Disclaimer: I do not own any Resident Evil characters or Resident Evil terms but I do own anything else that is original, Kronos virus, everything about the project and much more coming in the next chps.
Chapter One: From the Phoenix's Ashes
It started off like a spark.
In the void of infinite darkness, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing to perceive, not even the blackness itself. So all senses came in like a click one day and he was able to perceive that this was 'something'.
But even then, everything he felt around him was like a daze, floating in nothingness and feeling only the slow grinding and turning of the gears in his head. His sensations of time and space seemed almost non-existent because, well...
Nothing moved.
Nothing changed.
Nothing happened.
A world of stationary darkness. That was all and that stayed what seemed like an eternity.
This must be a dream.
Yeah. He was just sleeping.
But for some reason, his mind couldn't shut down back to slumber because of some muttering in his ears.
Whispers.
Sounds he couldn't quite grasp their meaning.
Guess he'd wake up soon.
So he waited until then.
But even with that, the dream showed no sign of ending. He wanted to retaliate but not even his own body, which felt very heavy and unresponsive.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't feel. No warmth. No cold.
Why?
His mouth tasted dry.
It was hard to breath.
This void was no place for a human.
A human?
Was he a human?
Wait. Why say "was"?
Then a more pressing question came to mind.
Who was he?
The whispers grew a little louder, as if they were approaching closer to him. Or was it the other way around?
Is someone there?
Anyone?
Hello?
The mumbling didn't answer.
Help me.
An emotion crept into him, giving a tightening tug at his inside. What was more surprising was his body knew what this feeling was. Something so primitive and old, yet still felt like second nature.
Finally, he remembered what this was.
Fear.
"You sure this will work?"
Gradually, he could make out words and eventually those broken words reconstructed into sentences. The only downside was he still couldn't proceed the meanings behind words.
Did he not know? No, wait. Why did he needed to know?
"Honestly? What we're doing is something from fringe science. This shouldn't work."
"You're tellin' me."
Whatever they were saying, he could tell a few things.
There were three voices, each different from the other in tone, pitch and harmony.
Was one of them his voice?
...He wasn't sure.
"We're tryin' to bring back his whole self. Personality, consciousness, the entire packet inside the hippocampus. On a person who's been dead for six years. Are we even possible this will work? What if there ain't anythin' left inside his head after all that?"
Wake up.
I want to wake up.
Again, nothing.
The voices still didn't respond.
"He stopped breathing for an hour before he was set for perseveration. Even then, it took another hour for his body to be transported into advanced cryo. Back then, technology wasn't possible to revive a patient after 24 hours. Till now. Two hours is enough...hypothetically."
"That's if his brain hasn't become Swiss cheese goin' in and out of ice-9. We don't even know if this could further damage what's left of his psyche. If this time round, he has psyche to begin with."
"There's no way of retrieving personality and even consciousness, not with the tech we have now. Even with my sister's research, it's particularly impossible. At this time. But memory can influence behaviours and bring back common knowledge. If all goes well, his memories will reconstruct his mental state and he could become his old self, whatever may that be."
"Or?"
"Or he creates a new ego of himself the more he interacts with the world and from his memories after he wakes up. It's up to him however he wants to view himself as. Just apply Jung's theory. "Please measure their self-knowledge by what the average person in their social environment knows of himself but not the real psychic facts which are the most part hidden from them." We are and are not our old selves, we adapt to the world and change our personas to fit in."
"And now we're going to the meta level. This is all still theory, you know. This whole experiment is based on theories to begin with."
What are they talking about?
It was all gibberish to him. Hard for his mind to process them as they flowed into his ears.
Though...why was it hard for him to think?
Most of the words sounded familiar but the meanings behind them were beyond his grasp. As if...he had forgotten them before.
When? When did that happen?
"What about the conscious...after death and revival? Does it stay intact or does it repair itself?"
"I'm not a psychologist. I don't know."
"I was wondering. Say he does get his memory back, does that also include him remembering his own death? Isn't that going to be traumatizing for him?"
"As badly as I was back in the last outbreak. huh."
"Well… I didn't mean it like that."
"It's okay. I understand. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger… It's still a good point to consider. His death may or may not affect him. We've got zero idea what his history was. And we don't know if he regains all of his memory, let alone remember his final moments before death. We can only get our answers after he wakes up."
Don't ignore me.
I don't understand. I don't know what you're talking about.
Make sense.
Please.
"Exactly what are the answers we expect to get?"
"Theoretically, three. One, he successfully regains his memory, has his mentality reconstructed and wakes up as a fully aware, functional human being. Two, it backfires, resulting in him waking up as a vegetable. Three, it fails and nothing happens. He wakes up with a blank mind, just like any comatose patient with severe memory loss. No, wait. You might as well think of it like your mind resets. He might have to relearn some things all over again."
