forehead. The creature took two shaky steps backward, and fell into the open doorway of the police car.
Seems like I have to kill Rain every so often, Alice thought dazedly. Twice now.
Ada came stalking up to her, frowning—she had the look of an exasperated teacher.
“What happened?” she demanded.
Alice looked down at Rain’s body. The oozing, black, coagulated blood slid in big dollops like thick molasses from the shattered skull.
“I know her,” she explained. “Her name was Rain. Rain Ocampo. But—how could she be here?” Alice shook her head in disbelief. “She died years ago…”
“You sure of that?”
“I should be. I killed her.” Strictly speaking, the T-virus had killed her. But Alice had killed her… more thoroughly.
“Not her,” Ada said, looking ruefully at the corpse. “Just someone that looked like her. How do you think Umbrella populates these test scenarios? Hundreds of people are killed each time they run a simulation. It’s pretty hard to find volunteers.”
“Clones…”
“That’s right,” Ada said. “Umbrella has fifty standard models. They take them out of the deep freeze, and imprint them with basic memories. Just enough to ensure a correct emotional response to the threat of the biohazard.” She looked at Rain’s dead face. “One time she’s a tourist in Beijing, the next, a businesswoman in New York. The next…”
“A soldier working for Umbrella,” Alice interrupted. “All those Umbrella troops. They’re all clones?”
“Of course,” came the reply. “What could be better? The perfect soldiers—limitless in number, no questions asked, and loyalty guaranteed.” With that, Ada turned away and started off again, toward the egress. After a moment, Alice followed, and as she did, memories sparked in her mind—of the clones she’d encountered, lying butchered in a ditch, outside an Umbrella base.
Clones of… Alice.
Alice corpses. It had made her sick to look at them.
Striding along behind, Alice remembered—all of it.
She’d broken into the facility, and found a whole laboratory devoted to developing Alice clones. Someone at Umbrella had been obsessed with Alice. Dr. Sam Isaacs had been convinced there was something special in her genes, something they could use to develop a purer form of the T-virus—both as a cure, and a method for creating the intelligent Undead. He created countless Alice clones, and became infected with a version of the T-virus. One which transformed him into a fusion of monster— and superhuman.
Isaacs had kept Alice trapped, until one of her clones killed him, slicing and dicing him in a laser-trap. So Alice had killed him—and then again, it wasn’t Alice at all.
The clones themselves were all killed when Wesker blew up the Tokyo facility. All of those other versions of herself—snuffed out. All those dead “Alices” lying discarded in that desert ditch, awaiting a mass burial.
And now these clones—killed routinely as part of someone’s little war game, their own little biowarfare “reality show.” Or trained to live and die as conditioned “troopers.” Such was Umbrella’s contempt for human suffering—it used them up like cattle.
Cattle?
It wouldn’t surprise her, if this continued, if they made clones for protein. For food…
Before the T-virus had destroyed most of civilization, there had been talk of corporate cultures. Corporations were, after all, the defining paradigm of the modern world, back in those days. A corporate culture affected thousands, even millions of people. Some were relatively benevolent. But others were sick. Pathological.
Umbrella’s corporate culture was beyond sick. It took ruthlessness to new, unspeakable extremes. Umbrella behaved like a technocratic serial killer.
At that moment, Alice realized it wouldn’t be enough to get the cure for the T-virus. No, not while Umbrella still was around. The corporation was going to have to be destroyed. Eradicated.
The serial
Seems like I have to kill Rain every so often, Alice thought dazedly. Twice now.
Ada came stalking up to her, frowning—she had the look of an exasperated teacher.
“What happened?” she demanded.
Alice looked down at Rain’s body. The oozing, black, coagulated blood slid in big dollops like thick molasses from the shattered skull.
“I know her,” she explained. “Her name was Rain. Rain Ocampo. But—how could she be here?” Alice shook her head in disbelief. “She died years ago…”
“You sure of that?”
“I should be. I killed her.” Strictly speaking, the T-virus had killed her. But Alice had killed her… more thoroughly.
“Not her,” Ada said, looking ruefully at the corpse. “Just someone that looked like her. How do you think Umbrella populates these test scenarios? Hundreds of people are killed each time they run a simulation. It’s pretty hard to find volunteers.”
“Clones…”
“That’s right,” Ada said. “Umbrella has fifty standard models. They take them out of the deep freeze, and imprint them with basic memories. Just enough to ensure a correct emotional response to the threat of the biohazard.” She looked at Rain’s dead face. “One time she’s a tourist in Beijing, the next, a businesswoman in New York. The next…”
“A soldier working for Umbrella,” Alice interrupted. “All those Umbrella troops. They’re all clones?”
“Of course,” came the reply. “What could be better? The perfect soldiers—limitless in number, no questions asked, and loyalty guaranteed.” With that, Ada turned away and started off again, toward the egress. After a moment, Alice followed, and as she did, memories sparked in her mind—of the clones she’d encountered, lying butchered in a ditch, outside an Umbrella base.
Clones of… Alice.
Alice corpses. It had made her sick to look at them.
Striding along behind, Alice remembered—all of it.
She’d broken into the facility, and found a whole laboratory devoted to developing Alice clones. Someone at Umbrella had been obsessed with Alice. Dr. Sam Isaacs had been convinced there was something special in her genes, something they could use to develop a purer form of the T-virus—both as a cure, and a method for creating the intelligent Undead. He created countless Alice clones, and became infected with a version of the T-virus. One which transformed him into a fusion of monster— and superhuman.
Isaacs had kept Alice trapped, until one of her clones killed him, slicing and dicing him in a laser-trap. So Alice had killed him—and then again, it wasn’t Alice at all.
The clones themselves were all killed when Wesker blew up the Tokyo facility. All of those other versions of herself—snuffed out. All those dead “Alices” lying discarded in that desert ditch, awaiting a mass burial.
And now these clones—killed routinely as part of someone’s little war game, their own little biowarfare “reality show.” Or trained to live and die as conditioned “troopers.” Such was Umbrella’s contempt for human suffering—it used them up like cattle.
Cattle?
It wouldn’t surprise her, if this continued, if they made clones for protein. For food…
Before the T-virus had destroyed most of civilization, there had been talk of corporate cultures. Corporations were, after all, the defining paradigm of the modern world, back in those days. A corporate culture affected thousands, even millions of people. Some were relatively benevolent. But others were sick. Pathological.
Umbrella’s corporate culture was beyond sick. It took ruthlessness to new, unspeakable extremes. Umbrella behaved like a technocratic serial killer.
At that moment, Alice realized it wouldn’t be enough to get the cure for the T-virus. No, not while Umbrella still was around. The corporation was going to have to be destroyed. Eradicated.
The serial
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