Author's Notes: My, this must be a record for the shortest delay between
chapters in this entire series. Well, that can be owed to the gentle
(read: brutal and relentless) prodding of Cherry... I'm really
appreciative of said prodding, however, because it's a great inspiration to
write. Again, thank you so much to all of those that bothered to read
this, and an even more massive, 'thank you,' to all those that reviewed it.
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I assert no ownership of it. If by their request, I shall immediately remove this piece from fanfiction.net, and anywhere else that it may be posted and\or archived.
Why is it that, whenever I assert that things can't possibly become any worse in this diary, they always do? Chris and Barry are departing, and the conditions are bound to become quite a lot worse...
Why would they be worse, you ask? Yes, considering how much I hate those meddling, condescending bastards, I should be glad that they're going, shouldn't I? Well, sorry to say, but only they are leaving. My self-proclaimed 'protector and surrogate mother,' the not-so-lovely Jill Valentine, along with Chickenheart, is staying behind... What an incredible joy. For someone that essentially ignored me for weeks preceding the 'Spencer Mansion Incident,' as the papers have taken to calling that debacle, and for which I was incredibly glad, she certainly perceives herself as my best friend, now. "The girls have to stay together, after all," was her justification. I'm not certain how she sees me... Wait, I know exactly how she sees me; it's the same as everyone else, from my parents, to Chickenheart: the 'innocent, naive, defenseless little girl in a situation too big for her.'
They couldn't be further from the truth, but it's far better if they believe what they believe. I haven't yet received the orders from Umbrella to depart from here, upon which an HCF 'raid' will occur, resulting in the 'kidnapping' of one of Umbrella's agents and scientists, and I still need to maintain my cover here. It's annoying to have them act on those engineered preconceptions, but, really, I suppose that it's more beneficial for them to be ignorant, than avert some annoyance... However, there was always one person who never believed it, even before the 'innocent' routine was a contrivance of Umbrella's: Albert... Ever since that first meeting, he never treated me like a child; he never treated me as though I was some less mature, less sophisticated person; he never treated me as though I was someone to be condescended to...
All of my thoughts turn to him, and, really, I should be glad that they do, as it indicates how deep our bond is... However, it's absolutely agonizing, as well, because the thoughts are all I have left until we can meet, and I know it; even the most remote thought can drudge up the most remote memory, which starts an explosive downward spiral until I'm just staring at the ceiling, or at this diary, sobbing until I collapse from exhaustion.
The exhaustion, however, during the day isn't only from my tears, although it's becoming almost impossible to restrain them whenever I look at his desk, especially when the others discuss how, 'awful he was.' I nearly shot those two idiots today, and I truly wish that I would've... After all, the offices are nearly soundproof, and the hallways around the 'insane' S.T.A.R.S. are all but deserted, considering the reputation that Irons has given this section. Not that I really cared about being friends with any of the other members of the department, those irritating, uncouth idiots, but it's beyond infuriating to be the laughingstock of, not only the section, but the entire department.
Jill and Chickenheart, however, are the worst... They see some type of camaraderie with me as 'Spencer Mansion Survivors...' Well, I suppose that I'll allow them their delusions. Their survival was entirely coincidental... Also, it seems that Chickenheart hardly 'survived' the incident; rather, he fled the instant that they encountered the 'Cerberus' units, and merely hovered over the complex until morning, when he threw that rocket launcher onto the helipad and extracted us. They continue to assert that, 'Umbrella must be taken down,' and that, 'the people have to know what's really going on...' It's truly amazing how ignorant they are, when they believe that they know everything about this conspiracy, and all parties involved...
They haven't yet mentioned Bioject's HCF Branch, which implies that they really have no idea what's happening. All they know is what limited data they obtained from the mansion before I 'accidentally' triggered its self-destruct, and what Chickenheart hacked from the Umbrella 'Blue Queen' mainframe. However, what Chickenheart hacked is a hoax; 'Blue Queen' is the codename of Gray Umbrella's, the intelligence division's, diversionary mainframe. Chickenheart may considered himself a brilliant hacker, but that's as far as he'll ever go... Not only is the real 'Red Queen' mainframe controlled and monitored by its own AI, the 'Black Knight,' but the 'entrances' to the main system are guarded by the 'Legion': a force of C-I H (Computer-Integrated Human) units.