"Theoretically, huh?"
"This is the limit of what we can do. We can create a dangerous virus but reconstructing a human mind after death is a different entirety."
"And we'll only know if this works when he wakes up."
Then silence, welcoming the conclusion.
Now, he wanted the voices to continue whatever they were saying. At least hearing something made the void seem less frightening, deafening out a strange and light ringing in his ear.
"You sure you want to do this?"
"..."
"We're takin' a lot of risks here, not just on this kid but on us as well. Them high and mighty are goin' to hound after us if they catch wind. Moreover, they're gonna harass you more about the research."
"..."
"I'm not against you doin' this. Half of the stuff here doesn't feel real at all. But this is a human bein' on that slab. Doesn't matter about the virus, doesn't matter we've been callin' him 'specimen', no matter how you look at him, that still is a human bein'. So that raises another matter, if something goes wrong, is it going to add more on our heavy conscious? On yours even."
The tension somehow felt heavy, despite how little he was trying the digest the meaning of the words.
"This ain't about the K-Virus anymore. This has nothin' to do with experiments and BOWs. This is the human mind we're playin' with. A completely different level. We've already gotten through these years with the bitterest taste and a huge burden on our shoulders."
"..."
"So my question is this. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?"
Again, silence.
"...Humans are temporal beings."
One of the voices answered back after what seemed like a long and deep breath.
"Yes. This is the only way I can repay him back... If I turn back now...then he loses his second chance. He might as well stay dead instead."
Huh?
"I'll take full responsibility. I was the one who started all of this and I am the one who should finish this. You two should leave. Forget everything we talked about."
"Iria..."
"...Hm. I expected an answer like that. Now there's no way we're lettin' you go through this alone."
"Harris?"
"What? You really think we're going to walk out now? You know us better."
"Couldn't agree more."
"Ka-"
"No Kail this, Kail that. This woman isn't budging out of this lab until the end. We've come this far."
"No turnin' back now."
"...Thank you," the voice uttered. "...Start the experiment."
The voices stopped and at their cease, the ringing started to creak a bit like the volume turning on a broken radio with nothing but static.
Higher. Higher.
Then...
Suddenly, another spark. Like the first one, only more powerful that electrified across every fiber of his muscles - a sensation he didn't know of but he knew well enough it wasn't pain. This time around, two things happened at once that was different from the first spark. The pitch-black emptiness jolted with a flash of colours while a terrible screech filled his head. Something like feedback from a giant speaker.
He wanted to scream but his mouth wouldn't move.
Whatever this was penetrated his brain like hundreds of sharp needles, right behind the eyes.
This hurt.
Stop.
"Pressure and respiratory rate raisin' rapidly."
"Hold off the anaesthesia and continue the inhibitor dosage."
The short flashes started to repeat, the pacing growing faster and faster and the quantity more and more. Out of the vibrant scene, he could make out shapes but at the same time, they were all shapeless. Unrecognizable.
It was like someone stabbed a screwdriver into his head and tinkered around, like trying to get a lucid image on a television screen. Whatever this was, it was succeeding in that, making the images looking slightly crisp and clearing out the fuzzy lines.
Stop...please.
He wanted to crack open his skull and scrape out his brain.
Smash the bits down to the ground and stomp it.
And yet his body didn't cooperate with him to do so.
Why? Why?
Move dammit!
The images...it was as if they were forcing him to think, to recognize, to remember.
Remember?
Why?
Remember what?
No answer. Only the needles and the images overloading his brain.
"Brain pattern going haywire."
"Readin's are getting dangerously high."
I want to die.
Yes.
I want to die.
Let me die.
End this.
In all of the images flashing before him, one color stood out vibrant. Red.
Red in blotches. Red in patterns. Red everywhere.
It was terrifying him.
Stop it.
Leave me alone!
Just stop!
"St-e."
A fourth voice. He heard that. Or at least, he did once. That voice didn't seem to exist on the same plane as the other three. Distorted and unclear, but seeping familiarity from it. For some reason, whatever that person spoke out, the word sounded very much something he had heard frequently - like his whole life.
Life?
Out of the expanding and contracting geometry, one snapped right in front of his eyes. Again with the colour red but it was only centered in one part of the image, something being...worn?
A girl appeared among the colourful and also dreary images. A girl, older than him, stood before him. The voice belonged to her. That red jacket belonged to her.
Wait...
She was familiar. Somehow.
More and more images flashed like that of a fast slide projector, showing more and more of that young woman, her smile the only thing changing - shining fear, determination, annoyance. His mind tried to rack, tried to fight, tried.
Remember… He had to remember her.
That person was important. Somehow. But the gears still were rusty inside his skull. Moreover, why…
Why was she sad?
Please. Don't be sad.
"He's goin' to have a panic attack at this rate!"
