent all banter and bluntly said, "Patching through."

"What, wait, who's?" Leon managed to say only to hear a voice he never thought he’d ever have the displeasure of hearing.

“Leon Kennedy,” the self important voice made Leon want to retort, but the next statement sounded pained and he was pretty sure that was abnormal for the person on the other side. “There is a situation, I, no, we need your assistance in.”

Chapter Text

???. July 30, 2013.

In the time between his recovery from death to wakefulness, the world had changed. Not for the better, it would seem. Wesker snorted as he read up on current events Connor had compiled on his tablet. Unsurprising, for he had failed in his grand plan to save the world. Thwarted by that insufferable Redfield!

The door to his room slid open with a light whoosh. Followed by an exasperated sigh. "Please don't."

Too caught up in his anger, an aggressive growl instead of words were conveyed with his glare to the person who entered.

Freya in all her red tracksuit jersey glory lazily flopped onto the swivel chair beside his bed. She pointedly looked at him, then the tablet on his hand and back again to meet his gaze with an arched brow. The edges of the tablet were starting to warp in his tight grip.

Wesker released his hold on the device and placed it on his lap. He was not one to waste useful tech. "I see you've been taking care of things in my absence." He finally says. Calm and collected once again.

"Managing the world takes time." She shrugged which only made the fatigue she tried to hide more noticeable. "I couldn't just do nothing while you were 'dead'." She rolled her eyes while adding air quotes at the last word.

He leaned back and took a good look at Freya. Not much had changed aside from her new haircut. It was much shorter now compared to last he saw her. It was also shaved down to the scalp on one side while the rest of her hair remained long and draped down to her chin on the other side of her face. It suited her.

Other than the cosmetic change, Freya appeared the same as she did fifteen years ago. A testament of the virus still in full effect in her system with virtually no repercussions– if one disregards the lack of combat abilities as a side effect.

He turned his gaze downwards to his body. Everything seemed to be in order. Suspiciously so even, as he hadn't been administered with his serum and yet he was still stabilized. He needed to know why this was so, but he could tell Freya would simply be insufferable about it so he refrained from asking it. Wesker instead focused on their current topic.

"And what pray tell have you been up to while I was indisposed?"

Freya snorted then wolfishly grinned. "Taking a page from your evil plans, throwing it away, drawing a new plan, making it work and now," she did one rotation in her chair before dramatically raising her arms like a showman. "I'm reaping the rewards."

He'd read as much from Connor's compiled docket and loathe as he was to admit, he was a little impressed with how you played the Connections, BSAA, TerraSave and other organizations into your peculiar schemes. 

The long and short of it is, you weren't changing the world, you were simply playing around. As evidently, most of your deeds were of the mischief sort. Annoyances with lasting consequences. Such as: taking data, altering said data, poaching talented people, and bleeding the dubious organizations dry of their financials and using them to further your investments for research or provide financial assistance to TerraSave and other NGOs. In short, you were sowing chaos by tugging on the right strings, then stepping back to watch the blocks fall for your amusement. Philanthropic results were not your main goal, but an incidental effect.

It wasn't like his grand plan, how could it when there was no plan at all? It amused him, the quiet destruction you have wrought upon your targets, that is. At the very least you weren't an altruistic idiot trying to right all the wrongs in the world. No, you were just profiting from the mischief to make more of it. Or at least, that's how he sees it as there really is no end game in sight to your actions aside from entertainment.

No doubt you utilized your precognitive abilities to be so subtle that your playthings were none the wiser of the one person pulling all their strings; your AIs and also the fact that you were a magician with money could not be overlooked. 

If not for your lack of interference with the Sein Island Incident and failure to procure the t-phobos virus, he'd have given you much more praise. Then again, you shouldn't exceed his expectations too much. He wouldn't want to kill you, especially not at this point in the relationship.

The world was not as he had envisioned, but it changed. Not for the better, if the rampant bioterrorism over the years was of any indication. Simply more pliable under the right Conductor. You could've been, but obviously you weren't interested in the role. Then again, was he?

Freya had thoroughly used his resources and influence to reshape the world order into a semblance of Chaotic Order. It was fascinating. And yet there was no decisive move. Always just one step of grasping the world and Freya pulls back. What was her end goal here, if not taking control of the world to set it right? Again, where was the end game, the final checkmate?

