Author's Preface: Yeah, it's been awhile, hasn't it? While I'm sure that even my most loyal supporter, and sometimes (deservedly so, too, I might add) artistic detractor, Cherry, has forgotten about this formerly- discarded piece of pseudo-writing, I've decided to conclude it with a half- assed chapter that conveys my sense of despair and general self-loathing. Enjoy, everyone!

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I make no claim of ownership of it. If by their request, or by the request of a certified representative, I shall promptly remove this work from Fanfiction.net, and any other sites that archive it.

Finale:

The blood thunderously resounding in my ears was eerily contrasted by the intermittent beep of the glimmering panel that adjoined the massive, looming stasis tube. Desperately struggling to catch my breath, bent double and straining to ignore the horrific shrieking resonating outside, I began to slowly look upwards at what was suspended inside the bubbling azure liquid. A giant humanoid shape hung limply within, a wide assortment of pulsing tubes connected to its nude, pasty, towering form. Its sexless body was inordinately muscled; the hideously deformed face barely conveyed any sense of its former humanity. I knew that I had been party to its creation, and that abrupt epiphany, piling upon other torturous thoughts, made my frame quiver with frustration and shame.

"Six, five, four, three." A dull, inflectionless voice, a product of the inhuman computer array that had fostered the development of the beast before me, roared into my consciousness. The abomination before me was not only brought into its tormented being, but was about to be activated before my eyes. I suppose that it was my rightful comeuppance to be dispatched by the abhorrent creation, but I didn't feel ready to die yet.

"Not just yet. Not just yet; I still have a responsibility." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I was aware of that I had spoken them. I felt a renewed purpose, if only one that would selfishly give me a dignified death.

"Stasis terminated. Disengaging long-term life-support systems. Preparing to release specimen." The lifeless voice startled me, and I could see the level of sloshing blue fluids slowly descend; gravity took effect on the horrid mutation and it slumped listlessly against the thick, durable glass of its former tomb.

A grisly tearing sound issued even from within the confines of the glimmering, wet cylinder as the great weight of the creature shifted within it, and the tubes, once perfectly grafted onto it, were ripped away. Ichors of darkened gore dribbled down its side, but it obviously didn't notice. One of its gargantuan, disproportionately-huge limbs, which had been formerly concealed behind it, raised; a series of pulsating, flesh- obscured claws protruded from the thick arm. Suddenly, it dashed ahead and through the reinforced glass; the unexpected movement caught me off guard, and I fell back, my head crashing painfully against the steel grating of the floor.

"Goddamn it. I have to get up. Got to get up." I prodded myself, trying to stave off the curtain of black conspiring to swallow up my vision. The creature itself seemed to be trying to orient itself in its newfound freedom, and that brief moment of confusion was the opportunity I needed.

Unsteadily standing, I stumbled toward the locking panel on the thick steel door, desperately hoping that the Tyrant wouldn't manage to get its bearings before I could reach the exit. I rapidly punched in the code that had been drummed so often into my whirling mind, and then, reaching the blood-spattered hallway beyond, slammed my fist against the lock; the dense metal gates slammed shut, at least temporarily containing the monstrosity.

Taking the brief reprieve from the threat of imminent death, I felt the back of my skull; it was slick and grimy, dribbling a thick fluid. When I brought my hand back, I saw that my entire hand was covered in a veneer of dark crimson; I was bleeding badly. I knew that a concussion was certain, but it really didn't matter to me. Looking up, a searing pang of guilt and self-hatred lanced through my beaten and bruised mind as I glimpsed the calamity wreaked by my own cowardice. The entire team rested limply, torn asunder, the corpses of Umbrella's nefarious bio-weapons still twitching and bleeding beside them.

The team commander's eviscerated corpse lay beneath the shallowly-panting form of a 'Chimera,' his knife shoved unceremoniously, probably in his last moments of life, into its exposed brain; it wept blackened fluids, the ooze slowly spreading out and thickening around it. I couldn't bear to watch anymore of it, so I simply ran ahead, the route to the command car etched indelibly into my hazy mind.

"Self-destruct code. Five-five-two-six." I repeated absently to myself in- between hoarse pants, my lungs ablaze with an anguished heat. I kept sprinting, the screeching of tearing metal indicative of just how close the Tyrant behind me was to achieving its goal of liberation. It would have its freedom. I would have my final escape.

At long last, after what seemed to be hours of numbing running through the blood-stained corridors of the metal-lined train, I reached the front. The door had been wrenched open, the conductor's supine body engulfed by a steadily-spreading pool of blood. I took in the most insignificant detail, my mind whirring at a speed that I'd never felt before; his skull was crushed, bits of bone and tissue scattered across the wall behind him; one brass casing rested beside him.

Finally reaching the panel, I tapped in the oft-repeated numbers in a single, staccato burst. With a relieved sigh, I pushed the key marked, 'confirm,' and saw a series of numbers flash across the display. An inflectionless voice thundered around the empty, dead train, "fifteen minutes until detonation. Locking all doors. Emergency mode engaged."

It was all over. It was over for everyone. All of my misguided hopes and dreams had come to a well-deserved, ironic finale. I had been crushed by what I had always strived to create in search of a better world. I hadn't made a better world; I had made one where megalomaniacs were given an army of drones to do their bidding. I had betrayed the life I should have lived. I had betrayed the only person I ever loved. I should have left with him. I'm sorry.

As I key in the last of this narrative, and prepare to hurl this disc from the train, I have one final message: I'm sorry. The person to whom this is addressed will know. Throughout all of these diaries, and this pathetic narrative, all I wanted was to be with you again. Maybe I will someday. Goodbye.

Author's postscript: That was it. Depressing, wasn't it? That's the mood I'm in, if it wasn't already apparent. I'm sure that some people were expecting some expansive, sugary romance, rife with exciting trials and tribulations, which would inevitably be resolved in an ending so saccharine that it would cause cavities on sight. Well, that was my intention when I started it; that was my intention when I had some semblance of optimism remaining. I'm pleased to report that the unabashed cynicism and pessimism that is characteristic of my true nature is back in place after a brief sabbatical in the Land of Oz. Dorothy's realized that Oz is really not a metaphor for how good the world is despite the occasional sinister witch, but is actually a post-traumatic stress-disorder-induced delusion, and she's turned Toto into a psychotic attack dog.

"This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper."- TS Elliot, The Hollow Men.

And a hey-nonny-nonny-nonny.