Sheva followed Chris through the last few dusty streets leading up to the crash site. The black smoke billowed thickly into the sky just up ahead.

The sight of that chainsaw bearing down on Chris had rattled her, though she hadn't shown it. She knew the loss of his rifle was going to be tough on them moving forward, but all she could feel at the moment was relief. Relief, and a sliver of hope that they were going to be able to help Kirk and their other support. They hadn't heard any explosions since the first one, which was good, and it hadn't been long since they'd crashed. If they'd managed to survive the initial impact and make it any distance from the wreckage, there was a decent chance that they were still alive.

They ran up to the large, sliding gate that blocked off the crash site. Opening it revealed what looked to be a junkyard. A few scrapped cars lay scattered here and there, though mostly the space was open. The chopper wreck smoked in the middle.

Chris was about to run towards it, but before he could, Sheva put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Kirk wasn't in the chopper.

Nauseous shock sank into her at the sight some twenty feet away. A giant, burning tower of tires and scrap stood like some obscene shrine, clearly erected by the Majini. At the top of it smoldered the remains of their support.

His skin had been burned black, his mouth gaping open in a scream. Though she couldn't logically peg why – perhaps something to do with his rigor mortis, or maybe she was picking up on some other subtle clues in the environment – she felt almost certain that the man had been dragged alive from the chopper, laid out on the black mountain, and set aflame while conscious. The sight was beyond gruesome.

"Oh my God," she said softly. She could barely get the words out. Even in her days with the guerillas, she hadn't seen very much of this level of brutality.

That's because they shielded you from the worst of it, a cool, cynical voice in her head said. She'd heard it many times before. Because they didn't want to you know what kinds of people you were fighting for.

Above them, a flock of crows beat the air, wanting to come down and sample the man but unable to because of the heat. They kept spiraling down to land on the tower, then veering away from the fiery fumes.

Chris pulled out his handgun as a new sound approached them. Like the chainsaw, it was guttural, mechanical, and roaring, but this sound was from a louder engine. Motorcycle, unless she was mistaken.

His lip twitched up as he turned away from Kirk's remains, and she forced her own eyes off of him and onto her surroundings. Unless she was mistaken, there was another motor approaching. No, two more. Three?

"Damn," Chris said, and the first one launched itself over the wall surrounding the yard. The Majini riding it trailed a long chain.

At the speed it was going, the chain should have been dragging uselessly behind it. But it seemed that these Majini were a bit stronger than the run-of-the-mill ones, because it was able to whip the links forward with enough force that they swung faster than the bike was traveling. The chain swung towards them, coming down on their heads, probably with enough power to cave in their skulls.

Chris shouted, "Look out!" and shoved her to the side. A high line of dust flew up just beside them a moment before the bike landed, the strike missing them by inches. Their attacker took off, and suddenly, Chris was jerked away from her. The Majini must have gotten the chain around his ankle.

She pulled out her handgun and lined up the sights. The Majini was going in a straight line, the chain taut behind it. The drag from Chris was enough to keep them steady. She lined up the shot, aiming for the thick, heavy chain…then thought better of that approach, and just shot the biker instead. Chris could unwrap himself once his attacker was dead.

She blew the back of its head off, and the bike wavered and toppled. Chris skidded to a halt, loosed himself, and stood up as three more biker-Majini came flying over the wall.

She ran to Chris as they approached. One came right up to them, turning away at the last second, and it opened its mouth to scream at them. A scream wasn't all that erupted from its maw, however. Four huge, sick, fleshy petals burst out between its lips, tentacles darting to try and latch onto them as their host passed by.

"These things aren't as photosensitive as the originals were," Chris noted as another Plaga burst partially from the mouth of a biker. "Leon's group never saw them except at night, indoors, or when it was extremely overcast and shady. Most of these things seem to be able to handle the damn African sun!"

The bikers were riding with a synchronicity that was nearly graceful, and Sheva thought instantly of pack hunters – hyenas surrounding a prey that was just a bit too big for them to tackle head on. They looped back and forth, in and out of each other, fishtailing to kick up dust, forcing her and Chris to keep turning to keep them in sight. Their handguns were up and aiming, but they just couldn't get a good bead on any of them. They were moving too fast, too unpredictably. And the dust was bad.

Finally, two of them looped around to come at them in a direct charge. They each revved up and tilted back, coming up on one wheel to shield their bodies with the bikes. She and Chris stepped a few feet from each other and started shooting at each other's attackers. Chris got hers, and the thing jerked and swerved, its front wheel dropping down as it aborted the attack to regain its stability. She wasn't able to peg Chris's, though, and he barely avoided being run over.

He went rolling to the side as the bike shot past him. She tried to get to him, and was nearly rammed by the third biker, who had come up behind them. Now the Majini were back to circling, and—

"Ack!"

One of them went down in a flash of red, and the report of a long-range sniper rifle sounded. Sheva's head jerked up and she scanned the surroundings, trying to figure out where the bullet had come from, and another biker was tossed to the ground in a thunderbolt of gunfire.

All units, she thought a bit faintly, relief hitting her as yet another Majini went down. More had appeared during the hustle and bustle, but that wouldn't be a problem for a sniper. All units report to the crash site. Delta Team.