"It seems to me like you are bored." He taunted her with his hypothesis. "Your fallout with Leon must have been terrible."

"Not gonna lie, it has been quiet. But!" She ignored the latter topic with a flinch of indifference and leaned into his personal space with a manic grin. "But now that you're back, we can go on that research trip!"

"Excuse me?"

???. July XX, 2017

"Why did you save me?" 

It had been a question that had been bothering him as of late. Now that they were back from their excursion and secure in their safe house, Wesker gave voice to the nagging question.

In retrospect, Freya had no more need for him. Once she'd taken over everything he had, she could protect herself from those who would seek her abilities and make use of her genetic makeup. She could enact her schemes without his help. It would've been more logical for her to simply let him die in Africa and be free of him. 

Especially now that he was back in full strength. He could easily kill her and wrest control over the reins of the operation from her– although the very idea of doing so did not appeal to him. And yet years later she remained with him, still partners. Why?

Unaware of his inner thoughts, Freya answers him over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the monitor. "Imagine how much crazier my world was for me to not bat an eyelash at your stunt in Africa or at what happened in Tall Oaks and China."

Hoping Freya was too distracted with whatever she was viewing on her screen to deflect, Wesker had asked his question just as he was waiting for the readings on what they found in the Louisiana swamps last week. He frowned in disappointment when her reply did not make sense. He did remain silent and let her continue.

"Yeah, people died, but at least there's a very tangible cause, y'know. Not like back on my Earth where people around you can just turn into dust."

Tutting at the machine taking its damn time with the sample, Wesker was also irritated by her nonsensical answer and took a glance at what Freya was fixating on. It was a video shot in first person view. A documentary of sorts? Moments later the title card appeared and Wesker snarled in distaste at the insipid title of the show. Sewer Gators . 

"Crazy right? But it still happened and it's the worst, because there's no clear reason. Anyway, enough about that." She clicked the pause button before turning around to face him with a solemn expression.

"As much as you want to deny my origin story," Wesker couldn't help the snort that escaped him when he recalled the night they met and of Freya's tall tale of waking up in a different universe and how this one was a work of fiction. A video game. Preposterous.

Not minding his reaction, Freya continued. "I don't belong here and much as I hate to tell you, you also don't have a part in this story anymore."

"Perhaps that would be true had I died in Africa." He retorted with crossed arms.

"Even if you don't believe me, this doesn't mean it's the end." She shrugged. "It's a new beginning for you. A blank page of possibilities."

"I do not share in your delusions." Although he was curious as to why Freya did not include herself in that statement. Oddly specific for a dissociative condition.

And yet the idea of a blank page somehow resonates with him. It's been four years since his recovery and Wesker had no desire to pick up where he left his plans of 'saving' the world.

What is there to save when the world seemingly wants to destroy itself with the bioterrorists that came out of the woodwork? Wesker laughed at the astounding number of bioterrorism incidents in the past eight years. Worthy of note in terms of scale after his attempt in Africa were Terragrigia, Penamstam, Holigrad, Lanshiang and New York.

Perhaps Freya's method of sowing chaos was worth a try?

"You're like an," there was a wince of hesitation, "older brother to me, much as I hate to admit."

Wesker blinked at her admission. He did not feel disdain or reject the idea, which he should've been suspicious of. Sentiment was an unnecessary weakness and yet he felt something. Trepidation. Hesitation. Want. Examining it further, he inwardly groaned as he begrudgingly admitted that perhaps he also felt the exact same sentiment as her. Or else why would he hesitate in getting rid of her despite not being a pawn nor was she useful in ways that mattered to him all those years ago?

Slowly, he says. "There was one who referred to me as such."

Freya snorts, clearly knowing who he meant, "Well, I'm not crazy like her."

"Perhaps not that kind of crazy." He agrees. Alex is…or rather was obsessed with Spencer's idea of a perfect family.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She said then moments later tilted her head in question at his stunned silence. "What? We're all our own brand of crazy." She states sagely.

"Besides, where we're going next, I really really need you to watch my back." Freya gravely says.

Which was doubtful given her mirthful eyes with the way she told him, so he questioned, "How come? You have precognition. Surely you can handle the situation as it happens."

She pushes back dramatically and allows herself a few spins on the chair before saying with arms outstretched. "Sorry to break it to you, Al, but as of this moment, I'm fresh out of those."

