reloaded the pack and strapped it low around her hips, transferring a few things over from her own woefully tight pockets. She could hardly believe her luck. The medicine was what she'd been most worried about, but it was also an incredible relief to find more ammo. Even a single clip's worth was a godsend. A search of the rest of the room yielded up nothing more, not that she minded. She felt like the end was in sight, an end to this terrible and horrific night.
Get back to the prison, give the drugs to Rodrigo, then see if Steve's had any luck wrangling us a ride home, she thought happily, stepping out of the room. It had been a hard ride, but compared to Raccoon, this was a picnic…
The heavy rattle of the closing shutter whipped her around, the moment of happiness blown as the corridor, her exit, was blocked off with a thundering crash. No! Claire ran to the metal shutter, banged it once with her fist, already knowing that there was no chance. She was sealed in, the only possibility of escape now the one door she hadn't yet tried. The one Alfred had fled through. 'Welcome, Claire,' a voice called out, as snotty and pretentious as she remembered, with the same snide undertone as before. There was an intercom box above one of the vending machines, in the upper corner of the room. Howdy, Alfred, she thought dismally, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her anger or fear. The whole compound was probably wired up for sound, she'd been stupid not to think of it, and just because she didn't see a camera, that didn't mean there wasn't one.
'You're about to enter a special playground, of sorts,' Alfred continued, 'and there's a friend of mine I'd like very much for you to meet; I think you'll play well together.' Fantastic, can't wait. 'Don't die too soon, Claire. I want to enjoy this.'
He laughed, that insane, annoying, distinctly unnatural giggle of his, and then he was gone. Claire stared blankly at the door she was supposed to go through, considering her options. It was probably the best thing Chris had ever taught her, that there were always options; they might all totally suck, but there was always a choice, regardless, and thinking over her alternatives now had a calming effect.
I can hide in the safe room, live on snack food and pop while I wait for Umbrella to show up. I can sit here and pray that some friendly party will miraculously come to my rescue. I can try to get through the steel shutter, or through one of the walls … with that screwdriver and some elbow grease, I can probably break out in about 10,000 years. I can kill myself. Or I can walk through Alfred'splay ground door, see what there is to see.
There were a number of variations, but she thought that basically summed things up … and only one of them made any sense. Technically, none of them makes sense! Part of her howled. I should be in my dorm room, eating cold pizza and cramming for some test! Objection noted, she thought dryly, reaching into her new pack for a full clip, tucking another in her bra for fast access. Time to see what Alfred and his underlings had been up to out here, see if Umbrella had finally come up with a formula for the perfect bio-organic warrior. Claire stepped up to the door and paused, wondering
if she should go into battle with some profound thought about her life, or love, wondering if she was ready to die … and decided that she could worry about all that stuff later. If there wasn't a later, she wouldn't have to worry about it, would she? 'Boy, am I smart,' she murmured, and pushed the door open before she could lose her nerve.
SIX
Everything was perfect. The cameras were set so that he could watch from four different angles, all in full color, the 'battle arena' well lit, his chair comfortable. He only regretted that he hadn't had time to return to their private residence, to watch the entertainment with Alexia by his side although that had turned out to be advantageous, as well, a silver lining. The training facility's control room had cameras that could be re-angled with the touch of a button, ensuring the clearest possible view. Alfred smiled, watching as Claire hesitated at the door, quite pleased with how his plan had come to fruition. She'd chased him as he'd hoped, stepped into his trap with hardly a struggle. He hadn't expected her to actually fire at him, but that was easily overlooked in retrospect. And truly, it made the anticipation for her upcoming death all the sweeter, the addition of a personal revenge aspect into the mix. The OR1, a highly developed BOW specifically created for field combat, was one of Alfred's all-time favorites. The An3 Sandworm was impressive, to be sure, the standard Hunter 121s lethal and fast, but the ORls were special the human skeletal structure showed through, particularly in the face and torso, giving them the look of classic Death. Thek skull faces leered out beneath corded ropes of real and synthetic tendon, like a neo grim reaper. They weren't just dangerous; the way they looked was terror inspiring, at the most basic level of instinct. The island employees called them Bandersnatches, a nonsense word from some poem that was strangely fitting, considering thek unique design and function. There were thirty of them at Rockfort, half of those in stasis, though Alfred had only been able to account for eight of them since the attack… … oh! Claire was opening the door. Elated, Alfred focused his full attention on the girl, his left hand on the camera controls, his right hovering over the lock functions for the storage areas. Claire stepped onto the balcony of the large, open, two-story bay with gun in hand, trying to look everywhere at once. Alfred zoomed in on her face, wanting to
fully appreciate her fear, but was disappointed by her lack of expression. After surmising that she was in no immediate danger, she seemed watchful, no more.
But when I push this button…
Alfred snickered, unable to contain his excitement, lightly stroking his right forefinger across the switches for the bay's two shuttered storage closets, one on the balcony, one bordering the freight elevator on the lower floor. At his whim, Claire Redfield would die. True, she wasn't important, her death as meaningless as her life had surely been, but it was the control that mattered, his control.
And the pain, the exquisite torture, the look in her eyes when she realizes that her existence is at its end…
Alfred controlled his body as tightly as he controlled his life, and prided himself on his ability to dominate his sexual desires, to feel nothing unless he chose to, but just thinking of Claire's death inspired in him a passion that was beyond physical lust, beyond words, even beyond the simple scope of man's awareness. Alexia knows, Alfred thought, certain that his beautiful sister was watching, too, that she understood what could not be explained. In Claire's death, they would be as close as two people could ever be; it was the wonder of their relationship, the culmination of the Ashford legacy. He couldn't contain himself another moment. As Claire took another cautious step into the center of the room, he first locked the door she'd come through, sealing off her escape and then pressed the button for the second story shutter release. Instantly, the narrow metal shutter not ten feet from where she stood slid open and as Claire stumbled backward, trying to distance herself from the unknown threat, a fully matured Bandersnatch stepped out, ready to engage. It was beautiful, the creature. Between seven and eight feet tall, its face was that of a grinning skeleton, its head set low and menacing. The disproportionately huge upper body supported its primary weapon the right arm, as thick as one of its tree-trunk legs, longer than half its full body length at rest, the hand span big enough to cover an ordinary man's entire chest. Its left arm was withered, tiny and misshapen, but a Bandersnatch only needed the one. Alfred had hoped for some exclamation from her, a curse or a scream, but she was silent as she retreated to what she believed to be a safe distance. She opened fire almost immediately. The Bandersnatch roared, a rough guttural scream, and then performed its trick. Alfred had seen it a dozen times, but never tired of watching. The massive right arm snapped toward Claire, proba-
bly fifteen feet away, the engineered muscles hyperextending, the elastic tendons and ligaments stretching… … and it slapped Claire to the ground with scarcely any effort, the girl knocked sprawling before the Bandersnatch's arm snapped back into place.
Yes, oh, yes!
Claire crabbed backward as fast as she could, stopping only when her back hit the wall. Alfred zoomed in to see that a fine sheen of sweat had broken out across her face, but she still wore no expression beyond a kind of intense watchfulness. She pulled herself to her feet and sidestepped along the wall, moving fast, obviously not wanting to be knocked off the balcony by the creature's next blow. Alfred grinned, ignoring the disappointment that her apparent lack of terror had brought about. She'd be out of wall in another few seconds, backed into a corner…
… and then a series of blows, beating her to death against the wall … or a simple neck snap, a grasp of her head and a single, solid shake … or will it toy with her, tossing her around like one of Alexia's ragdolls?
