Anastasis

by Vickie1

Cape Inacio, a small dangerous island that holds two sides: one brightly colourful community and one dark and sinister secret unknown to most of the islanders. A specimen, a monster in human clothing, will wake up on that island one day and find himself torn with choices the moment he stands on that single dividing line, among people forgotten by the world...

3. Chapter Two: Bond Between Monsters

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.

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Chapter Two: Bond Between Monsters

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"I'm fine."

She wanted to leave. Now. Just pass her a bottle of painkillers and a pat on the back. No excuse note for a day off or the same ole "You need to take more care of yourself" speech.

She couldn't afford to take breaks. Not when things have escalated badly.

"Stop struggling so much. The faster I do this, the faster you can leave."

The ash-blond-haired woman named Iria McLenlan obeyed and let the dayshift nurse, Lola Baker, finish the wrapping before being handled an ice pack to ease the tension in her neck.

Yup. Today, she nearly died. But this wasn't her first time so the feeling afterwards was, well...neutral.

An hour ago, she was dragged out of that sterilized lab by three of her fellow colleagues, ignoring her demands - her wellbeing was the highest on their list of things to worry, not the spontaneously mutated, unconscious kid on the floor, or the overly-muscled thugs strolling in with rifles ready and no care of human welfare over the exhilarating capture of another loose specimen, or the wailing of the AI's voice booming around them.

The rest of her group told her they'd handle it and she had no choice but to leave the situation in their hands.

That was all she could do. After all, she nearly had her head ripped off. She certainly felt the maroon-coloured bruises anyway. One look from the nurse and she knew the question, how the hell was she ok! ? The nurse was too hesitate to even touch, fearing the neck vertebrates could break like a twig.

Ironic that the roles of doctor and patient were switched. Though to be frank, she wasn't a doctor in skills...

"Alright, done," Baker pointed with a slapping of her hands. "Now for goodness' sake, rest. You just barely escaped death."

So? Wasn't the first time. Iria simply rolled her eyes.

"Don't you give me that look, miss," the woman, just a decade older than her, scolded. "You should be thankful you're standing here alive. Just wait here until the blood test is done."

And off went the nurse, a few grumbles to boot but nothing out of resentment.

Defeated, Iria laid back on the bed. Really, she simply wasn't concerned much on either her own injury or the chances of getting infected. But the moment a monster touches a human being by the hair, it was procedure this, procedure that.

She knew what the results would be. Negative. After all, she knew exactly the makings of the little baneful microorganism inside the redhead's body like the back of her hand.

What she didn't expect was its persistence to survive for years inside a host's body. Maybe she should have. Even in death, the t-Veronica virus still thrived in that poor boy and onwards through cyrostatis.

Then there was the more pressing matter her mind focused on. The questions of why and how, and what would happen next.

The redhead's impulsive change shouldn't have happened. And yet it did. Was it because of the virus? Or because of the experiment?

And moreover, there was no doubt the majority of the facility would throw the kiddo in a dark small room somewhere at the bottom.

Too dangerous, they'd say.

A mild vibration and muffled buzzing roused her out of her thoughts. She sat up and forked out the one responsible for the small tremors - her phone. Quite an old model she had never bothered to change. At the little blinking icon, she flipped it open and there, she spotted a new message under the recognizable name tag.

Seeing that name filled her with warmth. Reassurement. Content. All of the bad feelings and dismay she felt earlier were quickly dispersed by the welcoming of that tiny message.

Right… She should reply.

Creaking sounds stole her attention that instinctively and immediately, she closed shut her phone and put it away - all with the thought that there was no rush. A turn of her head and she spotted the good ole Doctor Parish in his wheelchair.

His old wheelchair.

"Well, that was a surprising moment, now wasn't it?" exclaimed the British man, passing Iria a warm cup of cocoa he brewed to relax her nerves. "More surprising was your methods too."

Edgar Parish, one of the few main doctors supervising the infirmary did his magic on every individual walking through the infirmary doors with fractures, normal illnesses, colds and others unrelated to the abominations the scientists have cooked up in the facility. As long as it was something that was curable. Patch up the patient back on their feet.

Inside this den of nightmares, the jolly plump British bloke in his fifties was one of a handful that kept a clear mind with a smile. Yes, he was in the same predicament as everyone else who signed the stupid contract but smiling was all he could do. Just as he kept a calm manner after his accident two years before his employment - a blazing beam in his burning house dropped on him and rendered him paralyzed.

He was hopeful that he'd be able to work despite bound to a wheelchair. That hope was granted. He was still hopeful that one day, the trap everyone was in would come to a close. For the better, not for the worse.

One day… Unlike him, Iria was weighing both her optimism and pessimistism against each other.

Taking the cup, she straightened herself up. The skin of her fingers felt the warmth beaming through the ceramic. The taste of chocolate and heat stung her tastebuds.

These feelings told her she was alive.

"Repairing the mind of a near-comatose patient, using fragrances to wake him out of a coma and even helping him regain back memories after death. Sounds like those melodramatic sci-fi novels my wife and daughter-in-law reads. If we weren't struck here, you'd be getting the Nobel Prize."

"I'd rather take none of the credit."

"But you'd want to pass it to Carme, wouldn't you?" A twitch and a sigh. He gave a nod. "This experiment wouldn't be possible without both of you."

"That's the thing. It shouldn't be possible," she groaned. Even now, she was having a hard time believing it.

She brought back someone who was supposed to be dead. Mind and body. Probably thanks to the virus, probably thanks to the countless discussions and skills of her and her two chosen colleagues. Probably by some tiny slice of luck.

Who knows...

Any layman would be declaring her as the mad insane scientist. She did the impossible. If anyone had heard wind about this, those high-end ranks would be patting her on the back with those schmuck grins on their faces and say, "Wow, you've surpassed your sister, you know."

Like sickeningly always.

Keep it to themselves, she thought. This wasn't for the reward or the gloating.

"I'm surprised you went through with it, even on Proustian Memory. Anyone single-minded would brush that off."

"It's nothing...fantastic, Ed. I wanted to be sure if he really was fully aware with his memories, whether coma or not. His brain charts showed reactions to music, smells, everything."

Edgar rose a little in his seat. "Music too? Well, you went all out on this."

"You should thank Zach and his CD player for that," she pointed. "If his headphones weren't caught and pulled, we'd never have seen the spike in the brain patterns."

"I have to admit, I was baffled that he made a full recovery. He answered the questions well and his response to light and sound seems fine. After everything he's gone through in the report, I'd expect his brain to be nothing after death. Anyone would," Edgar stated straightforwardly. "...But you thought otherwise, didn't you?"

Iria nodded back. "I've seen the tapes."

His eyes filleted out but he was mildly surprised. After all, anything went through her hands.

"He showed it," Iria emphasized. "The surveillance video from that South Pole facility, he showed signs of resistance during his infection stage."

The security footages, salvaged by the 'research supervisor', were damaged. By the destruction of a building some ways away from the hidden HELIX facility she was brought to years ago with a handful of people. There were no lab technicians skilled enough or technology good enough to help fill in the spaces back then, thus she had to figure out the missing happenings in vain.

She didn't care about answering "Why do you want to see them?". Ever since that boy was brought here, she had done nothing but unravel the mystery behind him.

Not with a sense of duty as a scientist. Others would have discarded the infomation because it wasn't important.

She, on the other hand...needed to know.

Curiosity would indeed always lead the cat to its death, just like it did, slicing a couple of years off her now-tired sanity.

For a short ninety minutes with the magic of fast-forward, she had to endure watching the horrible and stomach-churning panorama of blood-soaked floors packed with moving tentacles, lifeless prisoners standing, humanoids swaying distinguished enormous right arms, hideous creepy crawlers and giant newts.

One or two times, Iria saw a familiar face - an old colleague from university - and looked away in horror. When the show was at its climax, she rushed out of the surveillance room and threw out her lunch.

Weak. She was weak back then. How funny she had changed so much now.

She glanced down at the lightly-coloured swirling motion in her cup from the rocking of her hands.

"He wouldn't kill that girl."

Her mind trended back to the last few moments of that tape. The first change to happen on that poor redhead had to tolerate, to endure his performance. The disturbing and distorting effects of the t-Veronica virus. And down the hall, fleeing for her life was that mysterious woman Iria spotted between the blurriness and the white lines.

That horrendous swing of the axe tensed Iria up to the point she wanted to scream, "STOP!" but before that could happen, it did just that without her telling through the screen.

And then the kiddo died...right before the girl's very eyes.

Heh...that pulled a tug at a familiar memory in Iria's mind, only to sour up her insides.

Back in that dark, terrifying, place. That one single night into a brand new year…

Forcefully, Iria pushed the bad memories far away. Now wasn't the time to be thinking of her past. She wanted to know the boy's.

