AN-Whoa...I know...where the fuck have I been for almost a year? But don't worry, I'm still writting. I guess I thought I couldn't get writers block and then BAM the shit blindsides me and I'm out for 10 months. Anyway, this chapter is a little different, and after reading the last chapter you may think "WHY?! YOU S.O.B. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?!" But don't worry; all will be explained in due time. I promise the next chapter will be the conclusion to the previous chpter the story will pick up again, but right now, here it is, the next chapter of Death's Advocate.

Discalimer: Resident Evil belongs to Capcom--but that doesn't mean I can't try to bootleg it!


Chapter 8: Some Slight Disorientation May Be Involved

Time and Place Unknown

What was it? This feeling? This feeling of free falling and floating? This feeling of pressure and yet relaxation? This feeling of being larger than he actually was? It was confusing to no end. And then of course there was it.

He could feel it, tunneling through his brain. What it was, he had no idea, though he knew what it felt like. It was like a worm burrowing deeper and deeper inside his head so that eventually there would be no removing it.

Suddenly, an image appeared before his "eyes". He was looking up at his father, who in turn was smiling back at him, which was odd because when did his dad ever smile at him? He couldn't quite place what or why it seemed familiar or even when the image was, but he continued to gather what he could. They were outside, Billy concluded, maybe at a park or in the backyard. Perhaps it was a party, or simply a sunny afternoon, Billy wasn't too sure. As the imaged continued to clear, happiness enveloped him, bringing a sense of peace and calm, a feeling that everything was going to be alright.

And in an instant it was gone.

The feelings were gone, the image nonexistent. He couldn't even remember what he had just seen. Seriously, what was up with all this stuff?

Suddenly, another image popped up. This time Billy took his time to analyze the image. This image had various other people in it, people who he recognized: his friends. They were all smiling or laughing about something, what that something was Billy didn't know. They looked to be around his high school somewhere, maybe out by the entrance, or in the parking lot, but unlike the image before, he recognized this image. It was simply an afternoon after school, though he recognized this image in particular. It had been last Friday…or rather, the last Friday he could remember. That afternoon they'd gone to the center of town just to hang out. Sky Pass wasn't exactly the major center of anything, but there were a few things that a group of teenagers could do to pass the time. Yes, Billy remembered it well, the fun, the joy—sure he was just hanging out but when fucking Darth Vader was your dad, you took anything you could get. Oh yes, he could remember what happened that night too.

The image changed and once again he was faced with another image--another memory. It was of his dad again, but this time his face was contorted, his mouth open, yelling. He recognized this memory too. Oddly enough, the memory was of what he had just been thinking of, and was in essence a follow up memory; it was the memory of what happened after his little escapade, if one could call it that. The fun, the joy, and the happiness were quickly sucked away to be replaced by fear, sadness, and darkness. He could remember everything, from his father's initial shout to being dragged on the floor. From there he had literally been thrown in his room, and locked in, so that he could "think about what he had done". Like his room could offer him any kind of sanctuary.

The room was, in essence, a prison cell. The walls were painted this off shade of gray, and the floor was hardwood. There was one small dresser, one bed, twin size, and no closet. The door was bolted on the outside, so there would be no "prison breaks", leaving only two barred windows to let in the outside world.

Bullshit.

It wasn't right; it wasn't fair! Why, of all people did he have to suffer? Was it so that everyone else could have their fucking perfect world? Was he just the world's bitch, destined to suffer forever? Probably. It was always like that. No one would help him either. Why? Cuz they were all infatuated with themselves to notice him. He tried to get some kind of attention every now and again, but it was just as good as trying to introduce one's self to a tree; no matter what, people just ignored him. He tried to deal with it, and take it in stride, but after he had returned home that night, he knew he couldn't take it anymore.

He was going kill himself…yes, that would solve everything.

But then again…he would be dead…and usually one wins the game when they live all the way to the end. So what had he come up with instead? He'd runaway.

Everyday, when he got home, before entering his house he would loosen up the bolts that kept the bars on the window. Then he ran...and just when he thought he was free, landed in this hell hole.

Why could he not find peace? All he wanted was to stay up in that cabin…and then some fucking monster decided to chase him. It chased him, it terrified him. It was like his father chasing him, but only in some new, evil form. He just wanted to be left alone, and he was still being scared to death. What the fuck did he have to do? What the fuck did he ever do? He didn't deserve it, none of it!

As the memories passed, from the bear-monster, to his father, Billy felt something, like a sting of an ember in his mind. What was it? It was something quite different from the cold and the chill of fear sadness; this was something different all together… The memories came and passed and soon he could feel the burn of embers, and the lick of a flame.

As the 'fire' slowly began to build, so did his realization, that when he was being beaten and yelled at, he should've been fighting back; that that son-of-a-bitch, bastard, mother fucker had no right to be the tyrant he was! And fuck his mom, she could go to hell for all Billy cared. That whore of mother didn't give a shit about him, why should he give a shit about her?

Frustration, anger, hate; such emotions that he had held back before suddenly burst forth. Fuck feeling sorry for himself, he was going to do something about his life, and take charge…

Starting with getting rid of this worm parasite in my fucking head.

Billy began to concentrate on the worm, focusing his mind on that odd tunneling feeling. If he could stop it, maybe, just maybe, could he start to move. Come on, come on! He could actually feel it panic, and quicken the pace, causing images to fly faster and faster. If anything, the memories only served to fuel his rage. He fought it here, and there, attempting to route it somehow.

He would not be put down again. He always thought that fighting would never solve anything, but that was before. If freedom was the prize, then he would fight for it, or die trying. Either way, nothing would bother him again.

What? What was this? Could he feel in his left arm? Yes! And he could now feel in his feet, too! I'm actually winning…he thought in disbelief. He quickly shook of the "daze" and continued to push the worm, and also trying to move his arms.

Why do I feel…water? The thought quickly passed as more and more of his body was surrendered to him.

He began to flail his arms, and kick his legs…which oddly seemed bigger than before. No matter; he would break free and that's all that mattered.

Almost…almost! I almost got ya, you mother fuck! Almost!

My body…now just my head…

Almost there…

I…

Have…

You…

Billy wrenched his eyes open, immediatley looking down at himself...

And screamed.


AN- I don't know about that ending. I had a little more tacked on there, but I took out before I sent this out. So as you can see I was trying to go for the over angsty ridiculous teenager thing...I think I got it. Oh yeah, and the Darth Vader thing...I couldn't think of anything imposing and evil as Darth Vader, though it did start out as Hitler...anyways, you get my point, I hope. And sorry for the lack of length, hopefully I'll write somthing longer next time.