Oh, my.

Chris, who'd been on the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S., who'd been led – under Wesker's command – to the Spencer es– tate, where he'd proceeded to thoroughly screw up Wesk– er's plans. Chris Redfield had cost him money, had almost cost him his life – but worst of all, he had been primarily responsible for the biggest failure in Wesker's career.

Wesker recovered himself quickly, a dark, wonderful joy spreading through his entire body. "Chris Redfield, as I live and breathe – what brings you to Rockfort, if you don't mind me…"

Wesker trailed off, still gazing up into Redfield's in– creasingly red face as he uselessly pried at Wesker's fin– gers. The girl, of course! He hadn't even known that Chris had a sister, but the deranged letter that Alfred Ashford had so thoughtfully left behind explained everything… including his plans for the young Claire Redfield. "She's not here," Wesker said, grinning. With his free hand, he straightened his sunglasses. "You… you're dead," Chris gasped, and Wesker grinned wider, not bothering to respond to such a stupid statement.

"Don't change the subject, Chris. Don't you want to know where Claire is, hmmm? Did you know that her plane took a little unplanned detour to the Antarctic?"

Chris was slowly choking to death, but Wesker could see that the news of his sister was hitting him harder than his own imminent demise. Wonderful! "There are experiments being performed there,"

Wesker mock-whispered, as if telling him a secret.

"I plan on going myself, see if I can get an experiment or two of my own going… tell me, is your sister good-looking? Do you think she might be interested in get-ting some action, because I've got a hard-on like you wouldn't believe…"

Chris flailed at Wesker, the helpless fury in his eyes absolutely gorgeous. He hit Wesker in the face, knock– ing his sunglasses to the ground… and Wesker laughed, blinking up at him slowly, letting him see. He still wasn't used to it himself, the gold-red cat's eyes oc– casionally surprising him when he looked in a mirror and they had exactly the effect he'd hoped for. "What… are you?" Chris rasped out. "I'm better, that's what," Wesker said. "New employ-ers, you know. After the Spencer estate, I needed a little help getting back on my feet, which they were perfectly willing to provide. You think Claire will like it?" "Monster," Chris spat. I'll show you monster, you shit.

Wesker started to close his hand, slowly, watching Chris's eyes bulging, a vein on his forehead popping out…… and was stopped by the sound of laughter. Cool, fe– male laughter, filling the room, surrounding them. "Don't you want to play with me?" a voice said, the same woman, low and sexy and dangerous, and then she began to laugh again, an unmerciful, beautiful sound that finally trailed away to nothing.

Alexia!

God, she was awake… and the kind of power it would take for her to look in on him here, to project her– self so far… Wesker threw Chris to one side, barely hearing the plaster wall crack beneath his useless skull, his thoughts full of Alexia. He had to go to her immediately. He had to have her, and not just for the sample… though he'd take what he could get. "I'm coming," he said, scooping up his sunglasses and then moving, speeding through the broken facility to where his private plane waited. Chris Redfield was his past; Alexia Ashford meant his future. Chris crawled to his feet soon after Wesker left, aching in about a dozen places, his throat horribly sore. He didn't know what had happened, exactly, didn't know who the woman was or why Wesker had seemed so eager to get to her – but he understood now who had attacked Rockfort, and suspected the reason. Albert Wesker should have died when the Spencer mansion had burned, but it seemed he'd sold his soul to someone new at the price of his life, someone obviously as nasty and amoral as Umbrella – someone who was perfectly willing to kill for whatever it was they wanted, for something that Umbrella had. Chris didn't care. At the moment, all he cared about was Claire, and getting himself to this Antarctica facil– ity. He knew that Umbrella had a legitimate base there… it had to be the same one, and if it wasn't, somebody there would know where the experiments were taking place. He had one grenade left. If he could find the under-ground airport, he'd have no trouble getting inside, and he could fly anything with wings. He'd radio on the way for a read on the Umbrella base, and if he couldn't find a weapon to get her out, he'd use his bare hands. All that mattered was Claire. And he was on his way.

THEY WERE MERE HOURS AWAY. Two men connected by history, one her enemy, the other… Alexia didn't know about the other, not yet, but knew that he meant to reclaim the girl she'd taken from the snow machine. Probably the boy, as well. None of them would be leaving, of course… but she was looking forward to the petty intrigues and overblown, self-impor– tant dramas that their humanity would bring to her home. She would enjoy the chance to observe their natural ten– dencies and instincts before forever altering their lives. She stood in the great hall considering things: possi-ble futures, her next transformation, the structural and psychological changes her new synthesis would create in humans, how she should welcome her new guests…… and it occurred to her that her home, deep beneath the ice and snow, might be difficult for them to achieve. She immediately wished for the doors to be opened, for ob– stacles to be removed… and she heard and saw and felt the result in the same instant, existing in a hundred places at once as locks were broken and walls were taken down, as debris was pushed aside and apertures were widened. She was prepared. Things would move quickly now… and what happened in the next hours would, to a degree, define her choices for some time to come. It was all still so new, the templates of her new life written only in sand… Smiling at her own poetic notions, Alexia went to see about the first series of injections for the boy.

Something was very, very wrong in Umbrella's Antarc– tica facility, but Chris didn't know what it was. On the fifth basement level of the dark and deserted compound, hundreds of feet beneath the snow, Chris stood in front of what appeared to be a full-blown man– sion made of white brick. There was a fountain behind him, potted plants, even a decorative merry-go-round. He'd been led there, presumably because someone wanted him to go inside, but he didn't know who or why. His instincts were telling him to get the hell out, but he ignored them. He had to, not knowing if he was a lamb being led to slaughter or if he was being taken to Claire. Since landing the jet in the roof hangar, he'd been guided every step of the way – walking into halls and having doors lock behind him, others opening up in front of him… twice, he'd found jewels on the cold ce– ment floors, pointing him in a particular direction, and once, after taking a wrong turn, all of the lights had gone out. They'd come back on when he'd groped his way back to where he'd gone "wrong." It had been strange enough just getting to the facility, passing over me endless miles of gray ice and snow… and then seeing it for the first time, rising up from the blank plains like an illusion…

But to be herded someplace like an animal, shuffled along without knowing the reason…

Chris was scared, more scared than he wanted to admit. He'd tried to stop, to look around for weapons or clues, but everything had been shut off, every door he tried locked – except for the ones he was supposed to go through, of course. The cameras that had to be watching his every move were so well hidden that he hadn't seen even one of them… but it almost seemed that his shep– herd knew his mind, knew what signals to give him, knew how to keep him going. He'd thought initially that it was Wesker, that it was all some setup to trap him, but why bother? He could have strangled Chris at the is– land if he'd wanted to. No, he was being guided for some other reason, and it seemed he had no choice but to follow along… not if he wanted to find Claire. He took a deep breath and opened the front door of the mansion, stepping inside. It was beautiful, as extravagant as the front of the building had suggested, grand staircase, arched pil-lars – and strangely familiar, though it took him a mo– ment to see how, the colors and decorations different. It was the layout – the same basic layout as the front hall of the Spencer mansion. It was surreal, but so perfectly harmonious with all the other weirdness that he didn't bat an eye. Chris stood for a moment, waiting, looking around for another signal – and then he heard what sounded like a laugh coming from behind the stairs. It was the same laugh that he'd heard at the Rockfort facility, that woman.