Chapter 2 - Bare Trees
Jill laid next to her daughter and pulled up the covers for both of them. "All right, bed time."
"Mom?"
"Yeah honey?"
For a moment, Isara looked at Jill's eyes, feeling her mother's hands play with her hair.
"Where's daddy?"
Her face turned pale for a second. She swallowed a lump in her throat and rolled her head away.
As much as it saddens her to be like this, she had no choice.
Dante left, she couldn't find him, and a choice had been made to be a single mother. They say spirit always stays.
But a child won't understand.
What was she supposed to say? That he didn't want her? That he wasn't even aware she existed?
Would he even care?
Coming down from her worry, she swallowed and fought through her fear.
"Daddy is . . . busy. He'll be away for a while." Jill sighed and pulled her daughter in for a hug. "Close your eyes, baby. Sweet dreams."
.
.
.
Jill opened her eyes and glanced at her digital clock.
The time was 6:15 a.m. She looked drowsily around her bedroom and searched for the sound.
As usual, she wasn't very sure whether it was the sound coming from her phone's alarm, or if she left the vibration setting on again.
It kept getting harder to tell, each time her hearing got groggier as she got older.
The cellphone was on the dresser, and the light flickered.
She twisted onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The popcorn cover on her daughter's lamp-fan just looked like static as the blades spun around and around.
Jill blinked at it then rubbed the crust out of the corner of her eyes.
She flopped back to her left to look at the wall and blinked again . . . The open beige color didn't really add anything to the room.
'Maybe I should get a poster.' Eventually, it was time to lean up and start the morning routine.
Jill laid down again, curling her toes and praising how welcoming the sheets felt. A bit of irritation gave her the need to itch a specific spot on her lower left ankle.
She pulled her leg up to her side, in the process of relieving that irritation, and opened her mouth for a prolonged yawn.
The woman sat back up and took a deep breath. The moment she stood up from her bed, her arms raised to the ceiling to stretch for the morning.
From there, Jill wobbled over to her phone on the dresser.
It turned out to just be another voicemail from a hokey number, saying she won some deal…
'Damn telemarketers.'
Jill set the phone down. Moving away from it, she opened the drawer of the nightstand and removed a leather wallet with a star-shaped symbol.
A bit chipped at the corners, it still shined in the light of the room. Dust had long settled around it, but the star itself, always sparkled. To the left of the badge, was a picture.
Valentine was standing next to a half dozen other depicted members. One of these other individuals had their face violently scratched out of the photo.
"Mommy, are you awake?" A soft voice called out, Jill looked at her doorway.
Isara peeked from one side of the door, just barely enough for her eyes to see.
A bright smile graced Jill's face.
"Come on in, honey." She said and knelt down with opened arms.
The little girl pushed the door slowly and entered, her lips forming half a smile and she rested herself into her mother's embrace.
"Did you go to the bathroom and wash?" Jill's fingers gently curled around several strands of Isara's hair and felt the damp moisture.
The child nodded.
"Okay, I'll get breakfast ready, get dressed for school." She said.
"Aw, do I have to?" Isara whined.
Jill scoffed and laughed a bit before giving her the tired old speech, "Sweetie, how many times do I have to tell this? You need a good education."
Isara puffed her cheeks in frustration.
"Now, young lady."
Jill this time chose to change the routine. She cooked up something she'd planning for a while, a Tomato Toast with Macadamia Ricotta, along with a glass of milk.
It was a bit over the top, but it was certainly better than a plain omelet, slightly burnt toast and water.
Isara took a seat on their small table inside the kitchen, an obvious scowl on her face. She took a seat in a black chair at the wooden table.
Her mom hovered over the stove as she took out a small rubber band, then straightened her hair in a short knot so to tie it back into a ponytail.
The fold out chair with the wooden table was enough for that little girl to manage.
Just something about oversized clutter always irked her to no end.
Several minutes later, two plates were placed in front of the child and Jill took a seat. "Don't give me that face, come on. Try it."
The vegetables themselves held the poached eggs. It was something that Jill remembered having with her grandmother when she was a little girl.
It didn't turn out as simple for Isara. Of course, the hardened, former officer attempted other styles. Deviled, the spices didn't quite agree with her nose and with the attempt with eggs benedict?
Dream on . . .
"I don't want to." The little girl crossed her arms, which, in turn, caused Jill's lip to wince.
. . . Days ago . . .
"But mom, this isn't fair! I want a strawberry Sunday!" The kid cried, her face turning red.
Jill's palm greeted itself to her forehead. Kids can be difficult. She'd already made a nice scene inside the restaurant.
Jill tried so hard to hold herself back from slapping her. Th public didn't take too kindly to disciplining children anymore, not like when she was growing up anyway.
She rubbed both sides of her nose, eyes closed with a mantra that repeated itself in her mind.
'She's just a kid, she's just a kid; don't think like that.'