Claire. That had to be that girl's name. Why else would he say it?

She must have been someone special to him.

"A reaction like that, it had me thinking." She pocketed out a small little bottle. One that somehow miraculously survived the smashing onto the tiles. "Eau de Charlotte. I don't know what's the significance to him but it helped."

Ed took the bottle and examined it with a contented smile. "Clever of you to use the power of senses to your advantage. Smell is different from the other senses, intimately linked to memory. Re-encountering a scent from the distant past can trigger a rush of memories in the brain."

"Clever? Huh," she loosened out a nervous laugh. "The whole lab stinks of perfume and everyone won't go ten feet near the entrance."

Edgar sat back with the fold of his arms after returning the bottle. "I'm giving you credit only for that. It was daft of you to refuse sedatives in the first place. You were nearly strangled by a Tyrant."

"And I lived to tell the tale. So sue me."

Edgar snorted scornfully. He had always found her sense of humour arrogant at times.

"Still...sorry about your wheelchair, Ed," Iria offered. "Should have listened to you."

The old man simply shrugged his shoulders. "What's done is done. You couldn't have predicted the outcome. We all couldn't. And wheelchairs can be replaced. You can't, Iria. Thank your lucky stars it was a mild strangulation. If he had held on longer, he would have snapped your neck in two." He wheeled away from her bed, driving to the nearest, reachable counter to search for prescribed painkillers. "Let's get you something for the pain. You're going to be sore the whole week."

The ruffling of plastic and pills was the silence, the good doctor paying focus to his job. But unknown to him, the silence was creeping up on the blonde.

Making her reminisce.

"...It's funny, though…"

Her voice started off weak. Frail actually. An unusual tone but Edgar barely thought much on it.

"The flashes came back again."

Edgar stopped halfway his task and stared at her, shocked.

She huffed at herself. "Thought I was passed all that. But...I still was afraid. Afraid of leaving too soon… All I wanted was to get out there any way possible and...hug Randy and Hannah tightly. Pretend that was just a dream. That I'm still here. I'm here for those two."

"...You still haven't seen-"

Iria shook her head. "Sorry...not right now."

Edgar nodded with hesitant understanding, despite sighing at her persistence. It did do her good some times but after one event, that trait has reinforced her not to talk about it. Keep the skeletons deep in the closet where no one could hear their dark whispers.

He understood. Just like her colleagues, they understood. But he was truly afraid that one day...she could snap. Again.

And she'd never come back.

She was the only pillar left good folks here have. Losing her would forfeit it all and they'd fall into despair.

Still, he continued on his search for painkillers quietly. It'd do no good for him to urge her to talk to a psychologist, or even him - he had a small degree in that field. Iria would simply push away an appointment with the quack doctor, exclude herself with the excuse that a director's work never finished.

"I have to wonder...if that kid was feeling the same thing I felt."

A rise of his bushy, gray eyebrows. On her face read a mixture of empathy and pity.

"Surrounded by strangers, thinking he was going to be dissected. He was...just doing what was natural."

"Strangling you was natural?"

"...If it was me in his place...I would have done the same thing."

Yeah… Just like before.

Iria gazed down at her hands.

These hands did horrible things.

All for the sake of surviving.

"A scared kid… Just like I was four years ago…"

The tight tension, the silence thick enough to slice with a knife stuck to them like glue.

She cleared it away with a light apologetic chuckle. "Sorry for talking like that… I'm still here. I'm still breathing."

"Yes...still here," Edgar repeated.

But for how long?

A remarkable woman she was but miserably, the stress was devouring her slowly for more than nine years, as violent and unpredictable as cancer itself.

The job had only been dropped into her hands the moment after the former head 'deceased' few years ago. A virologist who wasn't looking for ranks suddenly had the title fall onto her lap and it was then, she realized the ugly reality. The day she was given the seat was the day the pressure began.

And it escalated onwards at high acceleration...

Edgar could only hope there was a silver lining in her grey clouds. It was wishful thinking but he still hoped.

"Well, I should get going. No rest for the wicked," she proclaimed, slipping off the table with her feet giving a light thud to the floor.

"I know what you're going to do," said the good doctor, passing the tablets to her in exchange for her empty cup. "You're going to visit him, aren't you?"

There was no escaping him. She could never lie to Edgar, who was twice the honest chap than five gentlemen chattering in a fish and chip eatery. She'd just be adding more wrinkles on him.

"You know me. I can't hold a grudge."

"...Iria, I know you mean well… But that isn't a human anymore. You've seen how dangerous he is, even if he may show signs of intelligence."

Silence. But those hazel eyes told him well enough she was serious. She wasn't making a joke and she hadn't lost her marbles.

Dangerous… So what?

"That tyrant you call him... He's nothing compared to what I went through, Ed," she said with a hard, indifferent expression. "I'll say this again. He's just a terrified boy inside a monster's skin."

"Yes. Repeat that last part again. A monster. Everyone can see that."

"So you're saying I should write him off from us 'humans'?" Iria asked. "Sorry, Edgar. But I've seen people be most monstrous than him without spikes or boils. He was only doing the next best thing he did."

"And that is?"

"Trying to survive the nightmare. I know the feeling," she admitted. "Fight or flee. It's natural, Edgar. Every other specimen here, that's what they're doing. It's the same thing we're all doing on this damn island. Eliminate whatever stands in our way..."

The bloke sunk his shoulders in agreement. Yes, that was the ugly truth. He had seen that exposure surface out in the worst of people.

"I'm not saying we should give open arms to all the specimens here. They're already gone in the head…" Iria explained before gazing boldly at the doctor. "But this kiddo isn't like the others."

Edgar held in a sigh for a tense moment before breathing it out through his nostrils. Philosophical twist of her words to the point some would deem her as insane. He knew otherwise - she had been battle-stricken that it scarred both body and mind. From her dark experiences, she had become wiser.

And she was not daft to just waltz into any infected's chamber expecting to exchange word over a cup of tea.

"...Alright. Answer me this. Are you positive a specimen like him is sane and intelligent enough to be deem human?"

This time, she furrowed her eyebrows.

Powerful, unshakable confidence.

"I've never doubted Carme's work before. I never will. You've seen the results. He knows himself as Steve Burnside."

There was a couple of things Edgar Parish admired about this woman both a good friend, coworker and boss - one was her intelligence, more baffling and extraordinary that most scientists here couldn't be compared to. Another was her complete faith in her own reasoning. That brain of hers has saved her skin many times.

With that much determination, there was no way he could convince her otherwise. She was already set for her next destination.

He sighed in defeat. "You know, I would advise you to take the day-off like Lola did but...you're that kind of person, Mclenlan... Just be a little more careful, alright?"

Iria smiled at the good doctor.

"Don't worry. I'll be," she answered and gave a pat on her black Taser gun, hanging in its eXoskeleton holster belted to her waist. A procedure for all non-security staff in the face of any danger. A decision based on previous incidents years ago, decreasing the death rate significantly well.

With a mellowly goodbye, she walked out the infirmary, her thoughts immediately bouncing to more dire matters. The biggest topic of them all and it was leaving her nothing but confusion, begging for the answers to roll up before her as she thought and walked.

Why? Why did the kiddo turned into a Tyrant?

"Hey, there she is. Iria!"

Her concentration took the better of her. She merely walked past her three colleagues, who were passing the time outside the sickbay for news of her recovery.

"I see you're up and at it already."

Noting her own ignorance, she wheeled round to the trio - a tall black-haired man fiddling a toothpick, a second man, short and stout with curly brown hair under his cap and the petite woman trying to keep up with her colleagues' wide steps in catching up with their boss.

Victor Fisker, Samson O'Leary and Katharine Raschke.

Once she halted her deep thinking and marching, the three ceased their following, their expressions showing different sorts of content at seeing her out of recuperation.

"So please tell us you are not going back to that kid," Victor huffed, his sour frown twitching the toothpick he chewed for the entire morning - one habit to replace his old smoking one.

Seeing her nonchalant face as her answer, they glowered at her with disapproval.

"C'mon, Iria. Reconsider this. That isn't a human anymore. He's like any other specimen and he nearly killed you. We should have sedated him when he started to lose his cool," Samson retorted.

"He's right," Katharine uttered. "Why didn't we anaesthetize him?"

"Because you were thinking the tranquilizers would affect his respiratory system," Victor answered before Iria could barely speak out a word. "He's a Tyrant now, not an Erinye."

"I know that." Iria scrunched up her shoulders as she leaned back tiredly against the wall. "But we couldn't take the chance now, could we?"

