DISCLAIMER: I do not own Resident Evil, nor do I own any other brand names that happen to appear in the following pages. Alexandra Wesker is the property of myself and can only be used with my permission.

A/N: I welcome everyone back for this the second story in my Alexandra saga. I will warn you this story is much much darker than the last one. I hope you enjoy.

The woman walked swiftly, her steps heavy and even. The set of her shoulders and brisk walk showed that she moved with a purpose, she had somewhere to go.

A few feet in front of her, several scientists stopped and stared. As she neared them, they quickly moved aside to let her pass. The same thing happened only seconds later as she approached two security agents. Like the scientists before them, they moved aside quickly and quietly never attempting to say a word to the woman.

Perhaps it was the predatory way she moved, which only strengthened the idea that she was a force to be reckoned with. Maybe it was the condition of her U.B.C.S. uniform that was causing the onlookers such distress. The left sleeve was gone, the front right side over her ribs was shredded, and the entire uniform was covered in blood. But is wasn't just the uniform that was covered in blood, streaks of it covered her face and hair. Even the sunglasses perched precariously at the end of her nose had not escaped whatever carnage had occurred. Maybe it was the magnum she held loosely at her side, her finger resting comfortably on the trigger, that was causing such reactions.

Any one of those theories could have explained why anyone in her path moved with great care and swiftness. Then again, it could simply have been her eyes. There was a coldness in them that projected a woman without emotion. A woman who had seen hell and returned. Perhaps that was why every person she met on her walk down the hallway moved aside and let her pass.

She reached a white door, no different than any other in the sterile hallway, and stopped. Without a word, she pushed the door open and stepped into a lavish looking waiting room. A secretary looked up from her desk, an aggravated expression on her face. In the few seconds it took the bloodied woman to cross the waiting room and reach for one of the ornate oak doors, the secretary's expression had changed to one of surprise and alarm. A pale hand covered her mouth as she gasped. The bloodied woman said nothing as she opened the oak door and entered the office that lay behind it. The door clicked shut and still the stunned secretary said nothing.

In the aftermath of the bloodied woman's walk, no one moved. Scientists, security agents, trainees, even seasoned U.B.C.S. agents stood silently in the hallway staring in the direction she had gone, as if waiting for something to happen. They had all, in some way, been affected by the anger and coldness that had surrounded the woman. She had said not a word to anyone as she had walked. In fact they doubted that she had even seen the people who had stepped aside for her.

One by one, the employees shook off the effects the woman's passing had left them with. A few giggled to themselves, perhaps hoping the strained laughter would instantly dispel the uneasy feelings. Many simply shook their heads and turned back to their original destinations. One man, however, did not turn away and move on to his destination. Jonathon Davis did not ignore the unease that was, instead of dissipating, slowly growing. Davis took a few steps forward, moving toward the white door through which the woman had entered only a few minutes ago. Halfway to his new destination he picked up his pace.

By the time the gunshots were heard…he was running…