Chapter Text
To many, the destruction of Raccoon City meant the destruction of the Umbrella Corporation.
For Rowan Pierce, however, it meant something entirely different. It meant Umbrella went into hiding. It meant that the truth, the complete truth, would never be uncovered, and she knew she wouldn't rest until Umbrella was fully exposed.
She sighed and leaned back in her desk chair. The office had gone mostly dark, and the only light bright enough to light up her cubicle was her desk lamp. Various others were still on as well. Some were forgotten to be turned off, and others were left on.
Either out of sympathy for Rowan or the fact that most journalists thought, "The office will pay", she didn't know.
She took out the pencil from her dark brown hair and felt it drop to somewhere past her shoulders. She brushed her fingers through her hair and sighed.
"No time like the present, huh?"
She tied her hair back in a ponytail with a hair-tie from her wrist and pressed 'publish'.
The first article about Aegis was live. The others would soon follow. But it required her to go into the field, and she knew how much her boss hated it.
"I don't want you going into the field anymore. These people are dangerous, Rowan!"
Rowan closed her personal laptop, propped it inside her bag, and turned off her computer. Once she had turned off her desk lamp, she took her phone out and looked at recent notifications.
One caught her attention.
"Happy Birthday, Mara!"
Rowan felt her stomach drop, and her throat tensed.
"Mara…"
She walked to the elevator and pressed the downward arrow. The elevator came to life as it dragged the cage up to the 4Th floor.
A loud ding sounded through the hallway, and Rowan flinched. She chuckled to herself and said, "Easy does it, Roe. You really need some therapy."
She walked into the elevator, closed the doors, and pressed the L button.
Once down in the building's lobby, she walked to her car and drove home.
She walked up to the front door, inhaled, and exhaled before inserting the key in the keyhole and turning it.
The door softly opened, and she walked inside. She turned on the lights and called out: "I'm home!"
No response.
Rowan smiled and looked at a photograph near the basket with the garage key, "Saying 'welcome home' would be nice, you know."
A blonde woman, the same age she was now, smiled at her. Her blonde hair caught in a breeze.
Rowan sighed and picked up the framed photograph, "Happy birthday, sis."
She laid two fingers against her lips, then against the framed photograph, before putting it back in its place.
Rowan walked down the hallway and grabbed a small can of tuna from the cupboard in the kitchen before putting it on a small plate. She walked to the back door, slid it open, and put it on the patio.
Looking down on the patio, she smiled as the plate from yesterday was all clean. She picked it up and yelled, "Dinner!"
Not a moment later, a meow sounded from the bushes. A gray tabby cat approached her and started eating from the tuna.
Rowan petted the cat, "I know Mrs. Thompson kicks you out at night. I wish I could adopt you."
The cat continued eating before purring happily.
A memory appeared before Rowan's eyes.
An orange tabby cat growled and hissed at her. Its mangled body is torn, and its fur is covered in blood.
Only to be chased down by a blonde blur with a frying pan. A moment later, a gunshot sounded.
The blonde young woman approached Rowan, "It’s OK, Roe. It's OK."
Rowan walked back inside, shivered, and closed the back door, locking it and closing the curtains.
She walked back down the hall and opened the first white envelope she saw.
The electric bill.
Rowan cursed.
But she had no choice but to leave the lights on all day. She really didn't.
She walked back to the kitchen, grabbed a microwave meal from the freezer, and popped it in.
She then decided to drop her keys in the basket inside the hallway and take off her jacket. The bag with her laptop was dropped on the couch, and then she heard the faint beeping of the microwave.
Her stomach grumbled in excitement.
She tore the plastic lid off the meal and grabbed a fork. She walked to the couch, turned on the news bulletin, and sat down. Scarfing the hot meal down.
The next morning, she got up and walked down the stairs of her house. She walked into the kitchen to make coffee when she noticed the sliding door to the back patio was open. The traces of sleep left her immediately, and she grabbed a knife from a kitchen drawer and walked to the back patio.
She moved into something wet and sticky. Her nose scrunched up in disgust as she looked down.
Her stomach dropped.
She dropped the knife and lunged her chest over the railing of the patio as she threw up stomach acid.
Her eyes looked over her shoulder in horror as she looked at the gray tabby cat lying on the patio.
Its insides are strewn around it. She lunged herself back over the railing again before calling the police.
Her morning faded into red and blue lights as she heard Mrs. Thompson hold her 8-year-old daughter back as both wailed over the cat's death. Rowan wiped the tears away; she had been crying as Mrs. Thompson approached her. Rowan expected her to yell at her; instead, the woman hugged her.
"I knew you gave Toby tuna. Thank you." Mrs. Thompson cried.
Rowan sobbed on the woman's shoulder, "I'm so sorry!"
Mrs. Thompson looked at her, "Oh dear, don't be sorry! I escaped that rotten city before the outbreak. Most of us do this. But we all know that damn company isn't dead. What you're doing is god's work! It's dangerous, god yes, but it's god's work."
Rowan hugged her again and cried.
The 8-year-old daughter joined and handed Rowan a piece of paper.
Rowan looked at it: Toby was eating tuna (she knew because the daughter had written the word 'tuna' next to an arrow pointing at the bowl), and next to Toby, on what Rowan assumed was her back patio, was herself.
She hugged the daughter who sobbed uncontrollably.
"I'm sorry, sweetie!" Rowan said, stroking the girl's hair.
Mrs. Thompson gently broke the hug and, after speaking with the police, took her daughter home.
Rowan talked to the police as well, but once they left, she took a brush and water. Added some brown soap and scrubbed the back patio.
She rubbed and scrubbed until the stain was no more.
She rose to her feet, rinsed the bucket out, and washed her hands. Then, she called the office. Saying she wouldn't come in and would go out into the field.
It was one thing if they messed with her, but it was another if they made other people cry because of her job. Because of her.
Rowan put on a khaki shirt, her black leather jacket, and tied the laces to her combat boots. She wore it when going into the field. She tied her hair back into a ponytail and left her house, but not before ripping the photo of the blonde woman out of its frame and folding it into her pocket.
They would pay, Rowan promised. They would pay for everything.