CHAPTER 36 Bonus chapter

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Ward Morey stared into the isolation chamber, his face illuminated by the glow of a dozen monitors. He was not watching an animal die; he was observing a cascade of biological failure and terrifying success. Inside the glass box, the lab mouse, once healthy, was now a twitching horror, its body decaying even as it moved with an unnatural, frenetic energy. He carefully recorded the data stream, his expression one of pure, clinical fascination. This was his first up-close observation of the T-Virus infection process, and it was breathtaking.

He watched the data as the virus resurrected dead cells only to warp them, creating something new and monstrous. It's amazing, he thought, his mind racing. The side effects were apocalyptic, but if they could be neutralized… this virus could cure most of the diseases known to man. The disabled could be made whole, genetic diseases could be overwritten, life could be restored. And as a biological weapon… it was perfect. An army that feels no pain, has no thoughts beyond a primal hunger, and possesses incredible resilience. It was the ultimate temptation, a miracle cure in one hand and a world-ending plague in the other.

"Well," Dr. Ashford's voice, more animated and fanatical than Ward had ever heard it, cut through his thoughts. "Let us begin the serum injection experiments."

"Of course, Doctor," Ward replied, turning to retrieve a fresh guinea pig.

He injected the new mouse with the T-Virus. As they waited for the symptoms to manifest, a syringe filled with a shimmering, green serum lay ready on the tray. Half an hour later, the mouse began to exhibit flu-like symptoms, its small body trembling.

"Inject a forty-milliliter dose first," Dr. Ashford commanded.

Ward, wearing protective gear, carefully picked up the depilating mouse and administered the serum. They placed it back in its cage and watched the monitors. The data showed the virus cells being rapidly eradicated, but a wave of secondary alerts followed. The serum was too potent; it was destroying healthy cells as well, a chemical fire burning the forest to get rid of the weeds.

"The serum concentration is too high," Ward reported, transferring the data to Ashford's screen. "The collateral damage to uninfected cells is unacceptable."

"Dilute the serum by twenty percent, and reduce the dosage by half," Ashford ordered, immediately adjusting the formula's data.

Ward complied, and they began again with a new mouse.

The next two days were a grueling montage of repetitive, high-stakes science. The laboratory, once quiet, was filled with the constant hum of machinery and the low murmur of the two scientists discussing data. They went through nearly two hundred tests, a blur of injections, observations, and minute adjustments. They felt the sting of failure with each mouse that succumbed, but also the thrill of progress as they slowly, painstakingly, closed in on the correct formula.

Finally, on the afternoon of the third day, they had their eureka moment. They watched the monitors, their breath held. The green serum entered the infected mouse's system. The T-Virus cells lit up red on the screen, and then, one by one, they were extinguished. The surrounding healthy cells flickered, but held. The necrotic tissue percentage stabilized, then began to slowly decline as the mouse's own biology, freed from the viral assault, began to heal.

"Doctor," Ward said, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face. "We succeeded."

"Yes… yes!" Ashford whispered, his hands gripping the arms of his wheelchair, his eyes gleaming with tears of joy. "We succeeded!" His daughter could finally be cured.

Ward, however, pointed to a secondary screen. "A caveat, Doctor. Look at the telomere length. It's been shortened by twelve percent. The subject is cured, but the initial infection cost it a fraction of its natural lifespan."

"A small price to pay for a life," Ashford said, his joy undiminished. "Now, we continue with mammalian experiments."

"Do you… want to rest for a while?" Ward asked. He hadn't realized until that moment the profound exhaustion settling deep into his bones. They hadn't slept in days.

The reminder seemed to hit Ashford as well. "Yes… yes, you're right. You get some rest, son. We will continue tomorrow."

Ward nodded, his body suddenly feeling immensely heavy. "See you tomorrow, Doctor." He stumbled out of the lab, giving a tired wave to Titch as he passed, made it back to his own studio, and collapsed onto the soft bed, falling asleep before his head even fully hit the pillow.

The next day, Ward walked into the lab refreshed, ready to begin the next phase. He stopped dead in the doorway.

Standing beside Dr. Ashford's wheelchair was a man who did not belong. He wore an immaculate, expensive suit that seemed completely out of place, and his smile did not reach his cold, assessing eyes. Ashford's own expression was ugly, a mixture of anger and defeat.

"Is there a problem?" Ward asked, his gaze narrowing on the intruder.

The man, Kane, glanced at him dismissively before turning his attention back to Ashford. "Dr. Ashford, the company requires you to hand over all data pertaining to the healing serum you have developed."

So, the peach-pickers have arrived, Ward thought. It was to be expected. Umbrella had funded the research; the results belonged to them.

"No," Dr. Ashford refused, his voice shaking with rage. "The serum is not complete. It hasn't undergone full trials."

"We will handle the human experiments from here," Kane said, his tone impatient. "We don't wish to waste any more time on this."

"How did you even know the serum was viable?" Ashford demanded, his head subconsciously turning to look at Ward.

Ward just shrugged, his expression a blank mask.

"The T-Virus is not stable!" Ashford pleaded, trying a different tact. "If it leaks, it will cause a global catastrophe!"

"We will improve it," Kane said, his tone turning threatening. "Now, I need the data on your serum. If you refuse, we will be forced to revoke your laboratory, all associated funding, and every piece of property granted to you by the Umbrella Corporation. Your daughter," he leaned down, his voice a venomous whisper, "will remain in that wheelchair for the rest of her life. And Umbrella will ensure it is a very long, very uncomfortable life."

Defeat washed over Dr. Ashford. The fight went out of his eyes. He slumped in his chair, turned to his computer, and with trembling hands, copied the files onto a USB drive. "Here," he said, his voice hollow as he handed it to Kane. "Take the production materials for the serum. Take it all."

Kane took the drive and nodded with satisfaction. As he turned to leave, his cold eyes met Ward's for a long, meaningful moment. He's not just looking at me, Ward realized. He's assessing a new asset. He knows I was involved. He's marking me. Kane then turned and left the laboratory without another word, the sound of his expensive shoes echoing in the suddenly silent room.

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