#data: ic interaction

[anisopterra]

                                   The call had come in just past three in the morning. 

Her informant in the BSAA had received word of Albert Wesker’s demise in the heart of Africa that morning, apparently verified by the regicidal tyrant Redfield himself.

Cur. To think he could lay claim to such fallacies. 

Alexia knew the BSAA tended to run like like rabid dogs following a trail of blood for the kill, which in itself granted her an opportunity few would dare take. It often took them days to build up containment that was meant to be done in hours, and that meant she could slip through under the guise of their own banner in the chaotic nature of their operation. 

The countess arranged transport immediately, and the soldiers answered the call of the matriarch without delay. She knew that she had a small window to see it for her self before the imbeciles would have all their containment measures in place. She had to know if there was anything at all left salvageable; not of Albert’s ambitions or his project, but of him. The very man who’d pulled her from the depths of an icy gaol meant to eternally house her was not to be underestimated in the slightest – if she could regrow from naught, there was still a chance.

And so she chased the dawn into Kijuju. Her destination: the cairn that claimed death the immortal. 

The helicopter touched down on a clearing beneath the ascending slope, circled above by their reinforcements bearing the sigils of the consortium’s puppets as a guise. 

“You are to wait here until further instruction – dissuade any interlopers. Upon my return you are to seal the cockpit and assume priority transport for biohazardous materials, myself included.”

There was but one way she could attempt this. 

The world was unforgiving as she stepped over the edge, a heat that would be unbearable to most all creatures that existed —except for her. Veronica thrived in heat, her skin an armour chitin that was both pliable yet hard that refused to burn; neither the toxic steam or magma effluence that dared billow over what walkable surfaces left hurt while it ate at her clothes. The lack of oxygen distorted the world for a few moments, but her body endured, filtering hydrogen sulphide, sulphur, and carbon dioxide to something breathable. 

It had to. 

For him. 

For any trace of him she could find. 

[anisopterra]

( the arklay laboratory, 1981 | @urobouros​. )

There were some things that higher intelligence and extreme advancement through university could not quash in a ten year-old girl. Heavy fatigue and boredom from being lorded around an estate, as if she were nothing but a trophy by one’s father, after a long flight and drive the day before did little to brighten her mood. 

The Arklay Estate was one of the many homes of Lord Spencer and as such with her graduation, and successful employment as a senior chief researcher, he’d insisted Alexander take her to visit the manor and the team current leading the breakthrough with Progenitor. 

Unsurprisingly (and, though she’d never admit it openly, thankfully) Spencer himself wasn’t there. 

The laboratory was covertly nestled underground, their work unknown and unseen by the public much like her own back in Antarctica currently was, and the air had a cloying tackiness to it that spoke of the age of the facility. Drab concrete for walls. Rails that were once pristine now spotted with rust from the humidity of the climate along with the proximity of the concealment fountain. Some of the technicians she spied wandering down the stairs into the lower B1 area almost matched the concrete for their clear lack of sleep.

Her father explained that they’d be there for a while, needing to see the innovations for himself as well as inspect the facility. Alexia took the chance to explore on her own without leaving him chance to question her — after all, her staff pass allowed her access to all areas much like his. 

“How morose,” she remarked quietly to herself as she descended into the belly of the beast, acutely aware of the looks she drew as she stepped into the main hall of B1 due to her age. 

[anisopterra]

"An upcoming gala this Friday for pharmaceutical professionals beckons two representatives from Umbrella to attend. Perhaps, you should like to be my date for the evening, Dr. Ashford?" She knows the ennui he feels at these types of platitudinous events, surely, she can sympathize.

A part of her both loathed and greatly enjoyed such frivolity. Alexia had grown up in a world of aristocracy which had called for such drawn-out events for the sake of politics, and though it often meant playing with fire when it came to competitors there was always something despicably fun about it; toying with people for sport. 

“I’d be most honoured,” she replied quietly, glancing toward him through long lashes while her lips twitched up -- a gentle smile, something genuinely reserved for him alone. “I rather enjoy being able to talk circles around those stuffy old men.” 

Such galas were a game to her.

It was the only way they were remotely tolerable.