One went down, pitching off its bike, and another hit the rolling Majini head on and was violently dismounted, flying a good eight feet before being impaled on a long chunk of scrap.

She saw three figures approaching in her periphery, and she turned, lowering her gun as she caught sight of an advancing B.S.A.A. squad. The cavalry really was here.

Another biker-Majini raced around the corner, heading for Chris's back. It didn't get within ten feet before the sniper fired again, hitting the fuel tank and sending the attacker flying. A few more ran into the arena on foot and were quickly gunned down by Delta. Finally, the last Majini biker rounded the corner, locked its crimson eyes on hers, and revved up. It was at a bad angle to the B.S.A.A. troops, so they couldn't fire, but that was fine. As it hit the gas, heading towards her, she raised her handgun, took aim, and—

Her gun jammed.

Her eyes widened and she stepped back, yanking on the slide to try and dislodge the blockage. No good. It wasn't coming out.

One last gunshot rang out through the arena, and the biker went down, a spray of red shooting up from the back of its skull. As it dropped, bike skidding to a halt some few feet in front of her, she looked past the wreck to see who had stepped in.

A familiar face met her eyes. Captain Josh Stone, and two of his men flanking him.

She allowed herself a small smile in spite of the circumstances surrounding the meeting. The man, darker skinned than she and carrying his uniform very well, caught her eyes and returned her smile. The sight was a small balm in this fiery tempest, but it was a balm, nonetheless. As the rest of the team showed up, all converging around her and Chris, her pulse dropped and she allowed herself a moment's relaxation. She knew many of these people. It felt good to be among friends, if only briefly.

They all conferred. After taking a very short moment to confirm that Kirk and his support were in fact dead – Josh was just as stricken by the sight as she had been – they retreated from the scrapyard and found a large building to hole up in. A few wounds were treated, she and Chris drank their fill and restocked on water, and when that was done, they headed into the main room where Josh looked to be going over a bit of intel with one of his men. Upon seeing them approach, he broke off and walked over.

"Man am I glad to see you guys," Chris said, raising his hand in a quick, informal salute. She did as well, and Josh returned it.

"Delta Team, Captain Stone," he said, introducing himself.

"Chris Redfield." They shook hands.

Then he turned to her. "Sheva," he said warmly.

God, it was good to see this man again. Especially here. "Thanks, Josh. I owe you one."

Chris looked back and forth between them. "You guys know each other," he surmised.

That detail probably hadn't been mentioned in her file. "I trained under Josh," she explained, a note of pride in her voice. "He taught me everything I know."

She always enjoyed talking the man up, especially when she knew it would embarrass him. She wasn't able to get any further before he ran her over this time, however. "Sheva became the little sister of the team." He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes. She might know how to antagonize him, but that went both ways.

She'd have liked to take more time for talk, but he followed up by saying, "Now, Sheva, you must continue your search for Irving. According to the data we retrieved from the hard drive, we believe he has moved on to the mining area. There is more info inside." He handed the chip to Chris. "We'll follow after taking care of business here. And keep your radio handy, just in case."

The atmosphere in the room shifted. Their break was over. Already, it was time to get moving again.

"Thanks Josh," she said, and he dipped his head and turned away. His team converged on him, and they all started out the door, leaving her alone with Chris once more.

How fast these missions move, she thought. The pacing just feels…wrong.

She sighed shortly, but shook herself off. It ought to have been no surprise to her, how quickly these campaigns went. She needed to count herself lucky they'd been able to enjoy such a break at all, and focus on what was ahead.

Irving. Uroboros.

Chris pulled out a small device from his back pocket, one that was compatible with the drive Josh had given him, and plugged it in. He began tapping through options on the touch screen, and she leaned over to have a look as pictures started popping up left and right. Pictures of facilities, research labs, Majini, Plagas, people—

She felt Chris tense as one such picture, that of a lovely, blonde, pale-skinned woman, popped up. He brought it into prevalence, enlarging it as much as he could…and his tension, all at once, increased tenfold.

"Jill…?" he whispered, his eyes becoming wide and distant. It seemed that he recognized the woman on the screen

He was silent for several moments, his irises darting minutely around, but coming back every few moments to the face of the woman, who appeared to be sleeping.

"Chris?" she asked, concerned by his reaction. "Are you alright?"

He jerked his attention off the screen and onto her. "The picture, it's…"

He looked back to the image, and his eyes twitched. Then the borderline fervor that had sprung up in him at the sight faded out, and he said, "Forget it, it's nothing. Let's move out."

He put the device away and checked his gun. Upon hearing that he'd lost his rifle, Delta Team had procured a new weapon for him, a SIG 556, fully automatic. The ammo clips were a bit ungainly, but they'd also given him a handy bag for them, so he was locked, stocked, and loaded. He'd given her shotgun back.

She was tempted to press, ask him why the picture had affected him so, but she wasn't sure it would be appropriate. Though the closeness brought on by life-threatening combat was fine by itself, it presented an illusion of intimacy that often didn't hold when tested. They were partners, comrades…but it might be a while before they were close enough for Chris to consider them friends. A friend would take the time to make sure he was alright. But as Chris's partner, she had other responsibilities.

