As soon as she was finished with her cry, Alyssa found the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open.

Half a dozen shocked faces popped up as she poked her head through. It looked like everyone had been dozing, slumped against walls or lying on the floor, but her appearance had the effect of a nice healthy dose of a powerful amphetamine on them.

David, who seemed to have been letting Ruth use him as a pillow, carefully extracted himself and stood up. Kyle jumped up as well, and both of them rushed over to her, asking, "Are you okay?"

She probably looked awful. As soon as she'd gotten out of that maze, she'd broken down, finally able to react properly to all the fear she'd been working through for the last hour or so. She'd sobbed uncontrollably, reveling in her ability to move, to wail, to curl up in a helpless ball and trust that nothing would kill her while she vented. So her face was probably still a little ruddy.

"Yeah, I'm good," she said. "I sure hope we don't have to deal with those things again, though."

Now Theron pushed himself through to the front, Kyle and David stepping aside to make room for him. "What happened?" he demanded.

Alyssa cocked her head. What was Theron doing out here? He ought to have been in the other hall, right? Had he already gotten it open and come back here to wait for her?

Sarah piped up from the back, and her voice had acquired the exact same tone she'd used earlier when pointing out Alyssa's failure to follow Theron's orders in the Comm Center. "In case you're wondering what Theron's doing here, he didn't go in. He backed out at the last minute. Good thing he was too late stopping you from going in, though – now the door's open, and we all got to enjoy a nice nap."

Theron turned around to glare at her, but the news didn't bother Alyssa. Quite the opposite, in fact. "Oh, thank God," she said, and she really meant it. "That was the worst thing I've ever experienced. I only went about forty feet before realizing how stupid it was to have us both go in at once. I'm glad you didn't – I don't know what I would have done if you'd gotten killed. And trust me, you really could have. It's a miracle I made it out alive. I just kept getting lucky again and again and again."

Theron had turned back, expression strange. "Um…I'm sorry about that. You shouldn't have had to—"

She cut him off, waving a hand. "It's fine. It was horrible, yeah, but it's over. We're all through, no one's hurt, and the mistake minimized effort. You're fresh and ready to move on. As far as I'm concerned, this was the best possible outcome."

Sarah looked disdainful at this. David was running a hand through his hair, combing it with his fingers. "I think the best outcome would have been for none of us to have had to go in there," he said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She shrugged. "It was scary. That's all. I needed a few minutes to put myself together when I got out, but honestly, I'm feeling pretty much okay now. Really, I'm fine," she insisted when David tilted his head forward, one hand on his hip, a disbelieving eyebrow sharply arched.

Theron still looked perturbed. His brows were creased, his forehead was slick with sweat, and there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. It looked like her going in there alone had really done a number on him. But in the face of her insistence that she was okay with it, he relaxed. "Okay. If you say so."

Now Kyle, who had been on the sidelines rocking and bopping back and forth with increasing energy as the conversation had gone on, burst. "So? What happened?"

She smiled weakly as she considered how best to relay the story. "Well, since you all got a rest, maybe it would be okay if I sat down for a few and went over it? Just a few minutes, then we can move on. That okay?" she asked Theron seriously. If he thought they needed to move on now, then she'd forgo her break. The group's safety was more important than her immediate comfort.

But he nodded easily. "Yeah, of course. No rush. Actually, I don't know about you guys, but I'm about ready to call it a day. Let's curl up and get some sleep, huh?"

"Good idea," Ruth chimed in as they all moved over to the newly unlocked hall. They let the door slip closed behind them, locking it for good measure. A solid door at their backs was a pretty decent comfort, and Alyssa immediately settled down in the corner, ready for a nap. "Alyssa's got the bedtime story covered."

"Yeah, totally. Hope you guys don't mind a few nightmares, though."

"Oh, yeah," Sarah said sarcastically. "We wouldn't want any of those."

Ruth and Kyle actually laughed at that, and Alyssa's forced smile became a little more genuine. If any of them made it out of this without PTSD, it would be because they were already in a body bag.

