A/N: Originally Steve's past and 'awakening' in the base for the first time was going to be a separate arc from Until It Sleeps, but, I decided to stick them together. I think it works out better this way. So, yes, these next few parts (because Steve's past is quite long) are flashbacks, just for clarification. The sentence in italics in the centered beginning is from Steve's POV and will be for the next few parts.

Heh, reckless seventeen-year-old-thinking-but-really-in-early-twenties Steve is fun to write.


Until It Sleeps

Chapter Nine: The Memory Remains Part 1

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"Apathy is clichéd."

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4 years ago…

He felt it - that cold, numbing feeling that he can feel all the way down to his toes. It was a piercing feeling. He didn't understand it and he felt like he didn't want to. It was empty, it was dark, and it was quiet but he didn't mind especially the silence. Despite people saying silence is nerve wracking, it comforted him. He was used to the quiet. He was used to being alone. Numerous thoughts floated in his mind although he couldn't sort them to make any sense out of them. They were only fragments of a past life he couldn't seem to remember. Through the fuzziness in his mind he heard a voice that resonated so clearly in his mind.

"We'll get through this together."

It was a feminine voice that held such strength and kindness. Warmth. It gave him almost comfort and serenity upon hearing the voice echoing in his mind. It stirred a deep feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite label. He normally didn't feel anything but emptiness but when he hears her voice then—

"Hang on…my—my brother has come to save us..."

In his state of deliriousness, he smiled to himself a wry almost bitter smile.

'You can't save what's already dead.'

It was then when his eyes fluttered open. He felt the coldness radiate from the room he was in. It was bone chilling but his body temperature quickly adjusted to the cold. He could feel dampness radiating from his body and he weakly pushed himself upwards looking around alarmed. Everything felt fuzzy, and his head throbbed badly. The worst of it was his body – he felt like he didn't know his own body.

"Where…am I..?" He spluttered out confusedly. Up ahead, he spotted what appeared a man in a white lab coat observing him carefully. When the man didn't answer his question, he grew angry.

"I said where the fuck am I?" He growled out angrily, frustrated and more than anything lost.

'What's even my name?'

He couldn't remember anything. His mind was completely empty of any memory. Why couldn't he remember anything?

The man, a scientist he believed, was scribbling still on his notepad and calling in someone. He could feel the patience leave his body (as if he had much to begin with) and out of his fit of anger he grabbed the table in front of him and threw it across the room with strength he didn't know he possessed. The table slammed against the wall with such strength and broke instantly, wood and glass crashing and clattering on the floor. He clenched his fists tight and suddenly, multiple men in lab coats were trying to hold him down onto the lab table. He fought, pushing them swiftly and easily. Their bodies flew back against the floor.

The one scientist who refused to answer him was on the ground as well and he placed his foot, the black clean boot pressed against the man's windpipe. The man gasped in horror and spluttered nonsense he didn't care to even hear or process. His aim was to kill. The scary thing was he wanted to kill. It felt natural. It was repelling and yet he welcomed the feeling and didn't reject it – entirely. In his stupor, he didn't notice another man approach him until he felt the needle pricking him in his arm. He turned around quickly, swinging his arm back with the intent of knocking the man out, but his punch was easily stopped due to the sudden dizziness that overcame him. Something ran in his veins; he could feel whatever liquid was injected in his arm numbing his senses and body.

"I expected more out of you Steven," the man's voice muttered in a chiding voice.

Steve hated that voice. It was cold, collected, calculating and for some reason calming as well. His vision was flickering away fast, and he could feel the unconsciousness creeping up on him. He tried to make out the man in front of him, but all he made out was the flicker off blond hair and eerie light crimson eyes with black slants before the darkness overwhelmed him.

Hours later, Steve awoke to find himself strapped down to the lab table. They used metal straps to keep him in place; they didn't underestimate his strength this time around. He shifted his body and pulled his hands upwards trying to get free but the holds didn't budge. Frustration came upon him.

"Goddamit," he grumbled under his breath.