They needed to keep moving. So she put her concerns on hold, pulled up her HUD, and said, "Alright, we have a new update. Let's go."

They started out the door.

Irving, the moment the jeep pulled to a halt outside the mine's administration and supplies building, kicked open the door and got out, gasping. The air was, amazingly, hotter out here than it had been in the car, busted A/C aside. He hated this place. He hated it, hated it, hated it, and he wanted to leave.

But before he could, he had some business that needed doing. One of the items on his agenda was going over the deal with his affiliates. Hopefully they'd be there soon. Since the meeting had been moved and postponed, the schedule was pretty damn wonky. Still, they ought to know how to get here. He didn't see their vehicle, so they probably weren't here yet, but they would be. Soon. Eventually.

"Inside," his creepy-ass babysitter said, pointing to the doors. He'd be only too happy to get inside – this fuckin' sun was blinding, even when he shielded his eyes – but he wasn't taking orders from her. It. Whatever.

So, he lingered, despite the intense pain in his eyeballs. He leaned lazily against the jeep, jumped right back off on account of the metal being scalding, and said, "You know I'm your boss, right, Frankenbitch? Where exactly do you get off on telling me what to do? I could shoot you if I wanted to, you know."

He couldn't. Not only had Wesker made it perfectly clear that this particular acquisition was invaluable to him, she could probably kill him before he even drew his gun. If she had permission to, that was. Which she didn't. Probably.

Again, her voice came droning out of the ugly fucking bird mask that covered her face. "We are both merely players in his game. You know that as well as I."

His game. His game. It was always about him, wasn't it? These people had no idea, not really.

But I do.

"Oh, yeah," Irving said, panting slightly in the extraordinary heat. He wished he had some sunglasses. His eyes felt like they had shards of glass in them. "His game. His fuckin' game. You really think that's all that goin' on here? You don't know the half."

Then he remembered who he was talking to. "Oh, who am I kidding? You don't know anything. You're just a ditzy little drone. Hell, you're not even Wesker's bottom bitch. I don't even know why I'm talking to you."

At that moment, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw that it was Excella.

He picked it up. "What do you want?"

Excella's voice drawled coldly out of the speaker. "If you're looking for someone more substantial to talk to, why don't we have a little chat? You can start with why you're wasting time admonishing our golem when you could be inside preparing the presentation for our friends. Or doing literally anything else."

Irving's eye twitched. Excella had heard his bottom bitch comment, and she didn't sound happy.

Then again, Irving didn't really care what Excella thought of him. She, too, was a small fry in the big game. He was pretty sure, anyways. And besides that, she needed him so bad she didn't even know how much she needed him. Being the arrogant, entitled bimbo that she was, she had absolutely no mind for money. Science, yeah, and administration – bossing people around, in short – but not money. She didn't care about where it came from, all she cared about was how she could spend it. That was why she'd hired him.

Money was kind of a big deal with him. Some people collected baseball cards. Some people collected jeweled African beetles. He happened to collect money, and man was he good at what he did. He was one of the best collectors he knew. He also happened to enjoy spending money from time to time, but that was fine. What was the point of a collection if you couldn't show it off? Platinum cufflinks and arboreal alligator lizard-skin boots were really just stand-ins for money, the sort of stand-ins that you could show off easily. He wasn't the miser from that old fable. He didn't bury his gold. He used it. He invested it.

Yeah, Excella didn't really understand what he did. Their interactions were mostly limited to him saying, "Give me such-and-such and I'll get you forty thousand for it," and her 'graciously' bequeathing the request, as though she wasn't standing to gain as much as he from the transactions. The way she acted, it was like she thought she was giving him some magnanimous charitable donation.

Of course, considering how much money he'd siphoned off of Tricell into his own private accounts the last few years, she kind of was.

He started laughing hysterically. After a few seconds of this, Excella heaved a breathy sigh and said, "Exactly how high are you right now, Richard?"

His laugh cut off abruptly. "Ricardo," he corrected, mood flipping from jovial to dangerous in a heartbeat. "It's Ricardo, and I told you that if you ever called me Richard again, I'd make you as sorry as a Plaga in the sun."

"And I told you that the new Plaga strain is much more photoresistant than the old one, so I can't imagine I'd be terribly sorry. At any rate, you don't have any reason to be lingering outside. Get into the building before a B.S.A.A. sniper spots you. Get the presentation ready. And…"

She trailed off. He heard the tapping of keys in the background, and as she typed away at her computer – prissy bitch was probably holed up in some nice, airconditioned lab while he was out here sweating his socks off – he slunk into the building. It was marginally cooler in here than outside, but more importantly, it was darker. He'd been feeling a headache building up for the last few minutes, courtesy of the blinding light, but it receded as soon as he stepped through the doors of the unlit room. Light still poured in through the windows, and this was annoying, but the levels were manageable.