She placed her finger on the child's mouth.
"Shhh, shhhh- Just-! Just listen to me! Listen to me for a moment! I'll buy you ice cream if you promise me something."
Silenced, the girl nodded.
"Promise me, you'll be a good girl and go to school without a fuss! You'll have a nice breakfast and then go back to school. Promise me!"
. . . Present . . .
"Isara, didn't you promise me you'd go back to school without a fuss? What have we talked about promises?" Jill spoke, aggravated.
She was about to speak when the sound of the house phone cut through the moment.
Jill sighed and left her chair. She pointed at the plate in front of the girl, and narrowed her eyes. "I don't want any more arguments. You better eat that."
Odd that the landline would be used to contact her, but anytime it was, it was usually work.
Placed on a wall in the connecting hallway, she though to herself, 'Pretty early, ain't it?'
A number was showed on the small control panel screen. Another sigh escaped her lips. There was a small knot in her throat, just begging itself to be let out, even if that meant straining her vocal cords.
She swallowed and picked up the handset.
"Hello?"
"Good morning Jill, sorry to trouble you at this time, but I have no choice, under the circumstances." A feminine voice spoke on the other line.
She was deadpan in her response.
"It's alright."
There was a sort of hysterical breath on the other end, trying to suppress a chuckle.
"Look, it seems the Russia mission is going to be sooner than expected. A new-. . . complication . . . presented itself early this morning. Chris is going to be there after few minutes to discuss the details."
Jill felt her heart skip a beat.
"Excuse me? Chris is...coming?"
The woman on the other line was silent, quite surprised by the reaction.
"Uh . . . yeah, the two of you will be partners, remember? Everything alright?"
She gulped hard.
"Yeah . . . okay, goodbye." She set the phone back down on the receiver.
Immediately, she paced back and forth in the hallway, taking several shortened breathes as it became a chore to ponder over.
Jill pulled herself together and returned to the kitchen.
Isara was done with her food, having eaten every bite, and was tempted to take a bite out of Jill's.
Mom turned out to be a pretty good cook after all.
Though she was worried, a feeling of pride came over Jill at the same time. Still though, it felt like her heartbeats were thundering drums, growing louder every second.
"Mom, are you okay?" Isara looked at her sad expression. "Are you mad at me?"
Jill pushed the thoughts and smiled back at her. "No no, I'm glad to see that you hated it."
Her daughter understood the sarcasm and blushed a bit, feeling like a fool for not wanting to try what turned out to be a pretty interesting meal.
While she went to wash, a soft knock on the door told Jill her time was up.
The secret's out for another person from her past. While it was true that she still trusted Chris with her life . . . Did she really have the courage to tell him about her?
After all, she always thought that he would make a damn good father. They'd worked together for a long time.
Jill looked through the peephole and saw her old friend, Chris Redfield, standing there, wearing a casual jacket over a relaxed uniform, with a large bag slung over his shoulder.
For a moment, she took a deep breath. 'Alright, here goes.'
Jill opened the door and welcomed him. "Hey Chris, come on in."
She stepped aside to signal him, motioning her hand.
"Hey Valentine. Thanks." He said happily, and followed her through the small foyer.
It was nice and cozy, a small, modest rug welcoming his prefectly clean boots, and some other furniture that looked like it was inheritance from a relative.
Slowly, she opened the door to the living room, and they entered.
"Look Jill," Chris said as he sat on the couch, in front of the TV, "I know this isn't really a good time, but it's just-, things aren't going well and the time frame is too small."
"I understand, don't worry about it." Jill nodded and smiled.
She sat on a chair diagonal to the couch.
"Mommy . . . ?" Jill heard the sound of her daughter, wondering where she went, and felt the pressure return.
Chris looked at Jill with an awkward smile, and his gaze darted to the door.
Out from behind the edge, he saw a small girl.
Chris found himself chortle unexpectedly, "Ahehe, and who is this?"
The man looked back at a visibly uncomfortable Jill
"Ahem, come say hi to Chris, sweetie. He's a friend of mommy." She said. Isara had dried off her hands well, and came closer to the man.
"Hey mister." she whispered, feeling a little uneasy. As a stranger, her instinct wasn't to be friendly. "I know you."
"Oh-ho, H-Hello to you too." Chris replied, still unable to hide the surprise in his voice. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? What did mommy tell you about me?"
The little girl looked back at her mother and laughed, her grey eyes glistering.
"You're a good man, and she missed talking to you." Her cheeks were still a little red.
Chris whispered, "Aw!" and drew her in for a hug. "You're so adorable."
He chuckled and smiled at Jill. She could tell Isara really liked her old friend.
"Also, you had the worst eating habits when you were trying to stay in shape." She added.
Jill went white as a sheet.
"Ahaha. Really now?" Chris looked over his shoulder, his smile cut with a sarcastic look.
