Sherry had been watching executions for around two months now, and she was beginning to wonder when they'd run out of people to kill.
Assimilation rates had been high. She knew that first hand; after all, she'd helped spread the parasite back in January, when they'd first begun the field tests. And the majority of the people that hadn't been able to accept the Plagas had died.
But yet, almost every day there was yet another uninfected person being publicly beheaded.
Sherry had started watching out of a morbid sense of fascination, a desire to see the results of something Wesker had spent so much time developing, but over time, it had evolved into something of a routine: whenever she heard the siren and the Agitator's voice over her radio, she came to the town square along with the rest of the villagers.
Who the Agitator really was, or how he was different from a normal Majini, Sherry didn't know. She'd only even nicknamed him because every time he talked, everyone seemed to get very agitated.
He always presided over the executions, megaphone in hand. She didn't speak Swahili fluently, so she couldn't understand most of what he was saying, but the crowd around her always seemed to enthusiastically agree.
However, she caught the word 'outsiders' several times, always spoken with a burning disgust. It made her nervous.
After all, how much more of an outsider could she have been? She'd been born in Raccoon City, for God's sake.
But, they never paid any attention to her. No one ever even glanced in her direction.
It was the same with Chris, whenever Wesker let him go out into the village on his own (which admittedly wasn't very often). It was like, to the Majini, they were invisible.
Wesker said it was because he'd given them the command to ignore his agents. And whatever he ordered, they did.
But it didn't serve to make her any less nervous. Viruses, even parasites, were volatile, and the human mind was strong, maybe stronger than Wesker give it credit for.
She always kept her gun loaded and ready, just in case.
"Hmm, what do we have here . . .? Oh, excellent form but a little rough on the landing. I'd say, eight out of ten for the purple vest lady."
Sherry pulled her radio out of her pocket, glancing up at the bloody wooden platform that was used for all the beheadings. The Executioner wasn't even there yet, so it obviously wasn't going to start for a few minutes.
"What is it, Burnside?" she demanded, silently wishing for a water bottle. Her mouth was so parched it almost hurt to talk.
Burnside was another agent of Wesker's, one she'd recently been introduced to, though she didn't like him very much. He was too arrogant and immature to do anything effectively, much less be her partner.
But, despite her protests, Wesker had paired them up for the tests in Africa. She thought he was just doing it to spite her, not that she'd ever done anything to him to deserve it.
"I spy . . . well, what looks like two more BSAA Agents. Imagine that. They sent backup for their team. And two little girls, too . . ."
"The BSAA works in pairs of two as well as large teams. You know that much, don't you?"
"Of course I do!" She could hear the defensiveness just dripping from his voice.
"Then this shouldn't be a surprise. What do they look like? Are they American, like the team?"
Steve snickered. "Can't tell. They're running from a horde. Look at 'em go! I don't think I've ever seen anyone move that fast in my life."
"A horde? Where are you?"
"Where are you?"
She almost growled in frustration. "I'm in the town square. They're about to have an execution, like they do almost every day. Didn't you hear the radio?"
"Well, our girls are headed your way. They've barricaded themselves in a building, but I know it's got a passage that leads to your position. Hell, it's how I usually get there."
"Didn't their superiors send them a map?"
"Who knows, who cares? I don't think they're going to be alive for much longer anyway, since there's got to be what? Half the population of the village in the town square, all with axes ready? Not to mention the Executioner?"
Speaking of him . . .
He was huge, maybe eight or nine feet tall. He wore a bloody black apron and red gloves, with an eyeless hood over his head. Innumerable thick metal nails protruded from his skin, blood oozing from the resulting puncture wounds.
He didn't seem to notice them, moving with a mechanical ease as he walked up onto the platform, dragging his huge axe with him.
Sherry shivered despite the heat.
She didn't know how Plagas infection had caused that, but she hoped dearly he was the only of his kind.
"Yes, he's here," she said, suddenly whispering.
"I love that guy," Steve sighed. "He's so badass."
It had definitely been spite on Wesker's part, she decided as she slammed the radio back into her pocket and turned her full attention onto the platform.
A man was being dragged up to the chopping block by two Majini. Sherry might've vaguely remembered having seen him before, but she didn't even know his name.
The Agitator began talking more rapidly, gesturing down at him.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" the man shouted wildly, struggling against the Majini.
It was rare to see someone with so much fight left in them. The victim was usually paralyzed with fear and therefore silent or, if they still had control over their voice, they begged.
Though, occasionally someone was brave enough to fight. Not that it made any difference.
"You can all go to hell!"
The Agitator nodded, and in one motion it was all over.
Sherry didn't flinch at the sight anymore, but she didn't frantically shout her approval like the crowd around her did, either. What was the point?
The Agitator raised his microphone to give his post-death rallying cry as he usually did, but something made him pause and stare in the direction of a building across the way.
