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The Nemesis opened its saliva-soaked mouth and expelled on gnarled breath the word "S.T.A.R.S."

"It's too bad your throat was torn up during your metamorphosis," Mr. X consoled. "It should be interesting to go to the city. I'm very much looking forward to it. I'll be leaving a bit later than you."

The Nemesis typed on the keyboard again. "Do you know who you're after?"

"Just the name – Claire Redfield," Mr. X established.

"Let me show you," the Nemesis typed out.

The monster hit few more keys and a printout of Claire Redfield churned out of the terminal. "The sources say that she should arrive in the city in a few days. She doesn't know of its condition." The Nemesis would have laughed if it could have.

Mr. X took hold of the woman's picture. "She's beautiful." X slowly ran his tongue up the photo and then looked at it again. "If I were human, I would surely rape her." He protruded a long claw from beneath the hood-like sleeve of his coat. "I can give her pleasure with these fingers."

The Nemesis clacked the computer again. "You will kill her, I hope."

"I think I'd want this one to be in peak condition before I kill her," Mr. X said outright. "I would like to think that she had a chance."

The Nemesis squinted disapprovingly. "You're foolish," the speaker cranked. "And you'll die for it."

"'We belong dead,'" Mr. X quoted. "You remember that?"

"Bride of Frankenstein," the Nemesis typed. "I never liked those movies; they depicted the Monster as a lumbering idiot. I hope you don't become the same."

"It would be interesting," observed Mr. X. "That I am born articulate and then die an infant-minded juggernaut."

"And that's how you'll be remembered if you don't rip that bitch in two." The Nemesis became annoyed at how he couldn't transmit his feelings into the computer. "And if you sexually desire her, then spread your spiked fingers into her rotted cunt and finish it."

"Don't try to shock me with violent profanity," Mr. X snorted. "Therein is a useless gesture. How you could even consider that you can arouse my senses with that worn out hate-talk makes me think that you're the lumbering retard."

"I was being true to myself," the Nemesis clicked furiously.

"A lot of dead monsters have already said that, too," Mr. X remarked. "You know, I hear that Will Birkin's wife and daughter are still in the city. The daughter apparently has a G virus sample on her. I'll have to kill her and take the sample before I do anything else."

The Nemesis' computer spoke again, "Could she survive?"

"She took Umbrella's 'Newt' child survival course in case of such incidents. Her parents insisted on it."

"Then we finally live in the fictional world we've dreamed of," the Nemesis stated.

"Not yet," Mr. X retorted. "But soon we will force our unfolding on others and be able to live as a family with the zombies as our children and the hunters as our pets."

The Nemesis agreed. "And we'll swell the gates of Hell so full that only we can walk the earth." The Nemesis paused. "We must be in the city well before dawn of the October month."

"You're lucky," stated X. "You're a prototype and unique. There are several of me. I'm a carbon copy. A representative of an Andy Warhol piece. They ship us out in giant canisters and drop us like bombs."

"If I don't die in Racoon, I'll be the same as you," stated the Nemesis. "It will be midnight soon, and I'll be sent to the States. Perhaps I won't return. Besides, I don't think that the variation on the T virus in my veins is all that successful."

"You're bigger," confirmed Mr. X. "Just not better than what was the Tyrant, yes?"

"I suppose so," the Nemesis replied. "Despite its flaws, the Tyrant was original and carried certain unexpected qualities."

An Umbrella executive entered the room and spoke directly to the Nemesis. "You should be preparing to leave."

The Nemesis nodded in response.

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