However, all of this is of no reassurance... The fact that they're completely ignorant of Umbrella may prove to be even worse than them having some knowledge, as Umbrella is truly my enemy, also, now that Albert and I are with Bioject. But, until I manage to escape from Raccoon, and be 'kidnapped,' it would be unfeasible to act in any resistance role; besides, the S.T.A.R.S. are also enemies, which creates a true dilemma. I'll definitely report the movements of Barry and Chris into Europe, and, perhaps, attempt to patronize Jill, and let her believe that I care about their little resistance... Regardless of how much it pains me, I'll have to pretend to be an ally to her to obtain data; I may as well let Umbrella do the work for me, after all. If it comes to it being essential, however, I'll do what those BOWs were unable to manage: I'll kill the remainder of the S.T.A.R.S., and ensure that they're never a bother to Bioject.
Damn it, this is pointless... Regardless of how I struggle; regardless of how I attempt to concentrate on the issue at-hand, I can't forget him for a second... It's impossible to do anything without thinking of him. It's agonizing to go to work, because I have to stare at his desk, all of his belongings still perched on top of it, the photograph of me still in the left drawer... But it's impossible to stay home without agony, because, whenever I enter this apartment, I'm greeted by thousands of reminders: his subtle, clean, and understated, yet so alluring scent of soap and shampoo; the slight indent in the bed from his lean, muscular body; and the photographs that I have perched on my desk. Secret scenes of us that no one has ever seen; scenes of hidden tenderness and rare, unadulterated joy and pleasure; scenes of deep, unrestrained caring and love... Even if they were to all disappear, I remember everything perfectly; where they're situated, what they contain, what the photograph didn't show... Everything about our lives, I've committed to memory; it's all I have left, until we can meet again. The 'kidnapping' is in one week; I don't know if I can wait that long. Something odd is occurring, and I think that it may have something to do with Birkin's research.
Birkin is also intending to defect to Bioject, due to his discontent with Umbrella, and he carries an 'Ace,' as it were: the 'G' virus. An improved version of the 'T' virus, it slows mutation down to a manageable level, meaning that there are no 'zombies' or rapidly decaying organisms, which die within ninety-six hours of exposure. Instead, it's a directly- injected form that is programmable to modify 'evolutionary' processes, resulting in an almost 100% organic compatibility rate with the virus, allowing the occurrence of 'Tyrant' beings to be nearly 100%; the 'T'-virus only offered 4%, in contrast.
However, in past communiques from Umbrella to the Intelligence Officer of the area, some man named Nicholai, who's pitting both Bioject and Umbrella against one-another for profit (at the moment, he's too valuable to abandon; however, he'll become a 'casualty' later), it's been said that Birkin's becoming, 'too fringe,' and might, 'be a danger to pre- existing assets in the city.' I fear the worst; after all, that's what one always has to fear in these situations. Regardless of how superior Bioject, inc., is, Umbrella can't be underestimated. They've made 'enemies' disappear many times in the past, with their elite 'cleaner' units, and they certainly are capable of doing so again; even Birkin and I are no exception.
Thus, I'll have to report all of this to Birkin, probably through Annette, and just hope that he heeds my advice to halt his research and just patronize the Umbrella investigators that will undoubtedly come sometime in the near future. If I can't, Annette certainly can manage that. It seems so long ago that I first met these people, when it was really less than a year ago... After that first, magical night with Albert, my future was solidified; I never looked back, and I never hope to. He taught me to choose the truth that I like, the truth that suits me, and my own ideals, not those that have been shoved down our throats by the world.
I'll never forget our return to his apartment that night; I felt as though I was completely drunk, and giddy with excitement, even though it was probably four AM.
As we walked slowly back through the woods to his car, his jacket around my shoulders, and his warm, gentle hands tenderly massaging the exposed skin of my back, I just stared at him, completely in awe. I wasn't taken with self-doubt as I thought that I would've; I didn't wonder if I really deserved to be with such a brilliant, magnificent man, but I did wonder how anyone could possibly be so perfect. Even though I'm an existentialist, Albert Wesker is still just so magnificent that it could restore anyone's faith in the divine creation of some beings.
Occasionally, since he was the one monitoring the trail through slightly drowsy, but still brilliant, sharp, and alert, eyes, he'd turn his head minutely toward me, but I know that all of his conscious attention was on me; he just left his peripheral vision to his unconscious. However, even that was occupied with me quite a lot; he occasionally would stumble on some easily avoided obstruction, and that act of bumbling was one of the most flattering things anyone could've done for me. Even after we made love, his hands still stayed well above my waist, and he never dared to do anything without asking permission; quite a contrast to how in-command he acts around others. However, it's just that: an act... He's the most kind, gentle, and wonderfully loving person I've ever met... It's ironic, really, how the both of us, despite how we act with one another, still have jobs that involve acting in a manner that's the complete opposite of our personalities.
