After returning to my office, I stared silently at the envelope sitting alone on the empty desk.
[August Quarterly Raw Data Submission Report, To: Umbrella Pharmaceuticals Headquarters Research Division, From: Alexander Ashford, Director of the Antarctic Branch Research Institute]
I picked up the envelope and looked at it for a long time.
I fell into a deep dilemma, wondering if I had left something out, whether I should tear it open again right now and make corrections.
My hand went to the seal, then dropped away, over and over again.
"Did I enter the figures correctly earlier? And did I explain the gene-related reagent smear from June 11 properly?"
At the same time, another thought kept pressing back.
"Maybe it’s already done. If I open it again now, it’ll just become endless, and it’s going to be a pain in the ass."
The two thoughts clashed so hard that I ended up wavering back and forth.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t reviewed it. On the contrary, I had stared at it long enough to memorize the contents.
But the moment I tried to let it go, I kept feeling like something was still missing, even though I had done all I could.
It seemed extreme anxiety and stress had given me an obsessive streak that hadn’t been there before.
I set the envelope on the desk and closed my eyes for a moment.
"Yeah. Honestly, what more can I even do? All that’s left is to wait for the result."
Then I opened my eyes.
And pressed the buzzer button under the desk.
Beep-
Not long after, someone knocked from outside.
"Master, did you call for me?"
It was Herman.
I called him in and said,
"Herman."
"Yes, Master."
Then I held out the envelope.
"Deliver this to the mail clerk tonight. It has to go out on the first dispatch tomorrow morning."
Herman took the envelope and gave a short bow.
"Understood."
That was all.
I stood at the office door and watched Herman’s back as he walked down the corridor with the envelope in hand.
Now everything I could do was finished.
The envelope had left my hands, and soon it would be on its way to Umbrella Pharmaceuticals headquarters.
Herman’s figure disappeared beyond the doorway.
I looked at the empty desk, now stripped even of the envelope.
It’s done. It’s over.
Even as I told myself that, one corner of my chest stayed cold.
Relief and anxiety mixed together and refused to settle.
And at the end of that thought was only one thing: what if I get caught?
I stopped thinking.
No. Don’t think about it right now.
I forced myself to stand.
First I needed to do something. If I just sat still, my head would only hurt more.
I decided to tidy the room.
The office wasn’t really messy to begin with.
The pile of documents was gone now, and the typewriter was in its place. But if I didn’t move my hands, my mind would keep spinning.
So I wiped down the desk, straightened the area around the typewriter, and checked around the cabinet.
Then I suddenly noticed the gap I had seen earlier again.
"Right. That."
Back then I had let it go, saying the children came first, but now there was nothing urgent to do.
So I decided to check it properly while I was at it.
I examined the side of the cabinet again, then slowly felt along the lower section.
Something caught on my fingertips.
"Huh?"
I crouched down to look.
Inside the cabinet’s side panel, in a place that was hard to notice, there was a small protrusion.
A switch.
"What is this?"
I hesitated for a moment.
In biohazard stories, when you press a suspicious switch, nothing good usually happens.
"...Still, I guess I have to press it."
Just in case, I rummaged through a drawer and pulled out the pistol I had stuffed into a corner.
It was the same gun I had mentioned on my first day here, when I found out what I was and got so fed up that I even tried to kill myself.
I swallowed hard and placed my hand over the switch.
"Damn it. Curiosity killed the elephant, or whatever. Is this really the right move?"
...I wanted to say that, but my hand moved first.
Click.
With a low mechanical sound, the cabinet slowly slid sideways.
It wasn’t bolted to the floor. It was on rails.
In other words, it had been designed to move from the start.
There was a door behind the cabinet.
A steel door.
There was no lock.
I stood there for a moment.
Should I open it?
By the time I got this far, the answer was already obvious.
I grabbed the handle and pulled.
The door opened with a heavy groan, as if it hadn’t been opened in a long time.
Rust scraped at the hinges.
I swallowed and tightened my grip on the pistol in my hand.
Prepared to fire instantly in case of the worst, I carefully stepped into the unknown space.
Cold air rushed out as I entered.
The inside was very dark, and I groped along the wall for a switch.
Click.
The light came on.
