Disclaimer: All characters belong to Capcom. This is written for pleasure and not profit.
A/N: Takes place in no particular order of the RE games. I jumped around. They're a bunch of random drabbles, pretty much. xD; So, it's rated 'T' for mild language.I'm thinking about writing slash drabbles, because I'm a fangirl and can't help myself. 8D I'll also try and return to the Repo! fandom, I promise.
Characters Used:(In no particular order) Morpheus Duvall, Chris Redfield, Albert Wesker, Barry Burton, Forest Speyer, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers, William Birkin, Sheva Alomar, Joseph Frost, Excella Gionne, Brad Vickers, HUNK.
Power came in a human form. It was a pale Adonis, radiating strength. Pride lingered in eyes that had once been a shade of cool gray, better known as a most chilling blue. Slender fingers pushed the darkest pair of shades up the bridge of his nose. From his stoic expression to his apathetic nature, there was a reason why he was their captain. His stance was different from that of humanity's. He was closer to the Gods than the loathsome race he had become detached from.
Upon knocking on her apartment door, Chris was nervous. Never did he think he was capable of such a thing, but here he was, quaking in his boots like Brad Vickers. Jill opened the door, caught by surprise. She bore a mask, the palest shade of green. Actually, it looked to be seafoam upon further inspection. Chris bit on his lower lip as he thrust the paperwork in her general direction. "The captain wanted me to give you this," he said. If looks could kill... Jill stared long and hard before speaking, "This conversation never happened." "Agreed."
Brad Vickers was the Alpha team's chicken shit. It was a wonder that he even got the job. They knew better than to underestimate him, though. The man had his qualifications. Home sick, Brad's form was draped over the dull sofa. His labored breathing was interrupted by the sound of a bell. Staggering upright, he opened the door to see Bary's hulking frame. He offered a plastic container to the smaller male, "My wife and the girls made some soup the other night. Had some leftovers so I figured you could use it." Brad blinked, eyes rimmed wide before accepting the gracious gift, "...Thanks." A small, although weak smile etched across his lips. Barry nodded and left. He didn't need to tell Brad that all of the Alpha S.T.A.R.S. helped make the soup, including Captain Wesker.
Barry Burton loved his wife more than anything in the world. Well, aside from his kids. His girls were pretty high on the ladder to say the least. The embers of their romance never dulled. He would love her until the end of time, even if that meant he would buy her the brightest roses and the cheapest chocolates. She never once minded. His love made the wax treats taste like heaven.
Behind his back, they called him the Bandanna Man. It was an incredibly tacky nickname, they later realized. They joked that Joseph's dog, Spike, had a bandanna as well (even though he did). Why, they even made a son along the lines of, 'Can't see what's underneath my bandanna. Na na na~.' None of them knew that it was a gift from his girl back home. He later caught on to the jokes and proceeded to give the entire team matching bandannas as revenge.
Forest. Who the hell names their kid 'Forest'? Chris thought to himself. A forest was a group of trees with animals. Not a name. Not a man. Not a marksman, either. Sure, Chris Redfield and Forest Speyer were buddies. They also had a rivalry of sorts for the hell of it. The thought still wouldn't leave Chris's mind, regardless. Jill decided to point out the actor, Forest Whitaker. Chris stopped pondering Forest's name after that.
Derping. Chris had no idea what it meant, be he decided to give it a try. The office was silent aside from papers slicing through air. The noise, itself, was soft. Wesker craned his neck. Artificial rays illuminated minute silver and pure gold. He raised a brow, uncertain as to the source. No other facial expressions indicated his confusion. Silence resumed its course as did Wesker. Satisfied, Chris glanced up from his paperwork and made the noise again. It was the tiniest of derps. "Get back to work, Chris," the calm voice stated. Disappointed, he did as he was told.
A woman's fingers ghosted over leather-clad muscle. He ignored her ministrations as always. For the most part, Albert Wesker assumed Excella to be a ghost, whispering soundless words into his ear. Granted, she was very real, but she carried herself with stunning falseness. He was glad Uroboros rejected her. There was no room for the weak in his ideal world.
HUNK was a master of his trade. He had successfully obtained the virus and was able to go home. Silent by nature, the mysterious fellow boiled a pot of water. twenty minutes later,a bowl contained noodles that had been dyed an artificial shade of orange. He knew it wasn't healthy. It would probably give him some benign illness in the future. It was a treat for himself, signifying his victory. Besides, HUNK liked seeing Scooby-Doo in his bowl of Kraft.
He had obtained beauty in a gruesome manner. By combining two viruses, he had become something else. Pure or so he thought. Graceful or so he believed. Powerful as he had come to asume. Morpheus Duvallw as no longer a man, but a being that fell to the decadent allure of corruption.
Rebecca Chambers felt like an idiot for the first time in her life. Out of ammunition, she had thrown a dictionary at the grotesque snake. In the midst of the creature's confusion, she had found sanctuary. She had sought shelter in a room, hidden away from the deadly serpent. The fear lingered, pounding heavily within her chest. It would find her in time. For now, she was relieved by her quick thinking. Her relief was heightened with a flashlight's gaze rested on her small frame.
Does he...? Sheva stared at Chris Redfield for the longest time. The thought was unsettling. Finally, the male faced her in order to return the questioning gaze. "No," he answered the unspoken thoughts far too quickly. "I just like to work out." Sheva didn't believe him.
It was evident that fashion repeated itself. Both William Birkin and Albert Wesker hoped that the theory would prove to be invalid. Neither wanted to repeat the seventies.
Friendship was a human sign of weakness as was love. The two clouded judgment and left an unsettling feeling within the mind. Albert Wesker never once believed in the heart. Instead, he would abuse it. 'Whip it into submission' as the saying went. It always worked for his advantage and never went against him. So, when he came to care for his fellow S.T.A.R.S., he had grown wary of his actions. The events needed to speed up. It now became a matter of time. Umbrella needed to settle upon a date. The spill came to his advantage. The core of his betrayal began there.