Category: Resident Evil
Title: Reflections
Author: fan_fic_wtiter_uk
E-mail: fan_fic_writer_uk@yahoo.uk
Rating: PG-13 (changed it)
Language: English
Note- I don't own RE (bet that gave you a heart attack)
a/n Hmmm haven't written something here for a rather long time. Well it was only going to really be a one shot fic despite what I said... but I guess, as usual, I changed my mind. People seemed to like the idea that the 'baddies' of the RE series could in fact actually have regrets on death and that has encouraged me to continue. Not quite sure about it but eventually I might write some thoughts and reflections for the 'goodies' of RE on death... I've already got a few ideas for some of them already and it could be just as interesting.
Okay well here goes with chapter two,
Chapter Two: Death Of A Spy
***
Blood... it's everywhere. Seeping, no more like flowing, from a gaping wound in my chest as I lay sprawled out on this hotel floor. There's no point phoning for help.... it's too late I know, professional opinion tells me it's fatal. So what would be the point anyway? Struggle to a phone, barely be able to call for help and die anyway? I think not I like my way much more. Anyway it's better to go like this, more peaceful, more calm. I'd rather die this way, by myself, not having all that needless fuss of the hustle and bustle of people around me trying desperately to save my life in vain. No alone is good, more me, no perhaps that's wrong (prehaps? I should know), more Ada. But then again Ada is me, isn't she? Well not quite. Sometimes I think that the woman I've become is not the girl I once was. We all grow, we all change but we don't turn into what I have. A treacherous emotionless leach, a woman who would do practically anything and everything for information, for the mission. Anything.. that produces a wry smile from me. Anything is how I got myself here, sleeping with yet another researcher, in yet another hotel room for yet some more information. I guess the guy knew I was from Umbrella, or at least that I was a spy. That or he's very cautious about sleeping with someone. And what was the result of this, the information I acquired was hardly groundbreaking, hardly going to shake up my employer. That leads me to wonder what the result of my career with this wretched company is. Prestige? Fame? Further advancement up the Umbrella corporate ladder? Nope in the end just a rather painful, pitiful death. Forgive my dry humour, it just seems appropriate to me given the circumstances.
So what have I really accomplished? Not much. I Never made real friends, never had a real lover, I just threw myself whole-heartedly into my *work*. I was raised an orphan and determined to make something of myself... I guess I failed when it comes to that. Another *major* thing that my life has been void of is the experience of what one might call true love (an hour ago I would have scorned at such a thing... guess dying makes it easier to believe... like with God except I haven't gone that far nor will I). There was him of course, and there might have been something there between us but even now I can't be sure. The time we had together was too short and now it's too late to find out what could have been, not that I ever would have done, I could never have faced him again, and I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted me to, too painful. I do wonder if, but for the intervention I suffered, I would have killed him for that sample... I just don't know. I don't think I would have if I was forced to make a decision on it.... and that really does surprise me. Never have I had a problem with killing anyone despite how well I've had to get to know them... guess I must be soulless. Friends or colleges, enemies or lovers, the trigger was all too easy for me to pull. Some of them may have even loved me and yes I did feel sorry occasionally (hear that... occasionally) for deceiving them and for many of their consequential deaths because of that deception, but it was bearable somehow. With him though it was just... different. Maybe it was the fact that he was willing to help me without expecting anything in return, that was nice. He was innocent too, and he seemed real to me in a person sense... someone uncorrupted, biased or 'bent', a quality found far too little in my job or my life. Maybe it was infatuation.. he was cute I guess in a boyish sense.... I just don't know what was so special to me about Leon, he was just another person after all. Anyway why am I brooding on it? He's probably happy with that girl who was with him... I'm sure I don't remain in his thoughts except as a distant memory.
Anyway even if I do have a place in his thoughts he thinks I'm dead... another person I have fooled. What he didn't know was about the experimental injections I'd had before being sent on the mission to Raccoon city....minor strains of the virus. They saved my life....my body tissue repaired rather rapidly due to them and so I recovered and escaped. However they were just that...experimental injections and on closer research I'm in fact lucky to be alive. They should have killed me, they have done so to practically all the over 'test subjects' who were given them. I guess I was rather fortunate to live... but for what? They were only designed for short- term use and thus my body has killed the virus within it and so I'm human. I should've died there, it probably would have been better than like this.