He felt like he was a human guinea pig, like some type of lab rat. The thought of being such gave him a bad aftertaste feeling in his mouth. He suddenly felt spasms in his muscles. They were sharp and dramatic, and it felt like someone was slicing a knife deep into his skin, agonizingly, slowly dragging the blade across. He gave a loud gasp and clenched his fists so tightly that he drew blood. His nails had scrapped hard into the palm of his skin and broke the thick layer of skin drawing blood. The strong, metallic scent of blood filled the air and Steve could smell the blood so easily. It made him feel sick but there was also another feeling he couldn't quite pinpoint – was it want? That didn't make any sense.

There was the sound of a door opening and a man with blond hair gelled back and dark shades covering his eyes entered the room. Steve immediately recognized him as the man that had stabbed him with the needle. He glowered at the man as he walked up to him, his expression calm and collected. Steve couldn't see his eyes through the dark shades but he had the feeling the man noted the blood dripping down his clenched fists and the thin line of his lips proved his displeasure at the blood.

"I presume you're more calm now Steven," the man said calmly, his voice void of any emotion. It irked Steve.

"Yeah..," he replied back through gritted teeth. He paused then realizing it was the second time he had been called that name. Was it his name? "Is that my name?" He inquired quizzically.

"You don't remember." It was more of a statement than a question but he continued. "And yes, Steven Burnside – or Steve as I do recall that's what others called you." There was a hint of mockery in his voice when he said 'others' and it made Steve wonder whom he was referring to.

'So…my name is Steve Burnside?'

It felt strange not to remember. It gave off an empty and bitter feeling. His mind was completely blank of any memories. He felt like a robot or something along those lines. He wished he could remember but a part of him deep down told him he probably didn't want to. There was a deep pounding in his head – it was slow, agonizingly so.

Steve wanted to be extremely angry – to throw, destroy and kill. The strange thing was that he didn't have the energy to do so. His body felt terribly drained, sapped, of all vigor that should be pulsing through his veins. There was a cold, numbing feeling running through his veins instead. Whatever they injected in him served its point. He remained calm although his irritation was another thing.

"What the hell am I doing here?" He scoffed. This blond man was really getting on his last nerve. Everything about this man screamed deadly, not that he was scared. ('I'm not a wimp or anything.' He rolled his eyes).

"It doesn't matter," Wesker replied back coolly. "You're here and will remain here.

The red haired male narrowed his eyes. "Let me go." He growled out, tugging once again in a vain attempt to get loose. He was really starting to get pissed off.

"You are to remain restrained until I believe you won't destroy everything like an impudent child."

Steve gave a nasty glower. "When I'm loose, you're the first one that I'll kill."

Wesker seemed unfazed by Steve's threat; if anything he seemed almost amused by the petty threat. He moved towards Steve slowly, and the sneer that came across his lips was lethal.

"That's disputable Steven seeing as you'll be dead before you even made a first move."

Steve was about to argue when he felt a stabbing in his lower arm and his blood boiled. There was a strong burning sensation that flowed through his veins and body. He gritted his teeth together, struggling and thrashing his body around in pain. It felt like his body was inflamed. His skin felt raw. He wasn't sure how hard he struggled but due to the sudden stench of heavy iron in the air he guessed enough to make himself bleed.

'Fuck…' Was his last thought before he lost consciousness once again.


Steve awoke then and he groaned in pain. His wrists felt raw and bruised from his struggling. The coolness of metal against the skin did nothing to assuage it. Maybe he was a masochist because he didn't mind the pain too much. He flexed his wrists around as well as his ankles, trying to get adjusted to his body. Just because he didn't remember anything didn't mean that he didn't feel something off with himself – and not just because of the memory loss.

'Fucking prick.' He thought referring to Wesker, of course. The man didn't even offer him any answers to the burning questions that were running through his head. Why exactly was he here? What had happened to him? Why couldn't he remember? Why did he feel funny? Etcera, etcera.