A part of her deep down was actually more concerned about the possibility. Yes, Tyrants and Erinyes had different biological structures, the chances were slim. If she was her past self, the tick-tocking in her head would be running the statistics again.

But she didn't want to take that chance.

"Really a dumb move, if you ask me," Victor offered, his mood neither dark nor disappointing. It was rather that he was surprised of the reason and her choice.

"I'm perfectly sane, Victor."

"Of course. We know you better than anyone here. But you're not thinking clear if you plan to go back to that specimen."

"Kid. He's still a kid to me."

One eyebrow furrowed down and the other up, he was trying to see what ground she stood to make that resolution. "That went out the window the moment he changed. Already blacklisted by GAIAN for his shenanigan in medbay."

"That change is what's bothering me," she uttered, continuing her walk down the hall.

"Oh," Victor hummed and followed after. "Well, that does deserve ponder."

"Wait, now! You nearly lost your head! Literally!" Samson hollered.

"Call off for a day, Iria," Katharine pleaded. "We should leave all this to procedure while you rest."

"That's the last thing I want on that boy," Iria hissed softly, narrowing her eyes tightly.

"Maternal instinct acting up again?" Victor proposed, sounding neither a joke, a taunt or a remark.

She simply grimaced as a response. "Call it whatever you want. I'm not letting any stuck-ups or HFC lay a finger on him."

"I'm not saying we're going to leave him in someone's hands, Iria," Katharine stated timidly. "But we can't go near a Tyrant either."

"You might as well join in. Once Iria's stuck on her decision, there's nothing bringing her back," Victor exclaimed coolly. Better to go along with it instead of trying to persuade her. A close eye was dandy to keep on her. "You both should know that."

Katharine heaved in and out a heavy sigh. Then for the sake of argument, pointed out, "Maybe it's the variant that affected him. Caused a second mutation."

Iria stopped in her tracks, an alarmed look thrown at the petite lady. "That makes no sense. None of the blood tests showed any sign of phagocytosis. And have you ever heard of an mutagenesis happening again?"

"Then it could be a chemical imbalance."

"Hold up. I've triple-checked all the charts. After his revival, there was nothing off the scale," Samson interrupted the suggestion.

"Then something happened during the questionnaire," Iria grumbled, her eyebrows squeezing down more and more of her frustration for an answer.

"Still, kinda puzzling that there was a second mutation," Victor murmured. "Even if he has the virus inside, it should have lost all its functions after a host died-I mean 'supposedly' dies. We've been keeping that t-Voo-whatever virus intact thanks to cyro."

"Also begs the question, can a host change again after being revived?"

"I wouldn't say it's far-fetched. Remember that dinosaur movie? One with DNA preserved in amber? Just think of it in that logic. The virus was preserved," the tall man explained. "Make sense that the boy just got infected a second time the moment his heartbeat returned."

"Is it really that simple? Especially after Gordon's serum."

Inside Victor's mouth, his teeth grinded at the soggy end of his toothpick. He tried an answer. "Then the serum could have manipulated the variant's DNA or something."

"Then that just contradicts our previous analysis," Katharine added. "This is becoming a totally different version than what we anticipated five years ago."

He shrugged his shoulders, scratching his head in annoyance. "As far as I'm seeing, this is acting like any other variants in this whole K-project. Unstable, unpredictable results."

Iria ran through her train of thought, deeper and deeper to come up with a hypothesis. At least something to give them common ground, a better understanding of what happened inside the kiddo's body.

... No. No good. It was stretching out at straws. Without physical results, blood analysis, dissection of an unknown virus anatomy, anything, they had nothing to base their theories on.

One needed a base to start. But Iria had already decided not to prick him up with needles and scalpels like a lab rat. A used-to-be-deceased unconscious lab rat. And the director had enforced her authority: anyone outside her team couldn't touch the redhead for the sake of their curiosity and widening their pockets more.

The demands from those naggers were as monotonous as beating her head into the wall many times to dull their noise out.

"Let's say either an external or internal stimuli affected the virus to cause a second mutation. We still have the trigger to think about," she suggested. "Something happened to his body to activate it."

"Other than the little project you, Harris and Kail's been doing?" Victor asked.

Iria opened her mouth but the words didn't barely past her vocals.

Because it was a good point. The experiment, a combination of fringe and real science, was based on the foundation of bringing back the mind. Everything: memory, intelligence, awareness, all the functions zapping across the little "dead" neurons inside.

So could a resuscitated mental state indirectly cause the virus to be triggered? Sounded bizarrely impracticable.

Still, just think about it - once the mind goes, the body follows.

But…

It tightened the heartstrings inside of her uncomfortably. If that was the case…

No. Take full responsibility, she told herself. This was your idea. Your decision. Not her responsibility. Her theories were flawless.

She doesn't deserve the guilt nor the repercussions.

"That sounds a bit incredibly...unrealistic," Katharine spoke out before Iria could even retort. "A mental restoration experiment affecting the virus? How does that even work?"

Victor shrugged his shoulders in response. "Morphogenetic fields, retrocognition, the power of mind over body? I could go down the list and we still wouldn't know how. I'm just throwing out suggestions."

"I find it hard to believe brainwaves of a host helped boost a virus to kickstart itself."

"Though he might be onto something," Samson pointed. "This isn't that old virus anymore. This is now biologically symbolic to the host just like any variants."

"We won't know till we do any tests on him." Victor's calm eyes darted at the director - the one obstacle that was stopping any further examination.

Until she gave the ok, no hands on the redhead.

"And you want me to check how chemistry works." The stout man in white stepped away, shaking his open palms at them. "Oooh no. No way, no how am I going near that thing after what it did."

"He, Samson. He," Iria corrected calmly.

"Doesn't matter. After that whole charade, he isn't going to look at us the same. We're the bad guys here."

Yes. That was very true, Iria thought.

Put herself in his shoes...feet. He wasn't in any familiar element. He was surrounded by enemies. He didn't know what, why, how but one thing was clear. Claw out at anyone who dared get in his way. Sink his teeth hard and show no fear.

So first things first.

"Where is he?" Iria asked, her voice stern. She expected the answer. But she had to ask for confirmation and precision.

"Where else? Down at Level F," Victor replied.

She groaned heavily. Great. What a pain security was. And with that, she spun around and walked with a spring in her shoes.

"There she goes," he sighed.

"Iria, are you out of your mind! ?" Katharine hollered, her heels tapping faster as she tried to catch up.

"Yeah! He tried to hang you up like a puppet," Samson added. "He might be more dangerous than those below E."

"Don't care," Iria offed and reached her destination, immediately hitting a button.

Ding!

The central elevator hummed out its arrival, the doors opening up but before Iria could put one foot it, Victor swiftly looped in front of her with one palm out.

"I don't know what you're planning but this harebrained idea you have, it's gonna put you into more danger, I," he exclaimed, an aloof but serious glance cased from his eyes. His raised hand slipped back into his lab coat pocket.

Iria grimaced at the sound of the bell ringing again and the sight of the doors closed back. But Victor stayed put. Didn't matter if she was his boss, he wouldn't let her go.

"The moment you have an agenda, you charge right into it without any care for yourself. And you're not in the best of health right now. So I'm not moving from this spot till you tell us what your plan is."

She gave her answer. "Talk to him."

Her tall colleague's stern mask quickly turned into that of disbelief.

"Talk? Just like that?"

"What else."

The silence stood still between them, in between the other sounds - the tapping of other employees' shoes scrambling down the halls, the daily chit-chats on casual and important subjects, everyone else paying no mind on the group at the lifts.

She was serious, Victor thought. Dead serious.

"Alright."

"Victor!" Katharine hollered, shaking her fists.

"Wait, I'm not done," he uttered coolly before staring back down at Iria. "The moment things go bad again, we're bailing you out. No exceptions."

Iria smiled. "I agree to the terms."

"Good." A smirk stretched across his pale face as Victor hit the button.

Of course, he was gonna tag along. But Iria didn't complain. She wheeled back to the other two. "You two should return back to work."

That was when the petite woman frowned. Angrily, in a rather cute manner if seen by other passer-bys. "No. Out of the question."

"We're already here with you so we might as well stick around longer," Samson droned.

Hearing those responses stretched out Iria's beam even further.

Ding!

And the four strolled right into the elevator.

There was one thing that Iria, her three colleagues and many more have learned: either you strive for yourself or you strive in numbers.

Especially when one has been imprisoned on an island under the hands of a powerful company for many years.

---

Ding!

Level F, one of three danger zones. Stage II containment, where the circus of medium-risk, bloodthirsty freaks lived behind rows upon rows of tight security and ammunition.