David sat down beside her, and Ruth curled up in his lap, same as earlier. Mal and Sarah both moved a little further off. Theron sat facing away from her, towards the hall, clearly intent on keeping watch for a while. Kyle sat down cross-legged right across from her, knees bouncing up and down to either side of him out of time, like a clumsy, asymmetrical butterfly flapping its wings. He leaned forward, eyes wide. For once, they were totally focused.

She took a deep breath and let it out in a low, inexpert whistle. Time to rehash the horror. "Okay. So everything went pretty much smoothly until I hit the third hallway…"

Sheva sat in the front of the B.S.A.A. standard airboat while Chris manned the controls behind her. They'd found the boat last night but, after another large plume of smoke drifted in front of the moon and turned the world black, they'd decided to set up camp for the evening. They'd been through a lot that day, and while they could have pushed on, Chris had suggested they get some rest. She'd nearly protested before realizing that she was running on emotional fumes, and would very likely collapse if she didn't get at least a couple hours sleep. She'd eaten her last onion and crashed.

Chris had kept first watch. They'd swapped off after a bit and she'd kept watch while he'd slept. Then they'd gotten up and, while she'd taken some breakfast, he'd gone off on his own, saying he'd be right back. When he'd returned, it had been with the remainder of Delta Team's dog tags.

"Josh isn't here," he'd said by way of explanation, and her throat had closed up. He'd gone through every one of the bodies to spare her the experience of searching through them.

She'd taken the tags and put them with the others, briefly unable to speak and merely nodding her thanks. Then they'd boarded the boat, and now, as dawn approached, they were beginning to see signs of the Ndipaya civilization. Outlines in the darkness – structures, towers, and fences.

The cold air felt bracing on her skin as they roared loudly through the deep channels of water that separated the muddy, rush-ridden banks. The savannah had retreated into the distance, and would likely only just be visible even when the run rose properly. This swamp stretched a few miles, and while the airboat was speedy, they were limited by the low visibility. Chris was taking the swamp carefully.

They hadn't spoken since he'd delivered the dog tags, aside from a bit of coordination. Now Sheva was wondering what exactly to say. His gesture hadn't been regulation – they'd had no responsibility to collect those tags, and even if they had, it would have been hers as much as his. It had been a simple kindness on his part. A token of respect to his partner.

Partner. That reminded her of their conversation last night, and she realized that she'd been callous in the extreme with regard to his own situation. She'd hardly given credence to the idea that his old partner – Jill – could still be alive. And yet, following that, he'd gone through a town of mangled corpses to try and find evidence of Josh's possible survival, sparing her the pain he'd no doubt gone through himself in the past. She needed to make amends for that.

She decided to start with the simplest of questions. "What happened to your partner?"

She looked back at Chris, though it didn't do much good. They had a heavy light fixture lighting the way for them up ahead, but the boat itself sat in darkness. She couldn't see him in the weak light of pre-dawn. His voice was perfectly legible over the roar of the airboat's fan, though, if a bit hoarse from the night's disuse.

"Jill and I were pursuing a man named Albert Wesker," he said. "Wesker was a top official with Umbrella, and the leader of our S.T.A.R.S. unit back in Raccoon City. I served under him – until he showed his true colors as a traitor. After the Raccoon City indecent, I met him again a few years later on Rockfort Island."

She was familiar with these names and incidences, recent history as they were. That said, Wesker hadn't featured heavily in her studies, given that he was, like Jill, presumed deceased.

Like Jill, a chilling voice said in the back of her head. Presumed deceased.

"Since then we'd been trying to track him down," he continued, shaking the hoarseness as use smoothed out his vocal passages. "Then a few years ago, we got a tip from a reliable source. The whereabouts of Umbrella's founder, Oswell E. Spencer."

Now that was a name she was more familiar with. His known endeavors were few, but significant.

"So you paid him a visit, hoping he'd lead you to Wesker," Sheva supplied.

Chris nodded, and she realized that the dawn was breaking as fast as night had fallen last night. She could already see his outline and a few features, and soon, it would be bright enough that they wouldn't need the light.

