Code: Veronica (Resident Evil #6)
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A desperate search for her missing brother once again pits Claire Redfield against the terrifying bioweapons of the Umbrella Corporation. Her quest leads her to a remote island where a mad genius has unleashed every grotesque creature at his disposal to stop her from interfering with his horrific agenda. Catapulted to the bottom of the world, Claire is at last reunited with the man she came to find. Chris Redfield has been fighting a one-man war of his own against Umbrella's most terrifying creations...and is now on a collision course with the man who betrayed the S.T.A.R.S. in Raccoon City. A man who should, by all rights, be dead: Captain Albert Wesker.
God, they were getting out, and with Alfred Ashford finally dead, there was no one standing in their way. So why was she still so uncertain? It’s that shit he was babbling about his sister… Crazy, yeah, but it had brought up the one question she still didn’t have an answer for—why had Rockfort been attacked? Steve jammed on the throttle and the machine lurched forward. There weren’t seat belts, so Claire put one hand on the roof, the digger bouncing almost as much as their plane had right before it crashed.
I believe that twins often have a much deeper bond than other sets of siblings—that in a figurative sense, if you cut one, the other will bleed, I’d like very much to test this theory in a more literal way, regarding pain levels. I’ve found that filling a fresh wound with cut glass and sewing it closed again is a Sickened, Claire tossed the book aside and wiped her hands on her jeans, deciding that she had enough information to go on. She hoped quite sincerely that the corpse upstairs was Dr. Stoker’s, that his black heart had failed him and it was the thought of going to hell that had frozen his face into a mask of terror— and she abruptly realized that she’d had more than enough of his atmosphere, that if she had to be in the infirmary for one more minute, she really was going to throw up.
He slid into the pilot’s chair, grabbing the yoke and pulling back—and nothing happened. Oh, man. “Belt up, we’re going to crash! ” Steve shouted, grabbing for his own belt as Claire jumped into her seat, the buckles snapping shut just as they touched down— —and alarms started shrieking as the landing gear crumpled and tore away, the plane’s belly slamming into the ground. The cabin bounced wildly, the seat belts the only thing keeping them from hitting the roof. Claire let out a yelp as a wave of snow crashed into the windshield, and there was a giant metal SCREECH behind them as the tail or a wing ripped away— —and enough of the churning snow pack fell away from the glass for them to see the building in front of them, the out-of-control plane sliding for it, smoke coming from somewhere, they were going to hit and— TEN Claire’s head hurt.
A. R. S. a few times in the past, passing along inside information about Umbrella. Although his exact motivations were unknown, his objective seemed clear enough—to destroy the pharmaceutical company’s secret bioweapons division. Unfortunately, waiting on Trent was a long shot; he’d only ever contacted them when it suited his needs, and since they had no way of reaching him, the prospect of his assistance was seeming less likely all the time. Click-click. Click-click. The repetitive sound was soothing somehow, a muted mechanical process in the quiet of the rented safe house.
Standing at the top of the stairs in a long, dark dress, silky blond hair tied back from her pale, beautiful face. “Alexia Ashford,” Wesker said, surprised to find himself somewhat in awe now that the moment was at hand. She looked human, delicate and helpless, but he knew better. Make your pitch, and make it good. Wesker cleared his throat, stepping forward and taking off his sunglasses. “Alexia, my name is Albert Wesker. I represent a group who has long admired your work, and have been eagerly awaiting your, ah, return.