Creatures of all sorts were locked here and further down. Half of the collection spawned from this facility's bowels, the other, hunted and brought here all thanks to the 'admired' R'n'D supervisor. Nothing more than beasts, every variety behind closed doors were yearning for freedom and blood, wafting out the strong odour of death. The only time they ever caught a glimpse of sunlight was when one or two were picked for observation and testing inside a reinforced battle arena on a near-distant speck, too small to be considered an island.

Out of the group of scientists, two gulped in different volumes while two marched forth, unhinged by their intrusion into dangerous territory.

The deeper, darker levels were no place for white coats. This was the zoo, the cells rattling with screams, howls and wails. Echoing through the halls was the scratch-scratch of their claws chipping at powerfully-durable walls under the watchful eyes of guards - both human and not - and a supercomputer.

These were the stuff of nightmares, beyond anyone's imagination after all. One slip-up inside such a place and it'd be over.

The lower floors of the facility was treacherous. At all cost, any employee had to be on guard whenever they stepped foot here. Down there, despite the many preparations and procedures on the drop of even a needle, even the careless one could have a nasty end.

This was the zoo but that didn't mean locked doors were enough to assure the two's weak hearts. Still, Samson and Katharine persuaded on, seeing the backs of their braver friends giving them some sort of courage. A poor one but they could have turned back to the lift and returned to the surface.

The stroll was quiet until the four stopped at the sight of two officers.

Good, blue-collared security guards, Iria thought. Had it be that other group, those thugs wouldn't let her go in, jousting out mockery at the 'weak little human'.

"Director McLenlan," one of the guards uttered with surprise but kept his posture firm and still. With flashes of the scientists' IDs, he acknowledged that their visit was on the papers, not stupidly unofficial. "State your business."

"I want to see him."

The two guards' eyes widened. They both quickly glanced at each other before the talkative one spoke. "Sorry, director. But orders are orders. No visitors allowed."

Iria groaned. "Of course. Odell."

"Why the heavy security?" Victor asked. "Seems redundant to be putting guards here."

"It's not just to keep people out. It's to keep an eye on that thing."

"I-It managed to break out of its cuffs some time ago. Even bashed down the cell's cam," his partner murmured.

"If it causes another racket, we'll be forced to put it to sleep," the guard pointed, a pat on his tranquilizer gun. "Knock that freak out for a couple of hours."

Irritating… But Iria kept that thought inside.

THUNK! BLAM!

An alarming noise erupted from inside the cell, enough to stir everyone up. Banging and clanking continued straight after, as if something had just gotten back a bit of strength to tear open its prison.

"Tsk! Why won't it stay quiet! ?" the guard bellowed, raising up his rifle to ready himself in taking aim through a close-lidded opening on the door.

Then suddenly, a hand lashed onto the barrel.

"Hey. What are you-?"

His words dropped dead silent once he wheeled back. What he saw nearly shook his body to step back, swallowing down a lump that wasn't in his throat a while ago.

A cold and angry glare from those hazel eyes.

Out of the four white coats, Iria had stepped forth, her hand tight on his gun. Forcefully, she jerked the weapon's point towards the floor, eyes still hawking on the shocked officer. All he could do was wonder: why was she so angry at him doing his job?

Iria didn't budge an inch, even when the noises inside died down - the owner probably laying back in exhaustion from his tantrums. The next thing to come out of her mouth was this.

"Fine. You two are dismissed."

Now both guards' eyes were as wide as dinner plates. But the director didn't care.

"And in the meantime, tell Odell no one but me and my team is allowed to touch him. Understand?" She then pushed the guard back, a hard shoving of his gun.

"Are you out of your mind? We can't let you-"

Her pose was as firm as a tree, feet rooted in her spot. All the signs read "test her, go for it" from her expression.

"Take them as your new orders or detain me. Your choice."

And those final words silenced the men up, rattling nervously in their boots.

Their minds, no doubt, was swimming at what outcomes would happen onto them. Truthfully, Iria would never resort in misusing her position to crush others - in fact, she knew well enough these men were doing their job just as she was doing hers, for the sake of a check and survival. Her status was nothing but a title, the only good thing out of it was that she was untouchable within the ranks.

Only if push came to shove would she become drastic in her actions.

With no way of zipping past her tongue-sharp remark, the two guards submitted to defeat and stepped aside from the doors. Ah, so they'll stay. Doesn't matter as long as they don't get in my way.

"Are you sure about this?" Samson's voice drenched in concern drew her away from the cell door. "M-Maybe one of us should come with you."

She shook her head. "More people will aggravate him. I have to do this." Her hand snaked up to a lanyard-tied ID around her neck and slipped it off of her. "If we leave him alone, he might very well detach his human side and go savage on everyone again… He can't lose his second chance."

Her colleagues, comrades-in-arms, didn't retaliate against her level-headed argument.

"He's only a kid. He needs to know we aren't his enemy."

Iria swung down her card across the ID reader. The door didn't open immediately at the summoning of the green little light but after a few more steps.

"Input password," the computerized feminine voice that once hollered from everywhere and nowhere, echoed out from the scanner as well.

"McLenlan. Number S24D1-45O5 X-3781. Password, 91NN19."

"Voice recognition acknowledged."

A hissing click resonated and the cell door slid open.

"I," Victor called out, stopping her just a second step into the cell. "Be careful in there."

Iria gave a promising smile and with a swallowing down of the tightness in her chest, sauntered forward - the door shutting her only escape out of the 6-by-6 room.

Then the tightness crept back once she took a hard good look at the interior of the room.

Damage left and right, on the ceiling and the floor. A good thrusting and beating against the toughest material a cell for an infected for offer, showing dents and cracks everywhere. If she had turned to see the state of the door, no doubt it was looking like near its limit of staying at its hinges.

But she stood stern with narrowed eyes, rolling her hands into tight fists for an extra surge of courage.

The red eyes of the giant green monster was glaring fixed on the director.

Hutting and puffing through a muzzled-like device around his mouth, he sat on the cold floor in durable handcuffs drenched in sweat. From the interior, he had exceeded all his strength to bust out an escape in vain and was taking his second or third break. The only thing that easily trampled down by his might was the smashed up surveillance camera, pulled out from the little hole in the ceiling.

He had every reason to oppose. Especially with the tag and brand on his neck. Somewhere along the way in his detainment, he was leashed with a collar - the equivalent of a dog's shock collar with the difference being stretchable for the bulk but only removable by the facility's system. A final measure was the raw, scorched numbers across his skin from the stabbing of heated iron.

Now there was this intruder with him and in a white coat at that.

Those red eyes squinted even more in exhausted anger at his visitor.

Yup, he remembered her. But Iria stood her grounds at the hostility. Remarkably, she didn't feel as terrified towards him as that towards her...past experiences. Maybe that was because of her constant reminding to herself this was still a kid in the head.

There was nothing but a staring contest. Who'd win?

She didn't want to start off too soon. It wasn't going to be merry and easy at gaining his trust on the first word of conversation. In fact, she was well prepared for his rebuttal. However, during the staredown, she could see him eyeing.

At her left arm.

If one looked at the sea of employees and employers that worked inside the facility, she would easily be picked out from the lot. A fresh glance at the blue-black exaggerated tattoo stretching from her wrist upwards to her shoulder - half of the design hidden underneath her rolled-up sleeve - and the first thought was 'convict'.

To everyone else, no one could understand the riddling illustrations and their meanings enfolding and twisting together. Not even understand why one day, she decided to ruin her left arm with such a large and indescribably-obscure permanent image.

Some thought it was rebellious phase towards their imprisonment. Others, a visible reminder of that one fateful day.

To the boy monster, a person with more reasons not to trust.

Not good. Moreover, Iria was unsure. Right before her wasn't the boy back on the medical bed going through his mental test. Iria was hesitant - there could be a chance this sudden mutation had taken away all of his intelligence and memory retention like any infected specimen.

A tug at her chest… Did that mean the experiment turned into a failure thanks to the virus?

Iria must have shown something, a sign of her guard dropped. Because suddenly, the monster leapt up and charged, his roar muffled down by his muzzle.

In the seconds and shrinking space between them, Iria froze up. By instinct, her fingers ran back to her holstered taser gun but that would surely not be fast enough. Already, he was preparing to use his handcuffed hands as a bat to smack her out of existence.

"Commence cell protocol," uttered a third voice.

A rising electrical sound hummed in the air. Right before her eyes, live electricity burst out at the strike of the monster's pitch. Voltage zipped right into him, low enough to pinch at his pain sensitivity as a warning.

Quickly, the frog-like brute jumped back, recoiling in agony.

"Hostile infected attack confirmed. Director McLenlan, for your own safety, please exit out of Cell 319."

Of course, the employees' 'guardian angel' from above.