Excella swore on the other end of the line. "God damn it, our contacts are being attacked by our Majini. They're in an armored jeep, so they're alright for the moment, but the car has already sustained damages. We sent a pinpoint directive to the Majini along that road not to attack outsiders, but it seems they didn't get it. I'll have to send a powerful blanket tranquilizing frequency to the entire area, and meticulously reprogram every other group…"

She kept droning on about how exactly she planned to fix her stupid mistake, and while she did, Irving drew up a chair and sat down, pulling a nice, cold can of fizzy mineral water out of one of the two coolers he'd stored here. A major improvement over the new Plagas was that one didn't have to be infected with a Dominant Plaga to control them. It had to do with the nifty scepter thing the old Plaga expert, that Sera guy, had designed. He'd only made it so that cult leader's orders would supersede the orders of the other Dominant wielders, to guard again a coup, but Tricell had gotten its hands on the design and Excella's researchers had improved upon it. Now, with it, they could effectively program any simple command – selective aggression, protectiveness, fear, tranquility – into the Majini. Not only that, they could usually target specific groups with pinpoint accuracy. The orders were delivered via a hypersonic frequency, a very, very specific set that only they were familiar with.

They'd been working on genetically reprogramming the Plagas to respond to different frequencies, so as to be able to sell secure strains to different parties without having to give away the control frequencies to everyone they sold to, but that had been tricky so far. Excella really needed to get her shit together. Buyers were fickle. Speaking of which, Excella was now talking about how she planned to assuage their potential customers.

"I'll just tell them this was a hands-on demonstration of the Majini's ferocity…so long as none of them are actually injured, I think we can play it off…"

Still, these Plaga were all the normal kind, so if there was a group that was attacking people they weren't supposed to be attacking, that was on Excella. And thanks to her incompetence, he was going to have to spend even more time in this miserable fucking hellhole while she got the buyers out of trouble. As if he didn't have other things to do before he'd be able to say goodbye to this entire fucking continent.

She went off on another tangent about how exactly nothing was her fault, and how everyone else was incompetent, so he went ahead and ran her over, saying, "Man, you sure are one dumb bitch, aren't you? You couldn't just program one little contingent of Majini to not attack a jeep?"

Excella sucked in a short, shuddering breath, and Irving could tell he'd just really pissed her off. That was good. Bitch deserved to be upset. He sure was.

"You have some gall, speaking to me like that. Need I remind you who is paying your…salary…?"

He grinned widely as she faltered on this last. She must have realized that that particular line, which was plenty intimidating to literally every other Tricell employee, did not hold water in this context.

He could hear her fuming quietly as he replied, "Who's paying my salary? Who's paying my salary? Need I remind you who's made the entire fortune you've been using to fund whateverthefuck it is you and the boss are studying here? That Uroboros thing? I'm paying my salary, ya dippy fuck! I'm payin' everyone's salary!"

He started laughing again. God, this was too rich. Too much fun. He hated the people he worked with, but man did he love the job.

She waited for his laughter to peter off, then asked, "So, how have your paranoid delusions been going? I noticed you frantically searching the jeep for cameras earlier. Did you find any?"

Her voice was laughing, but it was the simmering, humorless laughter that she always employed when she was upset and trying to get his goat. He didn't mind. Not today. "I found another camera," he said earnestly. "And I've eliminated almost everywhere…"

No, not that. She didn't know a thing, and he was perfectly fine with that. She didn't know that he'd been systematically eliminating everywhere the man could have been hiding, could have been transmitting that many camera feeds to. He was down to just a few locations. Beneath the swamp. Somewhere in the Ruins. And there was the quaternary research facility, of course, but he'd mostly ruled that out after a perfunctory sweep. It was too heavily frequented, and it was where he'd run into him the first time. He wouldn't just be living there.

Let her stew. When he got to the bottom of this whole thing – the odd occurrences and mistakes – the constant surveillance – that other – then he'd finally be cut free from any claim she might have over him. The only reason she thought she was better than him, the only reason she might be regarded as better than him, was because she was deeper in Wesker's confidence than he was. She alone, as far as he knew, actually knew for sure what the hell Uroboros entailed, what Wesker was going to use it for. Irving didn't…but he didn't care. There was something bigger going on than even she could possibly imagine; he knew there was. And once he was in on it…

He sighed, but not in exhaustion. In bliss. He was gonna be the richest, most powerful man in the world. He'd be untouchable. He was sure of that. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. I'm gonna go get that presentation ready. Just try to get the guys here ASAP, will ya?"

"They're already on their way again. The Majini in the area have been tranquilized, and we're working on reprogramming the ones that don't pose a threat to our buyers to attack outsiders again. Hopefully our B.S.A.A. friends will not be able to take advantage of the lapse. We've lost sight of them for the moment."

"He hasn't," Irving breathed. Of course he wouldn't. He was watching everything. All the time.

"Oh? 'He'? Does your mad fantasy have a central figure now? I thought it was just some nebulous organization that was watching your every move."

Irving snorted. Let her laugh. Let them all laugh. They wouldn't be for much longer. "Just get me my buyers, Ella. I want out of this mudhole."

"I told you never to call me—"

His lip twitched and he hung up. His phone started ringing again, so he picked it up and hung up again. Her voice was too loud, too piercing. It hurt his ears.

