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The room was large and empty.
Pure white walls, pure white ceiling, pure white sheets.
Aside from the necessary medical monitoring equipment flashing with a faint green light in the corner, there was no extra decoration, no trace of the colors of life.
This wasn't like a hospital room; it was more like a display case.
And she was the exhibit, carefully preserved yet completely isolated.
Manuela was sitting in a chair by the window. The window was made of special bulletproof glass, and outside was a neatly trimmed but lifeless lawn.
She wore a patient gown as pale as the environment, her long hair simply tied back, revealing her delicate and pallid face.
Hearing the door open, she turned her head.
When she saw me, a spark of light appeared in her eyes, which were usually filled with melancholy.
"Krauser..."
Her voice was soft, like a feather.
"I came to see you, Manuela." I tried to make my voice sound less stiff, walking over slowly and placing the things in my hand on a white table.
"It's Christmas Eve today. I brought you something."
She stood up, her gaze falling on the fruit and cake I brought, and then she saw the beautifully wrapped gift box.
"Thank you, Krauser. I... I didn't know it was Christmas Eve today."
There was a trace of confusion in her voice.
Here, time seemed to stand still; every day and night was indistinguishable.
"Open it and take a look." I pointed to the gift box.
She carefully untied the ribbon and tore open the wrapping paper, revealing the crystal Music Box inside.
Her eyes brightened further.
She picked up the Music Box and gently turned the winding key on the side.
A crisp, tinkling melody, like spring water, flowed through the empty room.
It was "Für Elise."
She held the Music Box, listening quietly. The expression on her face was no longer the habitual numbness and sorrow, but a pure joy befitting a girl her age.
"It's beautiful. I love it." She looked up and gave me a slight smile.
That smile was like a ray of sunshine, illuminating this cold cage and my heart, which had long been eroded by darkness.
I didn't know what to say, so I awkwardly opened the cake box.
"Have something to eat."
We sat facing each other and shared the Black Forest Cake.
She ate very slowly, in small bites, like a shy little animal.
We didn't talk much.
I didn't know how to communicate with a girl from the normal world, and she seemed to have long been accustomed to silence.
"Are they... treating you well?" I finally asked.
"Mhm." She nodded. "They check my body every day and provide me with food and shelter. Everything is fine, except that I can't leave."
Her definition of "fine" sounded so ironic to me.
"Your body..."
"It's stable." She seemed to know what I wanted to ask. "The virus hasn't flared up again. The doctor said my condition is special and requires long-term observation."
I nodded.
Thirty minutes passed quickly.
The emotionless reminder from the staff came from outside the door.
I stood up.
"I should go now."
"Krauser." Manuela also stood up. She held the Music Box as if it were her only treasure. "Will you... will you come see me again?"
I looked into her expectant eyes—a look I had never seen on the battlefield.
It was a pure dependence, free of any Impurities.
"I will."
I nodded heavily.
I turned and walked out of the metal door.
The door closed silently behind me, shutting out the crisp music and the only glimmer of light.
I walked down the white corridor I had come through, my steps heavier than before.
I used to think that my mission would be over once I protected her and ensured her survival.
Now I realize that the mission is over, but my own personal mission might have just begun.
***
The midnight bells chimed, and the Villa on the Banks of the Seine, which had been partying all night, finally quieted down.
The noise and warmth brought by the guests were gradually cooled by the wind and snow outside the window.
The flames in the fireplace also tiredly dimmed their light, leaving only deep red embers radiating their last heat in the darkness.
Claire and Sherry were sleeping on the large bed in the master bedroom.
The girl pressed half her face against Claire's swollen abdomen, sleeping sweetly, a faint smile still on her lips, as if playing with the unborn little one in her dream.
Jill and Rebecca squeezed into another guest room. These two women, each capable in her own Domain, were now sharing a bed and each other's body heat like college best friends.
Barry's wife, Kathy, brought their two daughters, Moira and Polly, into the last guest room.
Thus, the spacious wool rug in the living room became the men's temporary camp.
Several sleeping bags were spread out in front of the fireplace.
