Sorry it took so long, but now that midterms are over I should have more time now. R&R, enjoy! Disclaimer. Resident Evil and all related trademarks are property of Capcom. But the story's mine XD
Present,
Sherry sat silently on the hard wooden chair, still as a brick. Her skin had turned to ice about an hour ago, but she hardly paid any mind to it now. She was deeply focused on not making any movement. Not letting them get anything out of her. They were bad people, not letting her get any sunshine, or freedom. Forcing her to be locked up in a dark room they called hers. The bold looking man slumped down in his comfortable chair, leaning his elbows on the metal desk. He was stern as his eyes traveled across her face, searching for an opening, emotion, something he could use to breach her mind. He needed any kind of information from her that involved the incident, the incident that claimed the lives of many innocent civilians. He wanted to know anything she could remember. From the government's knowledge there were only two survivors of the incident.
Sherry Birkin and Leon Kennedy. Sherry was only twelve when it all happened. The running, the shooting, the screaming, all of it, and though thousands of civilians died in a week, why was her life spared? Sherry asked herself that everyday she was alone her solitude. Her prison in which there was no escape. Why? Sweat dribbled down the side of her cheek across her neck before it reached the hemline of her shirt and was soaked up. That uncomfortable feeling in her gut was growing at a massive rate. The sessions had never lasted this long, or were this intense. Doing this once a week for a year had taken a token on her weary heart. She just wanted it to go all away. All the memories, all the pains, all the loneliness, just evaporate into the moist air like fallen water droplets of a new day, but she knew that would never happen. The horror would never go away. It would haunt every turn, every corner, and every dark shadow that would loom before her. The schizophrenic flashes in her mind of that thing, that gold shiny pendant, and Claire.
Saying or thinking that name made Sherry's heart ache. It ripped at the last shred of sanity she was able to clutch onto. She didn't know what to think of Claire Redfield, her rescuer and deceiver. Even when Sherry was a moment from giving up, always comforted her and helped her through it. She told the truth, and treated her better than her own mother ever had, but she left. Left like the wind carrying a pile of leaves. All of those moments with Claire left as she did, leaving Sherry with Leon s. Kennedy, the man she knew for all of twenty minutes. Deep down, she knew all along that Claire wouldn't stay with her. She was always left alone.
The man violently cleared his throat, obviously done to remove Sherry from her trance-like state. The sound rattled her within her seat, goose bumps running up her spine. "I'll ask you one more time, can you tell us anything about the incident?" he asked.
She still didn't move a muscle, the room completely silent, not even a single cricket chirping. The man sighed. "Such a shame. I thought if we gave you some time you would talk, but it's been a year and you haven't said one word since we brought you here. How disappointing, and to think that a man arrived today to take you out of our custody and into his," the man ended, knowing the last line would get through to her.
Her eyes widened for a second before retracting. She kept calm, not planning to fall into the man's mind traps. She yawned, stretching out her arms as if she was living life without a care. "What, you don't believe me?" the man questioned. "I'll prove it to you." The man reached down to his thigh and pulled out a small black walky-talky from his belt pouch. While holding it to his lips and holing the small button he exclaimed, "Bring him in." He stood up to greet the group of three men who walked into the room through the sliding metal door that had disappeared up into the wall. Two of them were common guards, or "escorts" if you may, but the other man was unfamiliar.
He wore a navy blue collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbow length. His hands were covered with black leather gloves that cut off just before the fingers. His lower body was covered in black cameo pants with new tactical boots laced perfectly up the middle. A belt held his pants up firmly with a pocket strapped to his right thigh holstering a 9mm handgun. A black earpiece radio was gently placed in his left ear, a small microphone extending down a few inches from his mouth. On his shirt was an ammunition belt stocked up on grenades, bullets, and clips of many kinds. An AK-47 hung from his shoulder by a strap. His eyes were covered by mysterious black shades. They looked polished and buffed. His sleek blond hair was all combed back, held firmly in place by that special Matrix Biolage extra strength hair gel. He smirked as he shook the bold man's hand. Slick is what he is, she thought. Slick turned to face her, his sunglasses hiding his wandering eyes. His boot squeaked on the concrete floor, each step bringing him closer to her, until their faces met. His head bowed down, her head perched up. They locked gazes, him smiling, her cowering.
"Hello Sherry Birkin, I'm Albert Wesker from the Umbrella Corporation and a longtime friend of your dad. I'm here to take you home to them," he concluded with an evil smile. The kind of smile that's slightly titled and is obviously is a fake. She's heart stopped at those words. Her eyeballs shook and her mouth latched shut. Umbrella, the pharmaceutical company her parents worked for, and dark secrets hidden within its walls.
She jumped out of her seat, knocking the chair backwards on the floor. "Get the hell away from me!" she hollered as she turned in a rapid motion, her dirty blonde hair whipping at his face. Her legs moved her forward as she sprinted to the nearest corner of the room and sat down with her back to the wall. There was no way out of that god-forsaken room other than the single door across the room where the bold man stood in confusion. Slick a.k.a. Albert Wesker began to slowly trudge towards her, calm and swift. "Don't come any closer, or I'll scream," she threatened, but he ignored her. She gathered all her breath and screamed the loudest pitch she could holler, her eyes squinting. The bold man cupped his hands over his ears, but Wesker didn't budge, still continuing towards her at an even faster pace now. She realized her suffering and fear was only feeding to his own happiness. He was enjoying this. Enjoying watching her squirm. Enjoying the lie that her parents wanted her to come back home, but she could never go back to them.
They're dead...