AN: Sorry! Sorry! School has started up again and I'm not good at time management! They're not sparing the whip this year, so yes, delayed, sorry!
I have a feeling some of you might think this is too 'neat'. And I can see that you would be right in thinking this. But, to hell with it, I sorta like it. If you don't, I apologize and ask you to bear with me for this chapter.
Zarbok – thanks! It's good to know someone thinks I'm improving! Snake stew? SNAKE! That sounds exotic! Wesker said to thank you for the stew. I never would have picked you as the sort people could bully, but I certainly don't think you're a sociopath! For one thing, you're just too cool, and for another, you were acting in defense of your surrogate sister! I think that makes you a Saint. Thanks for the review!
Rain - I do admit she has phenomenal bad luck! Probably because I'm pretty unlucky and have emphasized this characteristic on Ruth so I have some one to commiserate with, lol. Thanks for the review!
CassSpaz – You know the name for that? Lol, that's awesome! I'm glad to hear you think that she's well-written. Writing a Mary-Sue would turn to mortification! Thank you for the review, and update soon yerself, y'hear!
Chapter 16: Dark exploring
I would really, really have loved to say I woke up on a four poster bed with Brahms' lullaby playing sweetly in the distance and a crystal chandelier softly illuminating a lavish room – but it was just not meant to be.
In reality – cold, cruel place it is- I woke slowly. My mind switched into consciousness and then a systematic full-body assessment was run. I deduced that I was lying on the concrete floor in a position somewhere between a starfish impersonation and the much acclaimed fetal ball. Indeed, not the most elegant way to awaken, but when have I ever been a Disney princess? My head felt achy, and my thoughts distant as if there was a thin layer of cotton muffling the murmurs of my brain. My neck twinged occasionally, but on the whole it looked like my unscheduled nap had helped the healing process.
I slapped one hand heavily against the cold concrete that had been my mattress, and pushed myself up on it. Then, as I lifted my head slowly to scan around me and take in the surroundings, I paused like I was doing one-handed pushups.
Oh holy shit.
My arm soon began shaking under the weight of my body, reminding me once again that I had been neglecting my workout routine. But my physical fitness – or lack thereof – was the least of my worries at that particular point of time.
Oh crap.
I scurried over in a crawl to kneel beside the body. The man was lying on his side, and I grabbed the shoulder to pull him to face me. As I had already guessed, the man was Christopher Finch, and he was very dead. His red t-shirt was stained with trickles of a darker crimson. As soon as I saw this I became aware of a grossly warm liquid seeping through the material of my army pants, and knew that I had just knelt in a puddle of researcher blood.
He was dead. A very quick search showed he had been robbed of both gun and security-pass, and that he had received a bullet to the gut.
From the placement of the bullet, I knew that for the last twenty minutes or so he had been bleeding while stomach acid had gently seeped through the puncture wound, resulting in self poisoning. A very painful way to go. Judging by the shining red smears in the moonlight, it looked like he had been gamely trying to get himself somewhere, probably an infirmary, for the first few seconds before pain and shock took over.
I stood, cringing as the blood-sodden material of my army pants came in to wet contact with my knees. There was no sign of the person who had done this. They had long since disappeared, and without a calling card.
I won't pretend that by this time I was immune to the terror inspired by seeing a dead body, but I was well on the way to become numb. Unlike the bucktoothed, bespectacled individuals who worked on finding novel new uses for the company's 'beneficiaries', I had to turn away from the dead man on the ground and ignore the feeling of his dead eyes on my back.
Condemning dead eyes, with their promise of inescapable inevitability.
Standing in the corridor was not a liberty I could allow myself. With Researcher Finch dead, at least I could wander at will. And I was saved any moral scruples about this fact because I was not the one who had killed him, and remaining a prisoner when there was no jailor would not revive him. I had no reason to stay.
Not guilty. No way. Nothing to do with me whatsoever. I didn't kill him. I'm not at fault.
Keep saying that, girl, make it truer.
I considered, then, finding the STARS was a necessity. Call me a wuss, but creepy Research facilities with murderers roaming around has a way of making me feel a little uncomfortable, and it's a well known and media exploited fact that there's safety in numbers.
If I was a notorious prisoner, where would I be?
They would have been taken into this building, that was a given. Darkness + forest easy to escape and elude captors. Personally, I would have put them in the top floor, away from all quick escape routes, excluding an attempt survive a five story fall and a splatter at the bottom.
But Umbrella in particular was infamous for its queer infatuation with basements...
But then again, Christopher Finch was an intelligent man. No doubt he had taken all things into consideration and then decided on the most defendable area…
I'm really flying blind here. But hey, I'm on the second to top story. Let's check this one, and then go up and check out the top. If no one's there, I can just come down at check the basement. They have got to be found.
