Author's Note: After a delay of two days, I've finally formed the idea for my next story arc. As it occurs directly after Lonely Lover's Lament (exactly one second afterwards), it's essential that you read that arc first. I truly appreciate the incredible encouragement from all of those that reviewed and read Lonely Lover's Lament, and, in particular, the slave- driving antics of Cherry.

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.

Drawing in a deep breath, I grasped the silenced pistol wedged behind my seat, slowly drawing it upwards and taking aim at the unassuming sentry's head. I didn't relish this, but I had no choice in the matter; this was essential for the operation to succeed. Seeing the green, fluorescent digits on the watch ticking down, '29, 28, 27,' I realized that I had to act immediately. Closing my eyes briefly, I applied a gentle, but gradually increasing, pressure to the trigger, eventually feeling an abrupt push back against my hand, and hearing a gentle 'puff' from the suppressor. Shortly thereafter, a muffled metallic clatter sounded as the casing rolled onto the soft, padded floor of the luxurious cabin, and then a dull thud as the sentry, little more than a boy, fell to the ground. Hearing his sub-machinegun tumble out of his grasp with a soft thump, I chanced a look at him, wincing and feeling a slight pang of horror as I saw a gentle trickle of blood running out of the gaping wound in his skull, and a large mass of red coating the wall, the slow, lethargic movements of the fluids almost a parody of its owner's last moments of life.

Stepping away from the large, oak-paneled window of the passenger cabin, I felt a pulling at my heart as I saw the slight, unassuming smile on the guard's face, forever plastered there. However, I quickly steeled myself, telling myself that this was Umbrella's man... That this person was the enemy, that he was affiliated with those that took Albert away from me; that fortified my nerves, and I looked at my watch, the numbers nearing the deadline. '5, 4, 3, 2...'

I glanced up as the watch beeped, and quickly shielded my eyes as a large, high-density glass window pane imploded, showering the room with glass, several shards brushing against my clothing, the loud rumbling of the train's engine and a soft 'whump' of a helicopter's rotors now audible. Only moments after, four dark figures, their faces covered with gasmasks, tumbled in, MP5 sub-machineguns grasped in their hands.

"You," the muffled voice of one of the men growled, "who are you?"

"My name is Rebecca Chambers," I calmly replied in a slightly raised voice over the cacophonous sound of the train's engine; my eyes completely centered on the mirrored goggles of the gasmask that the speaker wore.

Lowering his sub-machinegun, the man merely nodded, pressing a single button on a small computer mounted on his wrist. Shortly afterwards, the rest of the windows burst inwards, twelve other men leaping into the room and landing with cat-like agility and grace, rising to their feet and looking toward the speaker, who was obviously their leader.

The sound of the helicopter quickly subsided, leaving only the low, rumbling grumbling of the train's engine; the leader spoke again. "What's the sit-rep?" He demanded his voice unchanging from the muffled growl of before.

Somewhat annoyed, but understanding of his reasons for his briskness, I replied. "There's an entire squad of Umbrella security personnel on the train... However, there's also a large amount of T-virus material, and fifteen B.O.W. stasis tubes. There are two T-104s, seven Ma-121s, and six Ma-103s contained within them. There are also some body bags in the cold- storage freezer. This train is en route to the Toronto transit hub."

"Is there any chance of bio-contamination when we leave this cabin?"

"No, this entire train is clear of any contaminants. The car with the bio- hazardous material is the last; it's the heavily armored section."

"Understood. Troops, this area's clear." The leader spoke, and he promptly peeled the gasmask from his face, revealing darkly handsome, but very brooding, Mediterranean features.

The other soldiers followed suit and removed their gasmasks, revealing the varied nationalities and genders of the other fifteen. There were four women among them, all bearing harsh, determined expressions; I felt no camaraderie toward them, however, just as I didn't toward the rest of the HCF commandos.

Their uniforms were uniformly black, communications headsets loosely fitting around their ears, and completely anonymous, sans a small, gray 'HCF' logo on the right breastplate. These uniforms were no different from Umbrella's 'Cleaner' division, I realized, but it was of little consequence to me. As much as I hated it, these people were the key to my salvation; they were who would free me from this nightmare of pain and loneliness.

"When are we exfiltrating?" I abruptly asked, my voice now softer.

"Not now, we have other things to do. You," the leader spoke, drawing an expression of disbelief from me, "will follow Rodriguez, Jones, Yan, and I."

"What?!" I demanded.

"You can handle a weapon well enough. We're taking over this train."

"What the hell are you talking about?! I was told that you were supposed to extract me!"

"Plans have changed, Chambers." He icily replied, his voice almost a dismissive grunt, before turning away and addressing the other commandos. "You twelve will secure the rest of the train. We're taking over the sealed containment car. Move out!" He shouted, prompting twelve of the troops to file out of the room, brushing past me without even a glance.