"We have to pull him out!"
"Not yet!" ordered one of the voices. "Come on, just a bit more!"
Why?
He couldn't understand. Although he couldn't see her eyes, he could tell. A sour frown across that clear white skin, along with two thin streams slithering down.
Ah.
Those… He remembered what those were. Tears.
Right...
He had forgotten.
Yeah. He already did die.
"You beat death, dammit. You can beat this too!"
...Huh?
Can I? But...I'm already dead.
"So don't you dare give up. You hear me! Do this for yourself. Do this for that girl! You know her, don't you! ?"
Know her...
I...want to see her again...
"Be-reful, St-e."
What?
Say that again.
She wasn't alone. Someone nearby rushed to her side. Again, he didn't recognize that man but for some reason, and with some reluctance, she followed after him.
That sad expression still fixed on him, a sad excuse.
Further and further, the two were going.
Leaving him behind...
Wait.
Don't go.
I don't want to be alone...
"Iria!"
"Do it! Now!"
A sound, a loud thud, rang into his ears.
And the needles came into a crashing halt.
No more.
"Harris, sedative."
"Right."
The images, with the flashing and the swimming colours ceasing, melted away into the blackness. And just as surprising as the fear had come, it stopped as well.
Soon to be replaced slowly by another.
"I'm sorry to have put you through that, Kiddo."
A touch. Brushing against the skin of his forehead. Pushing aside irritating fine threads poking at his closed eyes. One of the voices, strayed away from the pack, was now very much closer to his ear.
This feeling…
It ended the pain, the anxiety, the fear that he was trapped in this black world with absolutely nothing, even his own identity.
It was something familiar too…Gentle. Like this had happened a very long time ago and only recently, did this resurface.
His body remembered this feeling. And so another image came forth in the darkness.
It was like a drowsy wake-up. So faint the memory and yet so powerful, just like before. But he faintly remembered that he could barely think back then.
A blank face was over him.
A woman. She stood beside him.
Wavy blond hair. Wearing white.
Slender fingers across his forehead.
He didn't at all knew who this woman was. And yet for some reason, she reminded him of someone.
Someone very dear to him.
And then for some reason, he felt his heart hurt.
Why?
"I-pro-se."
Like the last woman, this one also spoke with no mouth.
"I-br-g-u bac-to-at gir-."
So broken. He really wished he could hear them as clear as the voices. But there was something he felt from that woman's fragmented words.
"Rest, kiddo…"
Rest.
He remembered that meaning.
Ah.
He remembered.
No, too much work now. He was going to sleep it off, just like the voice said.
"Everything will be fine from now on."
Sounded a lot like the blond-haired woman, actually.
Well...he could think more about it when he'd wake up.
Yeah…
Sleep.
...Darkness again. But it was short this time.
A pleasant whiff flooded into his nose and pulled out a powerful image to penetrate the pitch black. A crisp and strong smell of lilies, mimosa, blackcurrants and cocoa combined as one.
Right away, a memory rushed in. A bedroom was presented, where a woman sat near a dresser and picked up a perfume bottle. She wore the fragrance on her wrists and sniffed the heavenly scent.
The woman then noticed she was not alone, gazed at her watcher and smiled maternally. Her identity was unreadable but there was something remotely familiar.
Wait...I smelled lilies and mimosa and blackcurrants and cocoa?
That was...weird.
Beep...beep...beep...
What was that sound? No wait, there were more than just that annoying beeping.
His body still felt the same as before, weighed down by fatigue. His mind was also still numb. It might be a while longer before the gears could start to move again.
But he managed to force his eyes open.
As they did, everything around his was blinding. Luckily, the presence of the light was short, replaced with vertigo.
There was two things he was sure of and those were a mixture of rhythmical sounds and an odd but the sweet aroma that roused him out of sleep. He wasn't sure how long it had been but his body definitely felt like it has been a very long time. With some drowsy effort, he examined his surroundings. Something familiar had to click in his head.
...Nope. He still couldn't tell where he was. Everything was just too blurry to see.
Clak, clak, clak.
A figure in his foggy vision stirred at his right - small and in white, examining something that tweeted out beeps in a regular pattern. Eventually, the blurriness stiffened away and as he rested back his head, the ceiling welcomed his eyes.
Where was he?
He looked again, now that all was steady and still. Well, mostly for that stranger too oblivious to notice his weak awakening.
He was in a room, one he didn't recognize. The strong hint of alcohol pecked at his brain - ah, this was a hospital, right?
But still, there was struggle in his head. He couldn't remember how he ended up in a hospital. He couldn't even recall how long he had been out like a light. His guess was a couple of days.
Did he get into a bad accident? That probably was why his body felt so heavy as lead. How did he land in such a predicament?
...Wait. What about before he landed here?
More importantly, why couldn't he remember?