He settled back down, sipping his drink, until Excella's little surveillance drone walked over to him. "The buyers will be arriving soon. Prepare the presentation."

He spat on the floor at her feet, but that was mostly to get the lingering taste of dust out of his mouth. There had been some on the lip of the can. He wasn't angry. Not anymore. "Whatever," he said, standing up and heading for the stairs. "Just be a dear and grab a snack for me from the other cooler? I'm starving."

He went upstairs and started pulling out files. After a few minutes his assistant came up. Emptyhanded.

"The cooler wasn't shut properly the last time you were here. All the food is spoiled. Would you still like some?"

He set his hands down on the edge of the table and took a deep breath. Now that he wasn't distracted with blinding light, Excella's needling, or anything else but his own damn hunger, he recognized the reek of rotting food wafting up the stairs towards him. How had he missed that? Maybe the cooler had been closed just enough to keep the smell in, not enough to keep the cold in.

Well, that was fine. There was more food stashed around here and there. He'd be able to eat to bursting once he was on the ship. And it would be cooler, too. And safer. And probably camera-free. Wouldn't that be nice? Yeah, everything was fine.

He screamed and flipped the table, sending the papers and files flying. The golem began zipping around the room, snatching papers out of the air before they could fly out the window and flutter away on the thermals. A few of them did anyways, but he didn't really care. He started scraping his shoes across the floor, sending more and more papers flying, until a plastic dossier slipped under his boot heel and put him right on his ass.

He sat there, hammering the floor with his fists and screaming as bird-face stacked up the papers, righted the table, and started compelling him to get the presentation ready, since the buyers would be there soon.

Chris stared ahead at the dark, ominous tunnel full of spiderwebs as bats whirred and chirped overhead, and said, "Yeah, I'm sure there's nothing even remotely dangerous or hostile in here."

In truth, he wasn't worried. All he cared about just then was pushing forward, finding Irving, and getting information. Information on his deal, on this Uroboros thing…and on the pictures in that data file.

Jill.

He shook his head. He couldn't waste time thinking about why he was pushing through. Pushing was the thing just then.

He clicked on his visor light. It lit up the area immediately in front of him, but unfortunately, the roof of the tunnel extended a good fifteen feet over their heads. A stronger light source would be ideal.

"Hey, look at this," Sheva said, picking up a large, heavy, industrial lantern. Turning it on revealed a beam bright enough that, even pointed away, the glare made him shut his eyes. Bats were sent scattering into the darker recesses of the cave. That would work. Too bad it required two hands to carry.

"Kind of ungainly," he noted. "Can you manage that easily?"

She nodded. "Yes, though I won't be able to hold a weapon with it."

"That's fine. Stay close to me. I'll cover us."

The trainyard had been dicey, and he'd sustained another minor injury – a bite to his shoulder. They'd been swarmed by dogs and hyenas, as well as ambushed by crossbowmen on the boxcars they'd worked their way through. But the Majini had made the mistake of setting up more of those explosive tripwires in three different places throughout the boxcar maze, and he and Sheva had employed these when dealing with the dogs. They'd blown no less than six of the things to Kingdom Come, and he'd dealt with the last few while Sheva had taken down the ambushers. Then they'd climbed the cars, gotten to the mine entrance, and he'd dropped down into a minecart that had started rolling him towards another series of tripwires. He'd shot them all off in time, but that one had been close.

They'd taken an elevator down, and now they were in this dark, creepy pit. Less creepy with the lantern, though.

"Keep an eye on the ceiling," he advised. "Shit can drop down fast."

As he said this, Sheva's light disturbed another flock of bats, and a small, wet projectile splattered against his forehead as they flapped off. He reached up, jaw clenched, and wiped away the pale smear of guano.

Sheva expertly turned her laugh into a sneeze and said, "Dusty down here, isn't it?"

"Hmph," he grunted, and she 'sneezed' again.

They got to a split path. He checked his compass. "Left," he said. Another forty feet and they came to a place where the minecart tracks, which were set into the ground, dipped underwater. He tested it. Ice cold, but only a few feet. Still, worth being cautious over. Aquatic B.O.W.s were typically as bad as flying B.O.W.s, if not worse.

A shout rang out up ahead, echoing in the confines of the tunnel. More Majini. Chris hoped it wasn't many more, as Sheva wouldn't be able to set the lantern down to help. Not in six inches of water.

Nope. Just one for now. Sheva hoisted the lantern up, and the Majini found itself blinded. Chris took advantage of this, ran forward and past it – it lashed out, but missed – and rammed a foot into the back of its knee. It folded, and he grabbed its neck and twisted.

He heard a small, sharp breath from Sheva as the Majini went limp. "Good way to save on ammo," she noted as she sloshed past the fallen foe, though he wondered if there wasn't a touch of distaste in her voice. Maybe he was reading in some of his own distaste. If there was a tasteful way to kill someone, breaking their neck wasn't it.

It's the intimacy, his psychologist had once explained. Getting that close to someone, using direct force on the most vital and protected part of an opponent's body; it's both violent and intimate. That is why it is so disturbing to most soldiers, more so than gunwork or even knifework.