Iria, however, didn't move. Her surprise and terror morphed down to worry at the cowering monster. If there wasn't the fence, she'd unconsciously hurry up towards him before stopping. Yes, she was crazy enough to do that. In his restraints, all he could do was bear down on the aftereffects of his mild passing shock.

Then she heard a muffle.

She could have sworn she heard some words. Something like "Fucking hurts…"

That was the clue she needed. No, the experiment worked.

Alright. Let's test this, she told herself.

"GAIAN, turn off Cell 319 fence system."

The monster glanced up at her. Immediate surprise.

"Director McLenlan, it would be ill-advised to turn off safety measures. Please exit out-"

"Turn them off."

Now he cast another glare, but this time there was visible uncertainty. Cautioness. She could already guess his quiet question - what was she doing?

"Please reconsider. If you are suffering from suicidal tendencies, it would be best to visit a psychologist."

An insult, a nice dab of salt on her old wounds, reopening them. Inside her fists, her nails dug harder.

Oh sure. Try the fucking mental illness tactic all because of that bastard inputted that into its data bank.

"Turn them off now. That is an order," she hissed, her teeth grounding on the last word.

There was a slight pause. How odd for an AI. "Order acknowledged."

The dancing rays of electricity shriveled up, the only obstacle standing between them gone.

And the strange woman stood still.

The staredown came back but there was something strange about this.

Steve Burnside was puzzled. Yes. He was puzzled. What was this woman scheming…?

Well, should be obvious! He was struck in some secret lab by Umbrella as a test subject, as their little labrat. Whatever she was trying to do, there was no way he'd give in that easily.

She couldn't be trusted.

No one here could be trusted.

But he just couldn't help but wonder. This was some hotshot, a director even, waltzing in on some random guy.

Unless she was here for payback. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

He hadn't forgotten. He had exploded out of rage and confusion, giving a hard time to those people with guns from start to now. Why or how that happened, he wasn't quite sure the answers. All he remembered was he grabbed at the closest thing to let out his frustration and a short later, he found that woman terrified of him from his outburst.

He gave a mental laugh. Such chivalry she had, trying to stand up against someone like him. What was more, this was a blonde. She might as well be that bitch then if that was the case. A deluded, insane scientist but the only difference was she wasn't in any gowns like that fucking sicko.

And it wasn't just how alike this woman was to that other one. Not too alike but still somewhat. It was also because he poured out everything about himself onto her without knowing the truth.

He couldn't help but feel dirty and naked at that fact.

But right now, Steve could do nothing but try to stare her out of his cell. Or at least, get over with whatever she wanted to do with him. The faster it was done, the better.

He wanted all of this to be over...

Then, without warning, her hands grabbed onto her holster belt and unclipped it off.

Thud, the strange gun, the belt, all of it plopped down to the floor.

His head bobbed up, startled. What?

"GAIAN, deactivate handcuffs and muzzle."

"Affirmative," the computerized voice echoed from a ceiling absent of speakers.

Click! Click!

The cramp feeling around his wrists and face was gone as the gadgets dropped onto the floor with loud clunks resounding inside the cell.

His mouth fell ajar and he stared down at his red-ringed hands. He was out of those miserable-!

He felt his insides turn icy cold at the sight.

His horrible green claws…

He felt his stomach turn into knots, all too revolted to see what the rest of his body looked like. He had some ideas but abandoned them, too aghast to put them to the test. He had desperately wanted to tear the green skin off to see it as some prank - if his cuffs were blocking his attempts. As much as he wanted to remove this hideous form from him entirely...deep down, he knew that was impossible.

Then his claws curled up into fists as he grounded his fangs angrily at a memory.

That bitch. That fucking bitch. And he couldn't forget her name as much as he wanted to. Alexia Ashford. This was all her entire fault! Thanks to her, he was a monster again and stuck in whatever this place was.

Hope she's barbecuing in hell, he hollered to himself. It's no wonder Claire was so terrified of him back in Antarctica. If he had seen his reflection right now, he would be scared out of his own green sk-!

Claire.

The name rung as clear as a crystal in his mind and his heart sank. Oh god. He really hoped she made it out of that place with her brother.

Did they? No, they did. Yeah, don't think of stupid things. She's safe somewhere and that's all that matter.

He had bigger problems right now. One in front of him.

He glanced up hastily, once realizing his silence had exposed him at his weakest. Was this some twisted trick to see him squirm at the reality?

But the woman had stood there motionless and quiet during his thinking. Not an inch. The weapon was still on the floor but she showed no interest in retrieving it. Her expression was just unreadable and that was pissing him off. But he didn't retaliate this time with force. No telling what that voice from above could do towards his given moment of freedom.

Get on with whatever you're doing to do! He wanted to yell. Just move already!

Nothing.

Then she made her next move.

"I'm going to continue the questionnaire."

That...was unexpected. He stared at her in complete astonishment. But no matter how long he kept glancing, she didn't budge.

The blonde simply slouched back to the wall behind her, her hands in her pockets. This...was a very nonchalant, amateurish pose she was giving.

"You don't have to answer them if you don't want to."

Fair enough, he might as well do just that.

"After you've answered all my questions, then I'll answer all of yours."

He frowned. Dammit. So that was the catch. Right now, he wanted information. Needed to know everything he could get.

Given the situation, he could easily squeeze all the answers out of her without so much of answering back. He was free. She was unarmed. No, bad idea. There was that other voice watching them somewhere. Or maybe he should hold her hostage?

Perhaps she purposely came here to set up her own death by his hands. After all, that voice did just say suicidal tendencies. Great, that meant he was visited by a loonie with depression problems. He wasn't going to give her satisfaction then. Do it herself instead.

One more glance at her expression: calm, patient, collected. Nothing of a crazed madwoman or an overly-depressed soul.

...Weird woman.

Fine. For now, he'd play along. See where this would go.

She spoke out regardless of a yes or no from him. "Whose face is on a dime?"

He raised an eyebrow.

Ok, what? Seriously? She was asking that? Shouldn't she know the answer herself?

The woman just waited. Her face told him oh, she was serious.

What a hassle. Fine.

"...Rrroose-" He stopped, a hand immediately clamping his mouth.

That tone, it sent shivers down his spine. Was that his voice? Geesuz, he sounded so different.

He didn't want to continue. If he heard it one more time, then that would set everything in stone. He'd have to face the cruel truth.

That wasn't him, he told himself. That was someone else, somewhere in this cell but it wasn't him! But in the hushed two minutes, the denial was sinking away when that foreign voice didn't speak up again.

He glanced up to the woman, hoping that the voice was from some recorder, played as a joke but the absence of a tape recorder told him to stop wasting time and accept his ordeal.

Funny though, she didn't frightenedly jump from his distorted voice. She hadn't steered from her spot, only waiting patiently for his reply.

He swallowed in a lump stuck in his throat. "R-Rrroosevelt."

This was his voice… No recording. No third monster with them. Get used to it, he sarcastically and cruelly told himself.

She nodded, acknowledging his correct answer. "How many states are there in the United States?"

Really?

"...Fifty." There was some difficulty at remembering the exact number.

"On a traffic light, is the green light at the top or bottom?"

Ok, what the fuck. These sounded like trivia questions that some of his annoying high school teachers would randomly ask just to see if he was listening instead of snoozing.

This was getting annoying. "Bottom."

"In which hand does the Statue of Liberty holds her torch?"

He grumbled quietly to himself. "I dooon't know. Rrright?"

She nodded. Phew, that was just a guess too… Wait, why was he relieved? He wasn't back in class!

How long was this pointless questioning going to take?

"What are you most afraid of?"

That question caught him off guard. Ok, no more random things. Now it was getting personal.

There was one thing he'd never admit, even when he was alive. Being afraid. No, he wasn't scared of the dark - he outgrew that when he was ten - and he wasn't afraid of things like height and bugs.

Being scared of things was just hateful. That just meant he was showing his weaknesses and that was the welcoming wagon to be picked and poked at.

But that was when he was a normal teenager in the middle of high school. Then he was tossed into a bloodied world of the undead and guns, desperately running for his first dear life. Did that apply to himself now?

Another gaze at his hands sparked up something dread inside of him. Like wriggling maggots under the skin. He did have something to fear inside his grey box. One of the bitter memories showed how capable he was in this form.

He nearly killed Claire.

"...Myseeelf."

Now it was her time to be surprised. Then those raised eyebrows lowered as she cast a strange look that he didn't expect her to give.

Like she understood.

"Have you lost a family member?"

She first received an annoyed glare. This was uncharted territory she was touching and he didn't like it.

The word, family, dug up more painful memories. He really wished she had never asked.

His mom, shot cold dead in the living room by men in black. She never saw it coming. But he did, seeing the flying of red droplets from the hole in the back of her head.