No, no… It was there, his memory. Damn, his head felt like somebody grazed a saw at it. Not just that, his stomach was having this annoying itch but his hand strongly ceased to listen to him.
Was the accident the reason for his amnesia?
Clak, clak, clak.
The clicking of heels distracted him from his clusters of holes. The stranger had left his side and strolled around the bed.
An angel. He saw an angel. How distressing, that would mean this hospital was a joke, an illusion from his brain. Or maybe the other way around. He really wanted to yell that he was alive and kicking, laugh right out at Death that it couldn't take him away this time round. Then one more close examination revealed his assumption was wrong, concentrated by the drugs shot into him.
It was a woman in a...doctor's coat, he thought. Was she his doctor? Frizzly auburn hair, and she had a short build. The petite paid her fullest attention on a chart, his chart as she jotted down something with a pen.
She put the chart away and started to leave-
"Hm?"
The voice was light but had a tint of an accent.
Accent...accent… It sounded foreign so couldn't be from any state, or even USA.
With narrowed eyes, the woman walked closer to him, her heels clicking louder. Up close, he could see the round glasses she wore over her large brown eyes.
For some reason, they squinted hard at him. Like she was surprised. Then a muffled voice escaped her lips.
What? Say that again.
All he could do was moan.
Suddenly, her eyes grew wide and she stepped back.
"O-Oh my gott…" gasped the small woman softly. A step stumbling away from him and before he knew it, she dashed from his bedside. "I-Iria! Iria!"
Crash!
And with that the notes that had been dancing about came to a crashing halt. Something dropped to the linoleum at the sudden shove by the woman as she bolted out, away from his sight.
That was music. At least, that was what he thought that was. Whatever it was, it...sounded familiar. Something he enjoyed listening unlike his pops, who always found them a little loud...
...Pops?
He was again still too weak to figure the jigsaw inside his skull. So he dove right back into the darkness.
Again, he didn't know how many minutes passed by but this time, as he resurfaced back to vertigo, two different people stood before him, their backs turned away.
"I think I've said this before. I'm not a doctor or a psychologist."
"And? You have a medical license."
"You're asking me to be his therapist."
He focused his sleepy eyes on the two strangers. On his left was a man. A very short gray-haried man for some reason, shorter than the previous woman. And on his right…
...Was a second woman, with wavy ash-blond hair messily tied up.
"This was your project. You know this better than I do so don't worry. I'll coach you. You ask the questions, alright?"
After what seemed like an endless pause, a heavy sigh breezed out with the hunching down of the woman's back. "...Alright."
Both turned around, the man uttering, "Ah, he's waking up," and with a slow start, walked closer to him - the man making a strange mechanical sound until he stopped.
"Can you hear me?" the man started off.
Ok, another foreign accent. Sounded like an old man born from England actually. Hm...then was he in another country instead?
When did he go on a vacation? Also, wow. Bummer that he got himself into an accident in another country. A frightening thought...
"Nod your head if you can."
Slowly, he nodded. Weakly.
For some strange reason, their eyes widened but it was for a short moment. The two exchanged glances. "Iria, can you? I can't check like this."
"Um, sure."
It was probably the drugs making him loopy but he could have sworn there was some hesitation from the woman. She leaned closer to him, their patient, taking a small pen-shaped flashlight from the doctor and switched it on. A thumb pulled up one of his eyelids. At the sudden motion of direct light into his eye, he flinched responsively. The woman moved to the other eye and swung her flashlight several times, checking if the cornea and lens were not damaged.
Now that she was right at his face, he glanced at her for a better look. Whoever this was, the ash-blond-haired woman was in her late thirties, wearing glasses over her hazel eyes. So close that he could see the evidence of many disturbed nights, the black rings being a dead giveaway. Nevertheless, the lack of sleep did not seem to trouble her much.
A groan erupted from his throat, pointing out his annoyance at the brightness to them.
For some strange reason, as she traded back the flashlight to the man, the back of her free hand - worn with a broken leather watch - slipped to his forehead, dragging away his red locks - her skin warm to the touch.
He shivered. He hadn't realized how cold he was till now.
...Also, were doctors supposed to do that?
Once she stepped back, she passed a nod to her colleague, who shone a gentle, warm smile at him.
"I'm Doctor Parish. And this is Director McLenlan. You'll be in our care, alright?" he asked. "Nod if you understand."
He nodded.
"Very good," the doctor praised. "How are you feeling?"
Sluggish. But he didn't speak out.
"You've been through a lot. But we need to ask you some easy questions first."
Ask him questions? He wanted answers himself. And what was 'a lot'? Just how bad was his accident?
His lips moved but nothing came out.
"I'm sorry?"
He tried again, annoyed at his own weakness.
"W-Where...am I?"