No, the mild-mannered revulsion he was sensing wasn't Sheva's; it was his own. Snapping spines like that was bad work. Satisfying, but distasteful. Maybe he'd try and stick to his knife.

They moved on. As soon as they stepped out of the water, they were assaulted by two more attackers, and then two more as they rounded the corner. Three of these went down very easily. The fourth…

"Shit, not another one!" Sheva yelled, as a Plaga burst out of the neck of a Majini Chris had just shot. It surged up, chittering and hissing, and Sheva immediately set down the lantern and pulled out her shotgun.

She shot for the chest rather than the head, sending the Majini flying backwards. That was a good call. It happened that they'd made a wrong move and were in a dead end. They needed space to deal with that thing.

The Plaga-Majini quickly stood up and started forward again, and they both started shooting at the base of its neck, which was the least mobile part of it. Shooting for the wriggling mass above would have been pointless. It was too fast to accurately aim for. It jerked to the side, out of the direct light, and Chris narrowed his eyes. He paused, bent down, and shifted the lantern, bringing the Plaga back into startling definition. It shuddered and paused, then swayed back over to the shadier side of the tunnel.

Hm. Maybe resistance to sunlight was something unique to the younger ones, and they got more photosensitive as they got bigger. Chris shifted the lantern again, and Sheva pulled out her shotgun. The thing was getting very close. She shot the base again, and it flopped back. Chris could tell at a glance that this wasn't due to injury, however, yet going by Sheva's pause, she did not draw the same conclusion. The thing flung itself forward in a lunging attack aimed right at her, and his palm shot out and shoved her aside before it could hit. Before it could retract, he whipped out his knife and brought it down on the back of the Plaga's body. It sank all the way through, then a good inch into the wood of the track as he dropped to his knees, bringing the Majini down with him. All his weight went into the knife and the foul grey wyrm.

The Plaga, now pinned, squealed fit to crack the heavens. The Majini body began jerking and struggling to pull away from the knife, which tore at the Plaga body and made it wail louder. He stood up, jumped forward, and began stomping hard. The centipede-like growth began trying to retrack back into its host's neck, but he wasn't having it. He brought his boot down three more times, then Sheva stepped forward with her own knife and started sawing.

They both caught a few nicks and slices from the thing's legs as they twitched and clawed, but soon the Plaga lay severed. It continued to writhe weakly on the ground for a moment, then Chris walked over, stepped on it, yanked his knife out, and it curled up and fell still.

They both studied it. It was hideous, and not quite like Leon's Plagas. It was thicker, for one thing, though not as long as the whip-types. Its flesh was grey, but thick, and tough red arteries stretched and looped up and down its skin. The legs, eight of them, stuck out near the base, while the end was adorned with hard bone spikes.

"Ugly," he said.

"Very," she agreed, and they moved on.

They went in and out of more shallow water dips, over a bridge spanning a deep canyon into which many smelly streams of water fell, were ambushed by a few more Majini, and dealt with one more Plaga. They didn't get lucky with the knife again, so they wasted a lot of ammo on it.

"We might need to just evade those things," he admitted. It had taken nearly twenty rounds of handgun ammo between them to get that one down.

"Agreed," she said. "Let's avoid anything we can, and if there's an elevator up, we can wreck it when we get to the top to halt pursuers."

There was light up ahead. They emerged into a well-lit tunnel, and further on was some kind of large, open chamber filled with machinery. Between them and it, though, was a gate. Beside this, a crank.

He frowned and grabbed it, heaving on it, and the gate rose. But when he relaxed his force on the crank, the wheel pushed back and the gate dropped an inch.

"One of us will have to hold it up while the other gets through," he said tensely. He didn't like that they kept finding themselves in situations that necessitated their separation.

She set down the lantern, aiming it back at the tunnel, and looked through the gate. "I see some pulleys linked up to it from that side," she said. "I think I can get it up from over there. Be right back."

She went on without waiting for an answer, and he bit back a protest. They had to keep moving forward, and there wasn't a way to keep the gate open.

His pulse notched up as he heard more Majini shouting, both from up ahead, and from behind. He turned to keep the tunnel in sight, and saw the Majini coming for him. As one ran up, he hauled off and kicked it aside without letting go of the crank. It reeled back, tripping over the lantern and putting out the light. This wasn't going to work. He could let go, but he didn't want to, not if it potentially meant Sheva would have to crank it back up on her side with enemies on her ass. But if she didn't find a way to keep the gate up soon—

The force the crank had been exerting on him suddenly lessened, and his radio crackled, "Got it! Come on, I've got the gate!"

He let go, and sure enough, the gate stayed up. He ran through as four more Majini came sprinting out of the darkness, and as soon as he was past it fell, trapping them on the other side. That was fine, though – they had plenty to deal with out here.

His eyes darted around, quickly cataloguing every enemy in sight with a soldier's efficiency. Two crossbowmen in immediate sight, priority. Twelve – fourteen – nineteen foot soldiers making their way down from upper levels. Four others on the machinery in the center.

He heard the faint hiss of fire working on a fuse, and his eyes shot for that next. Dynamite. New priority.

"You take the crossbows!" he said. "I'll take explosives!"