When we reached the clearing, where his modest, yet very comfortable, car sat, he shifted his attention entirely to me, and fixed those incredible, cobalt eyes completely on me, that passionate, loving, intense gaze never faltering from their fixation of my own eyes. Smiling gently, his lips curving upwards in a physically conservative, yet so emotionally influential, expression, he moved closer to me, and brought his face down close to mine, his breath tickling my nose as he just gazed at me; I was utterly transfixed, almost hypnotized, and I know that I wouldn't have been able to escape if I wanted. I never would.
Closing my eyes, and exhaling slightly, I closed the distance between our lips, and pressed my forehead to his as we kissed, the soft, yet still firm flesh of his lips feeling so gloriously pleasant against my own. I felt his arms encircle me, and my heart started to beat in an even more staccato rhythm. I arched into his touch, and I felt him draw me closer to his own body, his warmth all the more pleasurable in the crisp, cold air. Parting hesitantly, I panted breathlessly, and felt my face flushed, a brilliant contrast to the chilly air around us. His own face was stained a light crimson, and his mouth was an even more magnificent smile, his lips slightly puffy from the intensity of the kiss.
Although I was almost anchored in place by the intensity of his gaze, my own desire to feel his body against mine again overpowered all other forces, and I grasped him tightly, pressing my own lips against his in a needing fashion, the passion almost brutal in its intensity. I felt him gasp against my mouth, and I deepened the kiss further, my enthusiasm surprising him even more. I felt his body pressed tightly to mine, and I was completely enraptured, unable to halt the embrace, and only stopping for a brief moment to catch my breath before continuing. Finally stopping, knowing that both of our mouths were bruised, but not caring at all, and smiling in tandem with him, almost feeling that mine mimicked his, I pressed my head to his chest, inhaling his warm, masculine, yet still somehow delicate, scent, and listening to the steady pulse of his heartbeat.
If heaven exists, then that, and all of our other moments together, certainly is far better than it could ever be.
I miss him so badly; I can't stop crying, but I don't know if I want to stop... If this is the pain of love, and the memories of that love, then I want it. We'll be together soon; I know that we will. However, until then, it'll be an agonizing experience just to live. If I sleep tonight, I want to dream of you, Albert. I love you.
Author's Notes: Indeed, this is my record for completion time of any of these other chapters. A monumental, 'thank you,' must be given to Cherry for all of her wonderful encouragement and company while writing this. Also, huge amounts of thanks must be given to all of those that took the time to read this fledgling piece, and even more to those that reviewed it. Bis spater, Alle!
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I assert no ownership of it. If by their request, I shall immediately remove this piece from fanfiction.net, and anywhere else that it may be posted and\or archived.
Why is it that, whenever I assert that things can't possibly become any worse in this diary, they always do? Chris and Barry are departing, and the conditions are bound to become quite a lot worse...
Why would they be worse, you ask? Yes, considering how much I hate those meddling, condescending bastards, I should be glad that they're going, shouldn't I? Well, sorry to say, but only they are leaving. My self-proclaimed 'protector and surrogate mother,' the not-so-lovely Jill Valentine, along with Chickenheart, is staying behind... What an incredible joy. For someone that essentially ignored me for weeks preceding the 'Spencer Mansion Incident,' as the papers have taken to calling that debacle, and for which I was incredibly glad, she certainly perceives herself as my best friend, now. "The girls have to stay together, after all," was her justification. I'm not certain how she sees me... Wait, I know exactly how she sees me; it's the same as everyone else, from my parents, to Chickenheart: the 'innocent, naive, defenseless little girl in a situation too big for her.'
They couldn't be further from the truth, but it's far better if they believe what they believe. I haven't yet received the orders from Umbrella to depart from here, upon which an HCF 'raid' will occur, resulting in the 'kidnapping' of one of Umbrella's agents and scientists, and I still need to maintain my cover here. It's annoying to have them act on those engineered preconceptions, but, really, I suppose that it's more beneficial for them to be ignorant, than avert some annoyance... However, there was always one person who never believed it, even before the 'innocent' routine was a contrivance of Umbrella's: Albert... Ever since that first meeting, he never treated me like a child; he never treated me as though I was some less mature, less sophisticated person; he never treated me as though I was someone to be condescended to...
All of my thoughts turn to him, and, really, I should be glad that they do, as it indicates how deep our bond is... However, it's absolutely agonizing, as well, because the thoughts are all I have left until we can meet, and I know it; even the most remote thought can drudge up the most remote memory, which starts an explosive downward spiral until I'm just staring at the ceiling, or at this diary, sobbing until I collapse from exhaustion.