Jill widened her eyes and nervously laughed.
"D-Ahahahaha, haha-oh, Oh sweetie, that's enough!" She said, embarrassed.
"But mom, you said he looked like a goat chewing grass." Isara tilted her head and stuck her tongue out.
Chris leaned back and had a hearty laugh, and any negativity just bled out of him. He smiled at Jill as he laughed.
The kid was so cute, her plump cheeks and fine nose made her child even more endearing. Jill watched the scene before her, questioning herself why she was worried.
Why was she so afraid of this meeting? Chris lightly touched her cheeks, noting her pale skin versus Jill's relatively darker, more tanned shade.
Isara pushed his hands away and crossed her arms. "I don't like it when people touch my cheeks."
Good god she was adorable, that fussiness adding to her cherubic cuteness.
Chris sniggered some more, then bowed his head with his hands held high, "Forgive me, officer."
Isara smiled proudly and then ran out of the living room and straight to her bedroom.
Once the two of them heard the door close, he looked at Jill for a moment.
"Well, i didn't expect that! She's a cutie. Congratulations ma-friend. I have so many questions now. But, what's with the hair? Did you dye it for her?"
"Nope, uh, that's her natural hair color."
Chris tilted his head forward and widened his eyes a bit. "Really? That's odd, I don't think I ever saw a natural silver hair. Greying early?"
Jill shook her head with a reluctant smirk.
"Huh . . . Well, anyway-." He started searching through the bag. He really wanted to know more now, not really wanting to talk about work.
But he could see Jill's reaction, and thought better of it, considering that she apparently hid this from him for, most likely, years.
Isara came back in, still not ready for school. It was roughly twenty-five minutes before they had to leave.
"Honey, for the last time, go get dressed and ready for school. That's final!" Jill declared, looking at her with that knowing, motherly look.
She nodded and did what was requested of her, closing the door again after returning.
"Okay, so the intel says Sergei's facility is in the middle of the Gora Kukurtli-Kolbashi mountain range. That's good news, so no people are going to be hurt if something explosive happens."
Chris took out a picture and gave it to her.
Jill examined the picture carefully. The facility looked normal on the outside, so it was hard to believe it as a dangerous place to visit.
"I see. So what, we just go there and take him out like normal, right?" She was really questioning why he wanted to talk about it.
He jumped more straight to the point, "Ah, but, according to the words of some newly-accounted-for survivors, a creepy number of monsters live at in the mountain range.
A professional deer-hunter came across an old Hunter after the explosion of the population. The wolves were mostly kicked out of the region. Those that stayed were found in a less than intact state.
Command confirmed the location with a scout and we think they'd probably know we're coming."
Chris then pulled a file from the bag and gave it to her. "It's obvious that some employees are still around, and we aren't sure on the amount of manpower local mercenaries possess.
The scout couldn't get inside. He was spotted trying." Chris stopped to take his breath.
"Meaning . . . ?" Jill asked, interrupting his break.
"We don't know jack shit, and there's no way to get any reconnaissance unless we send valuable field assets. So, Command's suggested we move on it now before they pack everything up."
"I think I'm going to join O'Brian." Jill announced.
"Oh, he already knew you would. BSAA's got you a parking space and your own private locker." Chris nervously smiled.
She stared at him.
"What happened to the legal proceedings with the umbrella employees?"
"It seems some of em' were a bit too clever. A few successfully put part of the blame on the US government for what happened before." Chris commented.
Hints of anger tinged his voice. "We thought we had all the documentation on their facilities, but . . . more are still functioning."
Redfield tightened his left hand into a fist.
"So, that means . . ."
"Yeah," He replied.
"When do we roll out?"
Chris checked his watch for a moment, "Three hours, along with the unit. Can you get ready before then? A co-worker will have thermal armor ready for you."
"Great," Jill stood up and nodded, "I'm going to take my daughter to school."
. . . One Hour Later . . .
An hour went by, like a blink of an eye.
Jill was able to contact the school and notify them of her parents dropping and picking Isara up.
Their farewell was a little troubling for her again.
"Mom, please don't go." She murmured. "We were going to eat at a restaurant and take a walk together!"
Paul Valentine stood in the front door with his steel cane helping him to stay balanced.
"Ah kids," he whispered.
There was a slight, french twang of an accent in his voice.
"I'm just leaving for a few days, I'll come back for you as soon as I can. Promise, okay?" Jill bent over and kissed her forehead. "Be good with grandma and grandpa, 'kay?"
Jill looked up at her father.
"Thanks dad." she knew from his expression alone, he still wasn't very pleased with her.
"Dad, we're doing fine on our own. Why is this still a problem for us?" She questioned.
Aika Valentine came toward them from the car, a bit annoyed. "Right, you're fine. Accept the fact you have to leave your daughter at the drop of a hat to earn some money.
You think you can support her like this!? What kind of 'fine' is that?"
