Laura's POV

"Well, well, well. Look who is it... It's my father," I spoke using a malicious tone of voice, as I aimed the Sentinel Nine handgun at him. Not feeling hesitant in any way, shape, or form to shoot the blonde bastard. Longing to put a bullet in his brain, even if it doesn't end up actually killing him.

Wesker glanced down at me, his expression emotionless and bleak as usual. "Hello Laura. How are you feeling—?"

"What the hell are you doing here you prick? Huh? To try kidnapping me again!?" I hissed at him, not caring how loud I was being at the moment.

A sudden rage to build up inside of me; my grip over the gun in hand tightened immensely. 'Seriously!?! First, he killed my adoptive mother! Second, unleashed a biohazard upon my hometown on my sixteenth birthday. Ended up killing thousands of innocent people, including Tyler's parents!! Not to mention almost killing him as well. Third, he kidnapped my birth mother and possibly killed her as well!!! Now he's fucking asking me how I feel right now!!!! Is he that fucking oblivious, even though he's considered the most intellectual bioterrorist of all time!!!!' I thought angrily to myself. 'Oh this son of a bitch is so dead...' Whilst I was enclosing my finger over the trigger, my eyes started to become inflamed once again. Blinking away the salty tears that were brimming in my eyes.

"Laura, calm down. I just came here to talk, not to kidnap you. Since you and I both know by now that's out of the cards. If I wanted to, I would've already done so." He took another step forward, cautiously treading closer to me.

"Stop!" He halted in place. "Take one more step and I'll shoot," I threatened—feeling the veins from within my head to my toes beginning to dilate. Pumping my entire body full of adrenaline once again.

"Laura, put the gun down." I shook my head at him; tears persistently pouring down my cheeks as I kept the handgun trained on him.

"Even if you choose to shoot me, you already know that won't kill me," He reminded, as if I didn't know already. "Look, I understand that you're beyond upset with me, and I don't blame you either. If just put the gun down, I'll explain everything to you, and answer any questions you may have. Just put the gun down." Wesker gingerly took another step forward, reaching my bed.

I held the gun high up—pointing the muzzle directly at his forehead. When I was about to pull the trigger, for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do it. No matter how much I wanted to, I had every reason to kill this bastard; to pull back the trigger until I've unloaded the entire magazine of bullets into him.

But deep down, within my human heart, a small part of me knew that he had some small amount of good still somewhere within him. Even if was as small as a speck of dust. Regardless of how upset or pissed I feel right now, I still can't let my emotions get the best of me. Not this time. So killing him would be the irrational thing to do right now, that'll have to wait until later.

I steadily lowered the gun—clicking the safety on and setting it down on the bed. I weakly gazed up at him for a moment; tears pouring out of my eyes. Dripping down my thin, pale cheeks. During my emotional break down, I felt the veins in my arms and hands contracting; the adrenaline that was pumping through out my body began to slowly dissipate.  My eyes longer feeling inflamed or irritated anymore.

It wasn't long before I began crying once again—covering my face with my hands in order to mute my sobs and to hide the pain and torment I've been through just in the past few days. While I was weeping into my hands, not caring if my father was still there, I felt the bed dip down right as he sat on my bedside and humanely wrapped his arms around me. Genuinely hugging me and pulling me close to him.

I was caught of guard straight away, not knowing whether I should hug him back or jerk away from him. Despite the solace and sympathy he was giving me, I clasped my arms around him. Embracing him and hugging him back.

We stayed like this for sometime, until I decided to finally pull away from him. In spite of already calming down, tears were still continuously pouring down my cheeks. Staining my pallid skin. As I was about to wipe them away using my hands, Dad grabbed a piece of tissue from the tissue box sitting on the end table next to my bed, holding it out to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled, using a hoarse tone of voice. I grabbed the tissue from him—using it to gently wipe away the remaining tears.

"Alright," I crumbled the used piece of tissue in my hands. "Tell me, why exactly are you here?"

"For two reasons," He replied, using a straightforward tone of voice.

"Which are?"

"One of them is to check up on you; to see if you were okay. Because of the fact that there was an assassination attempt on your very life, but that clearly failed."

"Do I look okay to you?" I questioned him, gesturing to my injuries.

"Theoretically speaking, yes. You're still alive, and that's what matters."

