mistersnx: Much appreciated, hope you enjoy it.

Rock992: HUNK is being deliberately put through the ringer, by me of course, and by Nikolai. Pushed to his very limits, more than he ever has been before. I'm upping the stakes for the story. Making it a hard slog for all of them. Just have to keep your eye on Nikolai and see what becomes of him in time ;). I think eventually HUNK could become a mercenary... but I see him hiding out from the government after the fall of Umbrella, with no more powerful benefactors, and a warrant out for him for his crimes. If I did a Resident Evil 4 adaptation in my own HUNK including sort of way, it would involve hardened criminal HUNK captured by the government and having to earn a full presidential pardon ala Snake Plissken from President Graham by working with golden boy Agent Leon Kennedy to find and save Ashley from Los Illuminados. Would make for a hell of a Buddy Cop (Agent) story.

Echo Five: You'll see what I do, hopefully you will like it.

Magd305TLC: Glad you like the pieces of HUNK's past, you can expect more of it in the near future ;). Jill is definitely protective of him, has staked her claim. The G-Virus isn't a cure for anything though, Birkin took it after he was shot and turned into a monster lol. You'll see what I do, keep reading, glad you're enjoying it.

evolution-500: Glad to hear it, more of that to come ;). Could be Wesker wanted a medic on the team to help keep the team alive longer to test them longer. Outside of Wesker's in universe reasons, it was probably a developer oversight, or ignoring those police restrictions to fit Rebecca into the game. Creative licence/suspension of disbelief. Pops up often through the canon of the Resident Evil series, no different here. Though I try to justify things as much as I can.

Alex: "Death cannot die." And much appreciated, figured a gun swap was in order for the two of them ;). Token of trust and respect. And feelings, of course.

Jill's actress in the movies would have done very well if she had been allowed to shine, a proper RE 3 adaptation, but alas it was not to be. There's a bit of her in my Jill. Among other inspirations.

Akira-Hayama: No man or monster gets between Jill and her walking disaster of a secret agent lol wouldn't envy anyone who hurts him, what she'd do to them.

At this point Jill has locked in on HUNK, chosen him, is protective and wants to save him from Umbrella and himself. She's caring and compassionate, even if she is weathered... and he surprised her with the way he turned out to be, something more under all that armor, challenging her initial thoughts about him. She knows he is dangerous, has done bad, and that she probably shouldn't be feeling the way she does, but she does anyways, can't help who you fall for. It's a strength and a weakness that can be exploited, her optimism blinding her a bit to the reality of the situation. Or at least her feelings doing so.

I think it was underwhelming because she already knew he was alive when the bridge blew up, but had to prioritize on the infected in the Dead Factory, finding somewhere to hole up and explore. Also it wasn't from her POV, it was Carlos's, you can bet she was silently mulling and worrying over HUNK's survival, eager to find him, but knowing she had to take it one step at a time.

Carlos's POV is definitely important, though the story going forward will be HUNK and Jill's POV's, as it comes closer towards the end. We began on the two of them, and will end on the two of them.

I don't think HUNK usually thinks as much about her on his missions as he has this one, because of how worn down and exhausted his mind is now, and his many brushes with death in a single mission. His experiences through the story and before it at NEST have him reflecting a great deal, growing, confronting parts of himself. There was nothing quite like this mission for him. I think he mostly broods upon her in his isolation of his quarters in France in the rare moments he can be alone and get away from it all, his duties. As for Bella, you are about to find out a good deal more of her ;). She won't physically appear in this story in the present, but I can confirm she isn't dead though. HUNK is conflicted between her and Jill, Bella is Umbrella to him, Jill is freedom. He's used to Umbrella, dependent on it, while freedom frightens and allures him. Man is having a tug of war over what he should do, what he wants, because he's never really had choices.

Raccoon City is definitely both those things to them now, everything will change outside Raccoon City, and they both know it. Oh you know Nikolai, he's a slippery one, don't write him out so soon. You'll just have to keep an eye out for him ;). As for HUNK being shot up... "Death cannot die."

Arkham Knight: Much appreciated ;) I try to add the humanity to it, make it all have weight, human resonance instead of just one action scene to the next. It's about layering a story over time, I find, the best way to do it. Why I've slowly built up a number of different things, like Jill/HUNK and HUNK's backstory. There were times I wanted to reveal things already, but it's about waiting until the right time. And here we are.

Vong: Spencer wasn't in much of a position by then to care either way lol, though he would definitely be glad Alex got what was coming to her. I don't think he viewed Albert negatively, even after all that happened. Spencer deliberately had Albert sent for by his agents to come put Spencer out of his misery, and tell Albert the truth of his origin. After his hopes for immortality went bust with Alex's betrayal.

117: Nemesis was programmed to hunt the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members after the mansion incident, most people including Frankl believe Wesker is dead. And it is unlikely Nemesis would have been programmed to kill Wesker, considering Wesker was a seemingly loyal Umbrella employee, and still trusted by Spencer. Of course Colonel Vladimir might well have given Frankl the secret order to program it to hunt Wesker too, given their rivalry, but the Colonel still thinks Wesker is dead at this point in time.

Spartan: Wesker would probably be a bit embarrassed some random scientist woman who was smitten with her boss ended up getting closer to destroying the world and ruling over what was left than he did lol. He definitely would have wanted to get his hands on the C-Virus, exploit its potential, modify his plans with it. As well as take over Neo Umbrella. The thing is Resident Evil 4 implied originally Wesker was the one who was going to revive Umbrella, but sadly Resident Evil 5 dropped that plot thread entirely, and ended up giving it to Carla Radames. As for Jill, Barry, Rebecca, the answer to that is simple and obvious, they would fight to destroy Neo Umbrella, like they did the original Umbrella.

Thank you all for the reviews as ever, they are appreciated. Like HUNK and Jill in the clock tower courtyard, I have another nuclear bomb to drop here, or several, that I've been building to... hope they are well received. Took me some time editing and adding to this one, wanted to make absolutely sure I got it right. Here you go, without further ado:


July 23rd, 1988, 8:25 PM

V.I.P. Carriage, The Ecliptic Express, The Arklay Mountains, Arklay County

Time and space drifted by... years passed in a stream, seasons changed, images... sounds and scents of the past he had known... and he didn't know where he was. An endless expanse. A weightlessness. But the darkness did not last... instead, around him on all sides, there was a sea of dreams and memories he was drowning in. One burned clearly above even the others, even now. He swam towards its familiarity as it enveloped him. His eyes closed... then opened again with the familiar rumbling sensation and sounds of the train rousing him from his sleep, and he found himself in the body of a young man... the boy, really... he had been. He dreamed of a time he had been honored... when he should have felt honored... but hadn't felt it at all. A grand summer banquet and masquerade ball at Lord Spencer's Arklay Mountains Estate. On the surface celebrating the company's just over twenty years since its founding... underneath the surface celebrating the job he'd carried out. He'd taken the impressive, elaborately furnished Ecliptic Express to get there... had worn a fine black suit jacket, pants and leather dress shoes, a white dress shirt and a red silk tie. A formal civilian attire Bella had selected for him to wear at proper functions, one he had liked wearing before that night. Along with the occasional tux. Now the tie felt like a noose or a leash every time he was forced to don it for an occasion or his duties outside the missions. Going out in public. If he had it his way, he would wear his U.S.S. undersuit and body armor all the time outside of his barracks quarters. Though she, who knew him best, had put a holster within the suit for his concealed, loaded, modified Glock 18 and a couple spare extended magazines... had been the one to insist he carry it at all times, like her. To never be unarmed in this life of theirs. It was a lesson he had never forgotten.

In the suitcase she'd provided a hooded velvet black cloak and elaborate, stark white, grinning skeleton's mask as well for the party... a death's head... just for him. For Death. More of her morbid sense of humor he had enjoyed and shared, once.

