RESIDENT EVIL • Assignment Ashley: Rescue Condor One (RE4)

The Storm

"...It's predicted that this storm could last from three days to a whole week in Washington. Stay safe on the roads, folks, and have a good night! Now to our next segment..."

I drowned out the host's voice on the radio as I peered out of the car's window. The relentless downpour constantly attacked the glass, attempting to break through with every thumping noise. I closed my eyes after giving up on trying to see through the blur obscuring my vision, surrendering to the overwhelming severity of the storm. The rhythm of windshield wipers, the soft hum of the moving car, and the symphony of raindrops took over my senses, making me spiral down a trance-like state.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The sound of rain grew louder...no...it wasn't the sound of rain at all; it was the resonance of raining bullets—of gunshots.

Please. Not again. Not now.

The storm had brought me back to that forsaken village, to another stormy night like this one. Once again, I was running through the graveyard, but I was still unable to bridge the distance between me and the looming church. The place of my imprisonment rapidly closed in, mocking my attempt to flee. Just how many more times would I need to escape, before I can finally be free? Five whole damn years, yet I was still bound in the chains of my past.

"Puedes Correr, Pero No Te Puedes Esconder!"

My blood turned cold. Leon...I had to look for Leon. I tried following the firing sound of his gun, but the bright flashes of open fire, which momentarily pierced the thick cloak of the moonless night, grew increasingly distant. Shit.

In my desperate pursuit to catch up to him, I had lost my footing on the muddy ground and came crashing down on a decaying tombstone. My head buzzed from making contact with its rough surface, and sharp pain seared throughout my body. In this moment of disarray, I felt the earth beneath me growing softer—turning into a bog. Before I could regain my balance, rotten hands shot up from the grave and wrapped around my waist in an iron grip, dragging me down as if to erase my very existence.

"YOU SHALL NEVER ESCAPE, LOST LAMB!"

Oh God...

"Leon, don't leave me!" After some effort, I cried out these words from my quivering lips, a hopeless plea and my final prayer.

"Ashley!" His urgent response barely reached my ears, muffled as if it filtered through a thick, fluid-like barrier.

"Ashley!"

"Miss Ashley!"

"Miss Graham, wake up!"

I jolted awake as my consciousness slammed back into my body; it felt like the frigid, invisible hands forcing my eyelids shut had finally let go. My eyes blinked open and slowly adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the limo. Groggily, I gazed at the rearview mirror that reflected the concerned eyes of Mr. Sherman, a trained personnel assigned to my detail as this evening's escort.

"...Err, we are about to reach in approximately five minutes, ma'am."

"Perfect." I mumbled, trying to regain my composure and shake off the lingering remnants of the vision. I had no time for this—especially not tonight. Gradually, the numbness in my limbs receded. Though the throbbing in my head still remained, as if I had really hit my head on the gravestone. The world outside had shifted to a more vibrant and high-spirited atmosphere, a stark contrast to my haunting nightmares. As we neared the assembly hall, where the annual charity ball was being held, the streets came alive to the beat of loud music and bustling crowd. Even a storm like this couldn't keep the city contained—so I knew the one inside me didn't matter at all.

"You alright, miss?"

"Never been better," I smiled at him as the concierge opened the limousine's door, and waited with an umbrella. Within a split second, the flashes of cameras engulfed my view like consecutive lightning strikes. That's right, everyone here was intoxicated by the energy of the night, and I had a role to play in keeping this illusion up.

"You got this," I whispered under my breath, a familiar reassurance I liked to give myself.

With my head held high and a pageant smile plastered on my face, I stepped outside with a confident demeanor in my stilettos clicking against the polished pavement.

I was Ashley Graham, more than just the president's daughter, or a survivor of Las Plagas. Nothing, no force or past afflictions, would ever shatter this armor I had spent years building.