A/N;
Blame a dream for this one.
The 'first chapter' will actually have a bit more info in the Author Notes. Just hang with me for a bit, okay?
Resident Evil = Not Mine.
The edges of hell know no bounds. Whether figurative, or literal. It is always fond of luring in the unsuspecting, or those that seem to savour the danger that it offers to them, regardless of their minds and souls.
"Reliable sources have told us that our suspect name is Aaron Moore. Although we are unsure of his rank within Umbrella, there is a high chance that he is both a threat as well as involved in some terrible incidents over the recent years."
Umbrella was responsible for one incident after another. No matter what name they were to deem themselves with afterwards, their filth created one catastrophe after another. Regardless of how many facilities were destroyed, even worse scenarios would soon play out.
The lights were dim, a few flickering above the table. Few people occupied the chairs, only those trusted with the seeming important information. All looked serious, not willing to make any jokes about the situation. Everything had started to escalate since Russia – Panic of the people, worry for what was to come, the determination to put it to an end.
No such thing as a safe haven would exist as long as such menacing intentions still roamed, no matter where in the world. To give up now would be to bow down to the enemy and welcome death.
"Where does the information lead us to?"
Jill Valentine tapped her fingers lightly on the table as she asked, refraining for taking her gaze away from the one announcing the news. Whether it was good news or bad news, only time and action would tell. For far too long she herself had been fighting, and despite her readiness to take the next obstacle, part of her begged for release from the endless battle.
Once again, hell opens its doors to the living – Beckoning in one of the patrons so accustom to being drawn in. One trial met and conquered, only to leave another with an unwelcomed challenge.
The young woman ran her tongue over her dry lips, listening intently for the coordination. She palms rested flat on the table top as she thought over the information – Her mind crafted a mental image of the area, faint memories beginning to rise.
She had visited that area as a child with her father. Briefly, but street names and traffic lights were carved into her mind. She had no way of repeating the names, for as soon as she concentrated enough to do so they would slip from her grasp. It was an endless chase for peace of mind, a failed attempt for some clarity.
"I'll head out for the destination at twenty-one hundred hours."
What keeps people coming back? What keeps actions being repeated, again and again with the same outcomes of horror and despair, simply for gain? Questions repeated and repeated continue to be unanswered. If you were asked for help, would you respond of give the finishing blow?
"You can't do this alone, Jill. I won't let you."
His fingers had weaved with hers on the desk, holding on tightly as if it would help convince her to rethink her statement. She glanced at him, staring into his blue eyes, concerned by the odd worry he had for her which she could never understand properly.
"If there's more than one person, the mission could be compromised, Chris. I can't let that happen."
She had stated it sternly, only worrying her partner further. The man's overprotective nature was somewhat of a legend within the Anti-Biohazard group, and it had been demonstrated a number of times.
Be it their fault, nay, the fault of man kind. The bonds that keep those, both fighting and both fleeing, seem to grow ever tighter around the necks of those captured. Kept in places, escape to rest is a luxury met by few whom have met their ends, in such ways as these…
Chairs were shifted, pages of notes were piled and straightened up, packed back into suitcases or placed delicately back into folders. The orders were clear, all precautions were arranged. One man was to their await capture, but run-ins with Umbrella left warnings stabbed into all those whom had come into contact with them – Always be on guard. Expect the worst.
The reeking stench of death, decayed flesh and the sole longing to ease hunger. When one is so used to putting beings of that nature out of their misery, how does one respond for another being, once human, wishing for escape?
"So… You're really going?"
She nodded, before tapping the radio on her shoulder. She gave him a half-hearted smile, trying to set her friend at ease. He would make himself sick if he continued on like that.
"I'll be fine, Chris." She stated, her voice softer by a few fractions. She could practically feel the larger man's unease. She turned and shook her head, before giving him a firm pat on the back. "Promise."
He smiled faintly, knowing no reason not to believe her. The two had been through so many troubles over the years, so many hardships. His care for her seemed to partially arise from his fear of losing one of the only other survivors – Someone he himself had a strong connection with.
When you hold the key of freedom, will you see it? Will you be willing to use it on those who have waited for so long?
Her steps were staggered, forced yet unheard. The climate would not allow itself to be pushed in the backseat for the mere footsteps of a determined woman. The skies above cried and screamed, escaping rain darkening the footpath and roads of the dying town.
A soft light illuminated her back, for only a few seconds as a motor continued to run, pushing the vehicle further into the night. She blinked back the rain, looking at the large building in front of her. A building uninhibited, lost, but not yet forgotten. The rumours that continued to stemmed from it, striking those whom heard with a nervous response, who usually brushed it off with some figure of humour.
"From one creepy living space to the next… Will this ever end?"
No-one so down to earth would expect what was inside.