CHAPTER 37

For advance/early chapters : patreon.com/Ritesh_Jadhav0869

After Kane's departure, a heavy, suffocating silence settled over the laboratory like a shroud. Dr. Ashford remained motionless in his wheelchair, his gaze fixed on the empty space where the USB drive had rested moments before. His thoughts drifted to his old friend Marcus, and he wondered if this was the same bitter cocktail of hope and betrayal that had consumed him. They had embarked on this journey to save their daughters, only to unleash a potential apocalypse in the process.

"It appears our laboratory has been under surveillance for quite some time," Ward observed quietly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence.

"It's to be expected," Ashford replied, his voice brittle as autumn leaves. "When the T-Virus was first developed, my personal freedom became... limited. But for them to have known the serum was complete, and to arrive for it the very next day..." He paused, turning his head to fix Ward with a flash of suspicion. "Someone has been monitoring our data."

Ward met his gaze without flinching, spreading his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Doctor, I've been in this lab for three days straight. The only time I left was for a few hours of sleep last night—and that was at your insistence."

Ashford studied him for a long moment, then the suspicion faded, replaced by weary resignation. "I know. It doesn't matter who it was anymore. They have the virus. Perhaps the serum will at least cure some of the people they'll inevitably infect."

"Then... are we continuing with our own experiment?" Ward asked, carefully ignoring the older man's bleak expression.

"Yes," Ashford said, a spark of defiance flickering back to life. "We proceed. I don't trust their data or their methods. We'll have our own verifiable results." He turned to his computer with renewed purpose. "The mammalian test subjects have been delivered. Let's prepare the medication."

In the corner of the lab, several cages containing restless monkeys and dogs awaited their fate.

During the week that Ashford and Ward began their meticulous mammalian trials, a brief, sterile message arrived from Umbrella corporate headquarters. Their own human trials were complete, it announced. The results showed a promising chance of a cure, provided the patient's immune system hadn't fully collapsed. Congratulations on your success, the message concluded with corporate coldness.

Ashford glanced at it, deleted it without a word, and returned to his work.

Their own mammalian tests proved to be a resounding success. The final step was to begin their own human trials. Word spread through underground patient networks that Ashford's lab was seeking volunteers for a radical new therapy that could treat terminal illnesses and disabilities. The sign-up portal was flooded with applications from desperate people, all willing to risk death for even a sliver of hope.

They carefully selected five candidates: a teenager, a young woman, a middle-aged man, an elderly man, and a child. For the child, Ward personally reviewed the files. His eyes stopped on the photograph of a smiling little girl with black curly hair. Her case file read: Myasthenia Gravis, severe, resulting in near-total body paralysis. He thought of her consciousness trapped inside a body that wouldn't obey, and made his decision.

With the five volunteers assembled, the real work began. The healing serum was incredibly difficult to synthesize—a single misstep in the process, a fractional error in temperature or timing, and the entire batch would be rendered useless. There were no spares. Ward had to produce five perfect doses before the scheduled appointment time.

Dr. Ashford, having done all he could, felt the long weeks of separation from his daughter weighing heavily on him. He handed over full authority of the lab to Ward and went home. Titch, the cold lab assistant, was also gone—Ashford had dismissed him days earlier for a "small experimental accident," a convenient excuse to remove the man he now rightly suspected of being Umbrella's spy.

For a month, Ward reigned over his own isolated scientific kingdom. The quiet hum of machinery became his only companion. In the downtime between experiments, he finished his personal projects—the Arc Reactor, the armor, the neural-guided arrows. He was now equipped for the coming storm he felt gathering over Raccoon City. Strange, unfamiliar faces had begun appearing in town—men with hard eyes and military bearing. The atmosphere was growing thick with unspoken tension.

Finally, he had ten perfect doses of the serum. The day of the experiment arrived. The five volunteers were brought to the facility in discreet Umbrella vehicles and settled into their individual experimental chambers. Ashford returned, his mood lighter than Ward had seen it in weeks.

"How was your time away, Doctor?" Ward asked with a smile.

"I was home with my daughter," he replied, his face radiating apologetic gratitude. "Thank you for shouldering this burden, Morey. I've worked you far too hard."

"It's nothing. You trusted me with this work—that's payment enough," Ward said graciously.

"When this is over," Ashford said, his eyes bright with hope, "you must come to my house as a guest. My daughter is an angel. Anyone who meets her falls in love."

"I look forward to it," Ward replied warmly.

The two men entered the main laboratory, where the five volunteers lay waiting. "You monitor the data, Professor," Ward said, carrying a case of medical supplies. "I'll administer the T-Virus and the healing serum."

He went first to the little girl's chamber. Her sweet face, dotted with small freckles, was tense with nervousness.

"Don't be afraid," he said gently, stroking her curly hair. "Just close your eyes and have a peaceful sleep. When you wake up, you might be able to get out of bed and walk."

"Really?" she whispered, her fear forgotten, replaced by wide-eyed excitement.

"Really," he said softly. "But you have to sleep peacefully, okay?"

"Okay!" she beamed, closing her eyes and drifting into hopeful dreams.

Ward administered the T-Virus injection. On the monitor, he watched the process begin. The virus entered what was known as the lysogenic cycle, embedding itself into the host cells, which continued to live and multiply—now serving as Trojan horses. The girl's dormant nerve cells quickly sprang back to life. But her immune system, still intact, began its desperate fight. An inhibitor drip slowed the virus's spread, buying them precious time. An hour later, her paralysis was gone, but the war raging within her body had only just begun.

Now came the critical moment. Ward began the slow infusion of the green healing serum. On the screen, they watched as the rapidly multiplying virus cells were targeted and systematically destroyed. The beleaguered immune system, now reinforced, began to mop up the remaining infected cells. Soon, the last trace of the T-Virus was gone. The regenerated cells were now normal and healthy once more.

He checked her vitals. The mitochondria and telomeres were depleted from the rapid cell division—a slight shortening of her natural lifespan—but she was alive and, for the first time in years, whole. It was a worthwhile trade.

He moved to the next volunteer, a blind teenager. The process was repeated with the same meticulous care. Then the young woman. Then the middle-aged man. After a long, grueling day, only one remained. He took a brief respite, then prepared for the final experiment. Dr. Ashford watched him, worry etched across his features.

"I have no confidence in this last one," Ward admitted, studying the file for the elderly man. "With the first four, their immune systems were healthy—even the middle-aged subject's was strong enough. But this man... his system is already compromised. I'm not sure he can withstand the initial viral assault long enough for the serum to work." He took a deep breath, steeling himself. It was a tightrope walk over a razor's edge.

1000 Powerstones for bonus chapter