"Okay then," I crossed my arms over my chest. "What's the other reason why you here?"

"To clarify with you both the cause and the motive behind the outbreak."

"Weren't you the one behind the viral outbreak?" I inquired.

"Ironically, no," He responded. My eyes widened. "I was planning on unleashing my latest B.O.W.s upon your home town Laura, but someone else had beat me to it." My eyes went completely round.

"Who?"

"At first I thought to it was possibly Tricell, since I've been hearing rumors of the company's resurrection going around lately. But that notion ceased when I captured and interrogated one of the operatives that was sent after you."

***Flashback***

14 Hours Earlier
| 9:55 am |

***3rd POV***

In West Lake Sammamish, one of the many neighborhoods located within Bellevue, Washington, among the countless extravagant and luxurious homes there was one in particular. 1836 W Lake Sammamish Pkwy Se. One of the many safe houses own by Eric Hyde; one of Wesker's common alias.

Inside the basement of this seemingly normal home, Wesker was preparing himself. Getting ready to interrogate one of the agents his right hand man, Steve, managed to capture for him. Wesker was wearing a black long sleeve shirt—clinging tightly to his well taunt muscles, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Along with a pair of black skinny jeans, overlapped by a black apron, his signature sunglasses, some black socks, black disposable latex gloves, and a pair of black thick-soled shoes.

In front of Wesker stood a surgical table, with leathers binds attached to it. Usually used to help keep a subject fastened in place on the rusty metal table—preventing the possibly of them from escaping so easily. Positioned beside the blonde malefactor was a movable surgical tray. Holding a variety of utensil such as knives, saws, scissors, industrial lighters, pliers, hammers, even filled syringes. All meant for one obvious purpose, torture.

Positioned behind the former S.T.A.R.S. captain, up against the cement wall there's a long metal table situated up against the wall, including a bloody metal sink arranged on the right side of the table. Located above them, matching cabinets were fixed into the wall, containing a variety of medical equipment and tools.

On the right of the blonde malefactor, stood a darkened doorway with the door partially open, leading to another room within the makeshift torture chamber. Inside the small spare room, Josh Green, Catherine Bates, and Shelby Wright hung unconscious by their feet from the ceiling. Their hair dangling loosely from their heads.

All three of their bodies practically littered with bleeding cuts and abraded burns, covering them from head to toe. Black nylon rope secured tightly around their ankles and wrists, rubbing against their skin and prompting rope burns whilst keeping their arms and legs fastened in place; unable to escape their fixed binds. For now, Wesker will have to put persecuting the bullies on hold for now, he has more pressing matters to attend to.

Ever so since betraying both S.T.A.R.S. and the Umbrella Corporation, the blonde fancied the ideal of persecuting those who have information he requires in order to further his plans and his own gains, or if they've interfered with him in any way, shape, or form. Over the years of torturing countless insubordinates and troublesome captives, Wesker had grown accustomed straightaway to the bloodshed, brutality, and the pained screams and wails of his victims. All naturally becoming music to his ears.

The blonde relished every single one of these little torture sessions in his humble abode; he's free to do whatever he pleases with them, until they no longer become any of use to him. Every single one of them would cry out in constant agony from the pain he would inflict upon them—begging him in whatever way they can to make him stop. No matter how hard they tried, Wesker never stopped, not unless he got what he wanted from them of course.

But the situation was different this time. Not only did Wesker plan on torturing the agent to get the necessary information he needed out of him, he intended on also making this man suffer severely as well. All for one particular reason, he shot Laura. He hurt his child, his little girl.

The instant Wesker finally found his daughter in the underground laboratory, he noticed straight away that she was completely surrounded by a platoon of Tricell agents. However, that wasn't the worst of it. What really angered the blonde was when he watched as one of the agents take her gun—unloading the entire clip into both of her legs. Helplessly crying out in pain and struggled relentlessly while the rest of them held her in place.

"Believe it or not Laura, I wasn't pleased one bit when I saw what they were doing to you. So, I reacted by any reasonable father would."

The moment Wesker approached the platoon, he glanced down at Laura as she looked back up at him. Pain clouding her features as she was sniveling non stop; blood trickling from her wounds and countless tears pouring down her pale cheeks. Seeing his child, his little girl so scared and in so much pain, that's when he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand the sight of it. That was his breaking point.