Jill pushed her daughter gently. "Go to grandpa's car, darling."
The girl nodded, then ran inside to the backseat.
She then called her mother over and placed a hand on her shoulder. Aika could feel the anger rising from her. In a whispered rage, she told her off.
"Look, i know you think you're helping me by chastising me in front of my child. But I don't care that you're my birth mother, raising my child is not one iota your problem.
So let me do my job as a parent, just like you did. As i recall, you and Dad weren't exactly able to earn money easily either."
She was taken aback by her daughter's stance on the matter. And in a way, Jill was 100% right. Isara was Jill's problem not hers.
"I'm- I'm sorry. I'm sorry sweetheart, you know that i wouldn't say anything if I didn't love you. I just- You're my child, and I want to do everything I can to help."
Her argument was valid, now that she'd seen how passionate Jill was. Aika had come to realize that she'd overstepped her boundaries.
Jill hugged her mom, and said, "I know you want whats best. But so do I. I'll see you when I get back, okay? I love you."
She was touched, and so her mother just stayed silent and walked back to the car.
Paul clenched his fist, saying, "You need help."
"Don't make me tell you off either, it's not your concern." Jill darkened her expression.
Paul showed her his own anger, "Why not, she's my granddaughter. I want what's best for her."
"And like I told mom; Your opinion about my daughter doesn't matter. She's not your child. She's mine."
Paul looked shocked. He eventually nodded, closing his lips, and just chose to stay silent
"I love you, Dad." She whispered, and walked out of her front yard, where Chris waited for her in his car, next to their's.
. . . Some Time Later . . .
Jill strapped herself into the chopper seat and looked out the window next to her. All the other agents in their other chairs were close enough. She didn't do well in close spaces.
Brought back bad memories for her. She wore a light blue, hooded jacket and grey pants with black boots. Under the jacket was expensive tactical gear, all colored black, and threaded with kevlar.
She moved her hands together then tugged at the wrist to tighten the grip of her gloves. Taking out her side arm, a custom, black M92F pistol with a stainless steel barrel.
It went in tandem with her assault rifle.
She opened her jacket to reveal an additional magazine vest with a dozen pouches. It was the weirdest rainbow ever, going in from black to charcoal grey to grey.
For stuff like this, Jill did not want to leave things to chance.
The helicopter had six agents, including Jill. Two more helicopters followed in formation to the designated zone.
It took about another twelve hours just to arrive in the damn country, so the team were really racing against the clock on this operation.
Jill mentally prepped for another mission, again.
To be honest, she felt a bit excited to be part of field work again. She'd kept herself in shape, but still, it worried her about the consequences. What injuries might she walk away with?
She'd seen too much. Nevertheless, she continued hoping these so-called 'new' Bio weapons were complete failures.
She rubbed her eyes and felt hints of jetlag setting in, but now wasn't the time to worry about that.
The memory of having to tell Wesker about her child . . . She'd never really reflected on how messed up that situation was.
This thought alone made her have trouble sleeping, much less nap during the flight. Terrified someone might come and take her daughter away, she might never be seen again.
People like him will always play dirty to hurt their enemies. Jill knew she couldn't stay silent like this forever. It has to be part of the effort to end Umbrella, once and for all.
Her child could be in danger. This mother wouldn't let some asshole stand in her way.
The helicopter's rotors tuned out most forms of sound, and Jill closed her eyes for a moment as it started to ascend to the sky.
Jill heaved a long sigh, like a heavy weight on her shoulders.
"Maybe I'm just paranoid." Once again, Jill took out her pistol to put through the motions of a maintenance check.
It was a long ride.
. . . Someplace Else . . .
A man walked into what seemed an empty hospital, the air around him felt heavy. The dust weighed it down enough that a person would be winded if they ventured in this place longer than they had to.
The man sighed as he leaned to his right, using the wall as support, and his right foot stumbled forward. His shoulder slammed to the wall repeatedly, scuffling along like a dazed vagabond.
And the man shook his head.
The lights flickered around him in unison. Not an end to the hall in sight, from what he could state, based on observation.
To keep himself upright, the man closed his eyes and forced his weight to the right half of his body. His arm angled itself along the wall and he kept himself stable as he pressed onward.
Door after door was locked and he didn't feel the pressing need to force himself in through any of them.
His lungs hurt from the lack of proper oxygen. It became a chore just to remind himself to inhale. Soon enough, one of the doors wasn't closed. He pulled himself inside it . . .
Air
Air
Air
Once he was in front of the bed, inside, he could see a body covered with a blanket laying across the mattress. He kept his head level and looked away from the body.
The clear distinction of color phased him. The blood had dried long ago and the darkened patches looked more like splashes of black paint.
He kept his thoughts calm until something metallic pierced his skin and drove through his back.
An iron taste flooded his mouth.
He gasped.
Blood seeped from his lips.