A faint glow filled the room.
It wasn’t fully bright, just enough to barely see ahead.
It was a very narrow space, with a low ceiling, about the size of a small one-room apartment.
"What the hell is this."
For now, I stepped inside.
When I turned down the passage to the right, a short corridor appeared.
The walls were all concrete, stained as if damp had seeped into them.
My footsteps echoed through the silent chamber.
There was no choice but to think that the people here were insane enough to build a maze behind an office.
At the end of the corridor was another space.
The moment I stepped in, I froze.
The floor was strange.
It was a grid of iron bars, and through the gaps I could see down below.
I slowly knelt and peered through the spaces in the floor.
Deep below was another room.
And in the center of that room was a chair.
Metal restraints were attached to the armrests and legs.
Beside it stood something enormous, like a giant axe blade, connected to the restraints.
"W-what... what is this?"
I couldn’t move.
Something in my head began to connect the dots.
This place... yes, there was no mistake.
This was the place where Alexander Ashford’s life met its miserable end.
The place where he was imprisoned by Alexia and Alfred, turned into a test subject, and transformed into the monster called Nosferatu... this was that place.
I was the one who would be strapped into that chair.
The moment I realized that, I collapsed onto the grated floor.
My legs had gone weak, and I couldn’t get back up.
The cold touch of the iron grating crawled up through my palm.
"The children... those children are going to lock me in here."
Alfred, whose ears had turned red earlier because the biscuits were delicious, flashed through my mind. Alexia’s voice, saying thank you for the first time, flashed through my mind.
Those children...
"...Ha."
A short breath escaped me.
I knew it. Of course I knew it in my head.
But seeing that chair directly through the grating felt completely different.
I didn’t know who this space had been made for, but in the end, I would be the one strapped into those restraints.
I would be the one sitting beneath that axe blade.
I was doing all this to prevent that, and yet... I never expected the nightmare itself to appear right in front of me like this.
I closed my eyes, then opened them again.
Slowly, I got back to my feet and looked around the room once more.
Then I noticed a small bookshelf tucked into the corner.
There were several books on the shelf.
I picked up a notebook.
There was nothing written on the cover, but the moment I opened it, I knew what it was.
Alexander’s handwriting. The same handwriting I had seen countless times in the raw documents.
"A diary..."
[July 10, 1968]
It has been three days since Father passed away.
The cofounder of Umbrella and the very symbol of the Ashford family’s glory is gone, and with him, all of it ends today.
After the funeral, I received a call from Spencer. It was a formal expression of condolence, with not a trace of sorrow on his face.
But I knew what lay beneath those words.
That the Ashford family’s influence within Umbrella would now begin to diminish.
Unfortunately, I do not have the same degree or knowledge of virology as Father.
My abilities as a researcher also fall short of his.
But I must protect the family.
Absolutely.
This journal is being written so that I never forget that resolve.
[September 14, 1968]
I have devised a plan to reclaim our lost glory.
The plan is divided into two stages.
The first is to find the gene that controls intelligence. The second is to use the DNA of Lady Veronica, an ancestor of the Ashford family, to create an heir who inherits her traits.
This had already been conceived during Father’s time.
Father was somewhat reluctant to desecrate an ancestor’s corpse, but I am not in a position to be picky about such things now.
Perhaps our ancestor herself would rather have her body offered up than watch our family’s downfall and let the bloodline die out.
So I have decided to name this plan the Veronica Project, after her.
If this plan succeeds, that child will be a naturally born genius and will one day play an active role in Umbrella.
Then I will have reclaimed our lost brilliance with my own hands.
I will complete it, by any means necessary.
Of course, I will not inform Chairman Spencer.
This belongs to the Ashford family alone.
[February 7, 1970]
The first stage is complete.
The analysis of intelligence-related genes progressed faster than expected.
It has reached a level where the preserved DNA sequence of Lady Veronica can be combined.
Only the second stage remains.
Once this is complete, the Ashford family will stand again.
Spencer and Marcus alike will no longer dare to look down on our family.
This was the origin of the Veronica Project.
Fear of the family’s collapse, and the desperation to stop it. The things I had only known as setting in the game were written here in this man’s own hand, and that made it feel different.
Then I kept turning the pages.
