The light faded in out as if she were part of some freakish TV show. Voices seemed close and then all at once far away. She was having a hard time distinguishing between what was real and what was part of her demonic dreams. Ozwell Spencer had once said everyone working at Umbrella had a demonic conscious. He had said that they deserved to.
She heard a voice she recognized and strained to wake herself. The voice would tell her what was going on. "She…used…for experimental…" The words danced and faded as she struggled to grasp them. "Purposes…" That voice, the one that spoke with deep melodic tones was familiar. If only she could put a name with it. But she couldn't stay awake long enough to make the connection. She met with the darkness willingly and let it embrace her…
The Tyrant, as the beast had jokingly come to be called, stood over eight feet tall with talons that ran the length of enormous legs. It was, at one time, at least partly human. Now it was merely a test subject, a rat in an analysis tube. And Albert Wesker was about to let it out.
The fluid that had once held the monster in a chronic slumber began to drain away and the Tyrant's fingers began to twitch. The scream caught in her throat as she watched the extraordinary creature shatter the glass around itself with one sweeping motion of its arm. She couldn't control the monster under these circumstances and neither could anyone else. In an instant Wesker realized that the monster was coming toward him and ordered the creature to stop. His command was unheeded as the monster gored him with razor like claws.
Wesker's knees buckled and he fell, blood streaming across the floor with savage force. This time she did scream… the sound gut wrenching and soul tearing. But the pitiful cry went unheard as Chris Redfield hoisted his shotgun and fired at the lumbering brute.
Neither man nor the beast noticed her and they raced toward the exits, each hell bent on the other's death. Miranda crawled toward the growing tide of blood that had once belonged to Albert Wesker. Her voice was now dissipating to gasping sobs…
The darkness was ebbing. Miranda knew that only semi-consciousness would find her for the time being…
He was here. The voice that had intrigued her in her waking moments was here. She could feel his presence although she wasn't sure how. All at once he was leaning over her and through the blur she saw the image of a ghost.
"Wesker," she whispered, but she was too tired to say more. The ghost said nothing in return. Instead he continued looking down at her, silent as the grave he had come from. Miranda convinced herself she was still unconscious. Otherwise how could this man be here? "Wesker." She whispered his name again. Finding those few words too much, she drifted back into her dreams…
When she reached Albert Wesker he was barely breathing. His chest was heaving painfully giving way to profuse gushes of blood. He lay still, pallor creeping over his handsome features.
"Forgive me," she pleaded silently. Inwardly she scolded herself for not trying to help him. Why had she been so afraid of her own creation?
"You're a fool, Harley. A fool." Wesker ground out the words through bloody teeth. "Get out."
Miranda laid a hand to his forehead and brushed away a few stray strands of hair. "Wesker." She could say his name a thousand times and never say it enough. But now he was going to die and it was all her fault.
"Get out!" He roared, choking on his own blood. Nevertheless, she stayed where she was, gently attempting to apply pressure to staggering injuries. She heard the helicopter outside and knew that one of the S.T.A.R.S members had defeated the Tyrant. And now as she looked down at the man lying on the bitter cold floor of the Research Lab, she was glad. It was retribution of sorts. Leaning down she kissed his forehead. He had stopped breathing.
"Oh Wesker," she murmured, tears making their way down her cheeks and splashing at last on mouth that would never speak again. "I love you."
The building above her shook and rumbled and she heard the creatures howling and shrieking in agony. The remaining members of the Alpha Team were going to destroy them all. She realized in an instant that there was nothing she could do. She laid herself over the body of Albert Wesker as the mansion that had once been her home crumbled around her…
Albert Wesker leaned against the far wall of the observation room and watched Miranda Harley behind shaded glasses. She'd been unconscious for days, rambling incoherently, and yet making perfect sense. She told of how the Tyrant, her life's work, had destroyed him. She talked of seeing ghosts and S.T.A.R.S. members. He frowned. He'd rather she found a new subject to mumble about. He'd rather not think about Chris and Jill if he could help it. His organization would be not be pleased if they knew that not only had the Tyrant been destroyed but that it's maker, an Umbrella Corporate, had not. His mission had ended in failure. He'd lost his humanity, and it was all the fault of those imbeciles.