A jolt of fire rang around him as the steely object came into direct contact with several of his bones.
He wanted to scream but looked at the ceiling as a basic response. He wanted to scream, but his lungs had all the power stabbed out of them.
A figment rose from the sheets. A crooked neck stuck out as the figure looked rotted. It pointed directly at him with an abormal, spindly finger.
"It's all your fault."
The man still couldn't speak . . . he just took a moment to swallow his blood. The lower jaw was pure liquid crimson. He clenched his fingers so hard, that something popped.
"I'm Sh-sooorrry!" The man gurgled
Just like that, the figment burned through the bed. The face was enshrouded in shadow. It made his chest tighten as the thing that pierced him twisted and knotted his throat.
The man submitted to the pain, then dropped to his knees. He coughed up blood and bits of bone.
His senses ignited in a sickening frenzy, feeling like they were aflame.
A heavy boot of some kind kicked the man forward, where he raced through a hallway, falling endlessly until he skid across the tiled floor.
Then, from the thousand mile hole in his back, had six sets of hands find the cut. Then, at once, each hand pulled his wound apart.
The man's eyes widened while his mouth gaped, but no words could be uttered. He watched the world around him go from grey to black.
Nothing could be in focus.
More bones.
More flesh.
Stripped away.
Piece by piece. Oh god, the scissors.
Every little notch and surgery gassed him under, a hand pulling finally at his canyon jaw for a tear.
And tears did fall, hitherto his tendons tore and macerated. All the hands kept quartering him.
All of the hands.
First it was his left shoulder blade, then the spine and by the end of it, his slimy organs were chewed and crushed, squeezed and shoved aside.
All.
THe.
HanDs . . .
In the corner of the man's remaining eye, he could see half of his heart was cut out while the figure displayed it between his fingers.
It stuttered to him through the valley, all surrounded by dead kings and obelisks.
Atop its broken neck, a spiked head and chilling blue eyes impaled his soul. So it let him be returned. It let him be done.
"This still doesn't measure up, Dante. Only a fool would accept this as fate. Or are you so destroyed you couldn't even touch me?
I rule the midnight air, the destroyer. I'm born
I shall soon be their deadly mass.
I
I creep the steps and floor, final darkness
Blood
Blood
Blood
Dante's blood, the painted door. I shall pass you, as i have before.
I can't see your light shining."
His words grew disparate and cracked open, like glass jars.
A cherub snuck upon his shoulder and merged into his left shoulder, changing the figure into a churning mass. It engulfed his legs, crawling under his skin.
Corroding his flesh, biting at his sinew, pulling at every devilish nerve, stabbing and piercing his eyes, it suffocated him against the ground.
Holding him down, blotting out the bejeweled son, gorging his remains as shoved its way into his throat.
No.
No.
No, no, no, no, no, -Oh god.
Oh god!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHhhhhHHhHhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
A young man with silver hair shot up straight in bed. Beads of sweat raced from his upper body to his waist and the air stung his skin.
He looked all around him, trying to get a look at where he was. A few seconds passed by and he realized, he was in his room.
It was still pitch black in the windowsill. Images flashed through his head.
"What the hell!?" He allowed himself to yell.
He leaned up and rubbed his face, he couldn't get back to sleep even if he wanted to.
The man brushed his covers aside and left his room. Maybe a beer would settle his nerves.
It didn't.
. . .
A truth he couldn't ever deny. He missed his twin terribly.
And the sense of guilt has been eating him alive for far too long. No one would ever know about this, and he did not really want to be all mopey around someone.
He isn't like that and he never will be.
How perverse to miss someone you still dislike.
. . .
For hours, the silver-maned man watched a growing shadow bloom from a window while a dull, orange glow engulf it afterwards.
His hands at the arm rest, he just kept waiting for the sun to fulfill its occupation.
Sounds of rubber etching on the concrete was enough to signal to him that people were out and about.
He heaved a prolonged sigh and picked up a towel he fetched for himself earlier.
The man left the room, straight to the bathroom for a warm shower.
His front door swung open, and revealed a tall woman with long, blonde hair. The face looks alot like the picture placed upon the desk.
Several strands drifted down her forehead, so she combed them back to her ears. A black, leather corset hugged her abdomen and generously held tight around her breasts.
She also wore black pants with charcoal leather high heel boots.
On her right hand was a new leather wristband that traveled up to her forearm, and strapped on four times.
She wanted to send a fashion statement not to screw with her.
"Dante?" She called out.
The woman rolled her eyes and took a seat on the edge of the desk, conjuring different methods of information she acquired.
She searched through her bag and took out the picture, just to make sure one last time. The picture was still the same, there is no doubt.
She sighed sadly and waited.
Five minutes later. the man walked out, rubbing his hair with a towel.
Despite how messy it got, it always just seemed to fall right back into perfect place.
"A little early, don't you think, Trish?"