And so, with neck still smarting on the odd occasion, I left the empty body of Researcher Finch and delved into the darkness to find my companions. I quickly found that every room on the floor I was in was devoid of dirt and documents, but more importantly, devoid of my friends. I wasn't entirely surprised, as none of these rooms were guarded and must have been used for some unknown purpose.
For rooms that had locked doors, my confidence was much disturbed by having to knock loudly and inquire if someone was within.
Nevertheless, it became apparent that on this floor I would find nothing of notable worth. Nada, zilch, nothing. Not even a sign of the mystery killer.
I was beginning to get jittery, nerves slowly unraveling. The first sign was that I fancied I could hear whispering voices from people who dissolved into the shadows as soon as I turned to look. But knowing it was only a mind trick, I tried to ignore the whispering murmurers and focus on the task at hand.
- (What was that? Did you hear that? Quiet, just the fruits of imagination. )-
On the top floor there was some life. I slipped through the door that led to the stairs, as fluidly as I could, and caught the sound of a shushing voice. Though such whispers had been playing less than funny tricks on me for some time, I could instantly tell the difference between imaginary and real. Staying light on my feet, I moved away from the door as quickly as I could without compromising the silence.
"Did you hear that?" The voice was a light whisper, billowing around me like a gentle breeze. It was hard to pinpoint the direction it came from, but I headed to where I fancied it came from, eyes wide to take in as much of the surroundings as they could.
"Hear what?"
"The sound of a door being opened."
"No," the voice became bolder, seeming more solid. "It's just your mind playing tricks. Don't get so uptight! I haven't seen you so jumpy since you met Finch's new doggie!"
"Doggie, ha! That thing's a wolf!"
"Come off it, you're just his bitch."
I turned a corner, and saw two men in the light of a solitary battery-run lantern. This reminded me instantly of old-time jailors. One was short and stocky, and the other was taller but still the same build. Neither had noticed me, so I sank back into the shadows, ducked out of sight, and listened.
"So, what they here for, anyway?"
The other scoffed scornfully. "Don't you know anything? They're STARS. Not just STARS, but the STARS. The people who caused so much trouble in Raccoon City and in Antarctica. They're the tope of Umbrella's Most Wanted list."
"Raccoon?" His companion seemed confused, talking in a quiet voice that made me hold my breath so the sound of the air filling my lungs didn't drown his words out. "But I read every newspaper article about that, and there was never any particularly special mention of STARS."
"You can't believe everything you read, you know."
STARS? They're here!
I felt a momentary flash of pride at having being right in my predictions that they would be imprisoned on the top floor, but this feeling was quickly chased away by the fact that there were two armed thugs between my unarmed self and the locked door. Being probably below the tallest's chin, it was painfully obvious that to get past them I would require some sort of weapon or help to gain access,
I stole silently away. In the back of my mind, I hoped that soon this would be all over and I could stop this mincing around – it was enough to make me wish that as an eight year old I had donned the tutu and joined my more refined friends in ballet lessons. But in the meantime, I had to make do with making my clomping way through the dark corridors that were still warmed by the extinguishing heat of the day, feeling uncomfortably as subtle as an elephant farting in church.
All the rooms were locked tightly, except for one. My fingers brushed over the useless light-switch on the wall before they finally came into contact with a smooth round door handle. I gently twisted it open, testing for resistance and keeping it quiet.
Inside it was so dark that all light seemed to be absorbed. Blinking, I took a hesitant step inwards and automatically collided with something. There was an achingly loud 'DONK!' as something fell to the floor. The noise almost gave me a heart attack. Unfortunately, so did the alarmed cry from the two on sentry. I crawled into the small room, careful not to create anymore havoc, and closed the door behind me.
Smooth, Ruth.
I was in a cleaning cupboard - that much was obvious from the strong, suffocating smell of the alkaline cleaning fluids. I had walked into some sort of trolley that housed mops, buckets, and bottles of spray cleaner. Crawling behind this interesting contraption, I sat, hoping I was hidden from the door's vantage point.
My heart was in my mouth as I heard the muted murmur of the guards approaching my hiding place slowly. In my mind's eyes I could see them searching the corridor, seeing the cupboard door, preparing to open it...
Calm. Serene. Unworried.
The handle twisted. I could hear the door mechanism squeaking and then felt the rush of air as the door was opened. Then the light from the lantern came, bathing the mops in a soft golden glow. I stayed as still as I could, keeping my breathing low, steady and even like I had been taught too, and hoped.