"Hey! Chris! Can you stop sticking your foot over here! That smell is practically a Bio-weapon!" Leon rolled over and disgustedly shoved the mountain-like figure next to him.
Chris smacked his lips in his sleep and mumbled incoherently, "Shut up... rookie... one more shot..."
"Snore—snore—"
On the other side, Barry's snoring was like a war drum, deep and rhythmic, making the floor tremble slightly.
Noah lay in the spot closest to the window, listening to the continuous snoring and sleep-talking throughout the room, finding it both annoying and amusing.
He gently pulled the blanket over himself, feeling the noisy yet incredibly real Atmosphere of Everyday Life, and his heart was at peace.
On the sofa in the corner, Jake Muller was curled up, holding his knees.
It was too warm, too safe here.
So warm that it made him feel uneasy.
He secretly opened his eyes and, using the reflection of the snow outside the window, surveyed the men sleeping haphazardly.
Barry, strong as a bear.
Chris, who always had a stern face and was as reliable as a wall.
Leon, who was cynical, sharp-tongued, but had very keen eyes.
And Noah, who was always gentle yet felt unfathomable.
They... were all very strong people.
Jack's gaze finally settled on the man with the loudest snoring.
Barry Burton.
He had talked a lot to him during the day.
About his daughters, his Family, and his former comrades.
This seemingly rough man was softer on the inside than anyone else.
Perhaps... having a father like this wouldn't be a bad thing.
Jack shook his head, driving the ridiculous thought out of his mind.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep.
Just in this Chaos of tranquility, a black figure, like a cat blending into the night, silently rose from the other end of the sofa.
Without alarming anyone, she walked lightly across the living room and opened the villa's front door.
A blast of cold wind mixed with snowflakes rushed in.
Leon, who had been closing his eyes, suddenly opened them.
He sat up almost immediately, grabbed his jacket nearby, and chased after her.
"Ada!"
He caught up to the figure about to disappear into the night, out in the snow.
Ada stopped and turned around.
Snowflakes landed on her dark hair and black Cashmere Dress, like scattered diamonds.
"The mission is over, Leon." Her voice was exceptionally clear in the cold air.
"And the party is over."
"Where are you going?" Leon walked up to her. The streetlights cast long shadows of the two of them on the snow.
"It's always like this. You show up without a word and disappear without a word."
His tone carried irrepressible disappointment and a hint of resentment.
Ada looked at him. Her eyes, always filled with mystery and playfulness, now held a trace of softness.
"Some games are far from over."
As she spoke, she suddenly stepped forward and stood on her tiptoes.
A cool, soft touch gently pressed against Leon's lips.
Leon's mind went blank instantly.
The sensation was fleeting, like a falling snowflake that melted before he could even register it.
When he came back to his senses, Ada had already stepped back a few paces, and the familiar, slightly cunning smile had returned to her face.
"Just consider it... a Christmas Present, Puppy."
After saying that, she merged into the wind and snow without reluctance and quickly disappeared.
Leon stood alone in the snow, raising his hand to touch his lips, where the scent of her lipstick and a hint of cool sweetness seemed to linger.
He looked in the direction Ada had vanished, a helpless and complicated wry smile on his face.
This woman would always be an elusive mystery.
***
At an untraceable Network Node, an email encrypted layer by layer was sent to an absolutely secure server.
Sender: Ada
Recipient: Trant
[Subject: plaga (Las plagas)]
[Body:
Target confirmed: Luis Sera.
Former Madrid police officer, resigned for personal reasons.
Previously employed as a biological Researcher by the religious group "Church of Light" (Los Iluminados) in a remote area of Spain.
Source of intelligence: While sorting through discarded data from the Umbrella main server in Raccoon City, a distress email was found. This email was sent by Luis Sera to his university classmate, John Clemons, the former Director of the Raccoon City Research Institute.
In the letter, Luis expressed remorse for participating in the "Church of Light's" research and revealed that he had been implanted with a parasite called "plaga."
He appealed to John for help.
Note: John Clemons was confirmed dead during the Raccoon City Incident. The email was never delivered.
Attachment: Scanned copy of the original email, Luis Sera's personal profile, preliminary investigation report on the "Church of Light."