The exhaustion, however, during the day isn't only from my tears, although it's becoming almost impossible to restrain them whenever I look at his desk, especially when the others discuss how, 'awful he was.' I nearly shot those two idiots today, and I truly wish that I would've... After all, the offices are nearly soundproof, and the hallways around the 'insane' S.T.A.R.S. are all but deserted, considering the reputation that Irons has given this section. Not that I really cared about being friends with any of the other members of the department, those irritating, uncouth idiots, but it's beyond infuriating to be the laughingstock of, not only the section, but the entire department.
Jill and Chickenheart, however, are the worst... They see some type of camaraderie with me as 'Spencer Mansion Survivors...' Well, I suppose that I'll allow them their delusions. Their survival was entirely coincidental... Also, it seems that Chickenheart hardly 'survived' the incident; rather, he fled the instant that they encountered the 'Cerberus' units, and merely hovered over the complex until morning, when he threw that rocket launcher onto the helipad and extracted us. They continue to assert that, 'Umbrella must be taken down,' and that, 'the people have to know what's really going on...' It's truly amazing how ignorant they are, when they believe that they know everything about this conspiracy, and all parties involved...
They haven't yet mentioned Bioject's HCF Branch, which implies that they really have no idea what's happening. All they know is what limited data they obtained from the mansion before I 'accidentally' triggered its self-destruct, and what Chickenheart hacked from the Umbrella 'Blue Queen' mainframe. However, what Chickenheart hacked is a hoax; 'Blue Queen' is the codename of Gray Umbrella's, the intelligence division's, diversionary mainframe. Chickenheart may considered himself a brilliant hacker, but that's as far as he'll ever go... Not only is the real 'Red Queen' mainframe controlled and monitored by its own AI, the 'Black Knight,' but the 'entrances' to the main system are guarded by the 'Legion': a force of C-I H (Computer-Integrated Human) units.
However, all of this is of no reassurance... The fact that they're completely ignorant of Umbrella may prove to be even worse than them having some knowledge, as Umbrella is truly my enemy, also, now that Albert and I are with Bioject. But, until I manage to escape from Raccoon, and be 'kidnapped,' it would be unfeasible to act in any resistance role; besides, the S.T.A.R.S. are also enemies, which creates a true dilemma. I'll definitely report the movements of Barry and Chris into Europe, and, perhaps, attempt to patronize Jill, and let her believe that I care about their little resistance... Regardless of how much it pains me, I'll have to pretend to be an ally to her to obtain data; I may as well let Umbrella do the work for me, after all. If it comes to it being essential, however, I'll do what those BOWs were unable to manage: I'll kill the remainder of the S.T.A.R.S., and ensure that they're never a bother to Bioject.
Damn it, this is pointless... Regardless of how I struggle; regardless of how I attempt to concentrate on the issue at-hand, I can't forget him for a second... It's impossible to do anything without thinking of him. It's agonizing to go to work, because I have to stare at his desk, all of his belongings still perched on top of it, the photograph of me still in the left drawer... But it's impossible to stay home without agony, because, whenever I enter this apartment, I'm greeted by thousands of reminders: his subtle, clean, and understated, yet so alluring scent of soap and shampoo; the slight indent in the bed from his lean, muscular body; and the photographs that I have perched on my desk. Secret scenes of us that no one has ever seen; scenes of hidden tenderness and rare, unadulterated joy and pleasure; scenes of deep, unrestrained caring and love... Even if they were to all disappear, I remember everything perfectly; where they're situated, what they contain, what the photograph didn't show... Everything about our lives, I've committed to memory; it's all I have left, until we can meet again. The 'kidnapping' is in one week; I don't know if I can wait that long. Something odd is occurring, and I think that it may have something to do with Birkin's research.
Birkin is also intending to defect to Bioject, due to his discontent with Umbrella, and he carries an 'Ace,' as it were: the 'G' virus. An improved version of the 'T' virus, it slows mutation down to a manageable level, meaning that there are no 'zombies' or rapidly decaying organisms, which die within ninety-six hours of exposure. Instead, it's a directly- injected form that is programmable to modify 'evolutionary' processes, resulting in an almost 100% organic compatibility rate with the virus, allowing the occurrence of 'Tyrant' beings to be nearly 100%; the 'T'-virus only offered 4%, in contrast.
However, in past communiques from Umbrella to the Intelligence Officer of the area, some man named Nicholai, who's pitting both Bioject and Umbrella against one-another for profit (at the moment, he's too valuable to abandon; however, he'll become a 'casualty' later), it's been said that Birkin's becoming, 'too fringe,' and might, 'be a danger to pre- existing assets in the city.' I fear the worst; after all, that's what one always has to fear in these situations. Regardless of how superior Bioject, inc., is, Umbrella can't be underestimated. They've made 'enemies' disappear many times in the past, with their elite 'cleaner' units, and they certainly are capable of doing so again; even Birkin and I are no exception.
