An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
How could it have all gone so wrong?
Ethan was dead, Mia was dead, and his team was slaughtered.
He knew Miranda was powerful; they all did. But they couldn’t have fathomed just what she was truly capable of when she dropped all restraint.
Chris Redfield cursed himself as he struggled against his bindings, the fearless hero of the BSAA now restrained against a thick slab of hardened black biomass. His wrists and ankles were restrained by mold-formed tendrils, keeping him spread-eagled and unable to tear at his bonds.
It was dark, the small amount of light in the area coming from the evening sky. With the faint rays that funnelled in, he deduced he was somewhere deep below ground, a secret hideout maybe?
‘Should have just leveled this whole goddamn village when I had the chance.’ Chris thought.
His head was still swimming from the damage he’d taken. The last thing he remembered was Ethan coming back, having survived the impossible, only to be viciously struck down by Miranda during the final battle for Rosemary. It was a cruel, senseless fate. Then the helicopter carrying Mia came crashing down on him and his squad, courtesy of the witch herself.
Redfield didn’t know how, but when he got free, he would make Miranda pay; for killing Ethan and his family, for killing his men, for killing these villagers. She would answer for what she’d done, even if it killed him.
The sound of a baby’s coos brought his attention to his right.
To his fury, he saw Miranda stepping out of the shadows and into the dim lighting, her black and gold robes hardly visible in the darkness. The devil of a woman held a baby in her arms and smirked triumphantly. Her pale skin, platinum brushed back hair, and golden eyes made her seem like a sinister ghost that had materialized into reality. Though given her true nature, she was much more terrifying than any mythical monster.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Miranda said, looking down on the defeated Captain before her, “My heart bleeds for you, soldier. It truly does. I’m quite certain this is not the storybook ending you envisioned when you raided my village.”
“Evil bitch, go to hell.” Chris growled, his body sore from numerous wounds. His throat was raw, but the words clawed their way out. “I’ll kill you! Mark my words, I’ll put you in the ground myself!”
He couldn’t protect Ethan, he couldn’t protect Mia, he couldn’t save their baby or his men. As the realization marinated, his fury leveled just as much at himself as with Miranda; his blood began to boil, despite his injuries.
Miranda moved like she was admiring a painting. Miranda’s smile only widened, amused the way an adult might indulge a tantrum from a stubborn child.
“Still defiant,” she murmured, circling him like a predator, “How bold. How predictable. A lesser man would have died long before now… but you?” She leaned in, her breath brushing his face. “You’re too proud to surrender, even when the war is already lost.”
Her robes whispered across the floor as she paced around him in a slow circle.
“Do you even understand what you fought against, Captain Redfield? You charge in with guns and bravado, convinced you’re saving the world, but you never stopped to ask from what.” She rolled her eyes, “Well, from me, I’m certain. But why defy me?”
Chris strained against the bindings, muscles flexing. “You murdered innocent people. Tortured them. Experimented on them. You turned them into monsters!”
“Monsters?” Miranda laughed softly, a sound almost tender, yet hollow. Such an elementary label.
“Oh, Captain, I never wanted to rule this world, nor burn it to ash. All I ever wanted out of this world… was her.” she presented the baby to Chris. The infant had pale skin and platinum hair like her mother, and golden eyes. The baby that was once Rosemary Winters was no more, “My daughter. My sweet Eva. Everything I did, every experiment, every sacrifice, was for her. And you, so-called savior, came to take that from me.”
Her voice hardened; her eyes glimmered like molten gold.
“You call me evil because I refused to accept loss. Because I found a way to defy death itself. You call me evil because I devoted my life to saving my baby. Ethan Winters and I are no different.”
Chris's jaw tightened. “You’re comparing yourself to him?”
Miranda leaned close enough again for him to feel the chill of her breath.
“No. I’m showing you that you are the villain of my story. You are no hero, not objectively. You would deny a mother her child, condemn love as madness, and call it justice. Tell me, soldier, what sin is greater than letting love die?”
He glared up at her, eyes burning. “You’re insane. Your daughter is dead, Miranda.” he looked at the baby in her arms, “You stole someone's baby. You killed it, and mutated it. You perverted its nature as you’ve done everything el-”
Chris roared out as a tendril pierced his torso, just under his rib cage.
The man’s pained yell brought Eva to tears, the infant whining in her mothers arms. Miranda smiled, one serene and victorious. She turned on her heel, taking steps away from him as she rocked the crying baby.
Chris's voice tore through the silence, hoarse but burning. He wasn’t going to let her shut him up, “You talk about love, about devotion, but you’re the reason millions are dead. Every outbreak, every bio-weapon, every goddamn virus that’s torn the world apart in the last century… it all started with you!”
Miranda paused mid-step, turning her gaze back to him.
“Oh?”
Her tone was soft, curious, as if he’d said something quaint.
“You think I created your nightmares? That I ordered anyone to twist my research into weapons?”
Chris snarled, “You opened Pandora’s box! You laid the groundwork for Umbrella, for Spencer, all of it! The T-Virus, Raccoon City, the BSAA cleaning up blood for years, it all goes back to you and your bullshit!”