"Nice to see you too." She rolled her eyes. "You've got a new job. Well, an offer, knowing you."
Dante closed his eyes and took the seat at the desk.
He sat next to trish reluctantly. "I hate to be predictable, but . . . Thanks but no thanks, all you've brought to me lately are lame jobs. "
Trish shook her head, both annoyed and worried.
"We have a high roller. Says he'll drop 3Gs for you to just show up."
Dante's eyes came alive.
"Another 6 grand if you complete the job." She finished. Trish placed a small picture in front of him, it appears to be a man in his late forties.
There was name written down at the bottom.
"'Sergei Vladislav,' huh? Who's that guy supposed to be?" Dante asked, legs resting up at the desk. "And why would this 'high roller' want to pay me that much for this piddly Russian bozo?"
Trish crossed her arms. "He's part of Umbrella Corporation, you'll want to go there. Or maybe not . . ."
Dante noticed a weird look in her eyes, a look he was not able to read.
"So he wants me to investigate and help arrest this Russian twat . . . Cheeki Breeki. Any chance you brought some pizza or somethin'?"
Lady ungraciously chuckled at him.
"No, Dante. No I didn't. I want you to focus, this is important for us."
Dante pondered for a moment.
"Hmmm . . . Umbrella? Yeah I heard the name before. Isn't this that company accused of starting the zombie Apocalypse a couple years ago?" he pulled his legs down.
Trish gritted her teeth and huffed.
"How many times have I told you to take something serious? God you're pathetic you know that!"
"Deal with it." Her comment annoyed him, and this wasn't lost on her.
He sighed, responding additionally, "Why don't you go bother Lady again? Maybe you could hit the town like before."
Dante's comments often cut into her without really meaning to.
"Heh . . . Oh please. I don't feel like ruining my hair again, that Lady is a real brute." She replied, remembering their little skirmish at the church.
Trish placed a number of pictures on his desk and left them there for him to observe. At first, he saw only weird creatures, types of demons he'd never seen before . . .
"So what are you saying?" he asked, flipping through them until he stumbled upon one specific photo that froze his veins.
A corpse white as a sheet. A pallid man with silver, swept back hair, hanging somewhere on a metal table. It looked like some frigid laboratory.
It was a face he hadn't seen in more than a decade.
The man didn't even break eye contact from the photo. He passed it reluctantly to Trish but kept his cool.
"I'm not sure if this one's new or old, but there's no doubt about who it is." Trish whispered. "My sources told me that they lobotomized his corpse and used it for some kind of experiments."
She set the photo down, and continued, "I'm not sure how they got him there or what happened exactly."
Her mind suddenly shifted elsewhere.
. . .
A coffin-like tube opened. Four men came in, holding a body, and placed it carefully inside. Right behind them stood a middle-aged man, smirking as he watched them secure the cadaver within.
"A new era is at hand."
. . .
"At-least that's what he saw, and he swears by it, so . . ." She trailed off momentarily, "This man, Sergei. He's seriously interested in possessing demonic strength. I heard he's planning to work on something."
Awkward silence fell between the two, and the expression Dante had for a split second made her feel worried.
It was a mix of disbelief and sad anguish.
"Humans . . . Humans!" He sardonically repeated the words, lost in his own world for a moment.
"Dante?" She chirped at him.
The red mercenary stood shakily, like he just got electrified.
"I'm going now. You stay here."
Trish opened her mouth but he cut her off.
Staring back at her with a dangrous glare, he said, "This is my problem, my fight. I'm alone on this."
She was silent for a long time.
"Alright, if that's what you want . . ."
. . . Russia . . .
He wasn't sure why a simple conversation had led him to Mother Russia of all places. However he vowed to seek answers no matter what.
Dante just wanted to have closure . . . if not for him, then at least for his invalid brother, or what's left of him. Blood-ties owed him that much.
The blizzard was a mini hurricane of snow and ice.
Everything seemed dark and blinding at the same time.
He could barely see anything around him because of the blowing, white wall.
Traveling over the path, he left a trail of footsteps behind him. He could feel his breath freezing in his throat. Still, he didn't experience much pain.
A ghastly figure of the facility sprawled before him. O'Brian, aka the High Roller, said there should be a way inside through a series of tunnels or a secret door or some such nonsense.
Once he was close enough to the place, a sound stopped him for a moment. Hissing and growling.
Dante's eyes darted around to locate whatever was watching him, but it was too lightless to see far.
He instinctively positioned his right arm near the handle of an oversized blade with a skull at the hilt. Eventually, something lunged at him from the wintry darkness, a creature with a hunched back.
The skin looked rough, scaly, and thick.
"You're something new!" Dante mused and twisted, allowing reflexes to finish the job.
The blade flickered from what little light there was while the creature's claws slammed into his sword with a clash of steel. Dante smirked, his feet planted wide apart.