"We found a hell of a lot more than we'd bargained for," he went on, tone more subdued. "When we got there, Spencer was dead…and you'll never guess who'd killed him."

She didn't need to. She could all but hear it in his voice.

Chris's voice went flat. "Wesker was already there. We fought, and the best thing I can say was that it was fast. He took us apart. Just as he'd been getting ready to finish me off, though, Jill…"

He trailed off. This was the moment of loss, then.

"Jill got back on her feet. We were standing in front of the window overlooking the cliff the mansion was situated on. She tackled him…and they both went out the window, over the cliff. Jill's body was never found, and she was presumed dead."

"And so was Wesker," Sheva said. "But if Jill is alive, then—"

"What about you?" he said, cutting her off abruptly. "Why'd you join the B.S.A.A.?"

Apparently that was a touchy subject, then. Nevermind. One bioterrorist at a time. Irving first – they could deal with Wesker, if he was still alive, some other day. "My parents were involved in an accident caused by a pharmaceutical company when I was young," she explained.

"Let me guess – Umbrella?"

The light went off in front of her. It was now bright enough to see without it. "Yes. I only found out later that the accident was to cover up the manufacturing of biological weapons for terrorists."

"I'm sorry."

She nodded. She'd received many condolences in her days. "They were using Africa as a test bed for their experiments. Bioweapons were responsible for the deaths of my parents. And someone has to pay for that."

Chris's eyes were locked on the waters ahead of them, keeping watch for dangers, but she could see the acknowledgement in his eyes, regardless. "So you joined the B.S.A.A."

They hit a small dip in the water, and a spray of water flew up and misted her. She wiped it off. "There's only so much one person can do," she admitted. She knew she was never going to singlehandedly avenge her parents. But she could at least make an impact. "Even a superhero like you, Chris," she said, smiling faintly.

He also wiped water off his face. "I'm no superhero," he said firmly. She was ready to object, to start talking up his accomplishments the way she might have done with Josh had he been there at that moment, but before she could, he added, "But together, we can end this."

At that moment, the sun broke. And though she knew she ought not let her morale be controlled by those circadian rhythms, she was quite unable to halt the sudden surge of fierce determination that struck her, warming and strong as the sun's rays on her face. "Then let's make a stand for our fallen brothers," she implored.

Chris's eyes narrowed. "Hang on," he said…and hit the gas.

She hiccupped and grabbed onto her seat as they shot forward. He was steering them towards a shallow ramp that looked to lead into the rest of the swamp, which was blocked off by a great reedy barricade. That would be their only way over.

He gunned it, straightening them out and taking sending them shooting up the ramp, the roughness of which was smoothed out by their sheer speed. They took to the air as they had yesterday, when Ritter had gotten them over the bridge.

Ritter. Erwin. Jacob. Dan. Alpha. Delta.

Josh.

Dead or alive, her comrades needed her to hold on. Chris needed her to hold on. So she held tight as they crashed back down into the water, and Chris gunned it again, taking them towards the bank that ought to lead them on towards Irving.

Chris sighed heavily as they stepped off the dock and walked up to the gate. Looked like another dead member of Delta Team up ahead.

Sheva stalked up cautiously, but did not bother to check for vitals. Three spears stuck out of the man's chest, one lodged firmly in his heart. Flies were already buzzing around his corpse, and four crows had taken off at the approaching roar of the airboat. He was definitely dead.

Still, once it was clear that they were not about to suffer the same fate, she knelt down and carefully went over him for both ammo and his dog tag. They'd used a lot of bullets up the previous day, and they couldn't waste any on respect for the dead. He'd taken every munition he'd found on the fallen Delta Team members that morning while grabbing their tags, including a few more frags, flash bangs, and a bunch of incendiary grenades, which he'd split with Sheva. He knew that going over them for supplies wouldn't have offended her, but he also knew that going over every corpse knowing that one of them might have been her friend would have been killer for the woman, so he'd taken that particular duty upon himself.

It was no big deal to him. He'd done it before.