And there was his dad.

There was an irkling of spite rising up in his mouth. The whole ordeal that happened on the unlucky redhead was because of that jackass in the first place. But as the recollection flashed through like a fast-forwarded film, the last confrontation he had with him gave him a bittersweet sting.

His dad was gone too.

This time, he nodded instead of answering back to the blonde. A light bite on his lips and he found himself muttering, "Twice."

He gave a quick glance, regretting his absentminded utter but she didn't rebuff it.

Instead, she was rather sorrowful.

"I'm sorry…" She began fidgeting with a brown leather watch on her right wrist. "...I know the feeling."

Steve almost wanted to scorn, gruff at her for saying that. He didn't need sympathy from her! But he stopped himself when her attention was absolutely on the worn watch, the glass len broken. Twirl, twirling on the little screw as if she was trying to reset time and go back.

Fix something in the past. But that was impossible.

A little bit of pity he had on her. Just this once. After all, he had no idea if this person had family like he did.

Or this was just an act, stupid. Don't fall for it so easily.

Inhale, exhale. The blonde gave a very deep breath to clear away the bitterness, the professional face back on track.

"What was the last memory you remember?"

The next question made him think. It was hard, grasping through the few holes he had in his brain but the memory was there.

Right, he remembered now. A hand reached down to where that giant tentacle pierced him. There was no hole but regardless if he looked, he knew the evidence was there.

"...I dieeed."

It stung. Badly.

He died, all because he resisted that bitch's command to kill. All because he didn't want to kill Claire.

And he was left behind. Now he was stuck here, revived and back as a monster.

The only difference was...Claire wasn't here, was she?

She wasn't coming.

"I dieeed...after I was turned..."

He sunk his head. Please, he begged. He just wanted this to be over. Enough. He had accepted his death when he was dying and this was some cruel joke. A sick one, going through dark memories he wanted to forget and be buried.

All of that was in the past. And he was miserably stuck here and now.

"You mean after you saved that girl."

What? He quickly gazed back at the woman. What did she say?

The woman didn't give out an explanation. It was only then did he notice her expression had changed.

She looked...sad and...contented at the same time.

"Good."

It was so soft, seeping out of the woman's mouth but for some reason, he could hear it clear. Why was she so pleased about? Those last questions were kinda tossing insult to injury-

All of a sudden, her body slumped downwards as if the energy from her legs was drained out. Like a realization hit her as hard as a brick wall. She buried her head into her knees to quench down some internal battle inside, her arms just fraying out in the air.

"Good," was all she could muster out of her small body. "...You have them. All your thoughts, your memory, everything... You're human."

Human.

He wasn't too sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. The word had a bittersweetness to it, giving a squeeze to his stomach. Maybe he should feel a bit honored. This person was deeming him human, even holding a conversation with him. Which, actually, he'd say she had have lost a few screws in thinking that.

Whether or not, he should be thankful for that remark...could he really be called so?

He thought like a human. He remembered like a human. He was dealing with a shitload of emotions like a human.

But...he was still a monster.

What a grey conflict he had…

"Oh god…"

He drew his attention back on the woman.

"It worked, Carme…"

Okkk, what did she say? What worked?

And who's Carme?

The blonde lifted up her head, deeply breathing in. Surprisingly, her eyes were wet but with some fighting, she kept the waterworks in.

But he saw it… A grown woman was going to cry.

"Last question," she barked. This time, her tone resounded with steel resolve. She no longer gave the calm composure, like she was ready for anything to come out on this next turn. "Right now, this is your second chance in life."

He widened his eyes.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"...Do?"

The words, second chance, were like needles to his ears.

This is a second chance?

Him being grotesque and fucked-up? Him as a prisoner, a caged up animal?

What did she expect him to do? Was she trying to tick him off? Because it certainly was working!

You already know the answer to that! I'm the fucking guinea pig here!

"Why arrre you asking me a stupid question?" he hissed and then his red eyes hawked angrily at her. "You'rrre one of them."

This time, the woman in white gave a confused face. Bullshit. She was obviously faking it!

"ANSWER ME!"

BAM! His fist swung right at the wall behind him, adding another crater to the collection.

She remained unshaken. No! She was shaking in her shoes! That damn coward!

"That's the only reason why I'm here!" he hollered. "You sickos brought me back to be your toy and you got to gall to ask me that? You're afteeer what's inside of me! Ssstop joking around, you bitch!"

"That's not the right answer."

The comeback pulled the rug from under his feet unexpectedly. Her glare deepened with disappointment at his outburst - like that wasn't what she wanted to hear.

Right answer? What answer do you want, woman! ?

"What are you going to do with your second chance?" she demanded again.

One eyebrow raised and the other furrowed. Just how many times was she going to spin him in circles? What motive did she have for stupidly asking that?

What he wanted to do with his second chance?

Get out of here and go see Claire, of course! Tell her he was alive again! Then they could be together again, continue where they left off.

Tell her everything's going to be alright from now on.

But that was wishful thinking. He wasn't an optimist.

There was no way he could see her again, not like this.

"What does it matterrr?" he managed to cough, the lump in his throat gargling his voice. "I'm a damn frrreak! A monster… I never asked for thisss!"

The anger in the woman's face wrinkled more but Steve didn't care.

"You should have left meee for dead…"

His talons gripped hard onto his hair as he lowered his head again. His eyes felt moisture at the suffocating emotions inside of him.

Just stop it. He actually wished he was just brainless now. Then, he wouldn't have to deal with all this shit. But again, he was stuck in a body that wasn't his own and a mind that was.

No way in hell was he going to go up to Claire like this. She should remember him the way he was before, right to his death. Not this.

"Fine."

The woman climbed onto her feet, her hand taking out a weird-looking black gun during her ascent.

"Call yourself a freak."

Steve trembled a little on the floor. This sudden change actually frightened him. Somewhere in the back of his head, someone was whispering him to fight back, pick her up and pitch her into the wall. She was just a fly, said the dark muttering.

This time, however, he showed no resistance to fight back. What was the point of continuing this new life?

Like he said, he should have been left dead and stayed dead.

"Keep saying that you shouldn't be alive."

The nightmare should end right now.

"But know this," she began and lifted her Taser up high.

BAM!

"Ow! Gaaargh!" Steve whined, his hands quickly contacting to a throbbing sore zapping across his skull from one point of origin. He couldn't believe she used the handle of her own firearm as a baton instead of shooting.

He glared back up, ready to roar at her and return fire but froze up on the spot in bewilderment.

"All I see is a scared kid in front of me!" Iria screamed at the top of her lungs.

Her temper was like the wrath of a storm, her fuming words dumbfounding him even more. He had pissed off the four-eyed blonde.

"That girl's name was Claire, wasn't it?"

His red eyes filleted even wider.

"You said Claire back in medbay! Her name's Claire, right?" she demanded again.

He furrowed angrily. "If you darrre hurt her-"

"Why would I want a person I don't know! ?" she barked, again surprising him that he nearly shook in his spot. What did he do? "She matters to you, right? So your second chance should be to meet her again and tell her you're here, you brainless idiot!"

He gaped silently, taking all of the verbal abuse from her. But certain words hit the nail on the coffin.

"Listen to me, you damn brat! Out of everyone else on this messed-up island, you're the only one who has someone out there that's important to you, out there somewhere!" she continued, jabbing a finger out in the air as if pointing to something, someone very far away. "You're important in someone else's life and you want to throw it all away! ? You're alive and sane! You are not some specimen, you are important as a person!" Iria screamed with all her might. "So like hell am I going to let you give up this second chance of yours!"

This was all baffling to him, even a little scary. He was so taken aback by that outspoken speech that he felt himself trying to sink further into the wall.

Frankly, he felt like a child being scolded.

"You don't get to go off that easily! I'll be damned if I'm letting you give up on her now!"

No. No way. This was fake. Why make him feel important? Important to someone she didn't know? The only thing good about him was the damn virus, wasn't it! ?

"Y-You'rrre...this is all just a ruse."

She grounded her teeth crossly. Up went the taser hilt.

BAM!

"GARH!" he bawled. "Would you stop doing that! ?"

"Just a ruse? All this is a damned ruse! ?" was all she could holler. Her temperance had no bounds in stopping. "I wouldn't be wasting my time here talking to you then! I wouldn't be giving a damn about you throwing everything out of the window right now! My colleagues should have just flat out refused me if all of this was just charades! Everything I've done up till now means it was all pointless if this was just a ruse!"

"S-Shut up," he managed to rebel. "You got balls trying to get me to trrrust! Why would you even care about me? Look at me!" He waved out his arms, presenting himself as the obvious fact. "What do you want from me! ?"

"I want you to fight! For yourself and the person you care for!"