Again, both gave surprised looks at him, but this time painted with worried eyebrows. The short man cast up his eyebrows with a look of concern at his colleague.
She then cleared her throat. "You're in ICU in Theseus facility."
So a hospital. Though he didn't recognize the name.
"...How...did I…"
She gave a deep breath and answered before he could finish. "You had a severe incident that impaired both your body and mind. I know you have of questions to ask but right now, we need to perform this test to check on your mental health… Do you understand?"
He hazily nodded.
"Please relax. There's plenty of time. No need to rush after waking up."
True… As much as he wanted to bolt out of bed, his body just wouldn't respond to his command, so heavy and tired. Hell, he had too many holes inside his head.
He wanted to remember. So if he'd go along with their little game, then something would remind him of anything.
However, for some reason...her answers sounded...ambiguous.
With that, the woman took a clipboard from the man and readied her pen on it. "Ok. Take your time on this questionnaire… What is your name?"
...Name…
...My...name?
He tried his best to focus on reminiscing. His name was most important. It would be strange if he couldn't remember his own name first.
What...is my name...?
Oh come on! It shouldn't be that hard.
"Ss-S...S-st…"
"Don't push yourself," she assured him. "One step at a time."
It started...with a S. It was on the tip of his tongue. The name seemed cloudy to begin with but seconds later, it became clear, right out of his lips.
"Sss...S-Steve…"
Followed by his surname.
"B-Burn...s-side…"
Again, he uttered as if pledging out to death that he was still alive. Still here. "S-Steve...Burnside…"
He was Steve.
The woman relaxed her shoulders, like she was the one having having the difficulty instead of him. But she was then more at ease than before.
Was she afraid that he wouldn't remember? Why? These were his memories.
She continued, keeping that stern face of hers as if moving forward. "What year were you born in?"
Another dive in deeper into his memories. At least this second time, it was less than how long he took in remembering.
"1-19..67…"
"Ok..." Scribble, scribble went her pen. "Pick three words to describe yourself."
Three words, huh. Should be easy.
...Maybe?
He tried. "B-Brave..."
She nodded, acknowledging one of his answers.
Reeling back into his memories. Who he was. And with that, he recalled more of himself. A stubborn teenager who was full of himself. Yeah, he did a lot of mistakes.
Never listened. Always jumped on impulses. Have to be the biggest jerk to show he wasn't scared in every bad situation.
"Rude… Hot-t-tempered…"
This time, McLenlan looked at him with a sad smile. "You don't give yourself much credit, do you?"
"...N-Never was...a nice person…" he coughed out.
"Really? I beg to differ," she offered her honest opinion. "You are brave. And I think also confident and caring."
He gave an annoyed and confused face. "...Y-You don't know me."
Her smile still stayed. "No," she answered as she drew back to her clipboard. "But I guess you can say I know enough to make those assumptions… What are your likes?"
"...G-Games... And planes. A-Airplanes."
She gave a light laugh. "We have a colleague who's crazy about planes too. You two might get along."
His eyes raised up with some effort - laughably heavy but still, he succeeded. "W-What kind...of aircraft?"
Honestly? He was a little happy to hear there was someone other than himself.
One topic he always found it hard to bring out were aircraft. Because nobody was interested other than the latest gossip and trend. He had always been fascinated by planes, from his eleventh birthday when he got his remote-controlled raptor till now. Bring out the turbine, the wings, the beauty of an aircraft and he'd jumped to the conversation.
Which was very rare.
Aircrafts always had something of a meaning to him. After all, he knew how to pilot one.
Ah.
Another memory gained back. The huge texts and step-by-steps, every single word he read and heard.
Taking the stick and pulling up to soar high to the sky.
After all, he saw up there as his freedom from all the bad things…
...Wait, what bad things?
"I don't know. But you can ask him later. After this test," she pointed. "How about dislikes?"
"...Pickles."
Her eyebrows raised at his response, a little hunch on her shoulders. A clear indication of a laugh smothered in.
What? He hated pickles. Even in burgers.
"I see. Same as me. I don't like pickles too," she hummed.
His brain ticked tocked at the faint strangeness in her tone. Why have a friendly conversation with a patient? She was a complete stranger to him, taking in all the information from him so willy-nilly.
Something was off but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Do you have a favourite colour?"
Ok, this was sounding like a list of questions his teacher would ask him to answer in front of his class in grade school. Still he answered regardless.
"B-Blue… I think. Or yellow… I don't know."
"Good. You're doing fine."
"R-Really…? That a-answer sounds weak to me.."
"But they're still colours you like, yes? I don't see a problem."
She turned back to her writing.
This probing of questions was making him curious. About this stranger. She was learning more about him and he had nothing of her, all because this was her job. He was her patient. There was no need for formality or being friends.
But still...he was stuck here until he was given a clean bill of good health.
"W-What..about yours?"
