SIX
EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT. The cameras were set so that he could watch from four different angles, all in full color, the "battle arena" well lit, his chair comfortable. He only regretted that he hadn't had time to return to their private residence, to watch the entertainment with Alexia by his side – al– though that had turned out to be advantageous, as well, a silver lining. The training facility's control room had cameras that could be re-angled with the touch of a but– ton, ensuring the clearest possible view. Alfred smiled, watching as Claire hesitated at the door, quite pleased with how his plan had come to fruition. She'd chased him as he'd hoped, stepped into his trap with hardly a struggle. He hadn't expected her to actually fire at him, but that was easily overlooked in retrospect. And truly, it made the anticipation for her up– coming death all the sweeter, the addition of a personal revenge aspect into the mix. The OR1, a highly developed BOW specifically cre– ated for field combat, was one of Alfred's all-time fa– vorites. The An3 Sandworm was impressive, to be sure, the standard Hunter 121s lethal and fast, but the ORls were special – the human skeletal structure showed through, particularly in the face and torso, giving them the look of classic Death. Thek skull faces leered out beneath corded ropes of real and synthetic tendon, like a neo grim reaper. They weren't just dangerous; the way they looked was terror inspiring, at the most basic level of instinct. The island employees called them Bandersnatches, a nonsense word from some poem that was strangely fit– ting, considering thek unique design and function. There were thirty of them at Rockfort, half of those in stasis, though Alfred had only been able to account for eight of them since the attack…… oh! Claire was opening the door. Elated, Alfred focused his full attention on the girl, his left hand on the camera controls, his right hovering over the lock functions for the storage areas. Claire stepped onto the balcony of the large, open, two-story bay with gun in hand, trying to look every-where at once. Alfred zoomed in on her face, wanting to fully appreciate her fear, but was disappointed by her lack of expression. After surmising that she was in no immediate danger, she seemed watchful, no more.
But when I push this button…
Alfred snickered, unable to contain his excitement, lightly stroking his right forefinger across the switches for the bay's two shuttered storage closets, one on the balcony, one bordering the freight elevator on the lower floor. At his whim, Claire Redfield would die. True, she wasn't important, her death as meaningless as her life had surely been, but it was the control that mattered, his control.
And the pain, the exquisite torture, the look in her eyes when she realizes that her existence is at its end…
Alfred controlled his body as tightly as he controlled his life, and prided himself on his ability to dominate his sexual desires, to feel nothing unless he chose to, but just thinking of Claire's death inspired in him a passion that was beyond physical lust, beyond words, even be– yond the simple scope of man's awareness. Alexia knows, Alfred thought, certain that his beautiful sister was watching, too, that she understood what could not be explained. In Claire's death, they would be as close as two people could ever be; it was the wonder of their relationship, the culmination of the Ashford legacy. He couldn't contain himself another moment. As Claire took another cautious step into the center of the room, he first locked the door she'd come through, seal– ing off her escape – and then pressed the button for the second story shutter release. Instantly, the narrow metal shutter not ten feet from where she stood slid open and as Claire stumbled back– ward, trying to distance herself from the unknown threat, a fully matured Bandersnatch stepped out, ready to engage. It was beautiful, the creature. Between seven and eight feet tall, its face was that of a grinning skeleton, its head set low and menacing. The disproportionately huge upper body supported its primary weapon – the right arm, as thick as one of its tree-trunk legs, longer than half its full body length at rest, the hand span big enough to cover an ordinary man's entire chest. Its left arm was withered, tiny and misshapen, but a Bander– snatch only needed the one. Alfred had hoped for some exclamation from her, a curse or a scream, but she was silent as she retreated to what she believed to be a safe distance. She opened fire almost immediately. The Bandersnatch roared, a rough guttural scream, and then performed its trick. Alfred had seen it a dozen times, but never tired of watching. The massive right arm snapped toward Claire, proba– bly fifteen feet away, the engineered muscles hyperex– tending, the elastic tendons and ligaments stretching…… and it slapped Claire to the ground with scarcely any effort, the girl knocked sprawling before the Ban– dersnatch's arm snapped back into place.
Yes, oh, yes!