Sherry looked up in the same direction and felt everything come grinding to a halt.
There were two women standing in a window of the building, watching the scene in the town square. One of them, an African woman in a purple vest, she didn't recognize.
But the other . . .
"Let me go!"
"Easy, easy there, I'm not a zombie! You're safe now!"
"Claire," she breathed.
She'd hadn't seen Claire Redfield for ten years, but how could she have possibly forgotten the woman who had saved her in Raccoon City?
And now, they were both in Kijuju. And Claire happened to be in the BSAA.
Wesker would want to be notified about this immediately.
The Agitator Majini raised his megaphone and pointed at the window, shouting something. Almost as one, the entire crowd turned to look.
Horror dawned on Claire's face.
Sherry bit her lip, watching as the Majini sprung into action, drawing weapons and approaching the building. Things soon dissolved into chaos, gunshots and small explosions coming from what seemed like every direction.
After a few minutes, she ducked out of the town square into a much more peaceful side alley. She wasn't invincible to projectile weapons and fire, after all, even if the Majini were under orders to leave her alone.
Catching her breath from the sprint she'd broken into to reach the exit, she slowly began walking, memories of Raccoon City playing through her mind one after another in rapid succession. The zombies, the police station, the sewers, the feeling of being infected, of her humanity slipping away with every minute that passed, of something squirming inside her body, her blood—
"Oh, thank God!"
Taking a deep, shuddering breath and glancing over her shoulder, she almost rolled her eyes. Two nights ago, Burnside had dragged her into one of the local bars, where she'd briefly been acquainted with a whiny teenage girl named Allyson, who claimed to have been in Kijuju with her boyfriend, for some reason or another. She'd been quite disturbed by the presence of the Agitator, who was rambling very loudly in English about the 'outsiders' and what should be done with them.
Allyson and her 'friend', Adam, apparently thought that that they outsiders should stick together, but she and Burnside had vacated after the inevitable bar fight had begun.
Sherry would've thought she'd have been one of the horde by now, but apparently the annoying ones always lasted.
"You're normal, right? Do you have any idea what's going on here?! Everyone's acting crazy! It—it's like they're possessed, or something! I saw somebody with orange eyes! And—and this guy, he was chasing me!"
She saw the Majini she was talking about a ways behind her, though he hesitated upon seeing Sherry.
So they did know she was there, after all.
"Calm down, Allyson," she said, as soothingly as possible.
"Calm down?!" she shrieked. "How am I supposed to do that?"
Sherry stepped up, grabbing her shoulders. "Because I'm going to help you, alright?"
Allyson blinked slowly. "You are?"
She smiled serenely. "Of course."
And then she shoved Allyson back into the Majini's waiting hands. The girl screamed hysterically, flailing and scratching, but he kept her in a secure hold. "Help! Help me! Please, God, anyone!"
"Oh, but I am helping you. You see, Allyson, we're doing something very important for the world, and its starting right here, in Kijuju. And you're going to become an integral part of it all. We haven't had very many racially diverse subjects, so it should be most interesting to see how this plays out. And once it's over, you won't be afraid anymore."
"You're crazy!" she screamed, her eyes wild. "You're crazy! All of you!"
"Not crazy," said Sherry. "Just progressive."
RE--RE
Chris had just unlatched a lock when he heard the rapid clank of military boots against concrete.
"Shit!" Irving exclaimed, immediately turning and making a break for the nearest exit, which happened to be a door on the other side of the room. He had barely taken five steps, however, when the BSAA Team was busting into the room, guns at the ready.
"Ricardo Irving! Freeze! Now!"
"Shit, shit, shit!" he repeated, skidding to a halt and throwing his arms into the air.
Chris almost rolled his eyes. While he could admit there was some merit to Irving's plan, one problem that had just presented itself was that they'd delayed releasing the thing for slightly too long, their fear being that they had no idea what it would do if given full, uninterrupted freedom for a long period of time. That had, in turn, led to this situation.
"And you!" one of the team shouted, his voice ringing vaguely familiar. "Put your hands on your head and turn around, slowly!"
Ah, yes. His name was . . . DeChant, or something like it. A long, long time ago, in another life, Chris had . . . worked with him, perhaps been on friendly terms with him. All of those memories were blurry to him now, largely unreachable, but that didn't stop him from understanding that this could be used to his advantage.
BSAA Agents never came into a situation without being heavily armed, and even he couldn't dodge a hail of bullets. Therefore, he would have to take a different approach than direct force.
So, he did as instructed, raising his hands to the back of his head and slowly moving one hundred and eighty degrees.
The look on DeChant's face was priceless. Complete and utter disbelief, the kind that made you practically paralyzed until it dissipated.
"C—Chris?" he stammered, his eyes huge and his gun lowering. "Chris Redfield? It—it is you! But you—"
"Died?" said Chris, smiling as benevolently as he could. It would only be a matter of seconds before DeChant would begin getting suspicious, but for now, glancing around, he saw several other faces he might've recognized, and each appeared to be experiencing the same emotions as DeChant, who was nodding dumbly and still wearing that comical expression of shock.