Preliminary analysis: The "Church of Light" is using the "plaga" parasite for some kind of large-scale biological experiment.
This parasite has the ability to control the host's mind and behavior.
As an internal Researcher, Luis Sera possesses critical technical data and shows a tendency toward defection, making him highly valuable for subversion.
Recommendation: Due to the complex diplomatic relations involved in the target's location, it is not recommended to directly deploy our personnel to intervene, to avoid unnecessary international disputes.
—A]
Trant sat in his minimalist office, quietly finishing the email sent by Ada.
His impassive face was reflected on the screen.
His finger unconsciously rubbed the ring on his hand.
The plaga parasite.
A brand new, interesting variable.
Ada's suggestion was pertinent.
Sending people directly to Spain would be like setting a fire in a forest full of hunting dogs—too easy to expose oneself.
However, the pieces on the chessboard don't necessarily have to be one's own...***
In his Private Study, Drake C. Simmons was enjoying the thrill of power regained.
The firelight in the fireplace reflected on his smug face.
The perfect conclusion of the "Morpheus Incident" had re-stabilized his position within the "Family."
A message came through on the encrypted terminal on his desk—a commendation from the Family Elder, a truly awe-inspiring figure.
As a reward, he was granted access to view a portion of higher-level internal intelligence.
Simmons browsed through these so-called "gifts" with interest.
Most were irrelevant analyses of regional conflicts and dirt on business rivals, until an intelligence summary marked "Low Risk" caught his attention.
The report came from Spain concerning a remote religious group called the "Church of Light."
Simmons intended to skim over it, but a technical description in the report's attachment instantly fixed his gaze: "plaga (Las plagas) parasite... can completely control the host's mind, erase individual will, and make them an absolutely obedient Puppet."
Simmons's breathing suddenly quickened.
He reread the sentence, the ambition in his eyes burning fiercely.
He could almost foresee that once he mastered this power, he would no longer need to cater to anyone, and could even turn the entire "Family" into his personal Puppets.
He willingly swallowed this bait.
Simmons immediately picked up another absolutely secure phone and dialed a number.
"Wesker." The call connected, and Simmons spoke directly, his tone one of a superior giving orders to a subordinate.
"Sir." A cold and arrogant voice came from the other end of the line, though the tone still held a hint of restraint.
"I have a new mission for you." Simmons leaned back in his chair, his finger lightly tapping the desk.
"Spain, an organization called the 'Church of Light.' They have a very interesting parasite. I need you to contact them. I want all their research data, as well as a'sample.'"
"As you wish." Wesker's voice betrayed no emotion, but Simmons knew that this man's desire for "power" was no less than his own.
"Furthermore," Simmons added,
"I need a Chaos, a crisis great enough to panic the White House, forcing them to request our intervention. As for how to execute it, that's your business. Do it cleanly, Wesker. This is another opportunity for you to prove your worth."
"Understood."
The communication was cut.
On the other side, Albert Wesker put down the phone, his Red Vertical Pupils behind his sunglasses gleaming sharply.
The plaga parasite, of course he knew about it.
Simmons wanted the political capital derived from Chaos, while he wanted the evolution toward the Domain of God represented by the parasite itself.
Their goals once again aligned perfectly.
He quickly used his intelligence network to contact the Leader of the "Church of Light," Osmund Saddler.
Facing Wesker, this "partner" whose strength was unfathomable, the arrogant Saddler made no secret of his grand plan.
He was preparing to plan the kidnapping of the US President's Daughter, Ashley Graham, and implant the "Dominant Plaga" into her body.
Once Ashley returned to the country, he could use her to remotely control the Highest Authority in the United States.
Wesker immediately stated that he could handle a trivial matter like kidnapping the President's Daughter.
Saddler gladly accepted this proposal, believing he had found the perfect tool to realize his ambition.
Wesker, seizing the opportunity, would use this kidnapping to create the "Chaos" Simmons desired, while simultaneously paving the way for himself to acquire the long-coveted parasite sample.
The two ambitious men immediately hit it off, and a storm was thus ushered in.
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