"What."

"No more knowing the future for me. The games I got to play only go so far. I know where the next one happens, but I don't know what exactly happens aside from a few theories from the trailers."

Wesker had no idea what Freya was babbling about. "I have tolerated your nonsense long enough. You have Precognition and abilities like yours don't just disappear, Freya."

She balls her hands and clutches her chest, feigning being moved to tears. "Aww, you worried about me? I'm touched."

He shakes his head. "Only for your sanity as it is indicative of mine for trusting you all these years."

Freya's jaw drops, "You trust me?"

And faced with her hopeful gaze, Wesker turns away. "Much as it pains me to admit it."

A snarky comeback did not come, he was body slammed and squeezed by an energetic woman instead.

Despite his arms being pinned to his sides and much to Wesker's chagrin, he didn't react defensively. He had not registered the move as an attack despite its sudden execution.

"What was that?" He asked when Freya disengaged her hold and had the gall to look sheepishly as she stepped back. "It's nothing…" she stammered while going back to her side of the room and planting herself on the chair in front of the screen again with her back faced towards him.

She cleared her throat, "As I was saying, I don't know what will happen from here onwards. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. As in wala . So I kinda need you to watch my back so y'know, I don't die and I trust you."

"What."

"What?" Freya, likewise taken aback, asked over her shoulder, still avoiding eye contact with him. Then in a span of five seconds, she recovered with a confident answer. "Oh, it's a song. I've recently been hooked on it for a while and it just randomly came out. It means the same thing as 'nothing'. You get the picture."

Not really, he didn't. However, Wesker knew when he should stop questioning the madness and simply let it be lest he falls into the pit of madness himself.

Without further words exchanged, Wesker went back to studying the mold sample.

Somewhere in the Romanian Mountains. February 9, 2021. Morning.

"Are you certain this is where whatever you felt is originating from?" Wesker asked Freya while swatting away the branches and brambles in his way. They had lost contact with their AI's hours ago. It annoys him that they've lost their most reliable backup.

Something in the mountains was interfering with their equipment, but Freya was too pigheaded to turn back and insisted on pressing forward. Reasoning for having always wanted to explore a haunted house and maybe befriend a ghost or two. Furthermore adding that this was the house they were able to spot hours ago thinking it to be part of the elusive 'Village'– not surprising as far as her usual antics were.

The fog that suddenly blanketed the trail did not help cool his irritation of their situation.

A few paces away from him, Freya groaned in frustration trying hard not to scratch her arms. "It's fucking here, I can feel it! It's not as intrusive as Saddler, but the Mold or whatever it is, is literally crawling under my skin!"

Ah yes. The Mold. Even Wesker admits that the mysterious Mold also intrigues him as much as it vexes Freya. While his partner suffers from adverse effects in proximity of the Mold, he on the other hand just feels an awareness of it.

Much to his initial hypothesis, the Mold was not a simple virus. The sample from Louisiana acted as such, but that was only taking it at face value. Once he'd delved deeper into its structure and with the footage from the Baker Incident pilfered from Blue Umbrella, sufficient to say, the Mold was intrinsically more than a virus and that Blue Umbrella, much like its predecessor had no idea what they had been playing with.

The substance had for better or worse stumped the scientist in him, which was mainly the reason why he allowed Freya to drag him to the middle of nowhere in Romania in search of answers.

Though that was turning doubtful the longer they aimlessly wander these blasted mountains in search of 'the Village' where the mold was said, according to Freya, to have originated.

Naturally, these weren't the only reasons that made him accompany her. 

There was also the interesting fact that Golden Boy Chris had gone AWOL from the very organization he had founded and was leading his rogue OP here. How the mighty have fallen.

Wesker tapped his watch to bring up the holoscreen of the intel Freya had shared with him during the long haul flight. It contained the details of Chris' recent activities and the last objective Connor was able to extract from the BSAA comms before it went dark. Secure the Winters .

Scarce as the intel was, the name was of interest to him. Likewise also to Freya as she had been the one to share with him of the key individuals in the "2017 Baker Incident".

Wesker's thoughts were pulled back to the present by Freya's exclamation at having found something. An iron gate stood before them. The creeping vines that covered every inch of the adjacent stone walls twisted around the gothic design of the gate.

