Author's Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all of its characters are the material and property of Capcom. And "Old Gregg" is part of The Mighty Boosh.

Chris sat in the middle of the vast lake, surrounded by the calm glassy surface of the water that would have sparkled with the reflections of the sequins in the night sky if it was not covered by a thin cloak of fog.

A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he sat staring into the abyss on that calm night, his hands tightly wrapped around his fishing pole. Chris and Barry had planned to spend the day at the lake, fishing and catching up on old times, but at the last minute, Barry had to cancel. It had to be the first time Barry Burton had ever cancelled a fishing trip in his entire life. Then again, Barry did forget that today was the day the Mrs. wanted him to go for that… special operation.

Despite the fact that Chris did not want to go fishing without a partner, he had no choice on the matter. Leon was out of town on one of his missions, Claire was in some Spanish-speaking country dealing with kids who were the victims of a bio-terrorist disaster, and Jill hated fishing with a passion. That left poor old Chris sitting there by himself, without even a single caught fish as his company.

He had been out there for thirteen hours.

"Fuck this." Chris muttered bitterly and fixed his fishing cap. He reasoned that he might as well return home and began packing his extra gear when the fishing rod began to dip.

Chris smiled widely as the wire tensed and began to sink deeper into the water. He let out an exclamation and shouted, "I got something!" The sleeping forest and still waters gave no hint of interest as he struggled to reel his catch in. "Come to Papa Chris!"

Chris struggled and screwed up his face as he battled the tense wire and struggled to pull the fish up. Never before did anything ever give him this sort of grief, and he secretly hoped that it was the biggest fish he had ever seen, as opposed to the more-than-likely condom-covered shoe it must have been.

The fisherman groaned and let out a yell as he heaved his arms back and pulled as hard as he could. "That's it! Come on!" As the rod tugged up, he could have sworn he heard the popping of a cork and the fog rolled in even taller and thicker around his boat. Chris turned around and watched as the fog rolled and seemed to swallow the small capsule.

A creepy whoosh and the churning of water passed through Chris's ears, and for a moment he wished he had brought his Samurai Edge with him.

Just as soon as the fog rolled in, the mist began to lift, and to Chris's surprise, he was sitting right across from a green-skinned man with seaweed hair wearing a sparkling green suit with a glistening jacket, black shirt and white tie. The figure's pouty, crimson lips opened wide with a grin and it spoke with a thick, cockney accent. "Hi there."

Chris's eyes opened wide with shock and he practically leapt out of the boat. Yet something kept him from taking his chances in the water. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, or maybe he had fallen asleep. As he looked down and saw that the bottom half of the figure's costume was a pink tutu skirt, Chris silently prayed that this was just a horrible dream brought on by too many mixed herbs.

He looked around desperately before asking the figure, "Who are you?"

"I'm Old Gregg." The figure responded. "Pleased to meet ya."

Chris panted, "What do you want?"

"Maybe I should be asking you the same question." Old Gregg answered and pointed a finger to Chris, "Whaccha doin in my waters?" He waved a hand over the misty lake and kept his eyes on Chris.

Chris gulped. He somehow had the feeling that his real intentions were not something this… Old Gregg… did not want to hear. "Nothing. Just… taking in the air, you know? Not fishing."

"Then how come this hook's in my head, fool?" Old Gregg countered and produced a shining metal hook from his hair.

"That's got nothing to do with me, sir!" Chris defended, fearful of what this bizarre creature was intending on doing.

"It's attached to your rod, mother-licker!" Old Gregg accused and pointed to the fishing rod still in Chris's hands.

Chris panicked. He had fought zombies, hunters, tyrants, and even an insane bitch-twin whose blood could ignite and transformed into a flying bug, but for some reason, he was terrified of Old Gregg. "Please don't kill me!" He found himself, quite out of character, pleading. "I've got so much to give."

"Easy now, fuzzy little man-peach, hmm?" Old Gregg said in a soothing tone, which strangely calmed Chris down. He seemed to take in the former S.T.A.R.S member carefully and asked, "You ever drink Bailey's from a shoe?"

Chris felt almost too stunned by the question to even answer, yet he somehow managed to say, "What?"

"You wanna come to a club where people wee on each other?" Old Gregg asked, ignoring Chris's answer.

Chris, totally disgusted by this, answered plainly, "No."

"I'm gonna hurt you." Old Gregg said, his eyes still locked on Chris.

"Excuse me?!" Chris shot out, yet could not bring himself to move.

"I like you." Old Gregg responded, "What do you think of me?"

Chris, still taken aback by this bizarre conversation, could not honestly bring himself to make an opinion. "I don't rightly know, sir."

"Make an assessment." Old Gregg shot back.

Chris took a moment to gather his thoughts and managed to get out, "I think you're a nice, modern gentleman."

Old Gregg pointed a finger at Chris and spat, "Don't lie to me, boy!"

"I'm not lying!" Chris defended meekly. He had no idea how to defend himself now.

"I know what you're thinking." Old Gregg said and stood up, " 'Here comes Old Gregg! He's a scaly man-fish! He don't know me! He don't know what I got!'"

Chris raised an eyebrow as Old Gregg said, "I've got something to show you!" Before Chris could react or avert his eyes, Old Gregg lifted up his skirt, and a blinding ray of light slammed Chris in the eyes. "You know what that is? That's Old Gregg's vagina!"

Chris struggled to look away at the strange, terrifying sight, but felt utterly glued as Old Gregg shouted to the heavens, "I've got a MANGINA!! I'M OLD GREGG!!"

Old Gregg's cries and name echoed in Chris's ears as he struggled to stay awake, yet the odd sights and totally terrifying thing he was staring at now was too much for him. His eyelids became heavy and he felt the force of the light push him down, knocking him into the blackness of his own mind.

All the while, he could still hear the cries of "I'M OLD GREEGGGGGGGGG!!"