His body lined up perfectly, and the hunter attack barely moved him from his spot.
His broadsword cleaved through the claw and slashed the broadside of its neck. It's head rolled away, severed.
The hunter laid lifeless under his foot in the red snow.
He started to head toward the facility, placing the blade back on it's hilt, when he heard multiple clicks and creeks. "Look's like I stumbled into an unfinished party here!"
Twin pistols pulled out of their brown leather holsters.
One silver, one jet black, Dante observed a mutant dog's movements, holding them at the ready.
The shadows moved uncontrollably, circling him, ready for attack.
"Come on." He said, mocking them.
Two figures growled and lunged toward him. Immediately, Dante fired off both guns nonstop, spraying the creatures with lead as they breezed through the air.
He could sense others sneaking up behind him.
Swiftly, he shifted without moving, blurring to the side as a charging dog rolled passed.
He sent it flying mid velocity, smirking and shooting two bullets from his Ivory.
It crashed to the ground, exhaling a deep growl in place of a sad whine. Silence followed it.
"What?" Dante called aloud. "Poor form for fido. No ribbon of excellence for any of you!"
More silence. Really? That was it?
. . .
That was it.
"Well that's just disappointing." He trudged along toward his goal.
The path he went for didn't have any doors as far as he could see, though he remembered O'Brian message about a way through tunnels.
Dante tore through the tundra as he halfheartedly searched for a way inside. With enough luck, he found a brick stairway next to a massive drawbridge.
Unfortunately, the bridge was closed up, so he made his way around the staircase, and discovered, roughly twenty paces or so down into the gorge was a small opening in the mortared structure.
He hugged the cold wall, making his way to the peculiar opening under the oblong stairs.
Edging his way inside, he discovered a darkened tunnel with level ground. He stepped inside and thanked whoever that O'Brian was at least correct about a tunnel.
Now onto the door.
As he walked through, his eyes easily saw through the darkness, allowing him to see in an instant.
He could just make out the figures walking about on the other side of a laboratory, behind a steel, caged-in fence.
A darker shadow ran midway along its length.
That would be the door in.
Dante held onto his guns and went towards the door, running in a low crouch.
A sound of gunshots echoed through the silent blizzard behind him, and he could hear the sound of helicopter rotors way above.
Dante gritted his teeth at the door and sped forward. Barreling toward the door, he threw out a kick and his boot connected with the metal door, blowing the steel slab off it's hinges.
And then the sight of creatures coming his way. Two hunters were bounding for him down a perpendicular hallway that ran the length of the immense bridge.
The man shook his head and just waited.
Biding his time steadily, he waited as these ugly beings galloped to him. Trying for a claw, they launched in a line, one after the other.
Dante feinted, wheeled his blade forward, and the Rebellion flashed across the two creatures, severing the two into four.
So they fell in a pool of weird, bloody goop.
. . .
He shot a glance back to the outside, now on his right, but he couldn't see the helicopters around. Still, his ears caught the sound of fighting somewhere.
Dante wondered if they were Umbrella employees.
"What's the rush?" He said to himself.
He kept walking to the other side and left, sensing the emptiness of this terrible place, the strange lack of life. He took another right and down another set of steps.
The area down here was covered in snow, though how it got there, he couldn't tell. Stained with something black, the perfidious liquid mixed with sands.
Though he didn't care much, he went forward to a path he spotted earlier. There, he saw ladder going down.
Dante didn't bother much with the idiocy of climbing and jumped down to the dark.
The air tickled his cheeks as he landed on the ground, feet first. The impact sent out a shockwave, and nearby, a rumbling noise.
Down in that tunnel, all around him, he was cornered by zombies.
Anger and agitation broke across his face.
Almost casually, he slid in behind, and bashed his fists together. Another shockwave sent three zombies into the stone wall.
He drew out Ivory and fired lightning fast, blowing apart heads and sending chunks all over everything.
Dante fired one shot each, mercilessly domination each cadaver with a solitary bullet to the head. His eyes pierced throught the dark, for he was made of the creatures that roamed here.
All through the passages, he could see exactly what was happening, as though it were day.
He was left with only two choices, ether go through the door on the right side, or go down through the murky water and to the other side, where there stood a separate door.
Dante held his head in his palm at the thought, but still he made his choice. He paced through the water while remaining alert to his surroundings.
Luckily he reached the door without the need to shoot anything further.
He broke the locked door down, but heard the sound of someone running.
"Hey!" He shouted and ran after the figure.
He could see them, a man running away.
Anger further took him, and so he drew both his weapons, firing close to the figure. The time for catching up was over.
"Stop." he shouted half-heartedly. Dante was in no mood for a chase.
At last the person ceased and held his hands up. Dante came closer and put his sword to the figure's throat.
"Slowly turn around and tell me who you are. Any sudden movements and i cave your head in."
The man was a little shaky, but he did as he was told.
