Somewhere underground...

Half a dozen people were busy in a laboratory room. Some were preparing injections and tubes, some were checking vitals and one person just sat in the corner, taking notes of everything that went down in there. It didn't matter that the whole experiment was going to be videotaped, they needed someone to take notes. It was more secure that way.

They couldn't miss a single twitch of the subject. They didn't want to know the consequences if they'd miss something.

The head scientist adjusted his mask and gloves as he stepped closer to the subject lying on a metal table. It was strapped to the table, although unmoving. But they didn't want to risk any outbreaks – the things they were about to do had unknown results. So, just to be sure, the man in charge nodded towards a smaller man to come closer.

"Check the straps," the older man gave out the orders, turning his attention back to his notes. "We'll begin shortly."

The smaller man's eyes widened, but with a single nod, he obliged. Like all of them, he as well was covered from head to toe, only his eyes showing. This was protocol, but the deep-lying fear in each and every one of the team members wouldn't want it any other way. They were terrified and anxious, the tension in the room so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Nobody noticed the way sweat gathered at the head scientist's hairline, anxiety making his hands clammy inside the latex gloves, and cold sweat running down his temple. There was a lot at stake this night – for him and his staff. He was responsible for seven lives; seven lives that could easily end tonight if they were to mess up this project.

For their boss, this project was everything. It was his most prized possession turned obsession. And he wasn't afraid to spill the blood of the ones that fucked things up.

There were three other scientists in charge before. He was the fourth. None of the previous ones were alive to tell tales about the subject he was about to test.

The head scientist looked up from the notes he had taken under seven days and exhaled deeply through his nose. His eyes flickered across his team, none of them meeting his gaze. He saw the subtle shake of hands as they tried to do their jobs, he felt the fear radiate across the room in waves like a heatwave. His eyes subtly glanced at the two-way mirror on his left, knowing that they were watched.

He could almost feel the heat of his gaze on him, so he looked away and cleared his throat. The scientist locked eyes with the person sitting in the corner just behind the camera which recorded their every move before he turned away, ready to begin.

"My name is Doctor Kaloyanchev and it's the 18th day of the project. Time is 23:10. Subject T-54514 vitals are strong. Pupil reflexes are good. The subject has rejected any type of food or water, so we're forcing the nutrients in with these tubes."

Doctor Kaloyanchev picked up a tube from one of his helpers and showed it to the camera briefly before giving it back. Just the mere thought made him uncomfortable, having those tubes inside him.

"Today, we're attempting a connection between Subject T-54514 and Plant 43."

Nobody needed to say it wasn't the first attempt. Nobody, especially the Doctor didn't want a reminder of what happened to the scientists who had failed with the connection before.

Kaloyanchev nodded toward the man standing closest to the subject, signaling for him to start the process. The man reached for one of the tubes and with the help of two other men they stuffed them down the throat of the subject. The doctor stood aside, giving a full view of the team to the camera.

When they were done with that, they took a few thinner tubes and injected them into the subject's limbs. The machines beside the table hissed to life, multiple screens lighting up as data was coming in from the subject. The doctor took notes of the subject's rapid heart rate and abnormally low body temperature. Besides those, most things were looking like they should.

Kaloyanchev passed his notes to the person standing off to his left and stepped up to the subject. Another man stood next to a small table with a glass container sitting on it, a protective hand resting atop it. Inside that container were the remains they could gather from Plant 43, a sad excuse for what it was before. The plant moved slowly under the fluorescent lights, the artificial lighting putting it on full display.

Plant 43 looked like a churned, burnt, on the brink-of-death plant. The scientists were surprised it was even alive after what it went through in the NEST. 90% of what it was before now was gone. People like Kaloyanchev had the job of gathering the remaining 10% and making the most out of it. But even all those scientists collectively weren't as good as the mastermind Clara Keller who made Plant 43 in the first place.

Rumor has it, that Clara Keller lost her life in the NEST, that she didn't make it out in time. But there was no body of proof, only a note left to him, giving out her last orders about her life project. The final project of Clara Keller was the most mind-blowing and one of the most anticipated things Umbrella had ever had their hands on.

The man standing closest to the remains of Platn 43 shifted his weight on his legs uncomfortably, his gloves straining as he gripped the container tighter. Fear made his blue eyes glow brighter. Kaloyanchev felt for the man. He was scared, too. He just didn't have the privilege to show it.

"I will be extracting a sample from Plant 43 and injecting it into Subject T-54514," the Doctor said to the camera as he approached the container with a large needle.

There was a small latch on the side of the container where he could insert the needle. The needle was long enough that the plant wouldn't be able to get out of its reach. Everyone watched as the small vial filled up with dark liquid extracted from the plant, everyone in the room too nervous to notice the shake of Kaloyanchev's hands.

But not him, on the other side of the two-way mirror. He saw everything.

When the vial was full, Kaloyanchev stepped back and took a second to look at the dark fluid flowing in it. Just by looking at it, it made his skin crawl and he quickly flicked his gaze away from it. He just had to do his job. This was the most important project of his life.

And if he fucked it up, it'll be his last project as well.

The doctor walked over to the strapped-down subject and tightened his grip on the syringe. The fate of so many lives lay in his hands.

Gripping the arm of the subject, Kaloyanchev leaned over and pushed the slightly larger than normal needle into the skin of the subject, the ashy pale color of its skin almost translucent under the harsh lights. It was easy to find a vein to inject the fluid into.

