Chapter 2:

Nothing had felt real. I often imagined I was in a purgatory of some sort; the daily routine testing me, judging my actions. I'd awake every morning, or what I believed was morning for there were no windows in sight, and I'd be pricked and prodded with machinery and syringes. I felt like a prisoner, an animal, but I was grateful. It had been a month or so since I first woke from my slumber. I had many capabilities now, thanks to the care I had received. Walking was slow for me, but manageable. Speaking was as normal as I remembered. I had two functioning arms. Sure, one of them wasn't completely mine and I'm not sure how they managed to create a whole arm for me, but I was thankful. Perhaps the most difficult task of the day was staying awake. My mind very often clouded and dizzied. It felt as though I was trying to survive instead of simply being conscious. Every day was a struggle, but a struggle I would prevail from.

"Piers, how are you feeling today?" Ada voiced from behind. I turned to face her.

"Much better, thank you," I replied.

"And have you been remembering everything, no complications with urges?" Ada pestered, but I couldn't blame her. My situation was delicate and dangerous. There were times when I felt hunger that wasn't satisfied by food, times when I so desperately wanted to twine my hands around someone's neck. Luckily those impulses died off after a week or two. I still found it difficult to comprehend words all at once and even remember hearing them all together, but with every passing moment my body grew stronger and my mind sharper.

"I'm fine … better, much better," I admitted. "I just keep forgetting a few things. Things that I know are important. I constantly think about Chris," I paused, "and the B.S.A.A." My mind fluttered. "Tell me again," I encouraged, "why did you rescue me exactly? Why this facility?"

Ada was helpful and seemed as though she was glad to be on the good side, but asking questions, I think, annoyed her. "I rescued you because you survived the infection for a substantial amount of time. Most subjects, according to Umbrella, transform nearly immediately. You were able to control it, even use it in your favor. For this reason I brought you back to this secret facility to test your blood. No one knows of this place except for the workers here and I intend on keeping it this way."

"How'd you know I survived?" I prodded.

"I keep an eye on Chris Redfield," she admitted. "Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you very much, for everything," I spoke softly, and to myself I asked, "What has become of the world up there? What is the latest mission? How can I help? Where is Chris?"

"Mr. Nivans," one of the doctors called. "You're needed, physical therapy will begin shortly." I walked my way to the doctor and followed him to endure stretching and weights. Later I'd sit in a room with wires set into my body and a woman testing the capability of my brain. All in a day's work, I suppose.

Given a couple more weeks, my body rejuvenated well. My head didn't spin as often and my mobility was up to par. Doctors constantly spoke of my 'incredible progress'. Perhaps I'd be able to visit the surface soon.

"Mr. Nivans," someone acknowledged, "you have a visitor." I was expecting Ada but instead a soldier in black gated to my bedside.

"Hello," I initiated.

"I am Agent Hunnigan. I'm here to see you through a series of combat tests before you return to the surface," he meant business.

"I get to go back?" I asked enthusiastically. It's all I truly cared about.

"That's right, kid. You get to see light again, but if and only if you pass," Ada intruded, "I'm sure you'll do fine."

I took in a deep breath and felt a rush of determination. "When do I begin?"

"Now, if you like," Agent Hunnigan answered. I nodded my head in approval.

"Good, follow me," ended Ada as she walked away.

She led us to a large room I hadn't seen previously. There were bunkers and obstacles, clearly a training course. "Sniper, I presume," Ada spoke reaching for a gun off the wall adjacent to her. She threw it at me. With it in my hand I quickly maneuvered the stock to my shoulder and took position behind a bunker. Now I meant business.

"When you're ready," issued Hunnigan and I fired. I had wanted to shoot at something, anything for a long while. The firing range calmed my nerves. It felt almost like home to me.

"Impressive," Ada complimented.

"Quite," Hunnigan agreed, "let's move on." I was told to do some running and climbing as well as some combat practice. I was built for this, and I was ready to go home. When done, I noticed men with clipboards ferociously taking notes on the sidelines and chatting with each other in awe.

"He's met every goal," I heard a man in white assert.

"Well, I'd say he's ready," said Ada.

"I'll escort him to the B.S.A.A.," the agent spoke. I felt the sides of my lip rise.

"We've kept everything we found you with," Ada announced, directing me to a locker room. "Locker 24," she confirmed as she pointed me in the right direction. "Shower up and you'll be free. I'll be keeping an eye on you. Bye for now." Ada left with her natural charm.

I walked over to the locker and opened it cautiously. Inside was most of my outfit. "Let's see here," I spoke out loud, "pants, vest, jacket, is this shirt mine?" I sifted some more. "Ah, scarf and gloves, perfect." Finding a complete outfit as well as a pistol with its holster I laid everything out and headed into the showers.

The warm water relaxed me. As I stood I wondered about the surface, about home. Will everything be the same as it was before? How exactly did things end? Had my actions helped at all? Did Chris make it out? "Oh, Chris," I gave his name to the imminent echo that would follow. Perhaps out of all my wondering his safety was the most prevalent. He must be devastated. He had lost all his men once again. Well, not this time. I'd return to him.

I soaped up my arms followed by my chest and core. I felt my body intently. I had gotten stronger. Not from just the day I woke, but this had been the strongest I'd ever been. My pectorals plunged outward, my abdominals curved several times, and as I flexed my arms I amazed myself. I was no Chris Redfield, but I must admit, I looked good, healthy. Maybe someday I'd be Chris material. I hadn't known him long, but if there was one thing I knew well about Chris it was his bulk. He is an Adonis. I remembered the strength of his arms when we so often were thrown to the ground. I pictured the rest of him as I rinsed off the suds from my body.

"Chris," I thought, "if only he was gay." I visualized him on top of me, taking me completely. The erection I bestowed was imminent. "It has been quite a long time," I admitted. I leaned against shower stall's wall and touched myself. Piecing images of Chris inside me from various positions, I moaned. I lathered soap around my finger and lifted a leg. I entered myself slowly pretending it was Chris. I didn't take long before I started to whimper his name, breath in tiny hiccups, and release the juices stored within me for two months.

With several gasps for air I retreated back to the full pressure of the water and rushed to finally get home.