He remembered the train ride, looking back at his reflection in the mirror of the cabin... scarcely recognizing the grey eyed, smooth faced, conflicted boy who looked back at him in it. A stranger. Checking his watch often, wanting the trip to be over with already... while dreading what was waiting for him at the end of the line. The mansion. He remembered the way the other passengers... Umbrella employees... had looked at him. A plethora of blurred faces that had murmured to each other, whispered about him, pointed, knowing who he was already, even back then. Though for different reasons. He didn't have his own a legend then... he was merely an extension of War's. They hadn't even known what he had done to Marcus. Yet, at least... the rumors had spread slower in those days. He remembered the warm breeze from the open window beside him in his compartment, the passing trees. The smiling, friendly stewardesses, and other employees trying to engage him in conversation... to ask him how his Lady was, to give her their regards, each seeking her favor through him. Introducing themselves... though he had long since forgotten their names and faces. He had barely heard any of it... felt it, then... barely felt much of anything, but he did now. He had feigned politeness... observed his courtesies, shook hands and spoke no more than he had to. He had done his duty. What she would expect of him. He would have been nobody to them though, if not for her. Less than nothing. Smiling, false, opportunistic faces had surrounded him... and he could find no privacy the entire trip. All the same, focusing on the passing forests and mountains... it had nearly been peaceful. Had not the previous mission been weighing him down all the while. Intruding on his thoughts. Marcus's face as they had opened fire on him, the shock, the blood, the gramophone playing. And his final moments before he slipped beneath the sewer water's surface.

Nothing he did would shake it. And even after he had washed his hands clean of his blood... it lingered. He still saw it there. Saw everything... the horror of the Umbrella Executive Training School's laboratories. He didn't see things the same way again, ever since he'd walked out of that laboratory.

The limousine had been waiting for him at the arrival station at the end of the line, when the Ecliptic Express finally had reached it, and one of the familiar valets serving the Spencer Family greeting him. He had gratefully retreated from the other Umbrella employees into the limousine, hiding behind the tinted windows... relieved to be free of their eyes and voices. The Irishman valet had taken him through the woods that evening and gradually to the great gates of the looming Spencer Mansion, reaching it a good amount of time before midnight. There had been a summer mist... illuminated in the lights on the path along the way. And the moon and stars had shone down over the mountain that night. The sight of the secluded, monolithic mansion unrivaled by anything else on that mountain. Later, he had learned the unsettling story of the Trevors... of the famous New York architect George Trevor who had made the worst mistake a person could, having designed the place for Lord Spencer. Turning it into a deathtrap of deadly puzzles and mazes on behalf of the wishes of a madman who enjoyed them. And having accepted his invitation to visit there afterwards, along with his family. And then there was the matter of his unfortunate daughter, Lisa... and his wife Jessica... what had been inflicted on them. The Progenitor experiments. But that night... he hadn't known about its history. Any of it. Bella hadn't told him, and was gone by the time he learned about it. He doubted she would have answered any questions of her father's business if he'd had the courage to raise them. The times she'd spoken to him of them had been few and far between... mostly towards the end... and he had never prompted her. Back then he hadn't known the horrors lurking beneath the mansion... the work being done down there, and by who... the shadows cast by the dazzling decadence above. No different from what he had seen in Marcus's labs. Worse. The ruin of the abandoned school had reflected who and what lurked within it... unlike Lord Spencer, Marcus had never pretended to be anything other than what he was. A monster. As well as a maker of them.

Though he had hid it on the surface, he was glad when he first heard from the Comtesse that the Arklay Mansion had been destroyed... burned to the ground. The self destruct sequence activated. He wished it had happened a lot sooner. But that night, it had stood. And he hadn't known the place to be any more than another of Lord Spencer's many properties around the world. Another monument to his unrivaled power.

Near everyone had been there, at the mansion, most of them had gotten there well before he had already. He remembered the quickening of his pulse the closer he had got, the growing fear... hiding behind his mask hadn't been of much comfort, then. He remembered the drunken, laughing guests and alert heavily armed security all over the premises as they had passed through the outer gates, parking before the sprawling mansion. He remembered the valet wishing him luck in the 'lion's den'... if he could go back in time, he would have corrected the valet. Vipers... not lions. Instead he had weakly thanked the older man, putting on his mask, cloak and drawing down his hood and stepping outside. Retreating briefly into a false sense of anonymity he had not often been able to experience since Bella chose him. Had shone a spotlight on him. Only their time alone together or secretly out in public had he been able to feel any privacy. He had gone to the front gates while the valet had lit up a cigarette behind him, leaning against the car, watching him leave through inscrutable eyes. Maybe it had been pity in them... knowing what he must have. Watching the foolish boy venture unsuspectingly, willingly into Umbrella's grip.

The wind had swept his cloak about... and he remembered standing at the gates with the familiar Spencer Family coat of arms emblazoned on them. Removing his invitation, extending it, showing them his face, speaking the password Bella had instructed him to. The password was the name of the secluded, secondary Spencer Family Estate built close to a coast somewhere in the Scottish Highlands that Lord Spencer himself had been born at. A far more private residency. He had never visited it... according to Bella it had been built quite some time after the other, more well known original family estate, Althorp, was purchased in Wales by the Spencer Family in 1508. At Lord Spencer's insistence, George Trevor had designed the Arklay Estate to resemble the home Lord Spencer had been raised in, and preferred to Althorp. Preferred it to the point of giving the more renowned estate to his younger brother Edward John Spencer and his family... who for some reason was more well known to the world and his own family by his middle name than his first. Probably some European tradition he just didn't understand.

The guard inspected the invitation, listened to the password and studied his face, before at last he was ushered through the yard, past a number of drunken, masked guests conversing outside and towards the main entrance hall. He remembered all the watchful heavily armed guards who had been present... they had waved him through knowing he was carrying a weapon and giving him the pass. Or rather, obeying the Lady of the mansion's pass he had been granted... the trust she had placed in him. He still felt their watchful eyes, even now. The sound of ballroom music had greeted him as well, like something out of another time. He still remembered the songs... Moonlight Sonata, Goldberg Variations. Along with various other tunes. Beethoven and Mozart throughout the evening. Bach. Among others. All of Lord Spencer's favorites. And Marcus's, for that matter... including the tune that had been playing in that laboratory on the gramophone. The moment he heard it playing he froze where he was and had to regain his false calm, taken off guard by it. One of Lord Spencer's sick jokes, perhaps... or a coincidence of similar tastes shared with his former best friend.

Some of Bella's musical selection popped up now and again as well. From appropriate genres Lord Spencer had agreed to, of course. The other more modern ones she preferred were a secret of his and hers alone. At least... that was what she had told him.

Streamers, ornaments and decorations had been in abundance. He had studied the expensive suits of armor and paintings on the way through, the elaborate interior almost startling him. Dancing, masked guests, swaying together or off in groups chatting as he had passed them by, taking it all in silently. The main entrance hall a ballroom of its own... even with another actual ballroom in use at the mansion. The giggles and touches of passing masked upper class girls greeted him that he had barely heard or felt, several of them tugging teasingly upon his tie and cloak. Each wanting to try their hand at flirting with Death. Knowing who he was and who he belonged to, even with the mask on, but wanting to make an attempt all the same. Asking him to light their fancy cigarettes for some reason... he politely had, producing the U.S.S. lighter she had given him, with the white and black Umbrella of their paramilitary special forces faction. All the while, while lighting their cigarettes, he'd looked for her over the giggling harem of ladies and among the crowd, moving through them and making his way to the ballroom and doing the same. Looking over the band that was playing, and to the crowd within the ballroom, moving among it, past the various servants. Searching among the masked attendees dancing and swaying or off in their own conversations. To no avail, knowing she would have stood out by a mile, mask or not. He saw others noticing him now and again, pointing him out and murmuring to each other, exactly as it had been on the train. Recognizing the grinning mask... recognizing who he belonged to. His heartbeat had quickened at the stairs, and he felt the urge to throw up, but repressed it, the unease, and continued to retreat. He'd managed to make it to the bar, the ladies following him and crowding around him there when he had taken his seat. Eyes still looking for her, and waiting to be found, feeling uncomfortable from the attention of all the ladies, who refused to leave him alone. To take the hint. Gathering around him as he had sat, poking and prodding at him, trying to get him to share a dance with them. To choose one of them... when there had only been one woman on his mind that night.

