A/N: Hey Kids. This idea came to me tonight. Sherry and Jake go undercover as bioterrorist. Gross parasites and hot sexytimes ensue.
That is, if you want it. This is a review per content story. I can end it here. My price is three reviews per chapter.
Hope you enjoy the sales pitch.
Large industrial fans spin overhead. Their blades block the light and cast spinning shadows over the floor. Black leather wingtips make unpleasant, muffled clangs on the metal grate floor.
He huffs.
Why do terrorists always go for cliched look these days? At least the megalomaniacs have class. He'll take a fancy mansion with a solid gold siddhartha any day.
The man escorting him is dressed in the usual peacekeeper-turned-merc attire. He wonders how he'll react to being told that his beret looks stupid.
He composes his smug face. He has a partner in the game too. Any slip of cover could end with a bag over his head or worse.
The warlord's chamber is a little fancier. They sprung for a plasma TV and a rug.
"Wow. A few throw pillows here and there and you'll have really made it. No, seriously, though, I love what you've done with the place. Reminds me of this old warehouse that used to throw raves back in Moscow."
Cocky, arrogant. That's his cover.
The Warlord's face is a jowled frown. Frog-like eyes barely move as he registers his guest's appearance. He waves a hand to lower the guns pointed at the other man.
"You have the sample."
"All I need is a volunteer."
A gun points towards his head. He laughs and shakes his head.
"While I'd love to, gentlemen, my Father made sure I was quite immune."
He's playing himself. Just one key feature.
The bleach in his regularly brassy hair and pair of black shades. His smile is full of sharp teeth. He isn't Jake Muller. He's Albert Wesker Jr.
The guard next to him collapses and begins to foam and convulse. Small burning holes start to form in his limbs. Jake holds up a finger as the soldiers aim their red sights on him.
"This is the best part."
Burrowing out of the holes appear thousands of inky black worms. They cover his limbs like cords of replacement tissue. It forms a black writhing suit of armor. It stands taller.
"Now, gentlemen. I'd recommend aiming your fire at our friend here just to show you how indestructible he is."
Gunfire. Followed by screams. He can't speak whatever their brand of English is, but he's sure they're saying something along the lines of,
"ARRGH I'm being devoured by something that looks like Venom from Spiderman!"
The Warlord looks visibly shaken.
"So, in the spirit of domestic bioterrorism, do we have a deal?" Jake says.
There's a hum in his earpiece.
"Looks like we're in."