They'd gone around the swamp looking for a way into the oil rig, but after about an hour they'd determined that it was impassable unless they wanted to wade through more than a mile of crocodile-infested quickmud. That was a losing proposition, but upon radioing HQ, they'd gotten two pieces of useful information: one, that there seemed to be a gondola or something that spanned the narrowest leg of the swamp, situated in the main Ndipaya village, which they were just outside of now. The other was that HQ was working to bring in an expert on las Plagas, see if they couldn't get some useful tips. It was proving difficult, but hopefully they'd have some fresh eyes on this new strain soon.

Now they were outside the gate to the main village, the front of which held a pentagonal indentation. Going by the looks it, it would be tough to enter without the key. It was fifteen feet tall, thick and fortified, with forbidding spikes jutting out every which way near the top.

Sheva found a report the man had logged shortly before dying, and said, "He was trying to get in to rescue a captured B.S.A.A. agent. Looks like he managed to get one piece of the key to the gate."

She held up a piece of what looked like a stone slate, one featuring a couple of leering canines.

"That's something," Chris said. "Anything on where the rest of them might be?"

"No, but maybe this inscription will give us a clue. The dialect is very old. Give me a moment to translate."

He stood watching the ramparts above them while she mouthed out the words on the gate. After a few minutes, she began speaking. "In the east, the beasts hunt the chaff of the land." She held up the slate with the dogs. "On the northern shore, the raptors sail the winds with secrets in their eyes. Westward, the warrior eats of the bloom and endures his trial. At the river's end, in the south, the shaman waits guarded. Only those with the favor of four may enter our village."

"Catchy," Chris said. "So I'm guessing there are four keys, and that little ditty is telling us where they are."

Sheva walked over to the indentation and held up the slate. When inserted, it would fit perfectly, but it was only about a quarter of the puzzle. "Sounds right to me. I think we passed the river mentioned here not too far away. Want to try that one first?"

"May as well. Let's go."

They hopped back into the airboat and took off. Chris slowed down considerably when he got to the mouth of what the Ndipaya likely called the river, though it was really a deep, narrow channel of water leading into the swamp. The water was as still and stagnant as any around them.

Of greater importance was the set of walls they'd constructed. He imagined they couldn't have been too sturdy, given that they were in standing water, but he wasn't about to plow right into them. Anyways, he didn't need to. The gaps in them were just barely big enough to allow them access.

Still, Sheva kept her gun at the ready, eyeing the sentry posts as they passed through. So far they hadn't seen a living soul. Chris preferred it to a fight, but it was still disturbing.

"Where are they all?" he asked as they zipped along the winding inlet. Tall, impassable reeds stretched all around them as far as the eye could see. Simple fishing structures stood in the water here and there, mostly lining the reeds, and he avoided them. He didn't want to cause undue damage.

"I don't know," Sheva said fretfully. "They ought to have confronted us by now. The Ndipaya are not friendly to outsiders."

Chris voiced the unfortunate truth that had been on his mind for the last hour or so. "This whole swamp was part of the testing area for the new Plagas. It's possible that they've all been infected."

She didn't reply. They passed through another tall gate and came at last to their destination.

Chris wasn't sure what exactly to call it. It was a structure built on the water, a tall wall of tightly-woven reeds encircling it along with several sturdier walls made of hewn logs. The structure itself consisted of a single dock, stairs leading up from them to a series of raised walkways connecting three or four simple buildings thatched with more reeds. Some sentry towers stood here and there on the outskirts, too. Everything was deserted.

Chris shook his head, on edge but impressed nonetheless as he stepped off the boat onto the dock. "This architecture is pretty amazing, considering how little these people have to work with."

"Yes, the Ndipaya are known for their feats of architecture. Their works are studied all around the world for use in the understanding and reconstruction of ancient cities and structures."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. They're very well known."

"And yet they live in a swamp," Chris mused as they made their way up the perfectly sturdy ramp. He checked one building and found it mostly empty. They moved on.

"No one else will," Sheva pointed out. "And consider – an invasion would be very difficult without air strikes, and who would want to invade them anyways? The parasites and diseases one catches in places like these are vicious, crocodiles must always be watched for, there are virtually no useful resources besides the food, they have to desalinate their own water since the swamp is saline, and really…would you want to live here, all that aside?"