He had only gotten down one Vodka Martini from the paternally smiling, sympathetic bartender in a red tuxedo, when at last he had been found by Delbert Patrick, Lord Spencer's closest and longest serving butler, whose family had served the Spencers loyally for generations. Delbert informed him where the others were already assembled in the main dining hall. That he was expected, and fashionably late. The butler had directed him away from the bar, through the ballroom and towards the dining hall. The giggling masked and costumed girls around him had been dispersed by Patrick at least, much to his relief, saving him at least for the moment from their attention... he had thanked Patrick for that... though he saw a number of them following them and watching from afar. Reaching the main dining hall with the butler, he had been asked to take off his mask and cloak at the door, and had complied reluctantly, handing them over to the doorman as the guards watched him. Trying to ready himself for whatever lie within waiting for him. Attempting to maintain a calm... or at least the appearance of one.

He remembered all the eyes around the dining hall settling upon him the moment he was ushered inside by Patrick, conversations breaking off... and the terrible discomfort he had felt then... more so than the attention of the ladies before, other attendees and the Umbrella employees on the Ecliptic Express. Fear. Had tried to hide it. In the middle of a room of the world's most powerful, all of them seeing him. The Inner Circle. The room ambiently lit by candlelight, an active fireplace and some electric lights at certain points of the room... slightly smoking as well. It had been the only time he had ever met Umbrella's reclusive, eccentric founder in person... though they had communicated from afar, before and afterwards. With Marcus dead, Lord Spencer himself had been present and in rare spirits, his health fit enough to attend... had wanted the most extravagant affair possible, though he had been puffing away at his elaborate cigarettes in a long cigarette holder all evening regardless. Clad in a long midnight black brocade bathrobe and slippers, where everyone else had dressed up in their finest attires and costumes. A scepter-like cane set down atop the table next to his spot, not yet requiring a wheelchair all the time. Balding, and with the unkempt hair he had left turned white and grey and kept somewhat shaggy, as though he had just rolled out of bed, while his long, wrinkled face was smooth shaven perfectly. He had been grandfatherly and kind to all through the evening, blue eyes twinkling... laughing freely... speaking to everyone at some point... even to him. Calling him by his name. At his prompting he had gone to the old man as everyone else had looked on... the old man had shaken his hand in gratitude as well, long, thick fingernails scratching his flesh.

He had met the President of Umbrella himself... the most powerful, wealthiest man in the world, even that night. Showing nothing of the ruthless murderer, megalomaniac, thief and global criminal with good publicity he had known the old madman to be. Despite everything he hadn't known then... he had known he was looking into the kindly eyes of evil. Even then. Had felt a chill in his blood. Fear... even as he had forced himself to return the old man's warm smile. Forced his mouth to speak, graciously thanking him for the invitation. For everything. Observing the courtesies she had taught him, as she herself observed the interaction between them silently. Approvingly. He had feared the old man's knowledge... as though his eyes could x-ray into his mind, and knew his guilt. What he had shared with Bella. Thankfully, his fears seemed to have been unfounded. The old man had merely brushed his gratitude aside, and had instead thanked him for his own... service rendered, in that calm, posh, sophisticated English accent from his upbringing, in contrast to Bella's sophisticated, smooth Scottish one gained through her mother. Eyes twinkling knowingly. Likely by then he had seen the security footage they had recovered from Marcus's lab cameras... had looped the tape over and over of his former best friend and partner being gunned down. Entertainment. Just as he had wanted them to record the confrontation in NEST ten years later... and just as he watched various missions through the Umbrella Satellite Network.

Maybe in hindsight he should have drawn his Glock and emptied it into Lord Spencer. The final act he would ever commit... but it hadn't even been a thought, that night. Not because it would have been betraying him... but because it would have meant betraying her.

None of Lord Spencer's nurses or doctors had needed to attend to him that night, just his personal, head butler Patrick going over and whispering in his ear now and again, pouring his carefully prepared drinks and fetching his cigarettes. Arranging his food and utensils a certain way before setting the plate down. He remembered watching it play out, silently startled, while the others at the high table treated it as though they were used to it. Lord Spencer was obsessively particular about how he wanted items set, and of germs, having Patrick wear gloves at all times, while cleaning his hands often through the night. It must have taken him a great effort to shake his hand as he had. Only for a good enough reason to. Whatever it was they spoke of visibly amused Lord Spencer. But then, he'd had no shortage of things and business ventures abroad to amuse him. Or what had been taking place in the laboratories under that mansion perhaps had tickled him. Lord Spencer had seemed as vigorous and alive that night as Marcus had been down in his own lab when they had stormed it, regardless of his advancing age of sixty five, and not aging particularly well. The giant Colonel Vladimir did not sit at Lord Spencer's right hand that night, his greatcoat covered in his medals... not yet. Not until 1994, after she had left. Had vacated that seat... or been forced from it. Vladimir was still in the Soviet Army at that point, bitterly hoping for his country to remain embroiled in Afghanistan. Being at home there in perpetual conflict, like Nikolai. Like himself now, really. The year was 1988, and War... DEN MOTHER... had sat at Lord Spencer's right hand instead, where she rightfully belonged. Founder of Umbrella Security Service in the 70's, as Umbrella Pharmaceuticals global power, wealth and properties grew exponentially along with its number of rivals and the need for an elite paramilitary faction in the area of corporate warfare, espionage and security. Its leader... as well as his closest confidant within the Inner Circle. Often times speaking with his voice, in his stead, when necessary.

Beneath the many nicknames and codenames, her legend, the world knew her to be Lady Bella Alice Spencer... daughter of Lord Oswell Emhyr Spencer and the late Lady Matilda Alicia Spencer of Scotland, granddaughter of the late Lord Albert Edward John Spencer and late Lady Cynthia Elinor Beatrix Spencer. The aristocrats were understandably big on their names and lineages... and he had learned the entire Spencer line from her house's founding from her. She had sat him down and taught it to him as it had been taught to her... committed it to memory. Had him recite it for her. After he had been chosen by her... the rightful and true heiress of Umbrella. She took far more after her mother physically on the surface, from the family photos she had shown him, but shared her father's keen intellect and business acumen. His sense of humor and strange enjoyment of puzzles as well, despite their many other differences overt and subtle that inevitably drove them apart. Despite numerous offers for her hand among the European nobility, and even one from the British throne, her ambitious Earl father had had other plans for her. Had wed her to a noble not in line to the throne, but a more advantageous business related one that had greatly aided Umbrella's global growth, and to keep her free for other vital pursuits for him. Lord Spencer had clearly wanted more than an antiquated throne of a withered, powerless empire headed by a Royal Family more German than British could provide... he had wanted Umbrella. To forge his own empire, through the power of the T-Virus. Biological weapons, genetic engineering and advanced technology. The future of his company and interests. In his own right, instead of marrying his daughter to a Windsor.

He wanted the world, not mere scraps of land. Nothing else would be enough. Sate his vision and ambitions.

She had not married the husband that she had for love, he remembered her assuring him their first time together abed, but it had been preferable to the alternative. She told him that she had found the Crown Prince a dreary man. Told him that she had pitied her younger cousin Diana through her favorite uncle John, who invariably ended up wedding him. It had silenced the guilt and uncertainty he had felt at first, despite the deep desire and burning need for her, that first time. The hesitation. He had understood. She had been lonely for a long time at the top before she had chosen him... with the weight of the world on her shoulders, ungodly expectations her father had placed on his only child. He wanted to make her happy, even as it had felt like a dream of his own coming true. He had fallen for her the first time he had ever met her... he knew that now. He had been sixteen, the first time, his birthday... when she had made him a man. The most fortunate one in the world. He hadn't doubted her for an instant. Had never questioned her intent. Even though he had wondered why she still wore the ring... every time. It had been difficult to look away from her that night, even after what he had done to Marcus days before... or maybe because of it. He had needed her even more than ever... to be with her, again. To be in her arms... silencing the guilt. Comforting him. Robert, her hard working Lord husband from Essex, hadn't been in attendance that evening, nor the children, thankfully. Though he had rarely seen the man, he had met the Lord before... Bella had introduced them, smiling that smile of hers through silent, knowing green eyes as they had shaken hands. As he had kept her secrets. Their secrets. Culpability. Robert had been kind to him the few times they spoke briefly... though often wasn't around, being away on company business, his own pursuits, and whatever else Lord Spencer had him attending to abroad. Or he was with the children... raising them. Matilda, Ian and Alice lived at the Essex Estate with him. Born in '83, '85 and '87 respectively.