She glanced at him, shocked by his remark.
"Why do you want to know?" she asked with a puzzled smile.
"You're a-asking about me... Don't I get to ask about you too?"
She gave a tilt of her head. "Hm, I see. Fair is fair. But you're sure you want to know from a complete stranger?"
"So...? I-Isn't that the same for you?"
"Touché. Well... I don't really have a favourite colour. But I guess I fancy green and brown."
"Heh," he laughed lightly. "Those are blander than mine."
She gave a huff and a slanted frown, arms folded. "Well, excuse me, mister for being tasteless. Is this how you treat grownups?"
"Not m-my fault you have bad taste."
Intentionally, he had wanted to throw it off as a joke but he regretted going through with this conversation. How offensive, he was the one who wanted to ask in the first place. Really, he wanted to stop this bad habit of his. Badmouthing at someone just because she was older than him.
He couldn't help it though - how little trust he'd have to adults.
All he wanted was to sink back deeper into his pillow.
"S-Sorry," he managed to croak very softly.
Now, she glared back at him. "What the heck are you apologise for?"
The tone surprised him.
Not what he expected from a doctor. Weren't they supposed to be calm, collected?
"I-"
She cut him short. "Opinions are opinions. I'm not going to get hurt over something like colours. I make the choice to change or keep the way I like. But I acknowledge your honesty, kiddo."
"...Don't call me kiddo," he glowered.
She just smirked. "Already too late. Everyone's been calling you kiddo since you came here."
He frowned jadedly. "Y-You're weird."
McLenlan sighed, her face forgiving and her smile warm.
"You're a weird kid yourself," she pointed.
A chuckle came out of Parish, receiving an annoyed glare from her that he paid no mind.
"Let's continue on," she cleared her throat, the scribbling of her pen hard at work. "Let's talk about yourself more. Do you have family?"
Family… Ok, that took longer to move apart the wrecked flashes. The broken memories were shifting in and out like an old film reel playing.
The aroma was helping him somehow. Because it unlocked a more vibrant image. The fantastic flowery bouquet brought him back to the lady sitting in the bedroom.
That was right. That was his mother. It was a memory from when he was young. A mellow voice then urged him to look away from the bedroom to a man who stood beside him at the door.
A tall man, dull red hair.
His father.
The image stopped halfway, interrupted by an electrifying flash. Crimson liquid stained a red and white symbol.
His body jerked and his eyes shot much wider. Sweat dripped down his brow.
What...was that just now?
Both adults did not notice his frightened face, the woman, McLenlan, writing down on the clipboard and the man, Parish, noticing something at his left.
Calm down...you didn't see blood.
"Y-Yes..." Steve answered with hesitation. "M-My mother... a-and m-my father..."
"Any siblings?"
"...No." So he was an only child, he thought to himself.
"Anything else you can remember? What kind of people were your parents like?"
Like… What were they-
Bits and pieces of his memory slowly returned, but still distorted by horrifying scenes. First, it was him, a grown-up boy casually sitting on the couch, his mom in the kitchen and his dad checking the newspaper.
A normal family, with its ups and downs.
Then the living room turned bloody.
Then it shifted to the walking dead.
On an island.
Pulling the trigger. On who?
"Hey," uttered Parish. That distracted the woman away from her writing. It was then that she noticed the distraught and the rising pace of the beeps.
She leaned closer with a look of worry, dropping the clipboard away.
"His heart rate's peaking," Parish pointed.
Flashes again before his eyes.
Zombies everywhere. One particular undead character he fired.
A syringe inches away from his skin, containing a strange-coloured and vile liquid.
Insanity plaguing a madwoman's red gashing smile.
Please stop!
The images were overwhelming, piling one after the other. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to be unreal. Run away from those nightmares. That was what they were, right? Not memories. Sweat drenched down his brow as he shut his eyes tight but the darkness behind his eyelids was making it worse.
The director rushed up to him, hands on his shoulders.
"Steve, it's alright," she assured. "There's nothing to be afraid."
"Katharine, get the sedative," Parish ordered to someone far away.
"No, don't," she snapped and then glanced at the poor boy. "Listen to me. You're going to be fine. You're not back at that island."
Island… Chills jolted down his spine, his ears blocking out McLenlan's persistent voice completely.
"Be careful, Steve."
That voice, it was recognizable.
A flashback of a young brunette hit him like tons of bricks.
Who was she?
She was familiar.
He knew her. He had to! Why else would he have a memory like that?
She appeared to him when the chaos began. She was always there beside him, a valkyrie thrown down and fought the zombies and other freaks from Hell for their survival. She was present in search of her brother.
There were moments of comfort between him and her. And something he had for her. Love?
Finally, her name came to him.
"C-Claire..."
McLenlan's eyes widened. "Pardon?"
His heart tightened.
He remembered.