That was when they finally crossed the line, going too far than they've already had, so in a fit of rage he mutilated every one of those sons of bitches (except for one which Steve captured for him), and they ended up crossing it even further when they attempted to assassinate Laura after they failed to kidnap her.

When he first heard the news about this, Wesker was beyond angry, he was infuriated. Very pissed. The most pissed off he had ever been in his entire lifetime, even more enraged than the time Redfield foiled his plans of finally achieving complete global saturation back in 2009. Wesker took immediate action in response to the news—having his right hand man locate the agent he captured earlier and bring him in for thorough interrogation.

"The operative my right hand man brought in for me was the one who shot you in the legs, Laura. I chose him in particular for certain reasons."

And when Wesker means thorough, he means beating the absolute living shit out of him. Making the bastard bleed uncontrollably and scream in utter agony. To the point where his throat is tremendously raw, virtually throbbing with nothing but immense pain. Until there's not a single bone in his body left unbroken.

Wesker glanced down at his watch, checking the time. It was 9:59am. 'Steve should be here right about now...' He thought to himself, just as Steve bursted through the doorway located to the left of him. Dragging the unconscious, grimy agent along the cement floor, towards the surgical table.

He was striped entirely of all of his gear—leaving him only in his ripped, bloody, dark-grey t-shirt and his black, blood-stained cargo pants. His whole body was already covered from head to toe in discolored bruises, raw burns, deep cuts, and abrasions, especially all over his face. 'Time for torturing Mr. Ford,' Wesker thought wickedly to himself, while he watched Steve bring in his prisoner.

The instant he reached it, Steve lifted the agent off the ground—dumping him on top of the blood stained table. He grasped ahold of the leather restraints, fixing them tightly around both his wrists and his ankles.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Burnside."

Once he was secured to the table, Steve moved out of the way—returning to his usual spot beside the doorway, just as Wesker stepped forward towards the restrained agent. Holding a blood-stained surgical hammer in hand; a malicious smirk curled onto the man's lips.

Without a moments hesitation, Wesker suddenly whacked the agent's knee with the metal hammer—using brute force. The sound of bones cracking and breaking patently resonated throughout Wesker's little torture chamber; the skin surrounding the central impact site began to form an abrasion and contusions. Causing the man to abruptly jolt awake from his slumber—grappling aggressively against his leather restraints, as he screeched out raucously in utter pain.

"Morning Gerald, slept well I presume?" The blonde asked him, using a derisive tone of voice.

"Arg! Let me go you fucking psycho!" The prisoner demanded, as he pulled at his restraints persistently.

"Oh Gerald, do you really think I'm going to do that? After what you've done?" Wesker walked over to the over side of the surgical table, with the bloody hammer in hand. "I think not." He smacked the hammer down on the man's other knee—easily crushing the man's knee—earning another loud vociferate from the prisoner once again.

"Now, now Gerald." Wesker strolled over towards the surgical tray—setting the hammer neatly down on top of it. "You know the rules. If you want me to let you go, you have to answer some questions I have for you. It's rather simple." Wesker picked up a cook knife—examining the fine blade in his hands. "But, if you do attempt to lie to me, try to feed me any false information at all. For every time you do," The blonde turned around, gripping the handle of the knife in his hand while striding over toward his prisoner. Who was shivering and trembling in fear. "I will cut off one of your fingers, then one of your toes, and the rest of your appendages until there's nothing left. Is that clear?"

He rapidly nodded his bruised head, to afraid to utter a single word. Only making Wesker grin even wider with satisfaction. "First question, why did you shoot Laura? Weren't your orders were to bring her back alive to your boss?"

The prisoner immediately froze—feeling too afraid to answer in fear of the blonde taking out his anger on him in case he did answer. However, he felt a sudden burst of motivation flow through him when Wesker began tracing the tip of the blade along the man's chest. Pressing hard enough to cut through the prisoner's shirt and very top layer of the man's skin, but not to entirely puncture through the integumentary organ itself. Blood quickly flowed from the bloody slash on his chest—staining his already blood-soaked article of clothing.

"Yes! Yes! Our orders were to bring her and her mother back alive once he initiated the viral outbreak! He also specified that the young girl was brought harmed as well! That's all he told us, I swear man!" The prisoner stated loudly. His sudden compliance notified the blonde that he wasn't being completely honest with him.