Chris could almost feel DeChant's grip on his gun loosening. Surprise did that to people, no matter how well trained they were. It was a natural reaction.
"That night, at the Spencer Estate, with Albert Wesker? The window? And yet, here I am, right now, in Kijuju, perfectly fine."
DeChant nodded again. "You—but Jill said that—"
Very, very slowly, Chris began to tilt his body to the side, back towards the door.
"Wesker," said Chris, "broke my fall."
And then he was pulling the door open and the creature was lumbering out, extending its tentacles and curling them around the nearest agent, who began firing at it wildly. It seemed to eat the bullets, however, absorbing them into its body even as part of it slithered into the man's mouth and then back out his eyes.
"Retreat!" DeChant screamed, backing up to the doorway as he fired and finally dodging through the threshold to avoid being hit by one of the thing's arms.
Irving was taking the opportunity to run away, practically flying out the door and to the elevator at the end of the adjoining hall, slamming the call button.
Chris followed him at a slower pace, the terrified screams of the BSAA Agents music to his ears.
RE--RE
Wesker sat in the dark, five words he'd heard spoken to him ten minutes ago repeating over and over again in his mind.
Sherry Birkin's voice had been shaky when she'd radioed him, and for the majority of the conversation he'd wondered why. She'd grown into a confident girl over the years, and she was never shy about reporting back to him, as she knew was required of her.
But then, she'd said them. Five little words.
Claire Redfield is in Kijuju.
"She's one of the BSAA Agents," the girl had gone on to say, gunshots and shouts echoing in the distance behind her. "She's here to help the team."
Claire Redfield is in Kijuju.
He hadn't even been aware the idiot girl had joined the BSAA. The last he had heard of her, she'd been working for some pointless human rights group called 'Terrasave'.
And preoccupying himself with information that like that become unimportant to him after that night in Ozwell Spencer's Estate. What did it matter to him what Redfield or Valentine did, when Chris was the only one he was concerned with?
Claire Redfield is in Kijuju.
Ten years ago, he'd found her rather amusing to watch. Always running after Chris, trying to 'rescue' him when she was the one who always ended up needing to be rescued instead. It was rather like seeing a car wreck in progress.
Now, however, things had changed, and she was no longer entertaining. Her presence would only serve to complicate things.
Not only did both Burnside and Birkin have prior . . . emotional attachment to her, but so did Chris.
And that was where the amusement ended.
There was no room for a sibling in Chris's world now, simply because he, Wesker, was that world.
Scowling darkly, Wesker tapped several buttons on the armrest of his chair and a monitor sprung to life in front of him. The facilities in Africa were hardly as advanced as those he had at home, but he could still tap into all of Umbrella's defunct satellites and use facial recognition software.
It took only one minute and twelve seconds for the machine to subsequently locate Claire Redfield. She was near the town square, which had practically been leveled, walking with another woman wearing a purple vest.
"What were those things?" the woman demanded, breathing heavily. "I don't understand any of this!"
Redfield shook her head, ignoring her in favor of her radio. "HQ! HQ, come in! We need backup, immediately! More than just air support! The situation is much worse than we originally thought! HQ!"
". . . in trouble . . ." a voice crackled in reply. It was accompanied by rapid gunfire. ". . . need backup! Shit! Help! Can't—can't see . . ."
Redfield's eyes widened. "DeChant?!"
"Captain, what is your status? Can you see the enemy?" Wesker didn't recognize the masculine voice now asking the questions.
"No, no! Wait! Goddamn monster—" The transmission dissolved into a strangled scream.
"DeChant!" Redfield shouted. "Do you copy?! Can you hear me?!"
Wesker muted the volume and leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers. It appeared that Irving's failure had served its purpose with the team, but that didn't mean it would take care of Redfield. In fact, with her experience and monumental amount of luck, he was almost certain she would survive.
This, he realized with absolute clarity, was going to be a problem.
RE--RE
RE--RE
Author's Note: I can just picture Wesker sitting in a dark room with 'Claire Redfield is in Kijuju' scrawled all over the walls. Fear you can't forget, people.
So, yeah, this fic's been really slow to start. But the next chapter will be so yaoi you'll fucking OD from the sheer yaoi-ness of it. I'm planning on flashbacks to STARS and Wesker getting all 'how far would you go for me, Chris? Huh, huh?'
Sherry, and to a much lesser degree, Steve, will be Forrest-Gumping their way through this story, ala Ada in Separate Ways.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, my chapter titles are all song names/lyrics, simply because I spend an unhealthy amount of time with my IPod blasting music into my ears. I'm going to be deaf before I hit seventeen. :(
Once again, thanks for all the reviews!
Anna