He had never met them... never been to Essex, regardless of how long he'd been with their mother... been in Europe... and perhaps that was for the best, all things considered. Especially for them. All the same... he wondered about them wistfully. Even knowing he shouldn't. That he had no right to. He'd never asked her about them, despite the frequent temptations... and she hadn't told him much on her own. It was out of his hands... he knew that. And still... he thought about them. Faces he had never even seen. Three blurred faces of recurring strangers... following him in his dreams.

She had worn a long elegant red dress instead of a uniform that night... it had not been difficult to see why the RED QUEEN's visage, voice and personality had been based upon her... she had been one that night, her spun golden hair done up elaborately like a crown, the rest of it falling down to her smooth shoulders. Her full bosom against the dress. Long, smooth, stocking covered, powerfully toned legs... already nearly six feet tall out of the heels she wore, and just over it in them. Then again... a dress was one of her uniforms. She wore two faces, as everyone did at Umbrella. Special forces leader and business woman. Agent and socialite. Everything he could never be... breezing through the world outside Umbrella as well... where it was the only one he knew. She had laughed and smiled in her discussions with the others... he still remembered that. Remembered every time she smiled. She had been her father's pride and joy, that night. It had been difficult to believe they would ever have the falling out that they did, from seeing them that evening. He didn't know how so much had changed, since then. At Lord Spencer's left side had sat his closest friend, Comte Henri, Director of the Loire Village facility and Paris Facility, a head executive in Umbrella Europe and of the French Division. He had been there with Lord Spencer in the early days of the company's founding, had known him and been friends since they were younger men. As he would be until his sudden fit of violent insanity, chopping up several members of his staff with an axe at the Henri Estate, and subsequent suicide in 1993. But that night he had been full of life, laughing up there at the high table as he spoke to the Spencers. He had politely shaken his hand... but at the same time, he had the feeling the Comte hadn't approved of him... his being among their social class. Any more than he had the others in the room who weren't aristocrats. All the same, with Bella sitting so close by, he had visibly held his tongue on the matter, observing his own gentlemanly courtesy.

Comte Henri's daughter and heiress had been in attendance as well... a young teenager then, watching him through large, enamored blue eyes most of the night. She had insisted he sit between her and the deceased Alexander Ashford's heir. The red military school uniformed late teenager had tried to engage him in boisterous military discussion throughout the soiree, showing him an antique revolver pistol he had been carrying in a holster of his own, albeit out in the open on a belt lined with shells. In turn, at the young aristocrat's insistence, he had showed Ashford the silenced Glock he had been carrying, and the brightly smiling, posh young man had suggested they go shooting together at his own estate or out on the grounds. He had suggested they try archery instead for a proper challenge, one of War's many lessons, earning him the first of the young Ashford's many appreciative, girlish laughs over the years. All while Comte Henri's heiress had tried seizing his attention, asking him what he thought of her white dress, and if he had ever been to Paris... told him how romantic evenings there could be, strolling through her family's vineyards. Told him all about the lands of Loire Village. The two of them, noble heirs vying inexplicably for his favor, making him desperately uncomfortable rather quickly. Not one for a spotlights of attention they shone his way. A spotlight that only existed because of Bella... the heights she had risen him to in choosing him. Bella had watched it all play out from the high table with amusement, he had caught her knowing, alluring green eyes now and again. Her red lipped smile and wink. Though as the night had gone on, he had seen the growing, silent concern in the glances she turned his way. Lord Beardsley, 16th Earl of his house, had sat at Comte Henri's side that night, another old friend of Lord Spencer's in his Inner Circle. Though unlike Comte Henri or Lord Spencer, his own daughter and heiress Mylène had not attended that night, for whatever reason. He had been the more somewhat reserved of the aristocrats, mostly listening, but remaining part of the ongoing conversations.

There were others in attendance, of course... Birkin and Wesker, sitting together as always... Wesker had even bothered to remove his sunglasses that evening. Each of them out of the lab coats he was used to seeing them in, and in their own fancy attire. Birkin's wife had been there sitting with the two of them, but she had seemed quite clearly more of a third wheel than anything else. Most of the night Birkin and Wesker had been huddled together laughing and talking quietly around the mansion. He had tried to avoid them as much as possible... but Birkin had beamed when he first entered the dining hall... rising to shake his hand in overdue gratitude as soon as he got the chance to. Already a bit drunk, on champagne and success... dreams of taking what had been Marcus's. Rising in the company. It wouldn't be long before he discovered the G-Virus and Lord Spencer approved of the financing and creation of NEST in 1991. All thanks to his murder of Marcus setting it into motion. He had forced himself to shake Birkin's hand... seeing only his laughing, gloating true face from Marcus's laboratory, a face marveling as he observed the remains of the test subjects, and the notes he had stolen. Ignoring the temptation he had felt to empty his Glock into him. Unlike with Lord Spencer, it was a thought on his mind that had occurred that night. Then he had also shaken his wife's hand as well when Birkin introduced them... Annette had smiled at him politely, if a touch coldly, as though she would rather be back in their lab at Loire Village than attending. It had suited him just fine. One fewer person to force himself to chat with. Pretend to. Despite everything the two had been a fitting match, William and Annette... both with their intellect, ruthless drive and ambition, willingness, enthusiasm to experiment on children... operating out of the Raccoon City Orphanage... one of Umbrella's many orphanages around the world through the Spencer Foundation, fronts for such experimentation purposes. While furthering the Spencer Family's global humanitarian public image, of course. If Sherry had lived, he would not have envied the day she grew up and found out about her parents, what they had really been.

Wesker by comparison had merely offered him no more than a slight respectful nod which was reluctantly returned. Though Wesker had engaged in conversation through the night with others, his eyes had been forever calmly watchful of the proceedings. Lingering upon him where he sat, and the Spencers up at the high table throughout the evening. He had avoided Wesker's eyes, but could feel them periodically turning his way.

Morpheus Duvall had been there... cutting an impressive figure in a long, fancy coat, even back then. A decade away from being scapegoated within the company for an outbreak at that very mansion that hadn't been his fault. That night he had been a model, rookie employee, one of Lord Spencer's favorites... until one day he wasn't any longer. Lord Spencer's interests in others tended to wane as suddenly as his interests in particular research projects and corporate ventures. Vincent Goldman had been there, some time before Lord Spencer had first entrusted him with command of Sheena Island. Clad in a white Nehru suit, he had been an impeccably groomed and well mannered young man on the rise back then... aiming his sights higher than Sheena Island, only to be disappointed down the line. Though from what he had heard lately, the man was making do on that island. The ever uniformed and distinguished looking Sir Maxwell had been there up at the high table, then the Admiral of Umbrella's fleet, not yet appointed to the head of U.S.S. Command as well. He had spent some time chatting with the Spencers that night, having been a friend of Bella's and her father for quite some time, fellow blue bloods. He'd never really known what to think of the man, one way or another. That night he hadn't cared much in the slightest about his future direct superior. Doctor Yurika Cameron had been present, though mostly keeping to herself, visibly out of her element to everyone, wanting to be back in her lab more than Birkin's wife. Most at home with her work. A strange, twitchy, yet particularly brilliant little woman. Lord Spencer had been fond of her... she had worked at the Umbrella Japan Laboratory in 1988 and the Antarctic DEN facility for years not long after, before her transfer to Raccoon City. He had shaken her hand politely, but she had seemed even more uncomfortable in their surroundings than he was... she admitted that to him with a whisper for him alone to hear. Probably the only kindred spirit he'd had at the event, she had saw it in him as well. Two commoner introverts surrounded by the sprawling splendor of a world of aristocratic extroverts. They had spoken for a time... she had been kind to him, he remembered... and even now he believed there had been nothing false about it.