"I'm having second thoughts." Freya ponders aloud while stroking her chin. "I've always wanted to explore a haunted house, but now that we're here, I'm kinda starting to think this wasn't such a good idea. I mean, you're strong and I can cut whatever comes at us, but…ghosts? We are not prepared for those."

"We are not turning back."

"Yeah, you're right. We don't need holy water or salt bullets. We'll just be respectful and talk to whatever ghosts come at us."

Sensing Freya to not end her babbling nonsense any time soon, Wesker tuned her voice out.

Honestly, the last thing Wesker expected to find at the top of a mountain was a gothic style mansion beside a waterfall. It was a marvel how the house was still standing with all the moisture in the air. Surely, it was a herculean task to maintain the woodwork?

Cautiously, he pushed the elegant iron gates open, snapping a few of the vines in the process. Freya jumped at the sharp sounds and was silenced. On the side was a nameplate of stone that read, Beneviento.

Wesker was not holding out for whoever Beneviento was to be home or alive for that matter. The state of the unkempt garden points to decades of neglect. The house itself upon closer inspection was in dire need of refurbishment. Perhaps it was only being held together by the thick vines that covered the whole house. Not bothering to knock, Wesker reached out for the door knob and finding it not locked proceeded to open the door.

Having found her courage somewhere in between her rant, Frey stepped into the house.

Curiously enough, the inside of the mansion was not as musty or dusty as he had expected. The mansion was simply dark inside and only appeared to be abandoned when in fact it wasn't given the absence of dust in the air.

Which means someone lives here. With the realization came the need for caution. Wesker stands more alert, hands at his side where his gun is holstered. Watching every dark corner with wariness. Prepared to move at a drop's notice. Unlike his carefree companion who noisily sauntered into the mansion and announced their presence with a loud, "Anybody home?"

Great. Wesker groaned in frustration. The sound of something skittering across the wooden floors made him pull out his gun. Sensing something amiss, Wesker made to reach out to Frey and drag her out of the house when a petite voice spoke.

"Welcome."

Wesker had faced many things in his life, from the mundane and fascinating to the grotesque and absurd. A walking, talking doll dressed in white with no strings fell just close enough to absurd, but just a little shy of things he did not expect to ever encounter. Still, supernatural or not, it could easily be dealt with by a bullet. Probably.

He was stopped just as he was about to take the safety of his gun, already aimed at the doll. 

"Sorry for barging in like this. Miss?" Freya addressed the doll as if it were a person. What was she playing at?

"My, aren't you polite. I'm Angie." It curtsied. "Here I thought I'd have to throw the cavalry at you."

Freya, having no sense of self-preservation at all or having not heard the doll's last statement as she didn't have enhanced senses like he did, crouched to the doll's eye level. "It's nice to meet you Angie. I'm Freya and that's Wesker. Again, we're sorry for barging in like this, but we've been hiking aimlessly for a while now and seeing your house kinda got us excited. You have a lovely home, by the way."

It was fortunate that Wesker had his sunglasses on as he couldn't have remained impassive at the nonsense after nonsense Freya was spouting. It was a good diversion though, as it gave him the opportunity to observe uninterrupted.

Having adjusted to the dark interiors of the mansion, Wesker could see a number of dolls holding sharp implements hovering in shelves, end tables, and cabinets nearby. This was what the talking doll Angie meant by the cavalry. So, it wasn't just the one doll this Puppeteer can control. A minor inconvenience.

Now, to find out where this doll's master was, because Wesker refuses to believe that the doll is sentient like Freya's AIs were and the likelihood of a battered porcelain doll having a state of the art AI was none at all. There must be a trick somewhere and Wesker was going to figure it out.

Just as he'd passed his eyes on a shelf, Wesker caught sight of black lace in a normal person's height. There, the Puppeteer.

"Won't you introduce yourself?" He looks at the doll, but keeps the figure by the stairs in his peripheral.

The doll visibly tenses and Freya catches this. "Don't worry about him." She says kindly, appeasing the doll while Wesker rolls his eyes at the pointless action. Why was she doing this tiresome method of getting information when he could also do the same with a well placed bullet to the stomach.

Freya makes a gesture to garner attention as she says, "He's always this high strung. I'm sure you were just about to introduce them to us?"

"Her, I believe, who is standing over there." Wesker says throwing a casual wave where the lady veiled in black was.