He looked around as they passed up the next empty room. Literally the entire landscape was nothing but grey water, grey-green reeds, and grey-brown wood. He wasn't the most artistically inclined guy in the world, but even his apartment had a few splashes of color.

He heard something shuffle slightly overhead, and without thinking, he darted forward, grabbing Sheva and moving her out of the way. "Wha—?!"

The heavy sound of three things – two feet, and something hard and sharp – hit the wood behind them. He turned and saw their attacker. So did Sheva.

"Damn," Chris said as the tribesman bared his teeth in a blood-red snarl. "Looks like the scenery ain't the only thing that's grey around here."

The Ndipaya's skin was slate-grey. He was barefoot, and held a long spear in his hands. He wore only a straw skirt bound with some rough twine, and though it didn't look very sturdy, it kept everything hid that was 'sposed to be hid.

He drew his gun, but did not fire immediately. Sheva stepped forward, hands raised, and started speaking in Swahili, clearly interested in diffusing the situation if possible. She trailed off, however, when the man's mouth opened…and a young Plaga burst out, hissing at them.

Shouts rang out around the structure, and somehow, villagers began popping up from every nook and cranny. Chris was frankly stunned at how effectively they'd managed to hide themselves up until now. They literally seemed to appear out of nowhere, and in moments, they were surrounded by at least two dozen men. All of them shared the same grey skin tone.

"Are these people normally grey?" he asked.

"No."

"Then they're all infected," he concluded grimly. That established, he started shooting.

Sheva hesitated only a moment before following suit. They were both focusing on those with weapons, especially those with bows. Any time an unarmed Majini would get close, he'd just grab it and hurl it off the edge. It would splash down in the water and immediately start scaling the fixture, making its way back into the fight. They started working their way over to the last building.

"How could someone do this to them?" Sheva asked, upset clear in her voice.

One approaching warrior had a head entirely encased in some weird, muddy shell. Chris hauled off and straight-punched it, swearing loudly as his knuckles cracked through the armor, which had been a hell of a lot harder than he'd expected. That would leave a bruise. "Fuck! How could anyone do any of the shit we've had to deal with in the last ten years? There are crazy people out there, that's it. Look, there's a chest in there!"

Sheva jumped through the window promptly, and Chris, rather than following her, shoved his way roughly through the crowd, parrying blows and blasting a few attackers off the edge. He cleared a way to the door, and a moment later, Sheva shot out of it. "Got the shaman slate. Let's go."

He didn't have to be told twice. He ducked as a spear came hurling over the crowd, aimed right at his head, and drove himself up into the guts of two attackers. There was only one way back to the boat, and it was packed with Majini. They needed a way through, and he was making it.

He rammed straight through the crowd, using the two winded Majini in his grasp as meat shields. The throng began yelping and belting out high pitched battle cries, but nothing doing. He punted at least six clean off the bridge in his charge, and when he got to the end, a few shots from Sheva were enough to get them free.

"Run," he panted, tossing his still living and very angry shields over the railing into the water. One yelled something at him as it fell, but he paid no heed, only sprinting onward to the boat. He hopped in back, Sheva in front, and he gunned it.

They roared away from the shaman-slate fortress and towards the outer gate. Unfortunately, before they got there, a loud, wet grinding started up, and a set of heavy spikes shot up out of the water just in front of them.

He juked the wheel and braked, so the impact was only mildly jarring. Sheva gasped and rocked, almost fell in, then righted herself. "Seriously, impressive architecture, but I'm not really in the mood right now," he grunted, and got moving again. The sentry stations, seemingly empty five minutes ago, and become thoroughly packed with Majini.

She started firing as he started them moving again. They were being shot at as well, bows and arrows, but the arrows were tipped with heavy, smoking bags. He bet he knew what those were. Bombs.

Sure enough, one hit the water just behind him, and as he pulled away a tall plume of water rose with a loud CRACK!

Waterproof bombs, he thought as more landed in the swamp around them. Not bad.