Despite how many had attended, Director Brandon Bailey of the Umbrella Africa Laboratory had not been there among them. Undoubtedly due to how close to Marcus he had been. His former pupil. It was said that when Bailey got the news about Marcus, he had turned from a kind, outgoing man into a man made of ice. Though he had complied with Lord Spencer's authority, he had never left Africa afterwards. More misery and suffering that he was responsible for, in pulling that trigger. Consequences. And there were a number of other faceless and nameless directors and scientists, business associates, friends of Lord Spencer's who meant nothing to him. The Inner Circle he had never imagined to glimpse, much left work for. His partner hadn't been there either... his fellow assassin of Marcus. He hadn't been special... didn't have a powerful benefactor in the company propping him up. He had been one more faceless servant of Umbrella, even within the company. As the dinner had gone on, he had wished he could trade places with the man. Wherever he had been and whatever he had been doing would have been preferable to the pomp and circumstance of it all. SHIPMASTER hadn't attended... likely 'accidentally' misplacing the invitation when he had received it to remain where he was on the flagship of Umbrella fleet. If he had even received one. He had always cared little for pomp and decadence... something they had come to share. QUARTERMASTER could only rarely be torn away from his tech labs... and LONE WOLF was half the world away on a mission in Afghanistan.

As it stood, he and Bella had been the only U.S.S. Agents there in attendance, that night. A legend and a rookie... the founder and her student. The only security present had been Lord Spencer's heavily capable private army of hand picked bodyguards, those he trusted best, armed to the teeth with the best weapons. While she had been in her element there, raised for banquets, balls, political and aristocratic social functions, he could not have been further out of his. Even now he still was, the times he was forced to attend gatherings. It was all too high above him. An American peasant boy chosen by Umbrella's heiress, pulled out of obscurity and saved from the near death sentence that had been an Umbrella orphanage... and suddenly finding himself living among wealthy European elites. Living in lavish castles, mansions and estates. Among them, and serving their interests. He had thought it like a fairy tale, once upon a time. That he had been the hero of it... a knight in shining armor... hers... but time had proven that to be everything but true. The idyllic, romantic illusion had broken with Marcus's screams and with the celebration that night... or had at least begun to crack. The armor began to slowly rust... until it shattered with her departure. The doubt had been silenced until then though, for a long time afterwards. She had silenced it, replaced it with a purpose for him. A meaning to his life.

The unrivaled aroma and sight of the elaborate trays of assorted foods should have made his stomach growl, but his appetite had been small. He had politely ate what little he could... drinking more than he had eaten. Eating even less of the dessert. After the meal, long after everyone broke out into separate discussions... they had all been gathered in front of the fireplace for photographs, for Lord Spencer to remember the occasion. Patrick, the butler, had taken the pictures, though one as well where he was among them, at Lord Spencer's wish. Comte Henri's heiress and the young Lord Ashford had taken up spots beside him at once for the photos, drawing close... with Bella and the Comte at her father's sides behind them, where Lord Spencer sat smiling paternally. A grinning Birkin with an arm around Wesker and Annette on either side of himself. He remembered his deepening discomfort with each flash, there among them... this elite cabal... a family of sorts. One he had inexplicably been drawn up into. Each flash reminding him of the flashes of his MP5K lighting up the lab. He heard the roar of it again... the screams, the flesh opening, torn apart by the bullets and spilling all over the floor along with the tray clattering on the floor... the leech sliding down atop the old man. The leeches in the sewer water... Marcus's air bubbles rising to the surface before vanishing. His hands shaking once more as they had there.

Eventually he couldn't handle it much longer. Felt the all encompassing desire to be alone. With his thoughts... in silence.

After the photographs, he had excused himself from the table at the first available opportunity, telling the truth that he needed to use the washroom, and back out into the hall as quickly as he could. Retreating. To the visible disappointment of the two he had been seated between. He felt their eyes and others eyes as he left, and was grateful to leave it all behind. He had retrieved and hid behind his grinning skeletal mask and dark cloak and hood once he was out and passed through the masquerade ball... avoiding the ladies who had been waiting for him, losing them in the crowd. He had gone to the closest washroom, managed to make it there before throwing up his meal and drinks... unable to help himself... looking back at his paling reflection in the glass of the mirror afterwards. Listening to the ringing in his ears, the distant, muffled, ominous sounds of the ballroom music and the laughter, the conversations that seemed a world away from the one he stood in. A world that frightened him. One he had no wish to go back to. He drank some water, managing to settle his stomach, the slight dizziness of the drinks and the evening to that point... then he had washed himself up. Afterwards, he hid his shame and weakness behind the skeletal mask and hood again and had marched back out into the mansion. He didn't go back to the main dining hall or the ballroom or bar, though. Instead he had found and gone out on to a secluded upstairs balcony for some fresh, summer air... to try and clear his head. To ease his trembling. Looking out over the woods and mountains... listening to the crows out there... glimpsing the distant lights of Raccoon City beyond. Breathing slowly, recovering his fevered mind... some semblance of normality and quiet returning to it. Alone at last with his troubles and thoughts beneath the moon and stars.

But he wasn't alone with them for long.

At some point he heard the deliberate clicking of heels behind him on the balcony... feared for a moment the girls from before had found him... but turning, saw only her visage in the moonlight. She had followed him out there not long afterwards, wearing her own mask... an ancient, ornate war mask, like the ones on the statues and suits of armor at each of her family estates. Painted blood red... with those alluring eyes peering out at him from behind it... every green in the world contained within them. Before he knew it, Bella was at his side again, her fingers tracing the material of his cloak, accented, enticing voice wryly telling him about the U.S.S. codename the Comte's infatuated daughter had suggested for him to her... how much she liked it... teasing him about its suitability... but he had barely even heard a word of it. All he'd been thinking of was the old man again, slipping slowly beneath the murky, bloody depths of that sewer. Gripping on to his wrist. And the test subjects... the remains of the children the insane old bastard had been experimenting on. Torturing. The horror he had felt, hidden away under his balaclava as they had discovered the remains. It had been the thing of nightmares... nightmares that had never gone away.

He couldn't control any of it. He was trapped in his own body watching that party play out again, unable to open his mouth, just watch and hear himself speaking old words to her. His fears and doubts. Powerless to change or do anything different.

If he had the power to, he would have asked her why she had left him. Why he hadn't been good enough for her anymore. Why she had chosen him in the first place for so many important matters and then had walked away. How she had been able to walk away. Where she had slept last night. But of course... she hadn't abandoned him yet at that point. Even while she was already gone in the real world. Had been for nearly five years. Lady Spencer had chosen whatever she was doing... raising her children, exiled from the company, or acting for Umbrella, her Lord father, behind the scenes. All he knew was that she had chosen something over staying by his side at Rockfort Island... continuing to lead the U.S.S. She had allowed her successors and those U.S.S. figures she had recruited to take over, U.S.S. Command. Leaving him early one morning after celebrating the new year together without a note... only Matilda, on the bedside table of their quarters. Leaving him with only questions, and bitterness. Rage, he'd had to hold on to. Imagining many times going to England and trying to find her... confronting her, demanding the truth... truths. About himself... and about the children. Decapitating her Lord husband... burying his body somewhere and leaving just the head behind to be discovered. But... that had been a young man's cruel, helpless, jealous dream. The childish madness born of frustration, hurt and rage. Abandonment. He had wronged her husband, not the other way around. He was complicit. Deserved it... the suffering... deserved worse. His every movement and location were controlled and monitored by Umbrella at all times anyways... so it was never going to happen.

He had been forced to endure his loneliness... focus on his duties and missions the sympathetic Commander Ashford had quickly piled on him after she left. Perhaps to distract him from his loss... if that had been it, he appreciated it. It had worked, a little at a time. He'd been forced by necessity to let go of seeing her again. Forced to grow cold... and old before his time. Forced to become what he was... focus on the only thing he was good at.

Instead of asking her why, there on that balcony while the mansion's great clocks nosily struck midnight, ringing through the night around them, her hands drew back each of their masks, and her lips covered his own again tenderly. Gripping him by the front of his cloak... comforting him with soothing kisses and words, they embraced. His resolve weakening, and shattering. He never could help himself with her. His heart and soul had belonged to her... were bared to her.