What's the point in going over what might have been? I've got little time as it is. I don't know if I should be happy or angry that my wound was caused by someone who is of my skill, deliberately initiated so as to allow a slow painful death (but not so slow as to be able to get help). A stab wound to the chest, knifed while I slept in the bed after doing the 'deed'. Normally I don't, sleep that is, I guess this time I got complacent... and now I'm going to pay for it. I had planned to creep out in the early hours and thus make my escape... but he already had other ideas. Wordlessly he did it, saw me wake as he drove that blade in to me, undoubtedly piercing some vital organ or another. Saw the fear in my eyes too (well I guess I must have shown fear) as he covered my mouth. Twisted the knife expertly, keeping my mouth tightly shut as he did so to prevent an instinctive scream. Removed it and discarded it a few metres from me and then left the room, ever the silent professional. I knew as he left and the initial shock wore off that it was too late... I was as good as dead. I could have shouted out but didn't as I've said there was no point to put myself through needless fuss.
And that leads me to now, blood draining from my body and the room spinning before my eyes. It's rather amazing I'm still writing coherently.. guess it's just the need I've got to get this stuff off my chest. The paper is blood soaked and torn, but still I write. Rather peculiar it was on the bedside table... maybe he had a premonition about me, I guess it's rather common for even a person like me to need release from all those nagging worries and doubts, feelings and emotions that rule us right until before we die. When they find me I doubt this will be readable, it wouldn't surprise me though if this room doesn't get torched before that can happen... it would destroy the room and any evidence along with it. I wouldn't be visibly identifiable either and I no longer appear on any national record file so I would be virtually untraceable via dental records. Not that that is at all important, my grave would go untended to even if it was given one, as I said I don't exactly have many friends.
I'm ready for death now though, suddenly it seems so much easier an option. Maybe it is because the colour is draining form the room and my head feels like it is crashing in on itself. As I've said I've got no religious convictions, fe moral ones either, none of that heaven and hellfire nonsense for me. If God and that does exist I've already chose my destination within that spiritual limbo... but at present I just don't give a damn. I can even see myself that my personality has held on right until the end... angry and crude, it's only increased by the events that have happened. I guess that will be one advantage of death, I will be able to lose this cloth of a personality from around me, prehaps like I'm doing now. No longer will I have to be Ada, always distrustful, cautious and emotionless but instead I will be free. I guess that is the beauty of death for me... no matter how it was caused the result of my demise will be utter release from the pain of life for me. Now I can let myself fly above everything and get lost in completely nothing, no worries, no pretence to keep up... just truth encased in nothingness... freedom from this body at last.
***
a/n Okay well that was it, hope you liked it. Also I hope it didn't get too repetitive like Wesker's death and this is a reason why I plan to do the good guys deaths as it will add some variety to the fic. Well as ever comments and views and constructive criticism are welcome.
Dan
Note- I don't own RE (bet that gave you a heart attack)
a/n Hmmm haven't written something here for a rather long time. Well it was only going to really be a one shot fic despite what I said... but I guess, as usual, I changed my mind. People seemed to like the idea that the 'baddies' of the RE series could in fact actually have regrets on death and that has encouraged me to continue. Not quite sure about it but eventually I might write some thoughts and reflections for the 'goodies' of RE on death... I've already got a few ideas for some of them already and it could be just as interesting.
Okay well here goes with chapter two,
Chapter Two: Death Of A Spy
***
Blood... it's everywhere. Seeping, no more like flowing, from a gaping wound in my chest as I lay sprawled out on this hotel floor. There's no point phoning for help.... it's too late I know, professional opinion tells me it's fatal. So what would be the point anyway? Struggle to a phone, barely be able to call for help and die anyway? I think not I like my way much more. Anyway it's better to go like this, more peaceful, more calm. I'd rather die this way, by myself, not having all that needless fuss of the hustle and bustle of people around me trying desperately to save my life in vain. No alone is good, more me, no perhaps that's wrong (prehaps? I should know), more Ada. But then again Ada is me, isn't she? Well not quite. Sometimes I think that the woman I've become is not the girl I once was. We all grow, we all change but we don't turn into what I have. A treacherous emotionless leach, a woman who would do practically anything and everything for information, for the mission. Anything.. that produces a wry smile from me. Anything is how I got myself here, sleeping with yet another researcher, in yet another hotel room for yet some more information. I guess the guy knew I was from Umbrella, or at least that I was a spy. That or he's very cautious about sleeping with someone. And what was the result of this, the information I acquired was hardly groundbreaking, hardly going to shake up my employer. That leads me to wonder what the result of my career with this wretched company is. Prestige? Fame? Further advancement up the Umbrella corporate ladder? Nope in the end just a rather painful, pitiful death. Forgive my dry humour, it just seems appropriate to me given the circumstances.