He shifted then and focused his energy in his body. He still wasn't used to the alien body but he could feel the flow of strength flowing through it – hidden and overpowering. The common sense part of him told him that it wasn't possible for a human being to feel such power but the other part just didn't care to ponder over sense; it overruled in the end. Steve concentrated then on the flexing of his fingers and wrists, along with the wiggling of his toes. It was then he noticed his attire was all black: a tight fitting wife-beater, and jeans. It reminded him of how the blond haired man wore all black as well. He sneered at the thought.

'The guy is wannabe gothic, great.'

His blood boiled with strength he didn't know he possessed and with a sharp push upwards he broke the metal strapping him down. He sat up quickly and slipped off the lab table. When he landed on his feet, the cool metal of the ground radiated up from his feet through his body. Steve flexed his fingers, arms, and legs. They felt sore from inactivity. He wondered briefly how long he had been out before awaking to find himself in this strange place. The red haired male shrugged the thought away – it didn't really matter – and glanced around. Everything was so plain in here. The walls were gray and the floors a cold metal. It was all completely dull.

He flicked his wrists, and despite the raw skin, it didn't ache as much anymore. When his eyes darted down at the skin, it was then he noticed that the skin was healing on it own apparently - very quickly at that.

'Not possible for a human being,' the words echoed in his head.

He ignored the thoughts and began to walk towards the door. The door suddenly swished open and he found himself face to face with one of the scientists. His eyes widened in mild horror and disbelief upon seeing Steve loose. Steve reacted quickly, impulsively, by swinging his arm back and with an almost imploding strength smashed his fist into the man's cheek. The crunching sound echoed in his head and bursts of red nearly blurred his vision. He dropped his hand where now blood dripped down but it wasn't his blood. No, it was the blood of the scientist he had just now murdered.

The scientist lay on the ground with his cheek now smashed in, his jaw broken along with his nose, and a stream of blood dripped grotesquely down his face. His eyes were perpetually wide in horror and lips wide open in painful agony. The man hadn't known what hit him. Literally.

Steve gave a dull look at his hand and the lifeless body. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest vigorously and the adrenaline pulsing in his veins. He licked his dry lips. It felt good. He doubted he had ever killed so coldblooded like this but the feelings now invoked in him were far from unpleasant and uninviting. The spilled blood even smelled oddly pleasant, delicious even. The thought sickened him slightly then and he walked past the body and out the door.

His fingers went up and tugged at the black, metal banded choker around his neck. It made him feel suffocated even though it wasn't tight enough to actually cut the circulation in his body. When he tried yanking at it with some force he felt searing pain run through his body. The choker refused to budge or loosen, and it was then that Steve noticed it was actually attached to the skin. He grimaced and realized whoever put it on him did it with the intent of him not removing it – unlike the metal straps he dealt with earlier. Maybe those had been a test? His eyes narrowed at the thought.

He walked past the empty hall, his footsteps echoing, and went through another door. It appeared like the living room or something along those lines. There was a figure sitting on the couch placed in the middle. The strong scent of humanity filled his nose along with something else – aside from the smell of the blood running in veins, there was the humanly scent of cleansing soap and flowers.

'A girl,' he mused.

She sat with a book in her hands reading silently. Her brow was slightly furrowed in concentration and her pouty, pink lips pursed. It was obvious that she was entirely entranced by the book and didn't notice Steve's arrival. He could still feel the blood pumping in his veins from his previous killing.

Steve stepped further into the room, and it was then the girl's attention flew up from her book. Her big, crystal blue almond shaped eyes stared back at him with something along the lines of apathy. Was everyone here apathetic? It was starting to piss him off. He felt his hands clench into fists.

"You're awake," she mused out loud, her voice sounding like silver bells. It was childlike yet mature, high-pitched yet soft – complete opposites meeting.

"Where am I?" He questioned gruffly, arms crossing then across his chest.

The girl's eyes dropped to her book before replying nonchalantly, "You're in a base in Venezuela."

Venezuela? Why the hell was he in Venezuela?

"What the hell?" He muttered under his breath. He didn't understand anything. His head throbbed, the blood in his veins pulsed, his body was tensed and he just wanted to get away from this place - away from everything.