She called him by his name softly. Kissed and wiped away the tears that shamefully formed and spilled, in spite of his attempts to hold them back. She told him it was ok... that it would get easier after the first... that she would be with him next time, on the next mission. Every mission, in one form or another. That she loved him... that he would never be alone... and he was nodding his head like a fool to all of it. Unable to speak or even make a sound with his throat burning with grief. Believing every word she had told him. She had been right about that much. It had gotten easier. One life stolen after another. The faces blurring together. The blood on his hands... their hands, thickening, and intertwined. She had been his Lady of War, he had been her Grim Reaper. It had been simple, then. Her lips smothering his fear, his doubt... and his troubling conscience. Giving him purpose. Clarity. She took him by the hand. Leading him in a private dance, together, out there on the balcony, swaying back and forth... the way she had taught him to in England. Midnight, the Stars and You. Just as they would dance again at Rockfort Island, for that New Years she had departed on. When the song had concluded... she took the lead again... leading him not back to the party, but far away to one of the mansion's many secluded elaborate bedrooms. He couldn't resist her... didn't even try. He went along with it now, as he had back then... of course he did. He loved her. Had loved her. As much as he hated her. She numbed the guilt. She had been all he knew. His world. He had lived in a gilded cage at Umbrella, since her... and hadn't realized it entirely until she was gone. Somehow, the only freedom he knew now was on the battlefield. During a mission for Umbrella, surrounded by death and suffering. Even in his relative freedom there, it was for Umbrella. His entire world had been for years.

He'd known nothing else... until the temptations recently. Until Raccoon City. Wherever it really was.

Until the young woman in blue with the calm blue eyes... her embrace, her touch... her strength and compassion. Where Bella had smothered his conscience... she was resuscitating it, a little at a time... and with it the old fear and the doubt. Returning the truth he had blinded himself to for years. Of who and what he was. The blue, alien world he was coming to know clashing with the red, familiar one he had known best. Those old dreams... memories of Bella... had seemed good, once. Something for him to cling to. Now he was seeing them for what they were. Through older eyes. What she had been doing to him. He felt fresh grief... burning in his throat and eyes. As it had been when she had left. The illusions shattering, one after another.

He heard shouting then, somewhere high above him... muffled, distorted, over the music of the ballroom. Frantic. The serene, inviting illusion rippling. He couldn't hear the words, but he knew the tones... the voices... their owners, even through the haze. He looked back to Bella's red form... golden hair... mysterious smile and vivid green eyes looking back at him... heard her laugh again. Music by itself. He tasted her again, felt her again undoing his clothing, and him her dress. Her mouth on his neck. Her dress slipped down over her body, revealing the red and black lingerie, panties and garter belt she wore beneath it, hugging the shape of her perfect, familiar, powerfully toned body. Her full breasts meeting his chest. Her undoing his suit holster containing the Glock while he did the same of her lace garter thigh holster containing Matilda, down against her long stocking covered leg. The most beautiful and powerful woman in the world... and he was all hers. Lady Spencer had chosen him. Bella's fingers slipped through his as they lay down among the red and white sheets of the spacious, inviting bed together, his hands trailing down her back to either side of her bottom, gripping her tightly. But this time he was floating again, leaving that body behind, rising higher towards those voices, swimming up to meet them. Leaving her and his past, naive self making love... leaving the banquet... the Spencer Mansion that night behind. Leaving the soothing, comforting cuddling they had shared afterwards, in the bed and in the bath. The remainder of the party, and their departure back to Europe together on her private jet the subsequent morning after a breakfast with her Lord father and the remaining guests.

Leaving it all behind.

A blue figure stirred somewhere overhead... warm and kind. Genuinely serene, not falsely. Offering truth and justice, whether it was comforting or not. Young, but wise and experienced at her age, worn by pain and tragedy... but not subsumed by it. It was her lips he felt then, not Bella's... in the clock tower courtyard again, the remains of that battlefield... surrounded by the rain, muck, shell casings and the rotting corpses... the infected rattling and moaning at the gates... but feeling more free then than he had in his entire life. True freedom... not the illusion of it Bella had drawn him into. He went to it instead. Went to her. And to the distorted green figure of the young man at her side, innocent as he had once been and never would be again... each of them hovering over him. Speaking to him muffled, garbled words. He fled the past, with difficulty. They did not shine enticingly as the woman in red did below... but they were real. Not one of his regretful dreams. Not false... and wore no masks. They were the present... not the grim past. And they cared about him. Had not lied to him. Had not used him. Especially her... the woman in blue.

He went back up towards her, instead of back to the bedroom below. And he trusted her... with everything left Umbrella hadn't managed to steal from him. What little of him was left.


October 1st, 1998, 3:45 AM

Rear Entrance Corridors, Incineration Disposal Plant P-12A, Northern Raccoon City

"He's alive!"

HUNK's eyes opened again beneath the red lenses, and he drew pained, muffled gasps, each one hurting worse than the last. His midsection felt like it had been kicked by a horse... and his ears were ringing, head spinning. He saw double of both the figures looming over him, and his hands shot up, seizing one of the figures by the wrists as they reached down to touch him. Ready to break the figure in two, if it was a threat... if it was necessary. Slowly the spinning calmed down enough to see her face... still beautiful, regardless of the bruises, swelling, bandages and broken nose... the chain of her dog tags dangling towards him. Especially when he saw the relief touching it, at seeing him again... daring to breath easier. And Carlos's concerned face at her side breaking out in a exhausted, relieved grin as well. Jill lowered down closer to him, one hand on his mask, the other on the chest of his body armor. Agony slammed through his midsection, deep throbbing... but he couldn't take his eyes off her. Dared not... lest he slip back down into the nightmare he had fled. His hands slowly released her wrists... and he heard her soft voice speaking to him... he knew she was so close, saw her, but to his ears it was as though she spoke reassuringly from down a long tunnel.

"It's ok, HUNK... just breath... slowly. You're going to be ok... don't be afraid. You're alive... you're going to live."

HUNK listened to the soothing, concerned voice... wanted to obey it. But he had to know for certain first. If he would make it, or if he was a lost cause. Time was ticking, somewhere. There was something they still had to do... it was important... and would come to him. He looked down over his form... gloved hand rising tentatively. Touching along the front of his body armor, looking for any blood or punctures on it. Remembering each impact, the sound of the silencer... the red laser sight falling upon him. Finding his voice... speaking with painfully difficulty, through exerted breaths.

"Am I... what...-"

"It's ok... just keep breathing. The rounds didn't get through your armor. QUARTERMASTER does good work alright. One of them glanced off your helmet... the impact made you black out."

"I... see. How long... have I been out?"

"No more than a couple minutes. Thank God."

"Felt... much longer than that..."

"You were mostly stunned. Murmuring to yourself, stirring now and again. For a few moments there, I thought... the worst. We were afraid to move you... it might have worsened your injuries."

"Doesn't matter. Been unconscious... long enough... got enough... rest. Not going back... to those nightmares. Need to...-"

"You need to stop almost dying on us is what you need to do.", Jill retorted overhead, voice filled with relief and grief at the same time. Matching her visage. Tears threatening to spill in her glistening blue eyes. Her hand touched the side of his mask... but did not remove it. Had not removed it. His hand rose again with effort, settling over top of hers on his mask. "I thought I lost you... again..."

"Can't die... Valentine... still have a mission to complete. Umbrella...-"

"Fuck Umbrella! We need you a hell of a lot more than they do! I need you! And above all we need you alright! Forget about them for a minute. We're the ones who care about you, not them. Take a moment, clear your head. Breath. Slowly. That's an order, soldier."

Something about her tone took control of the situation with ease... not the first time he'd heard it. Stole his attention. The G-Virus sample in his pouch... the mission. The company. The nightmares. It all managed to fade away for a time... leaving him alone again... as it had under the water. But not entirely alone. She was there, now. They both were. Together. He met her blue eyes looking back at him seriously... her bruised face... her concern for him. Finally, he nodded... breathing slowly and closing his eyes. A little at a time, his senses came back... along with the world, in better focus. Enough to know Doctor Radames was going to give him hell, if he made it back to the Leviathan. The stinging, burning pain... he grappled with it, worked to overcome it... to balance out his breathing again steadily. Slowly but surely, a little of the pain ebbed... at least enough of it. Opening his eyes again, he looked to each of their concerned faces, then past them to the heavily sealed metal, automated door of the Control and Communications Tower... riddled with bullet impact marks... while the control panel remained locked, a red light glowing tauntingly. They were so close... but so far away. He looked back over between the two of them, finding his voice again, more steady than before.