Then, a noise! The light faded in intensity as the lantern was held away, and then disappeared completely as the guards moved in the direction of the new sound. I stayed frozen for a moment or two before leaving my unlikely haven.
The end of the corridor was lit by the pale glow of the lantern-toting sentries who had disappeared around the corner. I backed away from them, moving in the opposite direction to put as much distance between us as was possible.
Who, or what, had made the noise?
There were no B.O.Ws in this place – thank god. At least, none that I had come across. But I personally found armed guards more frightening than severely ill individuals. Christopher Finch flashed across the inwards eye – not the strong, confident researcher I had met in the Break Room, but the dead and empty corpse lying on the cold floor somewhere below me.
Yes, a weapon was in order.
I continued down the corridor away from my locked-up friends. My progress was slow. Despite all my training, breathless fear seemed close, and reminded me that for all my bravado I had never had to face an outbreak situation – or indeed, any situation. Up to this point, my work had been limited to classroom exercises. And yet somehow I acted like I knew it all, like I could handle anything that came my way.
I almost hoped the act spilled over into reality.
Come off it! I don't know what's going on, and I don't know how much I can do. But I told Chris in the kitchen last night that I'd get the job done, and that's damn well what I am going to do. No if, buts or maybes. That is how it's going to go.
I remember my first training exercise. We were all sat down in a semi-circle around some unknown teacher. It was outside, in some one's well cared-for garden. The jasmine was in flower and the sweet scent had stained the air. I knew nothing about what I was doing. And yet, I was more confident than I had ever been.
"What harm can happen in a garden so pretty?" I guess that's what I was thinking. It was so like Gramma's, before the arthritis in her wrists got too bad and she couldn't garden any more. The flower beds, the pansies, the blue-purple-pink combinations and that irrepressible jasmine that climbed the trellis. Yeah, I guess the garden had struck a chord in my psyche.
I wanted to catch that feeling of confidence. The innocence – no, naivety – that nothing could go wrong in such a place. As it turned out, I had been in for a lesson about camouflage – the first of many. Others who had been learning with me had been nervous beyond words, listening to rumours fuelled by imagination. But seeing the garden, I had been soothed.
By tapping into the memory of that comfortable, anticipatory easiness of my younger self, walking through the dark hallways suddenly became a lot easier. No longer did the ghosts of the past haunt my mind and whisper with echoing voices, no longer did the grisly sight of my parents stay in front of my eyes, or Rebecca Chambers, or Christopher Finch. For however long the illusion lasted, they were locked in the past.
I guess everyone has their little tricks to keep themselves sane when the going gets tough. Huh, what a cliché. Going gets tough, when push comes to shove, when the chips are down, when time is out. Pull together or push apart. But the fact remains, it's true. Everyone has a way of dealing – they have to. And I found that evening that mine was to fake it and let karma do the rest.
There's no point in being scared of something you can't control.
As a scientific fact, every year there are many unreported near meteor-strikes. If one should hit, we wouldn't even get a chance to kiss our good intentions goodbye. But no amount of stress or loss of sleep would change that fact, would it? So, live life, and get on with it.
Oh, so easy to say.
Confident in the knowledge that I was a good person and those trying to kill me were bad people and that karma would thus obviously support me, I swaggered along with all my bravado in tow. The final blow to my ego came when I walked around the corner – and was pulled through a doorway into another dark room.
The hand on my upper-arm had long, elegant fingers that were capped with nails kept short and neat. Currently they were painted in the style of a French manicure, which gleamed in the limited moonlight. The hand itself had skin kept soft with moisturizing lotions. This hand was attached to a Eurasian beauty that instantly inspired a great deal of envy from me.
"Shh," she murmured, pulling me further into the room.
"Who are you?" I asked, furious that I had gotten over-confident and then been deflated so quickly.
Her elegant brow wrinkled in reprimand as she shut the door quietly, taking her time and testing the resistance in such a way to make the door close silently. Then she motioned for us to move away from the door, coming to rest sitting on top of a bench near a window. I choose to remain standing, crossing my arms haughtily and pouting before I realized how childish I must have looked.
"My name is Ada," she told me in a bored, low whisper, "And I am the person who has been tailing you since yesterday at the whim of HCF. Admittedly, not how I would have chosen to spend my time. I missed CSI: Miami last night. You are Ruth. Introduction over. Happy?"
Ada. Ada Wong. I had heard about her, both from Henare and other HCF sources – which included the rumour mill. No one really knew much about her. I had come to the conclusion that she was spy that answered to Harold Corwin alone, detecting enemies and moles within the ranks of the company. Best to tread carefully, I decided, and don't let anger get the better of you.
"Very happy, thank you."