[November 5, 1971]
Today, at last, the child was born.
No, to be exact, the children were born.
I had considered the possibility to some extent, but twins were born.
I decided to name the two children Alexia and Alfred, as planned.
Alfred was an unexpected result.
I had not anticipated that the second embryo would develop like this.
I considered discarding him, but for now I decided to raise them together.
It would not be a bad thing to have a control sample for variables and sex-related data.
In any case, Alexia is the fruit of the Veronica Project.
The child did not cry when she was born.
She simply opened her eyes.
For some reason, those calm eyes bothered me.
I assigned a dedicated researcher to serve as both nurse and caretaker for the children.
The word "discard" made me shudder.
No matter how you look at it, to think of discarding a newborn the moment you see it... is that really something a human being should think?
And the fact that I kept him not out of humanitarian concern, but simply to use him as material for experiments... I could almost understand why Alfred went insane after learning the truth later.
[August 23, 1972]
Today Alexia spoke her first word.
The researcher reported it to me in shock, saying she wasn’t even a year old yet.
They said her pronunciation was clear.
Proof that the project succeeded.
The intelligence-related gene manipulation is expressing itself exactly as intended.
Alfred is also showing above-average development.
An unexpected harvest.
[November 6, 1972]
It has already been a year since the two children were born.
The children’s physical abilities have developed considerably as well, and they are already faster at walking than the average child.
Today is a day of celebration in two senses.
Alexia and Alfred’s first birthday, and the first anniversary of the Veronica Project bearing fruit.
I compiled the children’s growth data.
Alexia’s language development speed has surpassed the average for her age by more than double.
Her physical development is also among the best.
The figures almost exactly match what I predicted during the project’s design.
It is proof that Lady Veronica’s genes are expressing themselves as intended.
Alfred does not match Alexia, but he still far exceeds the average.
Not bad for an unexpected result.
On paper, both samples are passing.
Today, to celebrate both the birthday and the project’s success, I gathered the researchers and prepared a first-birthday cake for Alexia and Alfred.
I looked at them for a moment.
Alexia was staring at the candle beside the cake rather than the cake itself.
She was watching the flame.
Alfred was looking where Alexia looked.
Watching that scene, I strangely felt hollow.
The project is proceeding smoothly.
The children are growing well.
Everything is going according to plan.
So why do I feel empty?
It must be because I’m tired.
It will be fine once I return to the lab tomorrow.
The more I read, the more nauseated I became.
Data. Samples. Passing.
This man was using those words on his own children’s birthdays.
And the emotion he felt on their birthdays wasn’t joy or celebration, but emptiness...
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Ah. So this Alexander was a far bigger piece of shit than the one I saw in the game.
He wasn’t just a failure as a father. He was a failure as a human being.
Now I understood why the children hated Alexander for the rest of their lives.
Maybe their psychopathy was partly the result of what they were born with, but this damned bastard had ruined them from the foundation up.
[December 3, 1973]
Today Alexia picked up a paper on my desk.
She can’t possibly read at two years old, but the way her eyes moved across the page was unsettling.
Alfred was playing with a soldier-shaped nutcracker beside her.
How could the two children be so different?
Alexia is the product of the project, and Alfred is its byproduct.
But they are both my children.
My children... that phrase still feels strange.
[May 16, 1974]
Before Alexia turned three, she began reading books on her own.
Not picture books.
It was an introductory botany text I had placed in the study.
When the researcher tried to take it away, she didn’t even cry. She just stared.
The nanny said that look alone was enough to stop her hand.
A baby who can overpower an adult with nothing but a look... how remarkable.
The project is a great success.
And yet, for the first time, I felt afraid.
Perhaps I opened Pandora’s box.
My hand slowed for a moment as I turned the page.
For the first time, I felt afraid.
This man had felt fear looking at a child not yet three years old.
Before pride, he had felt fear on instinct.
At a three-year-old child... his own child, no less.
[November 19, 1974]
Alexia spoke to me today.
It seemed as if she was trying to explain something.
I understood barely half of what she said.
It was strange, and uncomfortable, that I could not understand the words of a three-year-old.
What am I to this child?
Am I her father, or just an adult who happens to exist in the same space?