Claire crabbed backward as fast as she could, stop-ping only when her back hit the wall. Alfred zoomed in to see that a fine sheen of sweat had broken out across her face, but she still wore no expression beyond a kind of intense watchfulness. She pulled herself to her feet and sidestepped along the wall, moving fast, obviously not wanting to be knocked off the balcony by the crea– ture's next blow. Alfred grinned, ignoring the disappointment that her apparent lack of terror had brought about. She'd be out of wall in another few seconds, backed into a corner…
… and then a series of blows, beating her to death against the wall… or a simple neck snap, a grasp of her head and a single, solid shake… or will it toy with her, tossing her around like one of Alexia's ragdolls?
Alfred leaned in eagerly, changing the angle for one of the cameras, watching as the doomed girl raised her weapon, taking careful aim in spite of her hopeless posi– tion…
… bam!
The Bandersnatch shrieked even louder than the gun-shot, shaking its head wildly, dark fluids rushing from its moving face. It sprayed the balcony walls with ichorous liquid, blood and other things, trying desper– ately to bring its arm up, to protect or comfort its wound. It all happened so fast, so violently, it was like watching a fountain geyser suddenly explode from a still lake.
The eyes. She went for its eyes. Bam!
Claire shot again, and then again, and the Bander-snatch cried out in fury and new pain, still trying to grasp its own injured head as it stumbled around in a weaving circle… and then, to Alfred's shock, it col– lapsed to the floor, its writhings becoming less and less urgent, its scream becoming a hoarse, dying protest. Stunned with disbelief, Alfred could finally see an emotion on Claire's face – pity. She moved to stand over the creature and shot once more, stilling it completely. Then she turned and walked toward the stairs, as casu– ally as if she was walking away from a ladies' luncheon.
No-no-no-no!
This was wrong, all wrong, but it wasn't over, not yet. Furious, he stabbed at the other switch, releasing the second creature from its enclosure, the shutter sliding open behind a stack of storage containers on the elevator level. You won't be so fortunate this time, he thought desper-ately, still barely able to credit what he'd just seen. Claire had heard the second door open, but the stack of contain-ers obscured her point of view, hiding the new menace. She was stopped at the foot of the stairs, holding herself very still, scanning for the exact source of the noise. The second Bandersnatch stepped out of its closet and casually reached up, grasping a large metal crate at the top of a ten foot stack of them. It pulled itself up, seemingly without effort – and without Claire noticing, her attention too intently fixed on the shadowy corner opposite the stairs. The Bandersnatch reached down for her. Claire saw it coming at the last instant, too late to get out of its way. The creature wrapped its muscular fingers around her head and lifted her up, studying her as a cat studied a mouse. Or a rat, Alfred thought, some of his previous joy re– turning at the sight of the girl dropping her weapon and struggling to free herself, grasping at the OK1's steel grip with panicked hands -
– and Alfred's focus was broken at the sound of shat– tering glass somewhere off screen, and someone was shooting, the sudden flurry of noise and activity making the Bandersnatch shriek, making it drop Claire.
What's…?
The window, Alfred answered himself, watching in horror as the young prisoner, Burnside, threw himself into the camera shot, firing two handguns at once, blast– ing at the startled creature – startled, then screaming in agony as Claire scooped up her weapon and joined the fray. The Bandersnatch tried to attack, its arm whipping out toward the new assailant, but it was driven back by the sheer number of rounds being pumped into its body, finally slumping against a storage container. Dead. Without consciously deciding to do it, Alfred reached for the freight elevator controls, a part of him remember– ing that there was at least one more OR1 below, as well as a number of virus carriers. The two youths stumbled as the floor beneath their feet began to go down, taking them to the basement of the training facility. There were no work– ing cameras there, but enjoying their deaths was no longer Alfred's primary concern – not so long as they died. Can't be, this can't be happening. The OR1s should have dispatched Claire and her meddlesome friend ef– fortlessly, but they were alive and his pets had suffered and died. He tried to convince himself that the two would soon perish in the basement, which had been locked down and isolated since the first viral leak, but suddenly, nothing seemed certain anymore. "Alexia," Alfred whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face, feeling his very being flush with shame. He had to make her see that it wasn't his fault, that his trap had worked perfectly, that the impossible had oc– curred… and he'd have to accept the subsequent cool– ness in her gaze, the undertone of disappointment in her sweet voice as she reassured him that she understood. The only thing that surpassed his shame was a new– found hatred for Claire Redfield, burning brighter than a thousand burning stars. No sacrifice was too great to se-cure her torment, hers and that of her shining knight. Until both had offered penitence in flesh and blood, Alfred would not rest. He swore it.