"Angie. Come here." The veiled lady quietly said as she stepped forward. Her heavy dress cut through the tense silence around them.

The veiled woman had a certain presence, a distinct quality that predators have. Of course, nothing like his, but Wesker knows a threat and its level accordingly when he sees one.

Except for her slightly tall and gangly figure, everything else that could identify this Puppeteer was obscured by her heavy clothing.  Most especially her face.

"Donna!" The doll happily cried. Zooming to its master. 

Tired of this charade, Wesker put an arm out in front of Freya to stop whatever she wanted to do. He has let her lead them around in circles, time for him to take point.

"We are not here to play dollhouse." Taking off his sunglasses, Wesker concentrated his focus on the Puppeteer, knowing his enhanced eyes would glow a menacing red.

Freya doesn't say anything as she lets him step in front of her. He does see her roll her russet eyes, the contacts hiding the red color they shared.

Sure enough, there is a change in the air. A charged tension when two predators meet and become locked in a standoff.

Angie the doll moves to stand by the foot of its master. Alert and ready to pounce in all its cracked porcelain glory. The Puppeteer's veil subtly moves as her head tilts in curiosity, "You have powers…? But you don't seem like Mother Miranda's?"

As if someone posing as a religious icon could create a perfect being such as him!

A hand wraps around his, which he has unknowingly clenched into a tight fist. It would not do well to lose his temper here. He nudges away Freya's hand and keeps his hands at rest.

"We can sense something from you as well. Is this Mother Miranda involved with your powers?" He questioned the Puppeteer.

"And what of it?" Though she said it softly, he did not miss the underlying hostility in the veiled lady's tone and neither did Freya as her shoulders flinched minutely.

Sensing the tension on the brink of bursting, Freya jumps in between them with raised hands. "Look," she faced the Puppeteer with as much sincerity as she could. "We're just here for answers. We're researchers and given both of our conditions we're just looking for others like us."

Well, one of them was. Wesker silently adds in his thoughts. He was really just curious about the origins of the Mold. Those inflicted with it were inconsequential at worst and an interesting puzzle at best.

The Baker Incident was enough of an indication that the Mold was highly unstable to humans hence not ideal for further testing on humans. The random effects and mental instability was not worth revisiting. Perhaps it would yield different results on humans infected with any strain of Umbrella developed viruses but again the risks would not justify the nonexistent rewards.

Somewhat satisfied with Freya's answer, the veiled woman's tense demeanor decreased. "I am not familiar with how I came about my abilities. However, I can introduce you to someone who can. I will call and ask Mother Miranda if she's willing to meet with you." The mistress of the mansion turns away to do just that, but just before she enters a room to the left she turns around and gives a slight bow. "I am Donna Beneviento. Please make yourselves at home and…Angie will attend to you if you need anything."

Castle Dimitrescu, Ruins. February 9, 2021. Late Afternoon.

"What the actual fuck?" Freya mouthed at him. Indeed, Wesker felt the same at the scene playing below them.

After the almost hostile situation in the Beneviento Mansion, Donna was quick to arrange a meeting with not only Mother Miranda, but also three others; whom she referred to as Lords including herself, and that they were given the same power by Mother Miranda. Apparently the other Lords were already in the area for a scheduled audience with Mother Miranda.

Wesker knew from the moment he'd seen Mother Miranda and the other Lords that something was amiss. He didn't need to confirm it with whatever uneasy feeling he was getting from the Mold residing inside all the individuals in the drawing room. The strongest one coming from Mother Miranda herself. Under all the mystical posing was a biohazard outbreak. The isolated village and backwardness had the added effect of the supernatural, what with the stories of curses,  monsters like werewolves, vampires and other such drivel. 

The sudden departure of their hosts from their meeting, leaving them very much unsupervised to snoop around the impressive home of Lady Dimitrescu led them to a ruined part of the castle and their current situation of perching on one of the more stable balconies to remain undetected.

The appearance of Ethan Winters being dragged in by Heisenberg took both him and Freya by surprise. This was the last place they expected the man to appear. It also intrigued Wesker why everyone in the room was interested in killing him. The man wasn't even remotely interesting.

Once the spectacle of 'Who Gets to Kill Ethan Winters?' was over, ending with the man escaping by the sheer luck of a tunnel under the flimsy structure he was standing on, Mother Miranda called the Lords, her flock, to attention.