Those words deflated his boiling emotions in an instant. He was sure what his ears heard was wrong. He couldn't comprehend it all. The more her frustration burst out, the more convinced he was that this wasn't some act.

Not when she was shaking her fists like that.

He was actually more afraid of provoking this woman for another whack on his head. Funny if anyone saw this. A big giant green brute scared of this.

"You expect me to be the mad, evil scientist. Put you on the slab and open you up. Fine! Think whatever you want about me. Hate me. Yell at me all you want. You can do whatever you want with me. But I'm going to take you to see that girl again whether you like it or not! Hell, I'll recite the whole damn Beauty and the Beast story if I have to!"

Why...? The word didn't even seep out of his mouth, no matter how hard he tried.

This woman was insane.

This all was just an act to get him to drop his guard.

No way was she asking to be buddies, feel remorseful for the likes of him. No way was she trying to make him, a freak, feel important. No way was he still important to Claire.

But it was becoming more and more of a struggle to believe those statements in his head.

"You have someone out there. But we don't…"

At last, she calmed down, the shouting wearing her out. Slightly. But once again, the words out of her shook him to the core.

This time, her face soured with agony.

"Everyone on this island...there's no one out there waiting for us anymore... "

Anymore?

It was just more confusion piling on top of him. He knew jackshit about this woman.

"I'm the one who brought you back to life," she continued. "I chose to bring back a person named Steve so he could get the one thing all of us have lost. A second chance in life."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. That couldn't be her reason. That sounded all too much of some cliche trope in a fairytale - a fairy godmother suddenly appears to grant a wish to the poor cleaner girl.

But the twisting of her face, the light wetness in her eyes, it was just...pitiful to watch this on a grown-up.

"Don't lose it like we did."

It was a plead. An honest to God request from her.

He hadn't noticed it before until only then. The clothes she wore, the wavy hair she lazily tied up were disheveled. The bags under her eyes were the tall tale that she had endured many sleepless nights, one more reason why one of many marbles were dropped out of her to do such a daring scolding at him. This thirty-ish-year-old woman looked like she had lost a decade of her life by something very dark and destructive.

This was a director, right? He asked that for confirmation. His picture of how a director should look like was a middle-aged or old white man dressed in a clean suit and drenched in thick cologne, his pockets filled with cash and his hands untouched on drastic matters. All a director had to do was oversee whatever they did in this place and make sure their work ran smoothly.

The blonde was the complete opposite.

Something happened to this woman. Something she regretted. There was no way she could get what she had lost back. Just like him - the old "him" was dead and gone.

He was now puzzled. She was making so more effort, persisting him to take her hand easily that he had to know. Nobody was this determined to want to help a stranger, a monster too. Any reason why someone helped another was for something in return.

But he kept quiet. Whatever wounds or scars she had, he had no reason to poke them open.

She lifted her head up, shoving away her moment of disarray.

"You can give me the cold shoulder or pretend I don't exist. But I won't stop until I get you two reunited. Even finding a cure to whatever this mutation is, if I have to."

The one magic word. Cure. It rang a pleasant, encouraging sound to his sensitive ears, pinching at the thought that he could be normal again.

No.

He sunk back. That was just delusional talking.

Don't give me meaning. Don't give me a reason to fight.

Don't make it hopeful only to make me crash down hard…

"Would you stop sulking off! ?"

He snapped back up, like a middle-schooler waking up from the whacking of the ruler on his desk.

"I've made up my mind a long time ago. This was my decision and you don't get to back out of it," she debated. "It's far too early to call it quits."

Awestruck. That was one of many words he could describe how he was feeling. Steve Burnside was astonished, amazed, in disbelief. He had taken every bit of her heated words as she stood boldly in the middle of the cell. Like her previous internal dilemma gave her the boot to charge into anything dangerous.

Oddly enough...she reminded him a bit of Claire. One could say she was like an older version of her.

The silence between them just seemed to irritate the stranger even more as she huffed out a breath. She was getting frustrated that this conversation was going in circles, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Seriously, you have no idea what my colleagues and I have done. The number of regulations we've crossed, our own resources from our own pockets, the excuses I've given to those nosy gits high up, our necks on the line? Heck, we have families-"

He couldn't help but ask.

"Why…?"

She ceased her rambling and gazed down at the baffled specimen.

"Why do all that?" he hoarsely asked.

He looked at her with a dejected, confused face. He still couldn't understand her.

"Don't I frighteeen you?"

The question didn't at all surprise her or anger her further. The wrinkles from her fury were swept off her face.

"Kiddo. You don't scare me one bit," she rasped. "Because I know what it's like to be a monster…"

Another surprise package that drew out a very inaudible gasp from the insides of the green brute.

A monster? No matter how anyone looked at her, from top to bottom, she was human. So had it been five minutes ago, he'd probably laugh maniacally at her statement.

But there was no regret in admitting those fighting words from her, just a tiny hint of remorse, tiredness. It was something like seeing a war veteran trying to brush his stories off with a light heart but written on his face, the truth still lingered.

Some dark secrets he kept buried even to his death. A painful choice that he was forced to make.

He knew such a person. His maternal grandfather, served in the late years of World War II. Passed away six years before his family kidnapping. There wasn't much worthwhile that Steve could pull out from his memories to describe him. But he remembered the concealing struggle the old man had.

Whatever the blonde did, it stained her hands and she had carried it on her shoulders just as his grandfather had. With that, he recapped back the definitions of the word, monster.

Didn't only mean looking hideous outside but inside as well.

Geezus. Just how dark was this woman's past? But he got it… He gradually understood.

"...You'rrre absolutely crazy to be caring for a mindless freak like me."

"Would you knock it off! ?" she snapped, her calm demeanor changing back to her furious wrath. Oh, she was getting real tired of his pessimistic attitude.

He really wanted to beg her to stop scolding him.

"Tell me right now who has called you that. Certainly not from me! And how exactly are you mindless when you're particularly talking to me? Exactly where's the line of talking as a monster or as a person, hm?" she hollered through grinded teeth.

"...B-Buuut-"

She groaned irritably at his ceasing doubt. "No but!"

He flinched in his seat by her tone. It definitely felt like he was back in school all over again. She was worse than Mrs. Amherst.

It took a while for the 'mad scientist' to calm down. Longer than expected as she slowly recovered from all her worked-up yelling. He swore he spotted a blood vessel pop open.

"Anyone in this facility would disregard you as being human and experiment on you without hesitation," she explained honestly. The one thing he wanted to hear from her own mouth. "There's no denying it. I'm the villain here. But if that was my goal all along, then I wouldn't have given you your mind back. I wouldn't be talking to you now, would I? You could have just never spoken at all."

The woman miserably downcasted her gaze to the floor.

"And if that's the case, then I have no right to be human anymore. Not when I see you as yourself. You existing as yourself...I can't pretend like it's nothing."

She said that as if matter of fact. What she was seeing, experiencing inside this cell was proof. It was concrete evidence. It was physical, real and there was no way she could deny it.

Why was she so open about this? It just didn't make any sense to him.

Maybe she was just sick and tired of keeping an act as the diligent, cold-hearted boss. Lying, hurting others, taking others' advantages as her own to help her rise higher, the list could be long and he was just coming up with what drastic actions she took. But the sins were heavy on her shoulders to the point of crushing her.

All just assumptions, especially when he was the - probably - the prizeworthy sample having a strange conversation with this human wearing that accursed laboratory coat. But this didn't look like acting anymore.

"All I want is to be a human to you, not a monster. So shouldn't it be the same for you, kiddo?"

Silence conquered the cell for a while longer. She simply kept quiet, having said all of her peace, and thus, patiently waited for his answer.

What was it he wanted?

Human.

He thought as a human. He talked as a human. He felt as a human.

Be treated as a human, cared as a human. Hurt as a human.

He was born a human, died a human. So this second time round, he still wanted to be human.

"So are you going to fight or keep brooding?"

The question pricked at his urge to shake his head, which he gradually did. No. Enough complaining. He wanted to fight.

I want to see you again, Claire, he thought. So I'll endure a little longer...

"I'll fight…" Steve replied with much struggle in his voice. "I'll fight… Would look uncool ifff I didn't give it my all without even trrying."

And then surprisingly, the blond-haired director smiled at his reply. It was a gentle one, warm. That was the answer she was waiting for, the right one that he wouldn't turn back and regret on.

It had an impressive effect on him...because he no longer felt a terrible ache since he woke up in the cell.

He was alone. He had always been alone, looking out for only himself. Because he had grown up learning that all adults were liars, backstabbers. If anything, he could only rely on guns not to betray him when he was back on Rockfort Island.

Before all the talk, he had already decided. He was alone to fend for himself, no one was going to come rescue him.