Everything.
He was imprisoned on Rockfort Island and escaped from his cell during the viral outbreak. He was forced to shoot down his father, his own flesh and blood infected and altered. He was captured.
He was injected with the virus.
As a test subject by a woman.
That woman.
Oh god… No. No, no, no, no!
His body had mutated monstrously.
Distorted. Teeth into fangs. Hands into claws. Green eyes into red hungry orbs.
He wasn't the boy anymore.
He lost his mind to the dark side that surfaced, something that wasn't there before.
Somewhere in the far back, something that was born whispered a voice to him over and over again, chaining his will down so that he couldn't resist.
Kill her.
Give in to the urge.
Kill her.
It's easy.
Just swing that axe and see her crack open.
See the blood pour.
Disgusting, venomous whispers that pulled at his heart so easily.
There was the excuse. It was the virus that did it. He had no control. There was nothing he could do. But the truth was there, inevitable, haunting to his crushing morals.
He had tried to kill her.
He had to, because of the order drenched in crackling laughter by that woman.
"No, wait!"
She begged.
But he didn't listen. All he could do was watch from the back of his mind.
Watch in vain, watching himself try to kill her.
Shoot me. You have to, to stop me!
But she wouldn't.
She couldn't.
He couldn't blame her for hesitating.
Just like how he was to his dad. His dead, reanimated dad.
Only until the very last moment, did he stop himself from swinging that axe thrown at his disposal. Did he finally block out those whisperings disgustingly slithering into his ears by that psycho bitch.
And for his retaliation, he was butchered down. Pierced right through the abdomen.
He stopped cold, his struggling ceased.
Oh.
Right.
How could he have forgotten?
How stupid could he be at forgetting that?
Yeah, he died in the very cold place.
Then why was he alive?
Why was he here?
Terrified, he glanced about hurriedly. Aware he was in an alien place, not in that dark and cold corridor where his grave should have been. It was a room that looked as if had been taken out of a hospital and given a high-tech décor.
He ignored McLenlan's apprehensive face, her frantic cry for him to calm down, because it was not Claire's.
Where is she? Why weren't we together?
He had to find her. He had to tell her he wasn't dead!
Steve tried to move desperately but couldn't.
Why can't I move?!
A glance shot down and he found his hands and feet shackled.
Now he understood why everything felt shady.
Why this woman gave half-ass answers.
Why was a 'director' even supposed to be examining a 'patient'.
Everything wasn't alright.
"Hurry and get the sedative!"
"No! No sedatives!" she ordered sharply. "Steve, please calm down! We're not going to hurt you."
Shut up! Let me go!
This feeling again. Bound down and unable to do anything.
He felt this back on that stone cold chair.
He could hear his teeth grinding in his skull, recalling that feeling of utter powerlessness, made him want to lash out at everything within reach.
Like that woman.
That woman who ruined his life.
That bitch!
"Steve, listen to me. Everything's going to be al-"
Shut up!
"Iria!" a voice from somewhere far hollered.
Krrr-CLANK!
McLenlan, her unease turned into alarm, wasn't quick enough to see his hand break free from the titanium cuff and launch at her throat. Full force swept her off her feet, the weight of the other swinging bulky arm freeing itself from its prison and knocking at Parish.
CRASH! Something heavy and several somethings made of glass fell at his left, followed by a "Oomph!"
"Ed!"
Nauseating smells of floral, oceanic, gourmand and citrus brands fumed the whole room, making breathing even more difficult for Director Mclenlan.
"IRIA!" someone hollered.
Tightness, she could feel it drape around her windpipe. The floor was no longer beneath her feet. She struggled to get them planted back on the ground but it was too far for her toes to reach.
"Emergency Yellow alert. Specimen loose on Med Lab D-5," yelled a robotic voice from above.
What? No. Dammit, not now, GAIAN. Why a yellow-?
Low, inhuman moan and the sickening sound of bones reforming tempted her to look down. If she was able to speak, it would have been a horrified scream.
The given medical shirt the boy wore tore open as his body hunched over, his head pushing outward. Muscles rippled underneath the scales of a Hunter that developed and curtained across his skin, which was amending from beige to grey green. Jagged bone spurs emerged from the left of his expanding shoulders. Ribs cracked and inflated collectively as his massive flesh continued to grow. His spine stretched upwards, a massive bloodless gash slithered down the hump of his back.
The feeling of his fingers elongating and claws emerging sent chills as they choked her oesophagus was unavoidable.
"W-heee-reee is Claaaireee?"
It was a low growl made up of almost audible words that snaked out of an altered vocal cord.
So she glanced down.
Eye to eye at the frog-like creature that shouldn't have been there.
The head scientist wheezed to breathe but the grasp tightened angrily. She was a weakling, trying frantically to pry herself free. One way or another, her small hands couldn't get hold of his bulging claws.