Sheva didn't reply. She was still scanning the approaching enemies. She hadn't been at this type of active warfare as long as he had, and she was taking longer to process the arena. He didn't have time to point out the immediate threats, however – he just had to trust that she would spot them, and cover him.

He fired at the stick of dynamite as the Majini holding it pulled back its hand to throw. He couldn't afford to miss, so he hit, and the Majini was ripped to pieces by the explosion, along with three others nearby.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Sheva was firing. He spotted the crossbowmen go down in the background of his focus, then the first wave of foot soldiers reached them, and they were in it for their lives.

They began firing like mad, and he pulled out his new automatic and began unloading on the advancing mob in short, accurate bursts. They were being peppered, staggering away, clutching their heads, and he put out a good few eyes with the rounds. But if he got unlucky and popped the wrong top, they were in trouble.

As though merely thinking it was enough to bring the situation into being, a Plaga appeared in the crowd. Almost immediately after, another one burst up near the back.

"Run," he said shortly, and they both turned and sprinted for a ladder. He kicked, punched, and shot his way through the second converging mob, and Sheva blasted their enemies from the ladder and the ledge above, allowing them to scrabble up.

He looked around. There were a couple of red barrels on the ledges here and there, but if they wanted to do significant damage to the crowd, they'd have to use them very carefully. There were only two. As he ran, a crossbow bolt sank into the stone right in front of his face, and Sheva yelped in pain. He turned back, fearing the worst, but she was only clutching a cut on her shoulder. Another bolt was in the rock behind her. Only a nick.

He looked up, incensed, and gunned down the two other crossbowmen who had come in while they'd been fighting, who now had a clear shot at them as they were clear of the brawl. Another dozen or more opponents had flooded the top ring of the arena as well, so there were now massive mobs both above and below them. A handful of Majini were on their level, running at them, and as they approached in ones and twos, he took the opportunity to dispatch them with his knife.

"What now?" Sheva asked, side-stepping an axe that had just flown up at them from below. She bent down, picked it up, and hurtled it back with considerably more speed and accuracy. Talk about a skull-splitter.

Chris looked around, took note of various aspects of the level they were on, and said, "That barrel is near a ladder. Let's get over there, climb up to the top level. If we can hold off the mob from both directions, using the ladder as a bottleneck, we can bunch them up near that barrel."

"Good idea, let's go."

They put the plan into action, forcing their way to the top level. Chris unloaded a good half a magazine into the encroaching mob before them while Sheva fired measured shots at the mob below, keeping them far enough back to crowd them all around the barrel. When they were at last bunched up so closely that they were threatening to either fall off the edge or start scaling the rockface, she fired.

The explosion tossed a good dozen Majini, mostly limp and on fire, off the edge. At least six were certainly killed, and both Plaga, which had been thrashing about in the middle of the crowd, clipping their allies periodically, were set ablaze. One looked like it had gone limp on its neck. That really dropped the pressure on them.

Well, it took the pressure off from below. Unless Chris was mistaken, even more Majini had flooded in from the upper passages, and he was now very close to being overwhelmed. "Back down!" he barked, backing up as a Majini's head burst, revealing another Plaga. As though in response to its emergence, two more popped out of the crowd.

Three Plagas. Yeah, this was too much.

Sheva climbed down, stepping over charred corpses and heading for the second barrel. Chris tried to follow, but the second he stepped backwards, the crowd surged violently forward, sensing a lapse in his aggression. He raised his gun and loaded another dozen rounds into the crowd, causing them to draw back, but it wasn't much use. If he tried hopping down, he'd get mobbed.

Then pellets started flying as Sheva unloaded with her shotgun from below. The distraction this caused was just enough. He slid down the ladder and ran.

The mob all but threw itself off the top ledge to get to their level, and he heard a few bones break as Majini landed on top of Majini in their haste. Again, it was back to steady firing to keep them at bay as they inched farther and farther past the barrel.

"Almost…come on," Sheva panted. One lunged through past the bullets, and Chris kicked it violently back. Several Majini stumbled, a few tripped, and in a sudden rush from the rear, Chris saw his chance. The crowd was dense enough, and he had a line of sight to the barrel thanks to the trip-up. He aimed and fired.

Two small black holes appeared in the middle of the barrel, and Chris's taste of victory soured in his mouth at the lack of an explosion. Then he noticed a wide, dark stain all along the earthen floor beneath the Majini, and realized that the fuel within had all leaked out.

He shot the ground, and a halfhearted fire sprung up. A few Majini were set ablaze, but he almost immediately regretted that thoughtless move as the swarm, enraged and pained by the fire on the ground, rammed forward, heedless of the bullets.

There was a central mechanical rig of some sort right in the middle of the room, suspended from the roof. A bridge on their level allowed access, and by mutual consent they both ran to this and started across it. The throng was coming for them, but their best shot now was flight. They didn't have the resources to kill all of these things.

They dashed up the ladder and ran for the passageway from which the Majini had been emerging. Unfortunately, ten feet down the passage, they were confronted with a gate. The mob being close behind, there was no time to backtrack.