Now...he didn't feel lonely.

That made him stretch out a trembling smile.

"You arrre...a weirrd woman…"

Iria sighed but still kept her smile. "Yeah. A lot of people tell me that."

He uttered a soft chuckle at her response. Then that chuckle was drowned by the chattering of his teeth. He felt something wet stream down his face that he quickly covered it with a disfigured hand - a desperate attempt to hide his dignity.

Yes, he was crying.

Shameful. God dammit, you're not a kid anymore.

It couldn't be helped. The battle in pushing down most of his emotions had been worn down by the conversation and the blended cocktail of contentment, distress and amusement won over his emotional restraint. He was cheered up and yet he still quivered on the floor, laughing terribly at himself.

He was going to be fine. Maybe not in the long run but did that matter now?

He barely noticed the blonde's presence near closely to him as she pulled handkerchief from her pocket. "Really, kid. You don't have to hold it in and be all tough guy, you know?" She squatted down, eye to eye level and began wiping the tears from his cheek. "Sometimes it's alright to let it go."

It was a rather strange notion, as his head arched back from her attempt. But she wasn't thrown off by the jerk and went on to wiping. Not like a dab-dab or a circling motion. But like how a parent would do to their crying child.

She was an aunt after all. If anything, this kiddo was bawling out like how Randy or Hannah would do when they were children.

The director then furrowed her eyes out of shallow disgust, now that she was much closer to the burned markings on his neck. The smell of roasted skin was faint but it was present regardless.

0267. Permanent.

She knew who the culprit was. HCF.

Bastards. She wished she could have known and stopped them, seeing a few more bruises and lashes across his body. Within the one hour of his custody, the thugs had battered up their cattle prods at him to make him obedient.

"They did a number on you."

One large claw shamefully latched over the raw burns. Don't remind me of it, he thought to himself.

"I'm not a child," he groaned, pushing her hands away. This was embarrassing.

"Too late. I've been calling you kiddo since you were brought here and I'm not stopping," she exclaimed but proceeded to give him the handkerchief, which with some hesitation, he took it. "Alright. Now that this whole thing is behind us, how about moving you to a better room? One without guns and the creepy computer watching you. And while we're at it, we might as well find something better than those torn garments."

Awkwardly, Steve shot a glimpse downwards. He was bound to see his body anyway, now noting the grotesqueness and sharp appendages that shouldn't be there protruding from his chest.

Then there was the blue shreds on him. How little he had on him brought a very dull and unnoticeable brownish flush across his face The only thankful thing saving his modesty was the ripped and shortened pants that miraculously held against his own titan build.

Thank god he wasn't in his birthday suit as a monster...

"After that, I'll go ask the cafeteria to cook up something good. Trust me, the food they feed down here aren't appetising. Then again...neither is the cafeteria food."

A chuckle. Good, he found it humorous and she liked it that way.

"First things first."

The director reached up to her hair tie and slipped it off. Before he could react, her fingers was already brushing up his long fringe from his eyes, streaming up to the back of his head.

"H-Hey, wh-?" Ok, this was getting into his comfort zone!

It went all too fast for him to push her away. Swiftly, she ringed the hair tie around his hair into a small ponytail before backing away.

What was she? His mom? Stop it. But he didn't say those words.

"There. Better?"

He didn't answer straight away. Truthfully, it was. He hadn't realised how long and overgrown his hair had become. How long was he out?

But before he could push out his answer after a delay, he caught a glimpse of her neck. His face curled up at the sight of her bandages.

He never noticed them until she was up close. Where did she-?

"D-Did I...do thaaat to you…?"

He bit down his lower lip so hard that he tasted the iron. He remembered now, the fear and terror in hazel eyes. The closest thing he had grabbed hold back at the medical bay in a fit of bloodthirsty rage.

He nearly strangled her.

"I-I'm sorry," he apologised and sunk his head down, wishing for the floor to give way and eat him up.. "I'm sooo sorry."

Oh god… He did it again, didn't he? He let loose the monster.

If the wall behind him wasn't there, he'd keep himself away from her - sadly he was cornered with no way to disappear and the woman blocking his way. But he should keep his distance-

"What are you apologising for?"

How many surprises was she keeping under her belt? He lifted up his head to see the annoyed look on her, her arms folded on her knees.

"...Forrr hurrting you."

All she gave was a "what the fuck" expression.

"W-What the hell is that face fooor?" he yelled, hunching further back.

"Rather stupid of you to feel guilty over that," she rebuffed.

"B-Buuut-"

"You had a reason." The sentence immediately stopped his blabbering. "We had you strapped down to the bed all because the old gits were too chicken of you going commando. We're the enemy here. Of course, you were scared and angry so you did what anyone would do."

Really? Picking them up like a toy and wringing their neck when you were a giant… No human would have done that.

"Fight-or-flight response."

What? The statement rose him up from his whirling guilt.

"It's a natural mechanic that all living things have. A physiological reaction in response to a harmful event, a threat to one's own survival. That's what you did to a threat towards your survival."

Did she really give an explanation to justify his actions? She got hurt thanks to his damn reaction!

But from her expression, she was headstrong on pledging the science as foundation. Science had always prove her right and she never faltered from it.

"I would have done the same thing if I was in your shoes. And I deserved it," she added. "I withheld information from you. I kept things under rap like your revival, this location. Everything. Kiddo, I didn't give you answers so I was just asking for punishment."

His mouth widened out but nothing crept out. He wanted to protest but what she said was the truth.

He was so terrified back then. He didn't know where he was, what was happening and his constricts made it worse on his delirious, confused mind.

But that didn't mean his action could be pardoned. No way could he let it go scot-free.

"I could have-"

"You didn't," Iria cut in. "I'm still here, breathing. That's all that matters."

It didn't make him feel any better. But not worst as well.

But he was still unable to look at her straight after what he had done…

"Hey."

He felt a light tap, very light that only small sparks of pain danced across his sore scalp, causing him to look up. There was a frown on her face, reading, "what's past is past. So stop it, kid." She had indeed taken her taser's grip again but this time, to snap him out of his guilt.

"Let's start over," she suggested. "We had a rough start earlier. It'd be good if we reintroduce ourselves and forget the past. How does that sound?"

He blinked several times before he nodded. "Yeah… I'd likeee that."

"Good. Though, kinda defeats the purpose since already know your name. But. It's a pleasure meeting you, Steve."

A soft bream stretched across his face. "Likewise. So...should I call you Directorrr then?"

"Too long and too repetitive," she booed, offensively and lightly knocking the grip at his forehead. "I've already got too many people calling me that that I'm sick to death hearing it."

He rubbed his forehead, amused by her casual attitude. She was indeed a curious character that proved him so wrong on his earlier accusations on her.

She was weird, terrifying, loud, invasive...tolerant, honest and kind.

This was someone trustworthy.

He was going to be alright.

"How about Doc then?"

She narrowed her eyes behind her glasses. "Seriously?" A heavy sigh of defeat crept out from her mouth. Didn't give much fight. "Whatever you want. I've been calling you kiddo nonstop."

Good. If she wasn't gonna stop calling him kiddo, then she was stuck with Doc.

The blonde then shone out a warm grin.

"You can call me Iria. Iria McLenlan."

Iria.

Cool.

"Looks like this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship, kiddo," she exclaimed optimistically.

His scrawny smile arched a little wider. He couldn't agree more.

"Thank yooou, Iria."

---

Vickie: Heya all! And holy hell, this chapter took a lot of writing and checking through. There were some sentences I'm like "Meh," and went to shortening or fixing them. I'm also SHOCKED I went beyond my word count more than twice the amount. I usually keep to the word limit, 6k to 10k as my min so I don't go crazy with my scenes and not make it too long and dull for you readers. But GOD I didn't expect the first interaction between Steve and Iria to extend a lot more over the limit. 0-0

I will say there, I actually wanted to shorten it just a bit but seeing how well I've written and just mainly for the interaction alone, I can't see how to shorten it or take out stupid, longwinded sentences. :x But I'm still happy with how it went about because this is almost an entirely different direction from a chapter of my old fic. In fact, a lot of the parts are more realistic than my old one! So I'm proud with how I've written both on Iria's character and Steve's.

Also, I know two readers are gonna go "YAY! Stevezilla!" ]:3 Especially with some cute and good parts here and there.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll try to update. I'm actually gonna try to update CODE: Kronos more since I've been stuck on that for too long (I have a general idea how the chapter plays out but I'm taking a long time working on the dialogue) but that doesn't mean this story will stop. Though to be frank, I kinda am not too sure how exactly similar it'd be compared to Chapter Three of my old vamp. Ah well, we'll see how things go. Please read and review! :D