"Not good," Sheva yelled over the growing noise. Explosions were going off every few seconds, and he was barely keeping their boat from being blown to smithereens. "Very not good."

"Find a way to get that gate down," Chris yelled as he twiddled the controls, taking them between two bombs and then gunning it before they could take the siding off. "I'll keep us from blowing up."

Sheva's handgun was out, and she was expertly plugging archers before they could fire, even as the boat pitched and swerved. She was also scanning the mechanism the Majini had activated, and keeping her balance, all at the same time.

After about a minute of this, she directed her gun away from the archers and on to a series of exposed ropes and cogs. She fired three bullets at one of these, one that would be hidden from the front but that was exposed from back here, and on the third, a rope snapped…and the tall logs blocking them in dropped.

"Good timing," he said as they zipped through, picking up speed on the river. The Majini from the structure had all jumped into the water and begun swimming towards them, hoping to board the boat even as it zipped around dodging bombs. They got out just before the first few reached them. "And good balance. And good aim."

"Much obliged. Out of interest, do you know what that Majini you tossed off the bridge said to you earlier?"

"The one I used as a meat shield?"

"Yes."

"No. What did he say?"

"He said, 'May the crocodiles ejaculate upon you.'"

"Eh, I've heard worse."

Sheva laughed, though she halted with a gasp as they swerved to avoid a group of Ndipaya Majini that popped up quite suddenly out of the water ahead. He didn't want to hit them, as they all appeared armed with bags of explosives, and they could probably set them off at will. Indeed, as he skirted the last one, it shoved a flaming arrow in its satchel, and a moment later…

BOOM!

The boat rocked and fishtailed as the concussion caught them. Sheva nearly went over, but he managed to jerk her back on with a twist of the wheel. Then he weaved them left and right, dodging the remaining lines of Majini until they shot back out into the swamp.

"Two down, two to go," Sheva said, pulling out the shaman slate and holding it up so he could see. It featured a figure whose neck had been elongated by those golden rings like he'd seen on the National Geographic documentaries.

"Hope they're as easy as that one was," Chris replied, turning them eastward. They sailed north…to find the raptor with secrets in its eyes, apparently.

At least my life never gets boring, Chris thought dully as he swerved to avoid another explosive arrow, fired from one of the many sentry tower that were now alive around the swamp. God knows what I'd do if that happened.

Irving was sitting in a chair that was almost comfortable compared to everywhere else he'd been the last few days. Unfortunately, the cushiest chair in the world wouldn't be able to alleviate the absolute pain in his ass that had been calling him incessantly for the last ten minutes.

He was refusing to pick up the phone on principle. He'd been annoyed enough that Excella had called right as he'd been sitting down to his breakfast – a couple of bagels smothered in cream cheese, topped with thick sheets of smoked salmon – but upon picking up and hearing, "Richard, might I ask what you have been doing for the last six hours?" he'd hung up and was now refusing to answer until he finished his breakfast. Excella wanted to diss him this early in the morning, she could wait until he'd filled his stomach.

He had to admit, maybe he was being childish, but he was feeling pretty cranky. He'd gotten through all of yesterday on consecutive highs, and had blasted through his supply by early evening the previous night. Lacking the ability to fix that problem, he'd popped a few sleeping pills and crashed until dawn. But apparently the boss was on a tight schedule, so sleeping wasn't allowed at the moment. He'd been rudely awoken by the golem and told to get the Majini packing up the rest of the missile fuel. Then it had sprinted off to take care of some other problem.

So the Majini were down on the dock loading up the last of the fuel tanks, and he was up here, trying to get his bagels just right.

The phone rang for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes, and he quickly hung up on it. He couldn't silence it, because Excella was using the emergency line, which always sounded – loudly – even when his phone was off. Unless the damn thing ran out of battery, which it wouldn't because it was fully charged, he'd just have to keep hanging up on her.

He was in a mostly bad mood that morning. Mostly bad because the previous day, he'd not only not been able to meet with the buyers, who had been killed by Delta Team before reaching the rendezvous point, he'd also had to waste not one, but two of his B.O.W.s. And while the Ndesu had been a resounding success, the Popokarimu had failed miserably, and was now nursing its wounds in its holding tank. Motherfucking useless bat fuck.