"As soon as I knew that he wasn't telling me the whole truth, I knew it was time to step things up a bit."

Wesker immediately removed the blade from the man's chest—grasping ahold of the captive's right hand. Getting ready to chop off two of his fingers, the captive tried to pull his hand away from his torturer's grip.

"Wait! Wait! I wasn't—" He was cut off by the sound of his own shrieking. Wesker swiftly brought the blade down—slicing off two of the man's fingers in one swift motion. Sending an immense jolt of pain throughout his whole hand and the rest of the body. Blood now gushing uncontrollably from where his fingers were severed—spattering all over Wesker's gloved hands and apron.

"Do you really think you can fool anybody? You're not fooling me, Gerald." Wesker picked up the bloody digits—throwing them away in the trash can positioned beside the surgical tray. "Let's try this again, shall we?" The blonde clutched the captive's hand again, resting the sharp edge of the bloody blade placidly against his index and pinky fingers. "Why did you shoot Laura?"

"Because the boss himself wanted me to, okay! He's been orchestrated the latest series of outbreaks and the whole Tricell revival act. All as a stratagem to distract and mislead the BSAA, and the rest of the anti-bioterror organizations like them."

"When I was informed about this, the whole Tricell revival act, I knew immediately that we're up against quite a formidable foe."

Wesker pressed the edge of the blade deeper against his fingers—puncturing the tender flesh as blood trickled down from the incision. "That's not what I was asking," The blonde reminded him, using a menacing tone of voice.

"Okay! Okay! He wanted to make the girl and her mother suffer dearly before we would bring them in. He knew that it would definitely plague you and provoke you straight away..." The captive answered quickly, his tone of voice weak and shaky.

"A foe that had his very heart set out on getting his hands on you and your mother. With every intention of hurting the two of you in order to get to me."

"Is that so?" Wesker asked him.

The young man nodded his head again in desperation. Wesker removed the blade from the man's hand—placing it in his apron pocket before turning around and grabbing the industrial torch from the surgical tray.

"Since I have a rather tight schedule today, there's one more question I have for you." Wesker turned around, with the tool in hand. "Who are you working for? Who ordered you bring in Laura Rose and Claire Redfield?" The blonde flicked the industrial torch on—emitting bright and luminous orange-red flames from the nozzle.

The captive quivered more distinctly than ever before, turning his head away to avoid looking any further at his immoral captor. "I-I don't know man!"

Wesker raised an eyebrow, his jaw ticking as he turned off the industrial torch. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know who he really is because he has a prominent habit of keeping his real identity top secret and confidential from everyone! From his private platoons, to our supervisors within the organization, even from agents like me! Only the higher ups that work along with him are knowledgeable of his name and individuality," The prisoner blurred out all at once, as he steadily shifted his gaze over at Wesker.

"The moment I found out that he had no clue who he was, he instantly become no longer useful to me."

The blonde stared down at the agent, grasping his chin with his free hand, deciding on how he wanted to dispose of him. Since he no longer had any use of him. When a suitable idea finally came to mind, he strode over to the surgical tray.

Setting the industrial torch down and grabbing a thing of matches from on top of the tray, and the container of gasoline that was sitting beside the trash can on the floor. Wesker was more pleased than ever that he had a fire sprinkler installed onto the basement ceiling. He turned around and treaded over to the surgical table with the materials in hand, facing his captive once again.

"Wait, what are you—" He was cut off by Wesker opening the container and dousing the flammable substance over his bloody body. Causing his injuries to sting—enveloping in his entire body in pain momentarily.

"Mr. Ford. When I said that all you have to do is 'answer some questions I have for you', I meant giving me all of the answers I wanted to hear. You didn't answer my last question very well, so I no longer have any use of you. No hard feelings." Once Wesker poured all of the gasoline on him, he carelessly threw the container across the room. Landings over by Steve's feet. "I don't know about you," Wesker took the matches—lighting one of them. "but this is gonna be lit." The blonde flicked the lit match at the prisoner before stepping away from the surgical table; the young man's body was entirely consumed by the roaring flames.