"Attempting connection between subjects starts now," he said it more to the man on the other side than to the others.

Slowly, he injected the fluid into the vein. Everyone held their breaths back as they watched the dark, thick fluid flow into the veins and spread out through the arm, sneaking up toward the body. The beeping on one of the machines got more rapid, indicating that the pulse of the subject started increasing. Kaloyanchev kept a careful watch over the vitals and the subject, his own heart hammering in his chest.

The beepings of the machines got more frantic, the noise raising the level of anxiety in the room. Some were fidgeting nervously, on the brink of a nervous breakdown while the head scientist just stood there, his eyes fixed on the subject as he kept repeating the same thing inside his head: Come on, come on.

But the subject's pulse kept on quickening, going up to 150 while her other vitals started failing. The blood oxygen levels, the liver functions, everything started spiraling down. The subject started twitching on the table, the sickening sound of rattling fighting with the obnoxious machines.

Then it suddenly stopped. Everything stopped.

The body stopped twitching, going awfully still. The machine next to her took a second to catch on to what happened as its heart stopped and a high-pitched scream came from the machine monitoring its heart. It flat-lined. It died.

Kaloyanchev couldn't breathe. His heart sank to his stomach as he stood above the subject, his left hand twitching as he thought, this is it. His career is over. His life is over. Umbrella's most prized project just got destroyed by his hands.

The doctor's eyes slowly shifted toward the two-way mirror, knowing that he was watching and was probably already deciding when he'd host his execution. Everything was over.

Kaloyanchev cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the anxiety and fear stuck in his throat. He opened his mouth but words failed to come out. His hands started to sweat more under the latex gloves and it felt like the room was closing in on him. He fucked it up. He never got the opportunity to say goodbye to his fiancé.

In a desperate attempt, Kaloyanchev turned his head towards the two-way mirror, only to meet his own reflection. But the doctor knew he was there. He just had to hope he was looking in his general direction.

"Mr. We-"

A surprised gasp and metal clattering to the ground cut his words off. One of his staff stumbled back into the wall as his eyes were wide and the size of saucers. Kaloyanchev's eyebrows furrowed and was in the middle to ask him to leave the room because his reaction was unprofessional when he caught sight of what scared the other man.

The hand of the subject twitched as the heart monitor started beeping again. The rise and fall of its chest was still a little too rapid, but considering that it just came back from being dead it was more than good enough. But that wasn't the main cause of the horror in his eyes, no.

It was Plant 43, moving around in its cage. Like it wanted to get out.

It wouldn't have been that interesting thing if they wouldn't have spent the past almost 20 days researching and documenting everything the plant did. And it never tried to escape before. It was way too weak even to function alone, let alone try to escape. Its movements represented the subject's greatly as it twisted on the bottom of the container, clawing at the glass walls.

Kaloyanchev had too much to lose. All of this felt unreal. So, just to make sure that he wasn't imagining things, he reached for the lighter left on a small side table. He didn't care that this wasn't in the protocol and he wasn't supposed to do anything else besides the script he was given. He had to know.

"Sir-" the man behind the camera spoke for the first time since he got in there, trying to stop the doctor. But he dismissed the man with a flick of his hand and yanked the lid off from the container.

The head doctor didn't have time to panic and think of the consequences, or what if the plant got out. He flicked the lighter in his hand, orange and yellow flames lighting his face. His thumb got a little too close to the flame and the glove on his hand got melted a little bit, the pungent smell of burnt plastic filling the air. But he ignored the smell and the twinge of pain in his hand as he reached inside, letting the flame lick the side of Plant 43.

A horrific, guttural scream came from the subject strapped on the table, making the blood run cold in everybody's body. Kaloyanchev pulled his hand away, wild eyes watching every move of the subject. Then, he let the flames touch the plant again, gaining another cry that barely sounded human anymore, partly because the thick tube stuffed down its throat.

He watched the subject whither in pain on the metal table, struggling with the straps holding down each limb as it tried to get away from the flames that weren't even touching it.

"Fascinating..." Kaloyanchev breathed and let the flame die out.

His eyes took in his project. Sweat gathered at the hairline, skin so pale it was almost white, and emerald eyes wide and filled with so much hatred that reaching a hand into fire seemed less threatening. With all those tubes and wires hanging from its body, it was hard to see it as human. The beautiful young woman it once was.

Kaloyanchev turned back towards the camera, subtly glancing towards the window again. He linked his arms behind his back, trying to seem more confident like he planned all this to go this way.

Meanwhile, Albert Wesker stood on the other side of the mirror, watching every move inside. He rested his chin on his fist, eyes fixated on his most prized possession, one that Clara Keller herself handed to him. One that could turn into his greatest weapon.

2As of 1998, October 18th, 23:56, we finally reached a breaking point. The connection between Plant 43 and Subject T-54514 was succesful. A start of our new project. Now, I officially begin Project Eden."

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OKAY I THINK WE NEED A SECOND TO TALK ABOUT THIS

i've been planning this chapter for so long it feels so good to finally post it. this is the official end of act 1. there will be an act 2, taking place in re4 and it won't be this depressing i swear. just trust me with this babe

i'd love to hear your thoughts!! did you guessed who project eden is? (im literally so shit at dropping small clues)