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  • Act 2 – Becoming Claire - Chapter 1: The Reflection

    Chapter by Weakling101 · 06 Jun 2026
  • Following Claire's death, Chris is left alone with her evidence, her unfinished investigation, and the recruitment opportunity that Umbrella still believes belongs to her. Realizing that Claire's death must remain secret if he hopes to continue her mission, Chris begins the painful process of becoming his sister.
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  • The first thing Chris did was lock the bedroom door. The deadbolt slid home with a heavy click, a sound that felt final, like sealing a coffin. He didn't turn on the overhead light. Instead, he stood in the dark and let the room soak into him. It smelled like Claire. Dry paper and cold metal from her toolbox. The faint floral ghost of her shampoo. Finesse. He'd already bought a bottle. He was going to need to smell like her if he was going to fool the people who had killed her.

    He started with her desk.

    The top drawer was a mess of pens, paperclips, and business cards for pizza places and hardware stores. The second drawer was locked. He found the key taped to the underside of her mattress, exactly where she'd hidden everything since they were kids. Inside: three black-and-white composition notebooks. The cheap kind, a dollar at the grocery store.

    He sat on the floor, back against her bed, and read every single page.

    Her handwriting was small and sharp, crowded into the margins like she was always running out of space. Day 3. Convoys run every Tuesday. I counted seven trucks tonight. No logos. No plates. Day 12. The warehouse on Sycamore has a security rotation of three guards. They smoke at the back door at midnight. Day 31. I think I'm being watched. Paranoia or legit? Can't afford to decide wrong.

    He traced her words with his finger. He read the sarcastic asides, the jokes she wrote to herself. Note to self: if Umbrella makes me disappear, tell the papers I was investigating their vending machine coffee. It's the real crime here.

    Chris closed the book and held it to his chest. He could hear her voice in his head, sharp and dry, the way she'd look at him sideways when she was teasing him. He needed to capture that voice. He needed to become it.

    The tapes were next.

    Claire's old hi-fi stereo sat on a shelf, a silver tower of knobs and plastic buttons. Next to it was a stack of compact cassettes. He'd found the dictaphone under her pillow, a little black Panasonic with a built-in mic. He pushed play.

    Her voice filled the room.

    "Note to self. Check deed for plot 47b. County clerk …
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