The captive shrieked and howled in nonstop torment and agony, jerking constantly against his fire-proof restraints while he was being burned alive on the surgical table. Wesker threw away the disposable gloves in the trash can, before holding his hands out. Rubbing his hands and warming them up close to the fire. A couple minutes later, the sprinkler above him on the ceiling finally turned on, as the fire died down. Whilst the sprinkler put out the rest of the fire, the dead prisoner laid lifeless on the surgical table. His body was completely charred and burnt, the smell of burnt flesh and gasoline manifestly filled the room.

***End of Flashback***

Laura's POV

"Dad, was it really necessary to torture him?" I questioned him.

"Yes it was Laura," He responded, backing up his reasoning. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have found about the Tricell revival act and been one step closer to finding him and your mother."

My eyes widened straightaway, slowly brimming with tears. "Mom is alive?"

"Yes Laura, Claire is alive."

"Then where is she? Where's Mom?" I inquired, my tone of voice sounding hopeful.

"I don't know," Dad answered bluntly. My heart sank.

"What do you mean you don't know?! It's a straightforward fucking answer!"

"I don't know because they took your mother. They've got her," He stated using a blunt tone of voice, as tears trickled down my cheeks.

"What do you mean they've got Mom?" I asked, as a lump formed in my throat. 'This feels like a nightmare. It can't be real...' I thought to myself, as I covered my mouth. Trying to mute my growing sobs.

"I'm sorry Laura, but it's the truth" He told me, with a monotone tone of voice. "I thought about telling you later when the time was right, but I didn't want to hide it from you. You deserved to know."

"This is all my fault..." I muttered, realizing what would've happened if I hadn't acted so stubborn on that night and went with Dad like he wanted. "I should've just gone with you when I had the chance. If I did, then Mom would still be—" I was cut of by my father resting his hand on my shoulder—using the other to hold another tissue out to me. I directed my gaze up at him; more tears pouring down my pale cheeks.

"Don't say that, Laura. That's not true. It wasn't your fault, in any case it was mine. I was one who chose to hide the fact that I knew you two were being targeted from the very start."

"What happened Dad?" I redirected my gaze up at him, my eyes utterly swelled with tears. "How did this happen?" I took the tissue from him—wiping away my remaining tears with it.

Dad sat up from the side of the bed—sitting down in one of the empty chairs positioned by my bed. Crossing his legs over one another and folding his hands on top of his lap. "After we went flying out the window, I quickly grabbed ahold of your Mom and propelled us from the nearby building into the other skyscraper next to us. Saving us from falling to our very deaths. The moment the two of us crashed into the building, we were ambushed straightaway by an enormous platoon of those operatives. Even though they managed to take your mother, I was able to escape unharmed."

The corners of my mouth quirked down. "Did you even try to save Mom, or did you just use her as bait so you could easily get away?" I questioned him, using an aggravated tone of voice.

"Believe me Laura, I did try, but we were fully overwhelmed to the point where I could barely do anything to help her." He leaned down—picking up the small blue teddy I dropped earlier.

"You still have this?" Dad question me. He gazed down at the little stuffed animal in his hands, before handing it back to me.

"Yeah, I've kept it all these years. Shocker right?" I smiled and took the stuffed animal from him. Holding it in my hands while Dad checked his watch.

"It appears that it's time to go," He stood up from his seat, dusting himself off. "I've got things to do and places to be, so this is goodbye for now Laura."

Before I could even say goodbye to him, he was gone. Instantly vanishing from my sight. When I glanced down at my stuffed animal in my hands, I noticed there's a folded piece of paper tucked into the blue ribbon tied around the bear's neck.

I snatched ahold of it—unfolding the piece of paper and reading the note he left behind for me:

    Laura,

If you ever need anything, or if you find yourself in any perilous situations, contact me ASAP.
                           Sincerely,
                                      ~A.W.
367-9458

I briskly stuff the note into my bra, before laying down and falling asleep. Holding the miniature stuffed bear close to my chest.

***3rd POV***

Whilst Dr. Rodriquez was preoccupied in her office, packing up all of her things and placing them into her purse. After putting her jacket on, she was about to zip it up and head towards the doorway when all of a sudden a black, gloved hand clasped itself rapidly over Isabelle's mouth. Muting her panicky screams as she scuffled hastily against her attacker towering over her from behind.

The blonde in black swiftly wrapped his other arm around the doctor's waist, pinning her slim arms at her sides right as the man twisted Isabelle's neck in an inhumane manner. Snapping it all together and killing her in the process.