Still, things could be worse. He was safe on his rig, he was meticulously draping the last piece of salmon onto the last bagel half – he shifted it again, it was too thick on the left side – and he'd gotten to enjoy watching his Ndesu tear Delta Team limb from limb before settling down to sleep last night. He'd laughed himself hoarse watching it fumblingly tie those B.S.A.A. schmucks onto its belt by their ankles. Fuck all, that had been great. He'd have to asked Excella – was that programmed in, or was that just something it did all by itself?

The phone rang again. Ah, what the hell. His breakfast could wait another minute or two. He wasn't super hungry, anyways. And the ringing was just gonna give him a headache if he kept ignoring it.

He picked up the phone. "Ey, Excella, question – those Ndesu. Are they programmed to wear their enemies on their belts like that, or did this one come up with that all by its lonesome?"

"Irving, if you hang up on me again, I swear I will tell our little friend to rip your throat out."

He chuckled, picked up the last piece of salmon and settled it back onto the bagel. If he didn't get it just right, the fish-to-cream-cheese ratio would be off. "Oh, it's 'Irving' again I see! Honestly, is that so hard? Anywho, I noticed that the buyers got themselves killed yesterday. Don't worry, though, I cleaned up ya little mess with that Ndesu I was 'sposed to be showin' off. Delta Team is Gone City, and I got some great marketing footage in the mix."

"You missed a few," Excella replied coldly, and Irving's fingers paused.

"What?" he demanded. "What do you mean I 'missed a few'? How the hell could I miss a few? I watched that thing take out the entire squad."

"The entire squad minus its captain. We caught him on camera slipping away as his men were crushed to death providing a distraction. And then our remaining guests arrived a few minutes later and killed the beast!"

He'd just bitten down on the bagel, deciding that it was good enough. Mostly good enough. Good enough, however, did not stop him from promptly choking on and spitting out the bite he'd taken at the news. His Ndesu? Dead?

"Our remaining—wait, those two fuckin' pricks from the warehouse? The ones who found me at the mine?"

"Yes, you idiot, and unless we get lucky and they manage to die by those swamp-dwellers, they'll be coming for you, next! They may be outside your door as we speak, since we lost sight of them after your great clumsy oaf knocked out our last security feed!"

His fingers fumbled the bagel he'd been trying to grab another bite of, and it fell, flipped over, and splattered on the ground. His forehead broke out in a cold sweat. Those two fucks from the mine had driven off his bat, killed his giant, and could be right outside the door at this very moment.

He started hyperventilating as the dumb broad on the phone started going off on him again. "Oh, but of course you had to wait ten minutes before picking up your phone. After hanging up on me, of course. I certainly hope—"

"Get that Valentine broad back here right the fuck now!" he screeched into the phone. It was the first time he'd used her – its – name since he'd learned it, but he didn't care. He needed that thing back. It was his security. It was his protection. It would keep him safe from those two nutjob bloodhounds on his trail.

"Calm down. She is on her way back as we speak. In fact, she should be arriving promptly."

She didn't arrive promptly. He sat there muttering general abuse for five minutes before she showed up, stepping in through the door in a swish of black cloak. As soon as she stepped in, he stood up and shoved his briefcase at her.

"Get that thing on the ship, we're leaving now. You hear me? Now!"

The beak-faced broad stood still for a moment. Then she – it – whatever – tilted its head as it got a new message.

It set the case down and made no move to leave. Irving stomped up to it, got in its face, and yelled, "Did you hear me, you dippy, whoring fuck? You—"

"Oh, honestly, will you calm down?" Excella snapped from his phone. He jumped. He hadn't realized she'd been there that whole time, just listenin' to him cuss out the furniture. "I just had her scout the area. The B.S.A.A. agents are nowhere to be found. Most likely they've been killed in the swamp, or they were found and killed by the leftover Majini last night."

"Fine," Irving said, forcing his breathing to calm down. They weren't here. His bodyguard was. He was safe. For now. "I'm still getting the fuck outta here. What's the point in me sittin' around here, anywho?"