The prey, the enemy. Nothing more, nothing less and easy to be crush like a fly. That was all she was to the monster.
P-Please...let me...
She couldn't even voice out her plead, her head starting to feel heavy.
I-I can't go yet…
I-I...still have to...
"WHEREE IS SHEEE! ?"
The air shook violently around her from his monstrous demand, instantly rousing her back into consciousness, those red eyes of an enraged animal piercing into her soul.
She was just an obstacle in his way.
She had never been so terrified.
"HFC control arriving in three. Deploying Laelaps unit-"
"Take him down! Now!"
Bzzt!
Something came at the monster like fires. But the shots sounded funny. Before he could understand what they were, a sharp sting localized at his side. Two more confined onto his arm and leg.
In matter of milliseconds, the triggers were pulled.
Voltage shocked through his entire body, paralyzing his muscles. Painful electricity surging out an explosive howl from his own mouth. His grip loosened in a jiff and Mclenlan was released, falling onto her rear.
He was at the shooters' mercy, thrashing about to shake off whatever was causing his anguish until he collapsed onto the tiles with a loud thud. The three pairs of metal pricks however stuck to him like glue.
He was in excruciating pain.
"STOP! Stop your Tasers!"
The electric attacks seized fire at McLenlan's command. The monster lied exhaustedly on the floor - his extended ribcage pulsed up and down fiercely for every heavy breath he took.
I want to leave, he begged in his exhausted mind.
Let this...just be some bad dream...
"Iria, are you alright?" one of the many voices surrounding him yelled, another woman this time.
"GAIAN, call of emergency procedure! The danger's over!"
"Ahhh! HFC thugs are here!"
"Keep those idiots out! We can't let them hurt him!"
"Ed, are you alright?"
Shut up. All of you. They were nothing but strangers, his enemies.
He wanted to fight. Charge right out of this place and escape. But again, his body wouldn't listen. In the end, all he could do was glimpse at his right.
There she was again, that woman on the floor, her glasses having shook right off her nose. Knees buckled down as she stared at him with a scared expression.
Her mouth moved but the ringing blocked out her words.
Then she suddenly bolted towards him with that worried face she had earlier.
Like how...Claire was rushing to his dying body.
Why?
Why would you care?
Why...
The blackness didn't answer the boy who was supposed to stay dead...
Vickie: HELLOOOOO! And here it is, the long awaited first chapter of Anastasis! Which is kinda similar to my old fic. Well, at least an improved version of the 1st half of the first chapter. I will say, I like this direction I'm taking and the research and science I did for the memory part (with some inspiration from the game, Steins;Gate). I think I've even made this pretty deep for Steve's reawakening. Give this chapter a more realistic approach then I did with the old one (which I kinda felt some parts were bit corny).
And how this will go? Weeeell, we'll have to see the next chapter.
I also have ideas of how Steve is as a character like his love for airplanes. Wasn't just convenience that he knew how to fly in CV so it was either an interest or he learned it from someone. I think it was both, and more I think about his little quirks and details in CV, the more I think of how like his family was, his hobbies, etc. Like maybe his mother was a pilot and she was his inspiration to study planes. Or there's a reason why his father did what he do before CV and that did do some rift even before the whole incident. So you can say this fic is an exploration into Steve as one with more backstory.
It's also gonna be talking about more backstories on the islanders like Iria, her team, Kent and his team, the people in town, etc. This is also like how well Steve's humanity and morals is tested not just in a world that's six years in the future but also on an island filled with secrets, half truths and deception. How he prepares to see that people can be monsters too, burdened to do things out of their control and sympathize with them. One thing I'm looking forward to this is designing Steve's character development on the island before CODE: Kronos (and you can see why I wrote him a little like a matured version of himself in that fic).
I wanna apologise to everyone who's been following and reading all my Kronos universe fanfics. I've been very slow these few months and it's mainly cuz of life and my writing (like trying to fill up the inbetweens in a good pacing). I do not intend to just drop these fics but I really do hope you guys will be patient on me. It really takes a lot of time and effort for me to write especially during whatever free time I have. And it is difficult sometimes when while I have the whole plots, it's just figuring out the little details that is tough. One thing I am afraid is that the larger the gaps are between my updates, the less readers will read them. VxV I've kinda noticed for my SC fanfic, I've not gotten any new review. I know that hey, some of ya have a life to worry about and I acknowledge that. I'm just afraid of taking too long and making it boring for ya all. Which I hope not. I enjoy writing this kind of idea I have as a inbetween story in the RE universe and I am grateful for everyone's comments. :)
Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. Please review!
A side note, there are some changes in characters so I'll be update my Kronos fic like Katherine, one of the scientists is renamed Katharine and she's half German (there were too many K names so besides her that's gonna stay, the others, I do intend to change).