So what have I really accomplished? Not much. I Never made real friends, never had a real lover, I just threw myself whole-heartedly into my *work*. I was raised an orphan and determined to make something of myself... I guess I failed when it comes to that. Another *major* thing that my life has been void of is the experience of what one might call true love (an hour ago I would have scorned at such a thing... guess dying makes it easier to believe... like with God except I haven't gone that far nor will I). There was him of course, and there might have been something there between us but even now I can't be sure. The time we had together was too short and now it's too late to find out what could have been, not that I ever would have done, I could never have faced him again, and I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted me to, too painful. I do wonder if, but for the intervention I suffered, I would have killed him for that sample... I just don't know. I don't think I would have if I was forced to make a decision on it.... and that really does surprise me. Never have I had a problem with killing anyone despite how well I've had to get to know them... guess I must be soulless. Friends or colleges, enemies or lovers, the trigger was all too easy for me to pull. Some of them may have even loved me and yes I did feel sorry occasionally (hear that... occasionally) for deceiving them and for many of their consequential deaths because of that deception, but it was bearable somehow. With him though it was just... different. Maybe it was the fact that he was willing to help me without expecting anything in return, that was nice. He was innocent too, and he seemed real to me in a person sense... someone uncorrupted, biased or 'bent', a quality found far too little in my job or my life. Maybe it was infatuation.. he was cute I guess in a boyish sense.... I just don't know what was so special to me about Leon, he was just another person after all. Anyway why am I brooding on it? He's probably happy with that girl who was with him... I'm sure I don't remain in his thoughts except as a distant memory.
Anyway even if I do have a place in his thoughts he thinks I'm dead... another person I have fooled. What he didn't know was about the experimental injections I'd had before being sent on the mission to Raccoon city....minor strains of the virus. They saved my life....my body tissue repaired rather rapidly due to them and so I recovered and escaped. However they were just that...experimental injections and on closer research I'm in fact lucky to be alive. They should have killed me, they have done so to practically all the over 'test subjects' who were given them. I guess I was rather fortunate to live... but for what? They were only designed for short- term use and thus my body has killed the virus within it and so I'm human. I should've died there, it probably would have been better than like this.
What's the point in going over what might have been? I've got little time as it is. I don't know if I should be happy or angry that my wound was caused by someone who is of my skill, deliberately initiated so as to allow a slow painful death (but not so slow as to be able to get help). A stab wound to the chest, knifed while I slept in the bed after doing the 'deed'. Normally I don't, sleep that is, I guess this time I got complacent... and now I'm going to pay for it. I had planned to creep out in the early hours and thus make my escape... but he already had other ideas. Wordlessly he did it, saw me wake as he drove that blade in to me, undoubtedly piercing some vital organ or another. Saw the fear in my eyes too (well I guess I must have shown fear) as he covered my mouth. Twisted the knife expertly, keeping my mouth tightly shut as he did so to prevent an instinctive scream. Removed it and discarded it a few metres from me and then left the room, ever the silent professional. I knew as he left and the initial shock wore off that it was too late... I was as good as dead. I could have shouted out but didn't as I've said there was no point to put myself through needless fuss.
And that leads me to now, blood draining from my body and the room spinning before my eyes. It's rather amazing I'm still writing coherently.. guess it's just the need I've got to get this stuff off my chest. The paper is blood soaked and torn, but still I write. Rather peculiar it was on the bedside table... maybe he had a premonition about me, I guess it's rather common for even a person like me to need release from all those nagging worries and doubts, feelings and emotions that rule us right until before we die. When they find me I doubt this will be readable, it wouldn't surprise me though if this room doesn't get torched before that can happen... it would destroy the room and any evidence along with it. I wouldn't be visibly identifiable either and I no longer appear on any national record file so I would be virtually untraceable via dental records. Not that that is at all important, my grave would go untended to even if it was given one, as I said I don't exactly have many friends.
I'm ready for death now though, suddenly it seems so much easier an option. Maybe it is because the colour is draining form the room and my head feels like it is crashing in on itself. As I've said I've got no religious convictions, fe moral ones either, none of that heaven and hellfire nonsense for me. If God and that does exist I've already chose my destination within that spiritual limbo... but at present I just don't give a damn. I can even see myself that my personality has held on right until the end... angry and crude, it's only increased by the events that have happened. I guess that will be one advantage of death, I will be able to lose this cloth of a personality from around me, prehaps like I'm doing now. No longer will I have to be Ada, always distrustful, cautious and emotionless but instead I will be free. I guess that is the beauty of death for me... no matter how it was caused the result of my demise will be utter release from the pain of life for me. Now I can let myself fly above everything and get lost in completely nothing, no worries, no pretence to keep up... just truth encased in nothingness... freedom from this body at last.
***
a/n Okay well that was it, hope you liked it. Also I hope it didn't get too repetitive like Wesker's death and this is a reason why I plan to do the good guys deaths as it will add some variety to the fic. Well as ever comments and views and constructive criticism are welcome.
Dan