Thus, I'll have to report all of this to Birkin, probably through Annette, and just hope that he heeds my advice to halt his research and just patronize the Umbrella investigators that will undoubtedly come sometime in the near future. If I can't, Annette certainly can manage that. It seems so long ago that I first met these people, when it was really less than a year ago... After that first, magical night with Albert, my future was solidified; I never looked back, and I never hope to. He taught me to choose the truth that I like, the truth that suits me, and my own ideals, not those that have been shoved down our throats by the world.
I'll never forget our return to his apartment that night; I felt as though I was completely drunk, and giddy with excitement, even though it was probably four AM.
As we walked slowly back through the woods to his car, his jacket around my shoulders, and his warm, gentle hands tenderly massaging the exposed skin of my back, I just stared at him, completely in awe. I wasn't taken with self-doubt as I thought that I would've; I didn't wonder if I really deserved to be with such a brilliant, magnificent man, but I did wonder how anyone could possibly be so perfect. Even though I'm an existentialist, Albert Wesker is still just so magnificent that it could restore anyone's faith in the divine creation of some beings.
Occasionally, since he was the one monitoring the trail through slightly drowsy, but still brilliant, sharp, and alert, eyes, he'd turn his head minutely toward me, but I know that all of his conscious attention was on me; he just left his peripheral vision to his unconscious. However, even that was occupied with me quite a lot; he occasionally would stumble on some easily avoided obstruction, and that act of bumbling was one of the most flattering things anyone could've done for me. Even after we made love, his hands still stayed well above my waist, and he never dared to do anything without asking permission; quite a contrast to how in-command he acts around others. However, it's just that: an act... He's the most kind, gentle, and wonderfully loving person I've ever met... It's ironic, really, how the both of us, despite how we act with one another, still have jobs that involve acting in a manner that's the complete opposite of our personalities.
When we reached the clearing, where his modest, yet very comfortable, car sat, he shifted his attention entirely to me, and fixed those incredible, cobalt eyes completely on me, that passionate, loving, intense gaze never faltering from their fixation of my own eyes. Smiling gently, his lips curving upwards in a physically conservative, yet so emotionally influential, expression, he moved closer to me, and brought his face down close to mine, his breath tickling my nose as he just gazed at me; I was utterly transfixed, almost hypnotized, and I know that I wouldn't have been able to escape if I wanted. I never would.
Closing my eyes, and exhaling slightly, I closed the distance between our lips, and pressed my forehead to his as we kissed, the soft, yet still firm flesh of his lips feeling so gloriously pleasant against my own. I felt his arms encircle me, and my heart started to beat in an even more staccato rhythm. I arched into his touch, and I felt him draw me closer to his own body, his warmth all the more pleasurable in the crisp, cold air. Parting hesitantly, I panted breathlessly, and felt my face flushed, a brilliant contrast to the chilly air around us. His own face was stained a light crimson, and his mouth was an even more magnificent smile, his lips slightly puffy from the intensity of the kiss.
Although I was almost anchored in place by the intensity of his gaze, my own desire to feel his body against mine again overpowered all other forces, and I grasped him tightly, pressing my own lips against his in a needing fashion, the passion almost brutal in its intensity. I felt him gasp against my mouth, and I deepened the kiss further, my enthusiasm surprising him even more. I felt his body pressed tightly to mine, and I was completely enraptured, unable to halt the embrace, and only stopping for a brief moment to catch my breath before continuing. Finally stopping, knowing that both of our mouths were bruised, but not caring at all, and smiling in tandem with him, almost feeling that mine mimicked his, I pressed my head to his chest, inhaling his warm, masculine, yet still somehow delicate, scent, and listening to the steady pulse of his heartbeat.
If heaven exists, then that, and all of our other moments together, certainly is far better than it could ever be.
I miss him so badly; I can't stop crying, but I don't know if I want to stop... If this is the pain of love, and the memories of that love, then I want it. We'll be together soon; I know that we will. However, until then, it'll be an agonizing experience just to live. If I sleep tonight, I want to dream of you, Albert. I love you.
Author's Notes: Indeed, this is my record for completion time of any of these other chapters. A monumental, 'thank you,' must be given to Cherry for all of her wonderful encouragement and company while writing this. Also, huge amounts of thanks must be given to all of those that took the time to read this fledgling piece, and even more to those that reviewed it. Bis spater, Alle!