AN: It's chapter ten and you are all weeing in your pants with excitement. Living Like A Disaster: The Story That's So Good You Need A Dyalisis Machine. This chapter is SO good and SO exciting that I'm going to have to stop right there and let you read before I get excecuted for crimes against you, the dear sweet and wonderful reader.

Shak and Claudia

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Dr Albert Wesker

His preferred course of action would be to watch the exchange between his woefully incompetent operative and his blissfully ignorant quarry, however even he, Albert Wesker, was aware that sometimes one did not always get one's own way. He would have to make do with viewing the surveillence tapes at his leisure. As always, time was the one thing he had in abundance. Still, for this moment, his priority was to obtain Lancasters blessed sample, wherever the reckless young man had deposited it, and this meant leaving no stone unturned. He was rather disappointed in how events had transpired between himself and Lancaster.

Really, Daniel. A man of your caliber...it should not have been so easy.

It had always been that way. The thrill of the chase always fell far short of his expectations, the kill always coming to soon. He thought with fondess of one such instance, a woman who had been a thorn in his side many years ago.

You were always such a pretty girl, Miss Valentine. Such a shame when the flames licked away your beauty.

He remembered with a sardonic smile the look of sheer anguish on her lips as the fire seared and engulfed her flawless skin. The smell of burning flesh as it bubbled under the heat had always been something that had pleased him, but his enhanced senses had made the experience all the more pleasurable.

And of course, there had been her demise. Lying mute and helpless in her hospital bed, he had simply wished to convey his greetings, his interest, however schaddenfreud, in her wellbeing. The nurses had taken him for a doting lover as he made his way to her room with mock concern on his chiselled features.

Of course you had to give up the ghost without any spirit. So stereotypical of your race.

Jill Valentine had died of a heart attack on his third visit. He had merely come to relay the particulars of his plans for young Mr Redfield, who her injuries had brought out of hiding. It hadn't seemed so terribly shocking to Albert, but clearly Jill did not share this opinion. He sneered at her memory, it had caused him much grief. It was a small source of comfort that his current prey had thus far managed to elude him. Perhaps his new toys were more robustly fashioned these days. It had been many years, and she had yet to disappoint.

He began to leave in the opposite direction, his movements silent and almost feline, when an urgent bleep in his ear alerted him to the instigation of communication from his base in Achma.

"Wesker! Your presence at the necropolis is required..." The voice was distinctly English, distinctly well-bred. Distinctly Jonathon. There was a loud roar from the background as the speaker continued, "...rather urgently."

The blonde man's eyebrows creased for the briefest of seconds in annoyance. How like Jonathon to panic at the first sign of trouble. Still, he reasoned, it would be folly not to quell a potentially dangerous incident, and risk losing the work they had accumulated there. As fun as it would be to return to Achma and find his second in command go the same way as his father, duty really did call in this instance.

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OCRC Second In Command: Alex Herrison

Alex Herrison, second in command of OCRC, crack shot with over forty different types of firearm and trusted comrade to countless brave officers, had met his match. He had put up a brave and dogged fight against this threat to his intellectual capabilities, and now he was forced to admit defeat.

"I think you're supposed to pull it." One of the blonde nurses nodded at the unlocked door, before rolling her eyes behind his back. Their handsome and dashing saviour had turned out to be in possession of all the brains and wit of a potato. They could have forgiven this if it had not been for his insistence on displaying constant itterations of his dog-like devotion to his "best friend" and captain, Dr Claudia Graham. Who incidentally, in the not inaccurate opinion of the two hospital workers, was a 'bitch'.

Herrison narrowed his eyes thoughfully, cocking his head to one side with a frown of intense concentration on his rugged features. "You know, I think you might have a point. Thank you, if you hadn't solved this then I might not have been able to continue with my rescue mission to find Claudia! I bet she's wandering about on her own just now, wishing and praying for me to show up and save her. Oh god, I hope she's not been eaten...!" And thus began Alex Herrison's "I Hope Claudia's OK" tirade number 234875. Granted the nurses were grateful to their oaf in shining armour, and in equal measures to whoever had decimated every single BOW on the first floor before their arrival, but even Angels of Mercy had their patience limits, and it was not long before the source of Dr Graham's perpetual scowl became apparent.