Only five of us remained in the cabin; an Asian woman, who was presumably Yan; a relatively unremarkable Caucasian man, who was probably Jones; and a Hispanic woman, Rodriguez, her armband designating her as a medical officer; along with the commander.

"Chambers," the commander again spoke in a nearly grunting manner, "do you know the access codes to the sealed biohazard storage train car?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice agitated, "I know all of the access codes to the train's various sectors, except for the security stations."

"Good. Take that guard's SMG, and guide us from the back."

I moved forward tentatively, crouching near the guard's corpse, and pulling his weapon away from his cold, lifeless hands before picking it up, chambering a bullet. I then stood, glancing back at the commandos, before moving into the main corridor of the passenger car, the distant, muffled sounds of suppressed gunfire already audible in the cavernous depths of the transport.

"We have to move southeast from here, toward the dining car... I don't know what'll happen, though; we should wait until your forces clear it, I think." I spoke, not particularly anxious to confront a mass of Umbrella troops.

"There's no time, Chambers. Just keep moving." The leader snapped, gesturing toward the entrance to the dining car with his sub-machinegun.

As they charged ahead of me, I began to move slowly forward, remaining far back of them. My weapon clutched in my grasp, I looked slowly, curiously about the corridor, occasionally finding sprays of blood soaking windows, or the entrances to each suite in the passenger train riddled with bullets. Crouching, the group of commandos stalked slowly, silently, and gracefully toward the dining car's entrance, the open portal looming ominously, potentially the gates to any number of hells. Tentatively, but purposefully, peering around the thick, heavy oak paneling surrounding the open doorway, the actual door apparently blown off of its hinges, the commander raised his weapon, making several gestures that amounted to him pumping his clenched fist in the air, and then pointing toward the doorway.

Sprinting into the dining car, their weapons raised and pointing wildly in every direction in the classical 'sweep' maneuver, the commandos searched the room, beneath chairs, behind the bar, and then arrived at the entrance to the kitchen, the leader waving toward me to, 'move ahead.' Tentatively obeying, I slowly walked in, hoping that there were no hidden dangers lurking, not particularly confident in the commandos.

"Chambers," the leader began when I finally reached him, standing beside he and the medic, "what's beyond this car?"

"There's the guard post, and then the sealed biohazard storage car."

"We're almost there..." He trailed off, sounding extremely relieved.

However, as he kicked through the swinging doors to the kitchen, he abruptly halted, a gasp and a gurgling sound of disbelief issuing from him; he then walked back suddenly, knocking the medic off-balance, his face decidedly pale.

"What's wrong?" She demanded, truly concerned; apparently, this leader wasn't very easily distressed.

"Something's... Something's... Damn it, something is... Eating... Robertson..." He trailed-off, his voice cracking.

Looking into the kitchen, much to the surprise of the commandos, I gasped, not truly in terror, but in surprise. The incident in the Spencer Mansion had nearly desensitized me to the gruesome carnage that these B.O.W.s could wreak, but I never expected a repetition of this horrible and needless destruction; these terrors that man had created from man himself.

A man in a lab coat, its fabric torn and dripping with water, blood, and gore, was crouched over one of the commandos, the soldier's black uniform torn and shredded, blood soaking the chest. The man in the lab coat wasn't a man, but one of those mindless T-specimens... Bits of bleeding, cracked skin began to peel from his already heavily-decayed face, but he paid it no heed; he merely continued to tear the flesh from the still-struggling, but nearly-dead, soldier, grotesque sounds of chewing and shredding of skin and muscle resounding throughout the otherwise pristine kitchen. Backing out of the kitchen, I inadvertently allowed the door to slam, a gasp issuing from all those present, and a palpable tension rising for a few moments, before a slow shuffling sounded from the kitchen, accompanied by an awkward thumping, much like a limping man.

At that very moment, I know that the worst-case scenario had come true; Umbrella had released all of the specimens in the train, and we were trapped. Just as I began to speak, a low, keening moan emanated from the kitchen... I knew that everything had started, all over again.



Author's Note: Thus begins the next 'arc' of the series, which began with Lonely Lover's Lament... This is really my first experience with writing anything non-romantic, so if it was mediocre, please, inform me, and I'll ensure that I'll rewrite it... I'm not particularly confident in it, and whether or not it will satisfy those that have been following the series thus far, but I sincerely hope it does. Again, an eternally appreciative address of thanks to all of those that have read this, and an even more massive, 'THANK YOU!,' to all of those magnificently kind reviewers. As usual, although on an unusual subject (I mean that in a positive context, of course), a monstrously (no pun intended) huge, 'Thank you!,' to my devoted slave driver, Cherry.