He spotted a crank, ran for it, and started heaving. It was very heavy, though, and he'd barely gotten two revolutions before he was forced to drop it and force back a Majini that had run for them. Sheva couldn't handle them all. There must have been forty or fifty in there, all crowding forward to get to them.

He pulled out a grenade and said, "Frag," then tossed it near the back of the group. It cleared out a large chunk, but as durable as these things were, it probably hadn't killed more than four or five. And to make matters worse, two more Plagas erupted from the injured ones. The three they'd been fleeing had been near the back, being slower than their less burdened counterparts, but they began slowly pressing forward through the crowd. When they reached the front...

"What do we do?" Sheva asked. Her voice was steady, but he could hear a note of desperation in her voice. Or, again, maybe that was just him projecting. He was sure feeling desperate.

"Keep fighting," he grunted, firing at the Plagas over the heads of the Majini. They cringed away, ducking back into the crowd as they advanced.

"That doesn't sound like a winning option."

Chris opened his mouth to say, 'well, it's the only one we've got.' He didn't get past the first syllable, however, when suddenly, instantly, inexplicably…the words became obsolete.

He could hardly credit what he was seeing as the entire mob, without warning, stopped attacking. One, which had raised its fist in anticipation of throwing a rock, let its arm drop to its side, the stone falling from its relaxed fingers. Grimaces of fury, bared teeth, and deep scowls smoothed out and vanished, becoming slack, almost peaceful expressions. They did not pull back, but they went from being a bloodthirsty group of bipedal animals to a swaying bunch of waxworks.

"What the hell…?" he breathed, stumbling back and leaning against the gate. One was looking at him, but not really at him. More like through him.

Sheva kept her head. "The gate, Chris."

Right. No time to waste. This could be a ten second blip for all he knew. He threw his weight behind the crank and started turning, and had it up in about twenty seconds. Sheva went through, spotted an exposed mechanism, and jammed a rock in the works. When Chris let go, he had just enough time to get under before the rock shattered and the gate dropped back down. Still, the Majini did not react. They just stood, staring forward, docile.

He shook his head and turned around. On a ledge above them, another Majini stood, staring down at them with a dopey, half-asleep look.

"It's like someone just turned them all off," Sheva said wonderingly as they stalked under the chill Majini. "Or tranquilized them, or something. What could have caused this?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't know. Sera said that the Plagas react to hypersonic frequencies. Maybe our guys hacked their signals?"

Sheva hit her radio. "HQ, the hostiles just disengaged. Did we have anything to do with that?"

The long paused that followed made Chris think that maybe they couldn't be heard down here. Then, after about thirty seconds, HQ's reply came through, albeit choppily. "Negative, but Delt…orting something similar. The die-down in aggress…ajini all over the area…p you updated."

Well, that was easy enough to decipher. Looks like whatever it was, it was affecting everyone. No telling how long it would, though, so they pushed on. They ran up and down further tunnels, always trying to trend in the direction they wanted to go. At last they came around a corner and found three Majini, two armed with crossbows, the third with dynamite, guarding another elevator.

These ones were just as out of commission as the others. He walked up and cautiously pulled out his knife. The Majini barely reacted, save for one of them creasing its brows. He regarded it for a long moment, then lashed out, cutting it to the spine.

Sheva did not shy from executing daft opponents. She took out the other crossbowman while he killed the dynamite wielder. He also took the four sticks of dynamite the thing had, stowing them carefully in his thickest pack. Didn't want to risk those puppies getting shot with flaming crossbow bolts.

It was a good call killing the Majini. As they started up the elevator, HQ came back in, saying, Chris, Sheva, watch out…lta reports the Majini coming back online. Some…docile, but they're waking up in large swathes. Report…perience this."

Presumably that meant they were to report when their Majini came back on. He pushed down the transmitter, and as he opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by the distant, echoing howling of a few dozen Majini waking up to discover their prey gone.

HQ asked, "…was that?"

"That was our area's Majini coming 'back online'," Sheva said pertly. "We're on our way to the surface, and should be confronting Irving very soon."

"Good. Let us kno…have him. Remember, he must be captured alive…ossible. The information he possesses will be…"

"Roger," they said simultaneously. He didn't need HQ explaining how important getting Irving back alive was.

Still, as the elevator began trundling to the surface, images of Alpha Team started flashing behind his eyes. Dead because of Irving's setup. Dead, no doubt, at the hands of one of Irving's products. To be honest, that was one neck he really, really wouldn't mind breaking. That wouldn't be distasteful at all.

Still, there was something to be said for life imprisonment – especially by the B.S.A.A. They'd studied international law up and down when designing their prisons, so they knew exactly what constituted 'humane treatment' by U.N. standards. And they knew exactly what the bare minimums were, what they could get away with, and what loopholes happened to exist in the laws.

Yeah. Killing him would be more satisfying…but taking him alive would serve just fine. Either way, the man would be getting his just desserts.

The elevator reached the top, and they stepped out of the caves into the low orange light of the sinking African sun.

OoO

Hey Relyt! Not familiar with the movies, I'll have to watch sometime. Always appreciate your comments :) Now, gotta run. A server didn't come in for their shift an hour ago so I need to dash in and take over. See ya!

Hastily,

The Topaz Dragon