"So yeah, she's really mature for her age, did I mention that. I mean, the age of consent is just a number anyway, we're in love and that's what counts. Well, ok, not really in love but I know she wants me and so that makes it alright, because I'm sexy..."

"Dude, shut up," Kotch, like all else present, was growing rather impatient with the verbally flatulent horse man with the receding hairline. The team above them had long since left the hospital and were supervising the evacuation process, while Hatcher, Kotch and Maguire remained inside. "I think I heard something..."

"More survivors?" Kyle Maguire looked hopeful, since he had not had much luck trying out his Lothario techniques on the original civilians they had come across.

"She really does love me you know, she's just shy, like a delicate flower. No one understands her like I do. Oh god, I hope she's ok..." The voice came booming with witless enthusiasm through the whitewashed halls as Herrison came into view, armed to the teeth with two petite blondes in tow. Were it not for his dialogue, he could have been every inch the action hero.

"Look! It's the police!"

"Thank God, we're saved!" The two nurses dashed forward to greet the STARS officers.

Kotch stepped forward to greet the three survivors, the only one maintaining a semblance of professionalism to his mind. "Edward Koch, STARS Alpha Team, Neo-Racoon Branch. Please identify yourself."

Herrison thought for a few minutes, before smiling and replying, "I'm Herrison. Alex Herrison. I'm in the 's it....Outbreak Control and Relief...no....Research...um....uh....I'm in OCRC! And I've lost Claudia. I have to find her before she gets eaten by a zombie. I hope she's ok..."

"Claudia?" Kotch looked mildly confused.

"She's his captain," one of the nurses butted in impatiently, "We got separated up on the second floor."

"Separated?!" the other interjected indignantly, "The bitch upped and left us!"

"Don't you call my Claudia a female cat!" Herrison snapped defensively, "She's lovely. She's so clever, she's so pretty, she smells nice and she helps me with my work. She says I'm too stupid and does it for me, but I know it's just because she really really cares."

"Hey!" Ian picked up, " That sounds like my girlfriend!"

"Is your girlfriend called Claudia too?" Herrison's eyes lit up at the prospect of two Claudias.

"Um...no," Ian looked confused for a moment before it dissipated as he realised that not only had he found a new friend, but for the first time in his life he was the 'clever' one.

"Right," Kotch decided to put an end to the madness, "We've swept these floors and Captain Taylor's doing the rest. We should evacuate you three..."

"No!" Alex raised his fist in an overblown gesture of determination, "I have to rescue Claudia!"

"With all due respect, Sir, you're a civilian and..." Kotch looked around, "Where'd he go?"

Herrison was already lumbering away from the group as fast as his legs would carry him, which to his credit, was extremely fast. As he charged towards the stairwell, the band of survivors could discern what sounded distinctly like, "I'll save you Claudia!" floating throughout the halls.

"That's a shame, what are we gonna do about him?" Hatcher looked crestfallen.

Edward Kotch arched an eyebrow. "Let Taylor deal with him."

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Dr Albert Wesker and Dr Jonathon Lancaster

His heavy boots neatly sidestepped the bloody corpse of a low-level researcher as he entered the room, narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses in distaste for the chaos around him that was borne of incompetence. A mass of chestnut hair was visible over the top of the computer monitor in the far corner as Jonathon Lancaster's hazel eyes frantically skimmed the employee database, trying to come up with a suitable scapegoat.

"Would you care to venture an explanation, Dr Lancaster?" Wesker's tone was reproachful, but as always his words harboured a hidden malice.

"Ah well, you see, Albert, the BOWs grew restless after the staff in level 23 upped the dosage of seratonin in the..."

