• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Isaacs snorted. His men, indeed. Technically, as second in command, he was in charge of personnel, but everyone on this base was Isaacs’s responsibility, not Slater’s.

To answer the question, since ignoring Slater would not make him go away, Isaacs said, “My research has—intensified.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Coming to a realization, Isaacs sighed. If he didn’t give Slater something, he’d go over Isaacs’s head to Wesker, and that simply wouldn’t do. At least not yet.

So he de-opaqued the window on the far side of the lab. Now Slater could see the testing room, where fourteen undead that had been mutated by the same process that had been used on Hockey Jersey were leaping about, screaming, and throwing themselves against the walls and window. Two hit the window, causing Slater to jump back in shock.

“My God. This is madness.”

“Don’t worry,” Isaacs said, “they’re perfectly secure.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Timson and Moody thought the same thing.” He walked up to the window just as one of them threw a chair against the window. Made of Plasti-Glas as it was, it didn’t budge. Slater shook his head. “You’re supposed to be domesticating them!”

“Sometimes aggression has its uses.” He saw no reason to admit to Slater that the domestication protocols had utterly failed, but sometimes the best successes came out of failure.

“What could you possibly need these things for?”

If Isaacs had ever been in any danger of mistaking Slater for an intelligent human being, that question eliminated the possibility forevermore. With the world as it was, how could anybody not see the value of such creatures?

Before he could say anything, however, the White Queen spoke up. “Dr. Isaacs, specimen eighty-seven has reached the final stage of the test grid.”

“Perfect,” Isaacs said, grateful for the distraction from Slater’s stupidity. “Put her onscreen.” He reopaqued the window to the testing room.

Slater moved to stand behind Isaacs as the flat-screen monitor lit up with an image of Alice-87, wearing the red dress and boots that she had worn during the disaster in the Hive, walking down the re-creation of the Raccoon City Hospital. She pushed a gurney down a corridor and watched as the trip wire sliced the gurney in half.

At least, this one had outperformed the eighty-sixth one.

Then she sidestepped the mine, avoiding being shredded by it, which put her ahead of eighty-five as well.

Alice-87 proceeded toward the front door cautiously, as if expecting more trouble.

That was a wise thought on her part, as what would have been the door to the street opened to reveal Hockey Jersey, who screamed and leapt at Alice-87, eviscerating her with his bare hands.

Behind him, he heard Slater gasp and make a guttural noise.

While Isaacs understood the reaction—one didn’t often see someone tear apart a human body by hand—the ability of Hockey Jersey to do what he just did at the slightest provocation proved remarkable. And thrilling. Did Slater truly have to ask what use these new, improved undead would have?

These weren’t biohazards. These were soldiers. Soldiers who would fight in Isaacs’s army.

“Is Chairman Wesker even aware of this?”

Another point against Slater, since the answer should have been blindingly obvious. “He knows what he needs to know.”

“Or what you choose to tell him. You’ve overstepped your bounds. This is sedition.”

Isaacs was unconcerned. True, Umbrella had become its own nation, for all intents and purposes, so the word sedition could apply, but he didn’t acknowledge Slater’s authority to charge him with such a crime. “My research here will change the face of everything. Everything.”

Slater looked at the flat-screen, then at the opaqued window, then at Isaacs. He shook his head and started to leave.

“If you pick a side,” Isaacs said to his retreating form, “be sure it’s the right one.”

That stopped Slater in his tracks. After a second, he recovered and left the lab.

Isaacs went back to work. He would take care of Slater in due course.