It seemed like he was in his late thirties. He was wearing a white lab coat and a doctor's uniform underneath.
Dante kicked his abdomen, slamming him at the wall. He took care not to tear a whole through the man's gut. He placed the tip of his sword over the man's throat.
Dante knelt down a little and showed him a picture.
"Tell me what you know about this man. Lie to me, please. I dare you to lie to me. You won't be able to understand what happens next, even while it's happening."
The man stared at the picture for a second, until his eyes adjusted. It was a picture of someone who looked identical to his attacker, though he wore a blue coat instead.
"So you're Dante?" The man laughed. "The Son of Sparda?"
Dante thrust Rebellion into the man's hand, pinning it to the wall. He came closer and held the barrel of Ebony to his head.
"How rude of me, I didn't get your name."
"My name is James." The man smiled through pain. "Pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure's all mine." Dante knocked the blade out of his hand, and picked him off the ground. He held him in the air, then shoved the man down onto the table.
It knocked the wind out of him and he felt a hand grab hold of his throat and choke him.
Dante smashed the handle of Ivory onto the man's other hand and beat the flat of the handle onto the side of his head till he bled.
He let go of his throat, then held his head down into the table.
He could feel a compression as the table creaked under his cheek.
"The master is expecting you," the man said through grunts. "Go inside, you don't want to be late for his welcoming, do you?"
Dante breathed angrily as he contemplated putting a bullet in James' shoulder blade.
He thought better of it.
James crashed through the doorway and landed in the water. His threshed around in the dirty substance and managed to get to his feet, but the dirt clouded his vision.
He stared around and about for a moment and then grew deathly silent. He listened intently, and heard an unmistakable rumbling behind him . . .
Dante continued inside the facitlity, confused. Why was this happening so suddenly? Who was this man to command such arrogant followers?
To take his brother's corpse and use it without a shame?
What is all of this here for?
Dante stopped again to take a moment. His body trembled ever so often. He could feel his own power moving within him relentlessly . . . begging for release, wanting to bubble up to the surface.
Dante chuckled. "I hate living with you. It's funny how you left, yet i still feel you here, within me: I was dead wrong to ever doubt you." He addressed his late Brother.
'Wait . . . what am I thinking? That's not me.'
He closed his eyes and took a moment to relax. He pushed away the thoughts that were slowly consuming him.
Right at the end of the tunnel, he was again faced with two doors.
Double doors in the front and a door on the left side.
Dante had already chosen to go ahead, but once again he heard the sound of gun shots, 'maybe more of those employees are waiting for me,' and he stood to the left, with his guns ready.
Slowly, he propped open the door. Pushing it open inch by inch, several figures suddenly braced forward and crashed the door open. Dante felt his wrist catch between the doors.
Ebony flew from his grasp, scattering forward on the floor as he tumbled forward, caught off guard.
"Jesus, what the-? " Dante grunted.
Before he could raise Ivory, a string of black rushed at him. It was a bullet. He thrust the stalk of his gun's barrel up, deflecting the projectile into a wall.
Dante rushed forward and caught the figure's armed hand and gave him a punch to the abdomen. He fell on his knees groaning.
Another rushed in after the first, but Dante clenched a fist with a flash of gold light. The second figure halted in his tracks, blinded.
Dante reverse kicked the man in the head, flipping him onto his back.
Subsequently, the recovered first figure closed the distance with a heavy left hook then a right knee to Dante's stomach.
The slayer laughed a bit loud to provoke them even more, before he had his gauntlets flash again, but the figure adjusted back so a blaze couldn't blind it.
The second figure stood, drawing his pistol and cocking it.
"Now you're gangster, that's cute." He said, as the second figure shot off a few rounds. Dante shifted to left, then the right, moving in the blink of an eye, before bring his arm into the man's neck.
He fell onto his back again, but was aided by his partner, who hit Dante in the back with a metal pipe.
"Ya need to be better then that." Dante smiled as he flushed his backside at her, his sudden movement causing her to awkwardly fumble with improvised weapon.
He flashed around behind her and delivered a kick to the tricep, holding her elbow and making her spin to her back.
She groaned in pain and dragged herself up, attempting to punch the slayer with her other arm in an attempt to disarmed him, but felt like she hit a semi-truck.
He could hear her whisper, "What . . ."
She attempted another attack, but he just scoffed and redirected her upon a wall, where she crashed onto her back then the ground, pinned to the floor by injury temporarily.
Dante moved quickly with Ivory at the ready as his left hand shoved the first figure up at the wall. She grunted. The helmet she wore fell off while the gun was mere centimeters away from her chin.
Dante knew who this was. The light shone to reveal her face.
"J-jill?"
She spat up air as he let go. Falling to her knees, she breathed in for a moment, slowly seeing the face in front of her.
"Dante!?"
..Thank you for reading..
Thank you very much Angel wolf for working with me.