"Please, Jonathon. Do afford your superiors more courtesy. Your father was a far more intelligent man than yourself, and even he would have had difficulty persuading me to believe that fabrication." He stepped forward so that he was on the verge of being unconfortably close to the younger man, "Were we distracted again? Only you are giving of a rather peculiar odour."

Jonathon wondered if Wesker's enhanced senses had picked up his pheromones and made the genetically superior operative aware of exactly what he had been doing when the Achma base had become over-run with chimera. He wished he could say it wasn't a regular occurrence but, he reasoned, unlike his father, he had needs beyond that of scientific acchievement.

"At your age, Jonathon, you should be able to control your libido. Your conduct leaves a lot to be desired. Apperantly unlike your secretary."

Jonathon at least had the decency to blush as he stood up angrily, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with a gesture that was more a flourish than a necessity. "I could be equally disparaging about your own sordid little obsession, Wesker!" he growled.

Wesker fixed his gaze very slowly and deliberately on the young Dr Lancaster, allowing the faint glow of his eyes through his black lenses to silence the boy better than any words could.

"Ah..." Lancasters jaw tightened for the briefest of moments, "I trust you will excuse my impropriety in lieu of the duress I am currently under. I am sure you understand how ones temper can run unchecked during these outbreaks," he cleared his throat, "Anyway, I digress. I really must return to my duties. After all, it simply would not do to disappoint my fathers memory." He sat down as abruptly as was possible for him to accomplish without creasing his shirt. After all, he had made plans with...He couldn't currently remember the name of the secretary of whom he had carnal knowledge, but what did it matter? She couldn't break up with him, he was her boss.

Sometimes, young one, you are positively vermin.

"I trust you won't object to securing the area, Albert." It was not a question. "I'm afraid it is still far too dangerous for me to venture out. Your more strength orientated talents would not go amiss."

He was answered with a polite, genial smile which had very clear undertones of "You are treading on thin ice." He made to leave, his footsteps slow and measured, before turning at the door. "Do not let this folly become commonplace, Jonathon. You are not inexpendable; you had best remember that." The words were thrown as a casual afterthought, but both men were more than aware of their implications.

"You can count on me, sir," Lancaster hissed sardonically under his breath, scowling petulantly as he resumed his attention towards the computer screen.

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Some minutes of muttering and swearing passed before he slammed his hands down on the keyboard in frustration and sat back in his seat, loosening his tie. Checking his expensive watch, he sighed, mentally calculating the whereabouts of the only man in the facility who held a higher position than him. By all rights he should have been at level 23 by now, much too busy to object to him taking a little break. Besides, there were some files he required from his office.

Strolling with faux innocence to the adjoining room, he smoothed down an errant brown lock and removed his glasses, slipping the frames into his breast pocket, vanity over-riding the need for his lenses. He knocked twice on the oak door, more from habit than a sense of politeness, and entered without waiting for a reply.

"Nicky?" he squinted at the apparently sleeping form of the woman over the desk, before sighing and re-enstating his spectacles upon his nose.

Jonathon groaned.

The blonde office worker worked could have been deep in slumber were it not for the single, sickening fact that her head was facing the wrong way, the neck grotesquely broken. The mottling of her skin did not show its full effect on her face, buried as it was under layers of make up. Her expression bore no signs of distress, it was unlikely that the impact of her impending death had even registered the moment before her spine was snapped. A card lay upon his desk, the hand impossibly neat and elegant. "Please learn to conduct yourself with a little more decorum. Playtime is over."

Jonathon siezed the note in his fist, crumpling the paper before tossing it angrily at his lover's corpse. "Not AGAIN, Wesker!" Frankly, this was becoming rather ridiculous. "Unlike my father, some of us have other areas of interest besides that damn virus. Why should I have to waste my youth cleaning up his mess?"

Wracking his brains, he wondered if there were any other female staff members on this floor for him to turn his attention to. When the conclusion was negative, he sighed wearily.

"Well, I suppose I should do some work."