"I have a task for you, my children." She gestures behind her to a set of flasks containing a yellowish liquid. There were four of them, one for each of the Lords.

"These are the parts that will become the vessel for Eve. You will be guar–"

"Torso? What the fuck is this?" Heisenberg fumes with a disgusted expression as he turns the flask and makes a realization.

Dimitrescu examines another side. "Eve 3. Rosemary W. Head." She read aloud. "Mother Miranda, is this…?"

"A baby?" Angie gasps then looks up at Donna who quietly reads her flask. "Rosemary W. Legs."

Moreau flinches when the other Lords turn to him, almost dropping the flask, but keeps it steady and stammers. "Rosemary W. Arms."

In Wesker's long career in questionable research, corporate espionage and subsequent saboteur, special unit captain and lastly, an international bioterrorist, he'd seen and done a lot of unspeakable deeds. He had logically predicted that these cultists led by Mother Miranda were most likely engaged in horrifying activities. What he hadn't foreseen was how absurdly grotesque they could be. This one specifically.

Mother Miranda does not speak and this irks Heisenberg into banging his large hammer on the pew, reducing it to splinters. "I gotta admit," he begins in a menacing voice. "All of us here are monsters and we've all done bad shit, but this…cutting up a baby to what, revive your own daughter! How much more twisted can you get?"

Cradling the flask like it were the baby it was, Dimitrescu looked to the other Lords who were also equally aghast by the object in their hands before turning to Mother Miranda with a questioning gaze. "Perhaps there is a reason for this cadaver?" She sounded distraught and uneasy with the way she held the flask. Lady Dimitrescu did have three daughters she dotes on very much. A cut up child would unsettle her.

Mother Miranda continues, "This vessel is special. Only in its ability to remain alive in such a state does it serve its purpose as a vessel for Eve." Her voice impressed upon her flock how momentous this was.

"S-She's a-alive?" Moreau stutters, shifting gazes from the flask in his hand and to Mother Miranda.

Finally losing his patience the Lord with the large hammer snapped with hostility by lifting his hammer, about to raise it to strike. "Answer right fucking now, you bit–"

With raised arms, Mother Miranda had the Lords violently spasming where they stood.

"Listen well, my children." Her voice was laced with order and finality. "Take your assigned flask. Keep them safely hidden in your domains. Until the appointed time tomorrow night, you are to guard them with your lives. Am I understood?"

The Lords replied in unison and in an eerily flat tone of "Yes, Mother Miranda."

Sensing the disturbing gathering's conclusion, he and Freya were about to make their getaway when suddenly Mother Miranda turned at them with a smile. "And also, take care of our rude guests on your way out."

"Shit. We've been spotted!"

He wanted to roll his eyes at the obvious statement, but he was too busy preparing himself for a confrontation. It would be tricky as all of the Lords had abilities and he only knew of Beneviento's doll manipulation and illusions, not really combat oriented. The fact was reinforced when the lady in black simply left. Interestingly, Moreau hobbled after her. Leaving them with only two Lords to contend with.

For now, he'd have to focus on the very tall Lady Dimitrescu and Freya will have to deal with the seemingly brutish Heisenberg. 

Freya agreed as he barked his orders, moments after they'd jumped down with their weapons drawn. 

It was an easy task to keep ahead of Lady Dimitrescu's long reach. The only problem was that his bullets did nothing damaging, only stunning her for mere moments. He'd have to get close enough to rip her heart or head out.

He was just able to down the tall Lady when he heard the unusual crunch of metal.

"He's a fucking Metal Bender!" Freya cursed, which caused him to catch the moment Heisenberg levitated Freya's snapped katana, the pointed part, and stabbed her in the stomach.

"Freya!" Wesker tried to make his way towards his partner, but was hindered by Lady Dimitrescu, who'd stabbed his foot to the ground with her elongated nails. 

Wesker could do nothing but watch Heisenberg drag Freya by her collar and drag her away with him.

He had miscalculated in his assignment of tasks. He should've taken Heisenberg, but this was not the time to think the should haves and would haves. It would be no hard task for him to subdue Lady Dimitrescu and chase after Freya; however, with Heisenberg's metal controlling powers his combat arsenal have dramatically decreased. No guns, bullets, blunt weapons. Damn it, he needed to retreat and create plans to get Freya back.