"Did I hit him?", HUNK inquired at last, already suspecting the answer. Willing himself to speak all the same. To spite the pain. "Did any of us?"

"I don't think so. Bastard ran for it real quick, locked the door behind him again."

"Help me up. Off these corpses. Not dead yet. I... need to stand. Need... to keep going..."

"HUNK... you are in no possible condition to be standing up... moving around..."

"Perhaps. Need to stand... all the same. Necessity... is all that matters. My comfort... does not..."

Jill and Carlos exchanged a concerned, uncertain look... with the Corporal nodding assuredly at last. Finally, both of them relented, took him by an arm each and began to carefully help him up to his feet. A deep, pained grunt escaped his lungs, muffled through the mask as the pain worsened. Right leg pulsing, aching, an ache that spread. Like a knife were embedded in his flesh there, a hand twisting it. He forced himself to ignore it, slowly rising and standing again. A pain slammed in his leg again when he was fully upright, and it nearly collapsed out from under him... but before he could fall, both the Officer and Corporal remained close, helping support him... and he wrapped an arm around Valentine to remain steady, feeling hers around him. He breathed slowly, attempting to stave off the pain in his chest. Trying and failing to clear his head. In his mind's eye he already saw the deep purple bruises forming across his body. And with the throbbing in his head, he knew he'd have a goose egg at best. Possible concussion. Aches all over his body.

Chest rising and falling slowly, he slowly looked down to his battered body armor... at last seeing the impact marks in it, embedded through the faded yellow combat harness and in the dark plate carrier. Four of them... three of them all where his heart would have been, without the vest. Of course. Cold and efficient, like himself. Three to the chest... one to the stomach... one to his aching right knee, the lead of the round visibly embedded in the knee pad's metal... and another to the helmet. If he'd been using armor piercing rounds... it would have likely been over then and there. Maybe he hadn't been trying to kill him... had known his armor could take it. Or maybe Nikolai had made a mistake. He believed the former more likely. Deliberately weakening him... for some other part of his trap. His plan for them. It took all he had to keep standing... the throbbing in his right leg steadily worsening... the flesh beneath the undersuit already swelling. His hand lowered from his worn down body armor, and he looked among the corpses... looked to the bullet impacts all along the walls... remembering the MP5 going off. Flying from his hands.

"Where's my weapon...?"

There was movement ahead of HUNK, just near his peripheral vision. He felt Carlos brush past him, reaching down to pick something up off the floor, looking the familiar dark object over. He stepped into HUNK's vision again, and held it out to him, stubble lined features looking genuinely apologetic.

"Sorry boss. Bastard totaled it."

The U.S.S. Agent took it from the Corporal carefully, holding up the MP5 to look it over in the light. On one hand, the modifications all remained intact... the additions. The laser sight burned bright... the flashlight functioned, and he saw no damage to the scope, silencer, or grenade launcher. On the other hand, the firing chamber had been destroyed by the impact of the shot that had torn into it. Leaving the weapon worthless. Anger spiked in HUNK's mind... but somehow, he was distantly impressed as well, grimacing beneath the mask.

"Always was... a hell of a shot. Among the best... at what he does."

"Also a psychotic, sadistic asshole. And you're better than him, at least. Son of a bitch knows it too. Why he has to fight dirty."

HUNK did not argue the young man's well articulated point. The weapon was lost... but there was no sense not salvaging what he could. HUNK took the time to remove the flashlight, turning the swivel head and attaching it to his vest. Then he unclipped the grenade launcher, tucking it away in a pouch, before unscrewing the silencer, laser sight and infrared scope. He tucked away the scope, but kept out the silencer and laser sight. Turning his attention to the pistol holstered at his side. He drew it carefully, looking it over again, along with the modifications... nodding. The suppressor was one of QUARTERMASTER's designs... capable of being attached to a number of different weapons... including the Beretta. He snapped it on over the barrel and screwed it into place carefully, aiming down the sights when he had. Before drawing it back, and beginning to fasten the laser sight to it as well. He felt Jill watching him as he modified her Beretta even further... caught something pleased, appreciative there in her eyes when he glanced over. When he finished, looking the Samurai Edge over again, he was satisfied, aiming the laser sight and sweeping it over the bodies at their feet. He lowered it to his side, hand tightening on the grip, returning his gaze over to the MP5.

As well as it had served him... as long... there was no sense carrying it around any longer.

Removing the strap fastened to it and tucking it away, he unceremoniously threw the broken weapon aside, where it landed on the floor with an echoing clatter among the bodies. Then he turned his gaze to the locked down door to the Control and Communications Tower. It was time to get back to work. They had wasted enough time already. He looked up to the vents high above the door... considering them. With a boost, he would probably be able to reach them. On the other hand... there were no guarantees it would get him where he needed to... and he was no longer in any condition to try climbing through them. Especially with his leg as it was. And the Licker in the vents returned to mind... mutations lurking up there, in enclosed spaces. Nor... did he wish to separate from the others again. There had been enough of that. He felt a temptation to call Doctor Radames... update her... inform her he was alright. Well... alive, at least. But he ignored that temptation as well. No sense worrying her over something she didn't even know about. And now wasn't the time for his support team. No... that wasn't correct. It was time for them. He was already with his support team... and would focus on them... not those beyond the city. Instead his pulsating head turned from it and back to the blue and green figures watching him with quiet concern. He spoke again, in spite of all the agony... his head killing him... moving them forward.

"Alright... Alpha Team. Back to square one. We need to... get through this door. How?"

"Door's many inches of reinforced steel and titanium. Automated locks. No way we're blowing it down with explosives. Doubt we even have enough left. We need a keycard... from one of the employees. Looks like Nikolai had one."

"Then we need to find one too. Explosives will be a final resort. Let's start checking the corpses."

"We already checked them on the way to you. But... according to the Manager's diary, the senior staff bodies were being dumped into the treatment room, just off the elevator... the passageway was locked down when we checked."

"Must have been the one I unlocked, then... not this one. We need to double back... investigate it."

The U.S.S. Agent looked down to his left wrist, pealing back the material there... to the glowing blue ID Wristband he wore... remembering acquiring it at NEST. He looked to the door panel... and recognized, Senior Level clearance or not, it wouldn't work. It was a different security system here than from NEST. Less state of the art... the panel different entirely from the ones at the other facility. He pulled his sleeve back down over his wrist and turned from the sealed door to the Control and Communications Tower and stepped painfully away from the two of them, going back in the direction they had all come from. Stepping over the bodies. Managing to do so unsupported, with pain and difficulty. He made it no more than a few limping steps before vertigo threatened, and the pain in his chest worsened, along with his leg. He grunted painfully again and stopped walking, hand settling on the chest of his armor, recovering himself from the exertion of the short distance. Silently cursing his body betraying him... cursing his bout of weakness. When he needed to be in full control of himself the most. At the end of the line, the stakes as high as they could be. The odds shifting further against them. But all that conflict faded away, then... Valentine was there at his side in an instant when he looked up, wrapping her arm around him again to support him. Watching him with that same unwavering concern and conflict in her blue gaze... reflected in her voice. Wanting to take care of him.

"HUNK, you aren't in any condition for this... we should get you to the break room. You can sit down and rest there safely. I can go search for the card. Carlos can stay with you, protect you. You need to rest. Can't keep moving around like before."

"No time for that. Not a luxury I can afford. We don't keep moving, we're all dead, Valentine.", He muttered back to her, forcing himself to meet her concerned, fearful gaze. Touched by it... though finding it strange as well. That she would still feel the concern that she did despite what she knew. He didn't understand how anyone could. He doubted even Doctor Radames would think much of him any longer if she knew what he did on his missions. He rose his hand, then, gently touching her bruised cheek, gloved fingers tracing along it. "Don't worry about it. Just... kindly help me down the corridor. I'll manage, Jill. Been through worse."

"Fine...", Jill relented at last after a long pause of consideration, with visible reluctance, uttering a low breath. Remaining close against lowering to his bullet ridden armor, and back up into the red lenses again. "But you do what I say from now on... deal?"

