As much as I love Resident Evil, I've never been able to play the actual games because I'd end up throwing the controller at the telly in fear. Doesn't mean I don't know what's been going on over the years. So I've decided to make this fanfic about one of my favourite pairings.
If you decide to leave a review, please be polite. I appreciate compliments but I would really like to hear what you liked or disliked about the chapters, it's the only way I'll know what to improve. Feel free to leave suggestions too.
Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil, everything in it belongs to Shinji Mikami. I only own OCs.
File #1 - Nightmare
"C-Cold. . . So cold. . ."
The voice was almost a whisper, audible only because it was carried on an echo. Blue eyes surveyed the area.
Mounted torches gave the room an ambient glow, the flames casting flickering light and shadows on the brick work. Suits of armour were sparsely scattered around the room, a single pillar stood in the dead centre. A room she recognises, and one she doesn't think she'll ever forget - the colosseum.
Why was she here again? This place should have been destroyed long ago. A silver glint caught her eye, on the floor she spotted a large discarded axe, dried green fluid coating one of the curved blades. Ragged breathing drew her attention to the pillar.
Slumped against the faded stone was a man. Almost completely exposed save for the ripped shorts clinging to him, half of his face hidden by draping copper locks, pallid skin marred only by the gristly red on his stomach.
She remembers.
"Steve!" The woman rasped with urgency. Running to him and collapsing to her knees when in reach, clasping his shoulders and shaking him, trying to rouse him. He was freezing. He shifted with a heavy exhale, slowly lifting his head to look at her. Light blue met their darker shade, before diverting to the ground.
"You said we'd all leave together." He spoke quietly. For a brief moment she was confused, then realised what he meant. Fair hands cupped his face, directing his head so they were on the same eye level.
"And I meant it." Her tone sincere. The teen looked her in the eyes, a pitiful, sad expression present.
"Then why did you let him take me away?" He softly asked. Him – Wesker.
"We didn't know he was here."
"Did you even bother to look for me after?" The question almost offended her.
"Yes. Of course I did!"
"Then why…? Why haven't you found me?"
She didn't know what to say. What could she say? She tried to find words to answer him but nothing came. This seemed to upset him.
"Why haven't you found me?" His voice growing firmer and louder. Face contorting into one of anger, blue eyes shifting to burning red, a ring of yellow seeping in around his pupils.
The woman let go of the boy, moving to ever so carefully back away. Her voice would not work even though she wanted to say something to calm him. Steve lunged at her, pinning her to the ground under his weight and grabbing her throat with both hands.
"You forgot me, didn't you? You forgot. You forgot!" Repeatedly snarling the phrase as his hold tightened.
She struggled against him, clawing and grabbing his wrists to pull his hands away but he was too strong. The tighter he held, the more she panicked, and in turn, the more light-headed she became.
Her grip loosened as her vision melted away, the scene turning into indistinct blurs until there was nothing.
A sharp gasp tore from Claire's throat, sweat lightly coating her forehead. She raised a hand to her neck, she could still feel the force of his hands and the pinch of his nails. A dream. It was just a dream.
"More like a nightmare." She mumbled. Her heart was still racing.
It's been fifteen years since the events of Rockfort Island, she had already escaped one hell only to be thrown into another mere months later. Her second test for survival was also how she met fellow prisoner, Steve Burnside. Their encounter was a little… less from friendly, considering how he started spraying bullets into anything that moved under that spotlight, including her. A few return fires soon quelled the situation and he soon disappeared after introducing himself.
At first, she thought him hot-headed if a little obnoxious with his macho act, but at the time having another person around was better than trying to escape alone. Gradually he had begun to control himself, especially after having to face the fact that his father had turned into a monster, and put him out of his misery.
They had lived and escaped that wretched island, winning a jet out of there after beating Alfred Ashford in his twisted 'game of oblivion'. Only to have their hope dashed when they were forcefully flown to Antarctica.
As if that was not enough, they had to deal with a Tyrant that stowed away in the cargo hold. When they arrived they had to fight through more shit; B.O.W.s, freezing temperatures, that thing that used to be Ashford patriarch, fighting Alfred again and then, Alexia.
Claire sneered at the memory of the woman. She was just as deranged as her brother, but she was the greater of the two evils. Injecting herself with T-Veronica, what she created, making her stronger and deadlier. Just as they had found another way to escape they were ambushed by that blonde's plant-like tentacles. There was only black for a while but when the auburn headed woman awoke she found herself in a grimy dungeon, and Steve was missing.
She wasn't alone for this though, Chris had come in search of her but she would not leave. Not yet. Claire made a promise she intended to keep. They had found him in the colosseum from her dream.
"It's her fault." Her mind hissed. Indeed. It was that bitch's fault that he was gone.
The memory of her companion transforming into a monster, a hulking beast under a wicked queen's control. The sounds of his agonised cries were still fresh to her, as his bones and muscles cracked, shifted and rippled, adapting to fit something stronger.
Having to fight him was hard enough, the thought that she might have to kill him was harder. Despite Alexia's control, she still tried to get through to him, pleading to fight against her orders. Even if it seemed like a lost cause. The woman's stomach dropped when she saw that monstrous weapon embedded in Steve's shoulder, right next to his exposed heart. She screamed in fear for him. He roared in pain, ripping it out and dropping it to his side greatly weakened, barely able to stand before he dropped to his knees.
Quiet tension permeated the room. Ignoring her brother's warnings she approached cautiously, she had to help. Now that he was weak perhaps she had a better chance of reaching the person he once was.
A short-lived moment.
The ground ruptured, Alexia commanding those damned tendrils to attack, coiling around Claire and lifting her aloft as Chris fended off the ones that were blocking his path. One wrapped around her ankle, another around her wrist. Both slowly pulling, threatening to dislocate bone and tear sinew.
There was a rush of steps, an enraged growl and the whoosh of something heavy slicing through air and the appendage that captured her. She was let go and landed harshly on the stone floor, when she looked up she found the beast standing over her, glaring and baring his fangs at the tentacles.
"I won't… kill you!" He saved her. He fought back!
"And he died for it." She lamented.
As punishment for rebellion, he had been impaled. She ran to him as he returned to his normal self, momentarily examining the gaping, bleeding wound. It was bad. Each breath caused a reflexive contraction, forcing more blood to the surface. Still she tried to convince him they would all make it out together despite his certainty that he had no chance.
His last words were what crushed her, a confession of love. For all his cockiness and machismo, she had grown fond of him in this hell. It made her more determined once he died to bring down the last Ashford progeny, she had to pay for what she had done. When it was done and the time had come to leave, they had come back to retrieve him, if they could not bring him back alive then they could at least bring him back to give him a proper funeral. Only to find that he was gone.
They had no time to find him, the Redfield siblings were on a time limit. They had to leave right then or be blown up with the facility. As much as it pained her, they had no choice but to leave. Claire had felt even more miserable on the journey home, and she was thankful that Chris did not interrogate her about what transpired. She wanted time to think, time to collect herself, time to grieve.
With a long sigh she ran a hand down her face. After all this time, he still haunts her. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Red blaring numbers read '04:19 AM'.
A few more hours before she had to get ready for work. Flopping back on to her pillows, Claire closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. It would be no good if she arrived tired because of a ghost.
So what did you all think?
Personally, as much as I love describing things I think that is a weakness of mine. Do you agree with that?