[March 12, 1975]
Alexia asked me a question today.
It was about the lifespan of a star.
That was not a question a four-year-old should be asking.
I explained it to her, but after looking at my expression, she rebutted my answer and turned away as if I were pathetic.
I can’t forget that look.
Was it disappointment, or contempt?
Is this what it feels like to be looked down on by the child I created?
[June 30, 1975]
Alfred fell today and scraped his knee.
He came to me crying.
I didn’t know what to do.
I called for the researcher acting as his nanny.
Even while Alfred was clinging to the nanny, he kept looking at me.
Even though I knew what that look wanted, I did nothing.
Unfortunately, if I intervene here, the data will be compromised.
I designed these children as the result of a project, not as my own children.
So they must learn to grow on their own.
Especially if they are to survive in the wilderness that is Umbrella.
[August 4, 1975]
Alfred came to my office today holding a model airplane.
It seemed he wanted to talk to me.
I was busy.
I told him to leave.
The child left without saying a word.
Only after the door closed did I notice his back.
His shoulders were slumped.
But I did not open the door.
There was nothing I could do for that child.
No, to be exact, I didn’t know what I should do.
Hmm... perhaps from now on I should record these emotions I feel separately in the data.
Ah, so that’s it. He justified leaving the child like that after he was hurt and crying and came to him first because he was lonely.
No wonder Alfred looked at me with such fear and shrinking hesitation every time. So that’s why.
[November 19, 1975]
Alexia was standing in front of the drawer containing Veronica Project materials today.
It was locked, so she couldn’t have opened it.
But the fact that she was standing there at all gave me chills.
How did she know?
No, there’s no way she knew. It must have been a coincidence.
It has to be a coincidence.
I may need to move the materials somewhere safer from now on.
[January 19, 1976]
I don’t know when it started, but I’ve begun to feel afraid of these children’s growth little by little.
Especially Alexia.
How does this child see me?
I can’t tell whether she sees me as her father or simply as another human being occupying the same space.
Lately she has increasingly tried to engage me in battles of logic.
Whenever that happens, I use my authority as her father to control the situation for now... but sometimes her eyes make me feel as if she can see straight through me, and it is hard to meet her gaze.
I created this child, and now this child is trying to overpower me.
She will surely fulfill my wish, but is this really the result I wanted?
[March 7, 1976]
Alfred was standing in front of the office again.
He seemed to hesitate over whether to knock, then finally turned and left.
I heard his footsteps receding, but I did not open the door.
Why didn’t I open it?
I still don’t know.
It is a different feeling from the fear I feel toward Alexia.
[May 3, 1976]
Alexia was analyzing experimental data alone at the institute today.
She was only five years old, yet she was trying to analyze data on the effect of the Progenitor Virus on moth genes.
When I saw this, I felt proud of her.
This child will surpass me.
And she will surely restore our glory in Umbrella once again.
Perhaps she has already surpassed me.
But... to be honest, my fear is greater than my pride.
Maybe it’s because I feel that one day she will see through everything I’ve hidden.
[June 9, 1976]
The Veronica Project has hit a wall.
The sample mutation rate has begun to deviate from predictions.
At this rate, it will be difficult to proceed as planned.
I began this to carry out my father’s will, and now it has come to a halt like this.
There is no time.
Spencer may notice at any moment.
I need to find a way.
Any way. Any way at all...
The diary ended there.
I closed the notebook.
The final line echoed in my head.
"Any way at all."
And beneath that was the chair.
My hands were trembling.
Now I thought I understood the path the original Alexander had taken to end up there.
At first, it was desperation to protect the family.
Then it became fear before the genius he had created himself.
And after piling that fear up without being able to tell anyone, he must have finally reached for the easiest thing within his grasp.
His own children.
I put the notebook back on the shelf.
I looked around the room once more.
The chair, the restraints, the axe blade.
So fear made this.
This room showed exactly what happens when fear keeps piling up.
I turned off the light.
Closed the door.
Pushed the cabinet back into place.
Click.
The office was quiet again.
I stood there for a moment.
I have to be different.
Not afraid. I have to go toward them.
That was the only way not to end up in that chair.
I put the pistol back in the drawer.
I turned off the office light and left the room.
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