"Within reason. Deal. And you lead the way, Oliveira."

"If you say so, 007.", The Corporal snapped another salute and exhausted, almost delirious smirk. Glancing between them and the silenced pistol down at HUNK's side. Uttering a low laugh under his breath, raising his arm and wiping the gleaming sweat from his brow. "At least you finally have the right weapon for the secret agent business now. Almost... need a Walther, a Beretta is more a lady's weapon, fine as that gun is. Even have the shotgun toting Bond Girl glued to your side."

"Keep the spy movie quips to yourself until the right time, Carlos. Time and a place."

"Touched a sore spot, Miss Bouvier? Always a good time for them."

"Enough, Corporal. We still have a mission to complete."

"Sir, yes sir. I'm going, I'm going. No need to use the Licence to Kill."

"That'll do. Move out."

"Alright, alright. Have a few more on the tip of my tongue. I'll save em' for later. If there is a later..."

The Corporal traded a look with an exasperated Jill, winking at each of them and passing them by, raising his rifle again to his shoulder, sweeping around the corner and aiming down it. License to Kill. That had been HUNK's favorite one. The last one he'd watched with her. He repressed the now tainted memory, another plaguing him, one of the naive boy he'd left in that nightmare he'd once thought a dream at the Spencer Mansion. Focusing on his pain and the present, no matter how harsh it was proving. Reality was the only thing that mattered. His purpose in that reality. His duty. To Umbrella... and to her... to Jill. Ahead of them, the Corporal judged it all clear, and gestured for them to follow. Together, HUNK and Jill followed after him, both of them limping over the corpses. Her arm fastened about his waist, while one of his was draped over her shoulders... her modified Beretta down at his side. He carried as much of his own weight as he could... she had injuries of her own, serious, and was doing all she could to support herself, much less him. It had been a long road to this point... and even in the final mile... it took all they had to keep going. Although the best off of the three survivors, Carlos was injured and exhausted as well, disheveled... HUNK saw it in his eyes, how worn down he was... forcing himself with each movement to keep going. Running on fumes. The Corporal reached the door and pushed it open, aiming within as a precaution, before lowering his rifle again, silently nodding hat it was all clear. And then, watching them, Oliveira must have saw in them what HUNK did, because he laughed bleakly as they approached the door to the Treatment Control Room. Pausing at it as he looked back at the pair of them approaching it as well, a grim, wry expression crossing his features as he spoke again.

"Jesus... just look at us. Ever seen a better Umbrella medical advertisement poster for Adravil, Aqua Cure and Safsprin? First Aid Sprays? Even if that girl they got on the posters in the purple swimsuit, stockings and heels is mighty fine. We're dead on our feet. Practically already zombies."

"Infected."

The U.S.S. Agent's muffled voice corrected him... looking from the Corporal, and back over to her watchful, pained blue gaze that gave him strength and resolve... and he hoped he gave it back. Did as much for her as she did for him. She took care of him without demanding anything of him... looked out for him, and cared... without a cost. Without the price of his soul. He didn't understand how anyone could be so... good. But she was. And continued to be, despite everything. Her and Carlos. He looked between the two who had saved his life more than once... helped get him this far... two who couldn't be any more different from himself, from his world... and he knew there was nobody he would rather be with, in this city. He did not regret it any longer. He was where he belonged, here. He held on to her tighter, and felt her grip tighten reassuringly in response. Reminding him that this was real. Genuine. That he was still alive... and had something of substance... someone... worth fighting for still.

"And not yet, Oliveira. Isn't over... until it's over. We're not... dead yet..."


I hope you all understand my take on HUNK now, who he is and where he is coming from. Why he is the way he is. I was planning on saving all my story and character notes for after the story, and there will be many when that time comes, but I had to write some here about this pivotal chapter. I've been leading up to this chapter for quite awhile, with the hints along the way. I wasn't trying to go for a 'gotcha' reveal, I wanted it hinted at all along. I must confess I'm surprised none of my eagle eyed reviewers figured out Bella's identity, but then she is mostly OC xD so. I originally conceived her and her relationship with HUNK as much more convoluted (it's still obviously complicated but I trimmed it from what it was, but I digress), there would have been several outright flashback scenes through the story in a non dreamlike fashion depicting his complete origin, and she wasn't originally a Spencer, but I realized the story and character potential of the opportunity, as well as in choosing another way of presenting her through HUNK. A lovely red shadow hanging over his life. The most powerful and beautiful woman in the world chooses you when you are young, frees you from an Umbrella prison, makes you what you are, skilled, loved, risen to a glamorous looking world you never dreamed, given status and purpose... and abandons you in what you realize was the same prison all along, just with gold painted bars, helpless. You're going to be where HUNK is at mentally. I see him as having been good, nice and innocent once, lovestruck, then pulled deeper into Umbrella's sinister world through his relationship with Bella, becoming darker and a killer, more inclined to violence, slipping into enjoying it... then when she suddenly left it was a shock to his entire world... she was his world, he was enraged, but became gradually the cold, distant professional we know him to be in her absence to cope, as he performed more and more missions. Now his humanity is being reawakened, some of it, gradually. I welcome any comments and questions about my version of the man, his origin story, and those in it.

And yes, I revealed the origin of his codename ;) seemed appropriate to me. It's the sort of name a smitten teenage girl would come up with, not HUNK who isn't egotistical, nor Bella who was too mature to think that up, and had already given him the moniker of Death.

I chose to keep it in a surreal, dreamlike form instead of a literal flashback scene with dialogue for a number of reasons. One to keep it connected properly to the story set in the present instead of disjointed and separate, suddenly being ten years in the past and removed entirely from the present. Second because I didn't want to nail it all down exactly, but keep some details open to interpretation/imagination. These are the ten year old memories of a complicated, biased, troubled man... I wanted them tied to the present story, giving him further context, while giving you information and a picture of how he sees everyone in his past. How he feels. A glimpse into his fevered mind and what he has been through. True memories and knowledge, but filtered through his understandably biased, traumatized psyche. A veneer of distortion and enigma to it all, instead of set 100 percent in stone. I didn't want to get bogged down in the exact details, but keep it flowing, while telling you what I wanted you to know. Drop you into his strange world. Have the 'present' HUNK commenting from within his own past body, instead of just presenting past HUNK as he was back then. Didn't want to limit my creativity. There is more of his story to come, but this struck me as the perfect time to find out who he is. Share it at last, inside him. We the audience now know, but the others don't, he's a man of mystery still. Very tempted to write his full origin story, but that would have to be a separate work... the present narrative is the most important one here, with the past giving insight and context to the present. It is not the primary focus.

Amor Fati, Latin for 'Love Of Fate'. The title of the chapter comes from the quote by Nietzsche (Lord Spencer's favorite incidentally): "My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendacity in the face of what is necessary—but love it." A man in love with his fate and life circumstances, even his suffering, feeling at peace and complete, seeing it all as necessary, the good and the bad. Loving himself as he is. Wanting for nothing. That is the kind of man HUNK wants to be, wishes that he were. Balanced. Free from his pain, or at peace with it. But... spoilers: he ain't. He is a deeply tormented, bitter man, with many demons, still trying to come to terms with it all. Where it all went wrong. Still... he is growing and changing, learning, and Jill is the catalyst of that development. But character development doesn't happen overnight.

Also, Lord Spencer: "Wed my daughter to the British throne? Do you know how much power I would have to give up for that?" Lol. Had a blast finally getting into the Umbrella characters, the clandestine ominous world of the villains, with HUNK as our sole POV into them, our man on the inside. Reveal his place among them, when not on the battlefield, how he fits into things. More of that to come. A world of glamour with a sinister side to it. I enjoy fleshing out the Spencers and Legion Of Doomesque Umbrella Villains as well, the internal politics and relationships, not enough was done with Lord Spencer in the games, but then that could be said about most of Capcom's characters sadly.

Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did coming up with it. I assume I'm going to be hit by a heap of questions now that I either can or cannot yet answer xD. Either way, ask away, and the grueling journey continues. All of them now in quite sorry ass shape.

RIP HUNK's MP5, 1998-1998, faithful to the bitter end. There will be a reckoning. On to the treatment room. Until next time.