Growling, he punched the wall and stormed out of the room. She made him think too much and that wasn't safe. For the time being, he'd have to devise something new to occupy his thoughts.
The rest of the lab worked like ants around him. Since his arrival at the H.C.F. Corporation Headquarters they all had been analyzing his DNA trying to discover the reason he had survived such a horrendous attack. Who was he to tell them that in fact, he had not? Even now the top researchers were arguing over how he had even managed the push his way from beneath the mansion ruins and make his way to them. He seemed virtually unharmed, they claimed. What better way to prove to them that he had indeed injected himself with William Birkin's G-virus?
"Sir," a dark skinned young man in camouflage fatigues walked toward him, a thin white sheet of paper in hand. "A fax arrived from Umbrella Incorporated. Head Office thought you might be interested in this. Sir." Wesker adjusted his dark glasses and snatched the fax away. He scanned it briefly and chuckled underneath his breath. Then laughter burst forth, the sound unnatural and inane. All at once the lab stopped working the room filled with thick silence, all eyes trained on him.
"I'm dead." He said, his voice a hint of amusement mixed with anger. The young man nodded, his legs shaking. Wesker found that he had a much better view of things than he used to. He could hear them better as well.
"We should just kill her. You know…pull the plug so to speak…She won't live that long anyway." Without knowing why, Wesker shot across the room and grabbed the man who'd been speaking by the collar, hiking him up into the air. Once again the room was silent as the fax paper was still fluttering to the floor. It should have been impossible for a man to cross the room so quickly. But never the less, the proof was in the paper.
"She lives because I say she lives. Any more from you and I'll be pulling your plug. Do you understand?" He gave the offending scientist a vicious shake.
"Yes…sir…" the man answered his voice shaking.
"Sir, the girl's stopped breathing." Another scientist who stood at near an immense set of monitors shouted. Without waiting to hear more, Wesker dropped the worm, and turned on heel.
"She will not die!" He shouted "We need her for research!" He could tell himself and the rest of them that as long as he needed to.
She could remember being picked up, her body feeling all at once weightless. She wondered if she were flying. The sensation was overwhelming and she let it be, giving in to it and letting herself go.
It was all floating away from her. The crows, the dogs, the zombies…all of it. She couldn't even remember what the Tyrant looked like. But she could still see him. She knew every contour of his face, every detail that was Albert Wesker. She could see him as if he were standing over her right this very moment, shouting at her.
She could scarcely make out the words. "Harley…fool…open…" She tried to comprehend but the words didn't make sense. The dream Albert had a hand rested on hers and she forced herself to squeeze it with all her might. At that, the dream Albert smiled briefly and nodded. He spoke again, but Miranda heard nothing…
The room was sparsely lit. Candles illuminated a dark haired woman wrapped in a sheet stretching lithely across a bed. In the darkness beyond, a light haired man stood watching her, a slow smile crossing his thin lips. "You are truly beautiful, Harley."
"If I am so beautiful, why not stay with me?" the woman purred. They went through this every night it seemed. "I'm sure I can show you more than beauty."
The man growled softly, still smiling. "I'm afraid that I have overstayed my welcome. I have many things to accomplish."
"As always." The woman ran a hand through silky black locks of hair and stood, the sheet surrounding her like a surreal cloak. Her pale skin contrasted with her dark hair making her, as always, a creature of ethereal beauty. He held out his hand for hers. Timidly she gave it to him.
"Harley, you test my patients," the man spoke softly, his voice not belying his anger. "You understood what this was from the very beginning. Don't try to make it something it's not." He kissed the knuckles of her hand and turned away, settling his sunglasses over dark blue eyes.
"Wesker…" Miranda Harley had spent so much time trying not to make it something it wasn't. But there were circumstances that forced it to be more than it was. "We have to talk."
"I have no time for that." He snarled. "And neither should you." He marched from the room like a Nazi general and slammed the door. Miranda sank to the floor. Well, if Albert Wesker wasn't interested in what she needed to tell him, then she never would...