"The only reason I'm here talking to you is that you're running around blind. I'm not supposed to be involved. Fortunately, the security cameras are all out, so I don't have to worry about Umbrella finding out about me. Seeing as you've almost jeopardized this mission many times over already, here's what I'm going to do: I'll get the files Mister Corwin is over, you blow up the facility. With or without the STARS."
I blinked in the face of her dominating personality. "How do I know you'll take the files back to Mister Corwin?"
"Because I'm going to. But even if I don't, what does it matter? Your main objective is to raze the building to the ground, or whatever you're going to do. The files were just the icing on the cake." Her dark eyes seemed to show no lie, but woman such as her are experts at hiding their true motives. These eyes then flickered over me. "You're unarmed?"
"Yes."
"Here," in her perfectly manicured fingers she held a key. "It's to Researcher Finch's office. I think you'll find some of your things in there." She almost seemed to smile. "He's got a pet."
A dog, I thought, remembering the conversation between the two guards. Taking it, I thanked her lowly.
She inclined her head, short dark hair falling forward in a shining curve. Knowing my own was probably woolly and static-ridden, it was very easy to dislike her. "Security will soon be up and running. By then I should have all the files needed. You won't be seeing me again, unless we run into each other by chance."
It was nothing more than I had expected. I didn't know her; she didn't know me, why would we risk our lives for each other?
"I needed to give you the key because there's a lot riding on this tonight. I mean, if the project isn't shut down, well... then Umbrella could easily catch up and put us out of the running." She swung herself off the bench. Before she opened the door and disappeared into the inky blackness, she looked back at me. "If you should find Leon Kennedy, don't tell him you know who I am."
"Alright," I agreed bemusedly. She gave an unusual smile, and then was gone.
I waited for thirty seconds before I slipped into the corridor after her. It was then that I realized I had no idea where Christopher Finch's office was. It could have been on the ground floor for all I knew. But hopefully it would be a little bit closer to where I was. At least with Ada Wong supposedly getting the files – and I had no reason to doubt that she wasn't – that was something I didn't have to worry about. If the rumours were correct then she was a talented hacker and could access such records from even a receptionist's computer.
Back in the corridor, I headed uncertainly down. I had one hand against the wall, guiding me like I was blind. It will always be a mystery how people with no sight can move so confidently and fit into a world largely made to be exploited by those with all their senses intact. This hand brushed over many doors and nametags before coming to one that was engraved.
Engraved. You wouldn't engrave an unimportant sign, would you?
You wouldn't have a little square with 'lavatory' engraved when 'president' was just printed…
Searching fingers quickly found a small keyhole, and after a fair bit of drunken-esque fumbling the key was made to fit the hole. The click of the metal turning against the tongue of the lock made a loud echo in the corridor, but the door itself sailed inwards on smooth hinges.
Then, a gruff pant as something leapt towards me! A heavy weight hit either shoulder, making me fall and then pinning me to the ground. Hot air blew on my face, interrupted by a low bark.
Hold up – bark?
It took my dulled brain a second that seemed an age to realize the hot-breathed creature sitting on my torso was a dog. Further more, it was my dog – my Kavik, my little German shepherd who had been left behind weeks ago in Bottle Lake Forest to face an uncertain fate.
"Kavik?"
I felt certain a doggy grin spread across his face with a simultaneous whine. Managing to push him off me, I looked at my dog – tied ineffectually to a desk by a leash – with mixed emotions. Sure, I was happy, if not confused, to see my dog again. I had indeed missed his doggy ways and unrestrained friendliness. But I also knew that having an extra body – much more a canine that, while smart and affectionate, I could barely control – made the situation much more perilous. However, the expectant thumping of his tail took me out of my muddled thoughts, and reached a hand out to scratch his ears.
I guess Kavik had made a friend of Researcher Finch, for a dog bowl lay nestled in the corner of two walls, overshadowed by a rubber plant in a pot. The next thing that caught my eye was my weaponry piled neatly on the top of the desk. There were other firearms here as well, and I believed them to be belonging to the STARS. As I could not carry all of them, I made a mental note to come back here when they were free. The room was free from the accumulation of paperwork that I would have deemed normal and I came to the conclusion that Miss Wong had already been through this room.
It came to my attention, as I checked the Berettas were both loaded and 'ready to roll', that in coming to Researcher Finch's office, I had found one of my much-needed weapons.
"Heya, Kavik," I mumbled, smiling thoughtfully. His head cocked onto on side. Dark canine eyes peered back at me from a cunning-seeming face. "I think I have my load of karma due."
(AN: I hope you like it! I hope the next update won't be too far away! The plot bunnies look ready to escape on me, and there are beavers everywhere! Please review!)