The girl looked up at him then with a cock of her head. She was pretty. Short blonde hair cascaded slightly past her shoulders, her doe like eyes stared unfaltering on her perfectly shaped oval face with glowing peachy skin, and a petite, nicely figured body to match. She looked like a porcelain doll. Steve guessed she was in her early twenties. There was an air of maturity to her and something about the observant look in her eyes proved to him that she was hardly a stupid, stereotypical blonde.

"If I were you I'd just follow orders and not complain. Wesker isn't the patient type," she stated simply.

Steve blinked, a few times or so, before giving a sneer. "Oh really? I'm not afraid of whoever it is you're talking about."

"Wesker – the blond man dressed in all black. He's the 'big man' I guess you can say."

Blond, dressed all in black, well that narrowed down to only one. His eyes narrowed immediately. That bastard was the one that mocked him and knocked him out two times already. He had unfinished business with him.

For whatever reason, the girl noticed his intentions quickly and shortly said, "I wouldn't try anything if you don't want to be dead again. Just saying."

So apathetic it made him want to strangle her.

He backtracked on her words. "Dead again? What's that mean?"

She blinked, once, twice. "You were brought here dead and revived by the Organization."

Revived – like something out of a stupid movie.

"That's stupid and impossible," Steve hissed feeling anger pulse through his veins.

Did she think he was stupid enough to believe something like that?

'Give me a break!'

The blonde shook her head, the book was still opened in her hands and the quick glancing at it made Steve realized what she really wanted was to return to reading it. He didn't pretend to care that he was taking up her precious time with his bickering because, well, he didn't care. It was probably immature and childish of him but it wasn't like anyone else was showing him some consideration. He still had a gazillion questions with zilch answers.

"Believe it or not it's the truth, Steve." She reluctantly added his name at the end of her statement.

There was some feistiness to her. For some reason, Steve found himself enjoying that characteristic of hers. It was oddly familiar. He decided to entertain her idea just for the moment.

"Okay, let's say I believe you. How could I be revived? Last time I checked it was impossible." There was a heavy tone of sarcasm in Steve's voice and he didn't make any attempt to hide it.

She rolled her eyes. "It's called the T-Veronica virus."

She probably would have said more but the sudden approaching footsteps stopped her in her tracks. The blond man, Wesker, he now knew him by appeared with his dark shades in place. Behind the dark shades, Steve could spot the man's crimson gaze darting from the blonde to him.

"Sherry, Steve," he greeted nonchalantly.

Steve noticed Sherry immediately straighten her body up, her body perfectly upward. "Wesker," she mumbled back with a small nod of her head, closing her book quietly.

The red-haired male scoffed glancing back at Sherry and then Wesker. He was trying to make sense of it. Why was a young girl in the hands of this man and other male scientists? She certainly didn't look related to anyone and she wasn't calling Wesker 'dad' either. It didn't make any sense unless the two were—

His stomach stirred slightly nauseated at the thought.

This older ('much, much older') man was fucking a girl just past legal age by a couple of years. Gross.

He shrugged the thought away (or really quick assumption) and went back to glowering at Wesker. Right when he was getting answers he had to be disrupted. "What do you want from me, Wesker?"

Steve couldn't tell if Wesker was even glancing at him, his shades darkened making it impossible to see.

'Damn lightening…'

"That's none of your concern," Wesker replied coolly.

"It is my concern if it involves me, jackass!"

Wesker ignored Steve and instead turned his attention to Sherry. "Keep your distance from him." He turned his attention to Steve then. "And you don't go killing anyone else unless you'd prefer to be chained up again, this time without food or water for days."

"Fuck you!" Steve exclaimed just as Wesker turned around and swiftly, gracefully even, walked out of the room. He stood still glowering at the spot where Wesker had just recently been standing and taunting him with his words.

He heard the sound of soft, snickering and his light crimson eyes darted to Sherry. She had her hand hovering just above her lips. He glowered at her darkly, and she merely gave a small smirk in response that bordered haughty. He wanted to punch something – her even; instead, he turned away and stomped out of the room trying to find somewhere even remotely peaceful.

"Your room is to the far left!" Sherry called out, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

'Shut up!'

Make it two people on his list of top people he wanted to hurt.