This is a short ficlet (It will probably only be four or five chapters long) that explores one possibility. What if Sheva hadn't followed Chris after they found the second massacred BSAA team? What if he had decided to go it alone and look for Jill without any help? Written more to focus on the story than the action. (I'm sure everyone who played RE5 blew away more than enough bad guys to compensate.) Enjoy, read and please review!


Do you know what it's like to be a lover? Half of a whole?—"Inception"

"Chris, look around. We should both get the hell out of here!" Sheva insists, waving a hand at the dead monstrosity, at the mutilated corpses of our fellow soldiers. I can't blame her. I would want to get out too, if I was her.

"I'm not here just for the mission." I tell her.

"What are you talking about?" Sheva demands, getting frustrated. She probably thinks I'm being irrational.

"A while ago, I received information that my old partner, Jill, is still alive." I say, as calmly as I can. "I had myself transferred to this mission because of that tip. Your pal Josh confirmed it for me." I take my iphone, select a photo, then hold it up for her to see.

"The woman in the data file…" Sheva's getting more upset by the moment. "Are you even sure it's the same person?" Something in me snaps, and I stop caring what Sheva thinks.

"We were partners." I tell her flatly, not a hint of doubt in my voice. "I'm sure." With that, I turn my back and walk away. I don't need Sheva for this. Nor do I want her along, really.

"You can't do this!" Sheva hollers. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"Then so be it." I mutter, heading towards the dock. It isn't a choice, not for me. If Jill is out there, I have to find her. Sheva's right about one thing, though. Death is a very real possibility—but it doesn't matter.

Jill already died once for me. I find swamp boat and climb aboard, pausing to glance behind me.

No one is there. I'm on my own again, the same way it's always been since that night.

"I'll find you." I vow, looking at the photo again. "I'm coming, partner. Just hold on a little longer."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'll say this one more time. Where. Is. Jill?" I demand. Excella shrugs as if I don't matter. As if she's bulletproof, and the assault rifle I have pointed at her face is harmless.

"Jill? Maybe I'll tell you, maybe I won't." She taunts, arrogantly. For a second, I contemplate thinking up a witty comeback or some insult, but I'm just too tired for this and my patience is at its end.

I squeeze the trigger of my rifle and she screams when a .223 round tears into her upper arm, ripping flesh away.

"Well, if isn't the police." A mocking voice calls out. I look up at the balcony, up on the second floor.

Wesker strolls down the steps on one side of the winding steps, and their costumed helper walks down the other.

"So you are alive…" I aim the Sig 556 at him. "Sent any coworkers to their deaths today?" Wesker laughs. Excella clutches her arm and runs off. I let her go.

"Isn't this one big family reunion… I would think you'd be happier to see us." Wesker smirks, like I've done something incredibly stupid.

"Us…?" I hesitate, something awful dawning on me as he stands next to his robed friend. He waits a beat, then gently tugs the hood back and removes the bird-mask.

Jill. My heart almost stops, then resumes at five times the normal pace. Her name forms on my lips, but I can't speak.

"Death isn't very popular these days." Wesker remarks. "So many of us are passing on it, lately."

"Jill." I finally say her name. She doesn't respond, doesn't show any sign of even hearing me. The rifle wavers in my hands, the barrel lowers. "Jill! It's me, Chris!"

Wesker inclines his hand, and Jill suddenly throws the robe aside and launches herself at me, landing a solid kick in the center of my chest before neatly disarming me. Her hand lands on my throat and starts squeezing, but I finally react. I break her hold, grab her arm and spin around, throwing her a few feet off. She staggers, but doesn't fall. I snatch the assault rifle off the floor and take several steps back, trying to make sense of the situation.

She looks different. Her hair is blond and long, tied in a ponytail. The tan she got vacationing with me in Florida is also gone, and her skin is incredibly pale. Instead of normal clothes, she's wearing some sort of skin-tight battle suit. Her face is angry, and she still doesn't speak.

Some part of my mind is still insisting that she would never help him. Not willingly.

"Seven minutes." Wesker comment regretfully, flexing his hands as if he's about to go to the gym. "Seven minutes is all I have to play with you."