"What's the matter, Irving – scared of some little secret agents? If you must know, the point of you sitting around is so the thralls can finish loading the rest of the missile fuel onto the ship before it sets off. We have two more missiles to fuel up and load on. We can make do without them, but we'd rather hit all of our targets on the first strike. Otherwise some of the chaff will have time to prepare, and who knows how many pockets of survivors we'll have to deal with then?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah, right. Hey, I don't suppose you want to let me in on exactly who you and the boss are targeting, do ya? Ya know I have investments in a lot of cities. If one of them is going down, I need time to—"

Excella started laughing raucously on the other end of the line. For once, she sounded genuinely delighted. "Oh, yes, that's right. You don't know that much about Uroboros, do you? Never you mind. Once it is unleashed, I can't imagine you will need to worry much about your…business prospects. Just be a dear and load up the fuel, will you?"

He sat there tapping his finger rapidly against the table, trying to work over what she meant. He wouldn't need to worry about his business prospects? Money-dumb as this pretty Italian whore was, even she couldn't think that she wouldn't need funding anymore after whatever attack Wesker had planned had gone done. She'd always need money. The world would always need money. Unless they were plannin' to wipe out the whole world, he didn't…

His eye twitched…and his fingers stilled. Nevermind. It didn't matter. Whatever they had going on was just a distraction. So long as he found out what the real game was before those missiles launched, he'd be just hunky-dory. Right as rain. Fit as a fuckin' fiddle.

He took a deep breath, released it slowly, and said, "So, Excella, out of interest, has Wesker taken you up on your offer yet, or does he have two brain cells to rub together?"

He barely caught the enraged intake of breath on her end of the line before she hung up, and he grinned crookedly. Aw, man. He couldn't use that line of attack on her often, not if he wanted it to stay fresh, but ever since he'd caught her embarrassing failure to seduce him on one of their live feeds…

Going by the call's termination, he was willing to bet that Wesker had in fact not tapped that. Good for him. Excella might be pretty – drop-dead gorgeous, in fact – but he for one could not even imagine sticking it in such a shrill, arrogant, self-centered trollop. He knew self-centered and arrogant were the same thing, but it really needed to be said twice. Or three times. Excella Gionne was the most egotistical, elitist, entitled whore he'd ever laid eyes on. Just talkin' to her made his balls retract back into his body.

He reached for his remaining three bagel halves. Three would be fine. Before he could grab one, though, beak-face tilted her head again, stepped over, grabbed his plate, and threw it out the window.

He sat there staring at her for a second. Then he said, "I know you're just one of Wesker and Excella's playthings, but I've gotta tell ya – as soon as we're done with whatever we have goin' on here, I'm gonna make you skin the corpse of every one of your precious B.S.A.A. friends, starting with those two we met at the mines. How does that sound to you?"

If he didn't know what to look for, he woulda missed it. As it was, he'd seen this thing goin' crazy before. It wasn't a complete mindless thrall like those Majini. That was why he was always gettin' them pronouns mixed up. The Valentine broad was still very much aware of her surroundings, even while she was pumped full of that nifty serum. And she heard ever word he said.

Her fingers twitched, just a little. Two of them. They twitched, like they wanted to do something other than throw his food out the window on Excella's piqued orders, or skin her friends, or stand there doin' nothing. Hell, maybe the finger twitch was just an expression of emotional pain. But as long as that lovely chemical gem was sitting safe and steady and her sternum, she was gonna do exactly as she was told, as soon as she was told to do it.

Satisfied that someone else was having a worse day than he was, Irving stood up, walked to the door, and looked outside. Maybe today was the day he'd find what he was looking for. Maybe he'd get in a bit more searching before that fuel was loaded. It would take another hour or two to get everything ship-shape, anyways.

"Hey," he said, glancing back at their thrall. "Bring that little red box I brought along with me to my office on the ship. If I can't bug outta here, I may as well cross an item off my personal to-do list."

OoO

Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas ^_^

Sincerely,

The Topaz Dragon