A/N: So, I've been thinking about this for a while. There's nothing bad in it, this is just the first chapter, it's gonna be a short story. Hope you like it, tell me what you think.

Please, Read and Review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil
He was always in the hospital, ever since his infection. He'd lost all contact with the outside world and his friends. Over time, humans became the same to him, despite the fact that he'd infected himself for the world, the world treated like a deadly object. Caution hung about anyone who came into his room, a caution that let him know he wasn't to be trusted.

Therefore, normal day objects became important to him. Like his IV bag stand had become his best friend, it was always there, always beside him. He needed it, and though it wasn't real, he'd believed it needed him too, in order to fulfill its purpose. And, he knew it was just an object, but he liked to think of it that way.

Piers wrote things like this in his journal, the one he'd received since he'd been in the facility. It was also an object he was close to, it knew his secrets, it knew what he felt and what he feared. It knew his desired and his thoughts, it knew Piers.

There was the C-Virus that was dormant in his body, but that wasn't anything to him, not anymore.

Piers also began to welcome the loneliness, he wrote about it often, mainly because he began to know nothing else. When people limited contact with him, and he bonded with objects that could bond with him, he became insane, and as a result of insanity came loneliness. He wasn't sure which one he embraced first.

That all changed though, one early morning, when he was having a conversation with his IV bag stand. It only replied though, with occasional bubbles, nothing more. Still, that was enough for Piers, who'd lacked contact with people for so long.

Piers' room (or cell, that's what he preferred was small and white, one window with white curtains, white carpet,one white bed, and two doors, one to the restroom and the other to the facility. His doctor usually gave him food, but,while he was in the restroom, or slipped it under the door. They gave him injections when they gave him food, because they slipped medicine into his food.

Yep, not contact with actual beings whatsoever, until that morning.

Just as his conversation was coming to an end, his food was slipped under his door as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary, until he saw the napkin under his plate.

On normal occasions, Piers wouldn't really go near his food, his medicine completely diminished his already small appetite. But, today, there was a napkin, with writing, bright pink writing.

Piers slowly made his way to the tray and removed the napkin. On it, three simple things were written.

Love C.R

C.R? Who was C.R? Claire Redfield, the whore who broke his heart? Of course not, she cheated on him when they were engaged, of course it couldn't be her. Than who else, who else had those same initials.

He looked again. The handwriting was different, not like Claire's, more bubbly than Claire's, more inviting. He took the napkin and held it to his heart, taking in all the love in the single cloth, all the love and contact he'd been denied for so long.

He didn't stop hugging himself even when tears began to fall, when he began to return to reality and grasped that he was finally going insane.

Anyone else would've thought it was funny, crying over a napkin, but to Piers, it was much more than that. Someone cared about him, someone loved him. Though it was someone he'd never met before, someone loved him, he wasn't forgotten.

These weren't just tears of pain and suffering, they were tears of joy.

The following days, Piers was considerably happier, and no longer talking to his IV Bag Stand, instead he concentrated fully on the napkin, writing more and more about it, and contemplating on who it was who'd sent it. He'd also noticed that the food trays he'd been receiving had a distinct flowery smell to them, the same one that the napkin had.

So, this wasn't a one time thing, he still was being watched. He contemplated on praying again, or, more. Maybe God had sent him an angel, an angel that watched him when he'd been fighting with the B.S.A.A, and the same angel who'd watched him in this hospital.

He sometimes wrote about God. He didn't like him, and tried not to believe in him. He wrote about all the terrible things that had happened under God's "watchful" eye.

Through all the pain and suffering he'd gone through, he'd tried his best to convince himself that God wasn't real, that angels were just myths, that it was all just false hope. He thought it was a waste of time whenever he'd see Fin loosely clasping that old worn cross on his neck, marching with war hardened men in the middle of a battlefield, death in the very air they breathed, praying for answers. But now, when being cast in a personal hell of his own, Piers found that light could be found even in the darkest of places, and that pain and suffering were apart of life.

That night, Piers looked out of the window, the napkin in his hand, and stared into the night sky. Piers had rarely prayed, he hardly knew how, but he felt by just saying words, just asking for help, that maybe the angels would hear him. So that's what he did, he asked that God would send his angel back more and more, and that maybe he'd actually get to see her in person, and if it be possible, that he would be granted permission to leave this place and start over.

After that, Piers went to his bed, hoping he'd soon see the face of his angel.

Did you catch the Harry Potter reference? So, obviously, i don't like Claire. She's useless to me. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, because i liked it. I proofread it myself this time, so, beware for spelling errors. Again, please review, and I hope you liked it. God bless :)