His voice cracked under the weight of it. He was staring down the bane of his life and many others, and he couldn’t even harm her, “Every life lost, every friend and comrade I’ve buried, is because of your goddamn obsession! Your delusions!”
Another tendril stabbed into his right thigh, earning Miranda a pained groan from the former S.T.A.R.S member.
Miranda stared at him, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. Not guilt, disappointment.
“You still think so small,” she said quietly, “Especially for a brother.”
Chris's breath caught in his throat. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move.
“Don’t,” he whispered, almost too soft to hear. “Don’t talk about my sister. Do not go there.”
Miranda wouldn’t stop.
“Would you burn the world for her, your sister?” she continued, circling him again like a vulture over a dying animal. Both adults ignored the whining infant, “If she were to die before you, would you damn yourself if it meant one more breath, one more heartbeat, one more chance to see her alive again?”
She stepped in close before she leaned in, her whisper brushing against his ear.
“Because that’s all I ever wanted. One more chance.”
He turned his head, glaring at her through a side eye of sweat and blood. “You don’t get to compare what you did to-”
Another tendril, this one through the left forearm.
More delicious screams.
“To what?” she interrupted sharply, her composure cracking for the briefest second. “To you? To the man who led his men to die? Who sent others into hell while pretending it was for the greater good?”
Chris's jaw tightened.
“I watched your records, your history,” Miranda went on, her voice trembling between fury and fascination. “Raccoon City. Kijuju. Edonia. Lanshiang. Everywhere you go, the dead follow. You talk of my sacrifices, yet every mission you’ve led ends the same, a trail of corpses of men that follow you. That believe in you. Tell me, how many have you lost, Christopher? How many did you sacrifice because you told yourself it was for the betterment of the world? For all that have lost their lives, your war is no closer to ending today than when it started in 1998.”
She stepped back and away from him, golden eyes burning like sunlight through glass. She walked up to a bundle of tendrils and lay Eva on them, the black mold coils holding the infant like many arms.
“You and I are not opposites.” Miranda said, “We are reflections.”
He hissed through his teeth, rightfully taking her words as an insult, “You think you know me?”
“I am you,” she said, stepping back up to him, “You fight for those you care for; I fight for mine. The only difference is that I succeeded.”
Her hand rose and pressed flat against his chest, over his heart. He flinched at her touch, still unsure of what the mad woman was planning. She would surely have killed him by now if she were planning to, right? Maybe she wanted to play with her food…
“You’d do the same if you could. Don’t lie to yourself, Captain. If your sister were taken from you, if she were gone forever, tell me honestly, would you not rip heaven open to bring her back?”
Chris's breath hitched. The image was haunting, real, as if projecting from an existing parallel universe; Claire’s smiling face. Holding his hand when they were kids. Her laughter. Then gone, replaced by a tombstone, by silence. He had to be a parent to her when their folks went. She was all he had. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
He tried to answer, but no words came.
Miranda smiled. Her satisfaction unwavering.
“Precisely what I thought.”
She stepped back, voice turning low and reverent.
“Love makes monsters of us all, Christopher. The only difference is that I stopped pretending it was wrong, something to be feared, a sin.”
Miranda turned away from the restrained captain, the woman boldly able to keep her back to her enemy. She knew this knowledge would eat away at Redfield.
Miranda walked back over as the baby softly whined, a brush of the hair atop the baby girl’s head calming her down. Chris found the sight sickening. It seemed almost human. The depravity of what she’d done, though. She stole a baby from its loving parents, killed those who birthed it, and then killed what little consciousness the baby had to rewrite it with that of another long-deceased baby.
What a nightmare.
“Rest now, my darling. The world will not harm you again,” Miranda whispered. The baby grabbed its mother's finger, seeking a bond with the one she had imprinted on.
She lingered for a while, allowing Chris a prolonged view of her in her success. From the captain’s perspective, she seemed to be pondering something. What, he couldn’t know for certain. How painfully to kill him was the most likely answer.
Miranda’s hand trembling faintly, then drew back, her eyes shifting to the restrained figure behind her.
Chris's breathing was ragged. Sweat slicked his skin, bloodshot eyes tracking her warily as she approached.
Miranda looked him up and down, studying him as if he were another science experiment, a specimen laying across her table.
“I believe I still have further use for you.” she said coldly.
Chris's voice was little more than a rasp. “Fuck you and burn in hell.”
Her smile didn’t waver. It was calm, patient, maternal.
“I’ve already lived through that. Today, I’ve found heaven.” She reached out, fingers brushing his cheek, a mockery of tenderness. “You’ve proven yourself strong, Christopher. Relentless. Protective to the end, even when all you loved was ash. You refuse to yield, even when your God failed you.”
He tried to turn away, but her hand gripped his jaw and held him in place, looking only at her.
“Those are virtues I value,” she whispered. “Strength. Loyalty. Duty. Traits a child needs from a father.”
Chris froze. Color drained from his face, “What-”
