DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil or any of the songs that I use in
this story. I own most of the original characters.
Darien Marx felt like a victim in a horror movie just waiting to happen. For one thing, he was bundled up. He wore his customary undershirt with workman's shirt buttoned up. Over that he work a dark gray cardigan, a black turtleneck sweater, and a dark blue vest. If that wasn't bad enough, he wore two winter jackets as well as layers of gloves, thick rubber boots, and a wooly hat pulled over his glasses.
"Is this really necessary?" he asked his superior. "It's preposterous. Uncouth! Derisory! Ludicrous! Traveling to the Antarctic to test out something that may not even work?"
"Quiet, Marx." snapped the team leader. Jim Linden wasn't as puffed out like some sort of snowman as Marx was. He wore a single, long parka, one pair of leather gloves, and a pair of boots. The man's voice was tinged with a heavy North Canadian Accent but...
/Does he expect us to believe that he's somehow immune to the cold?/ Marx thought scornfully. /If the man could, he would wear a flowered Hawaiian shirt and tan out here! In the Antarctic!/ Marx shivered as a particularly harsh gust of wind cut through all the layers of clothing.
Linden knelt by a piece of flesh smeared across a rock, taking a sample.
"Spread out. Look for any sign of a corpse or anything." Linden ordered.
"This is ridiculous. Sir." another man said. Or was it a woman? Their voice and figure were blanketed in covering from the cold. It was impossible to tell anyone apart. They were all wearing black jackets, even. Only Linden was distinguishable from the others.
"Umbrella's orders, Merandez!" snapped Linden. She lowered her scarf enough to allow dark skin and flashing black eyes to show her displeasure. She was so much different from her sister, Phoenix. Amelia Merandez was small, young, and weak. He doubted her ability to hold a rocket launcher due to her small size, or to even understand orders. She was only fourteen. Pathetic. Umbrella were massive, and they needed an army. And it was understandable that they would draft young soldiers. But fourteen year old girls? Pathetic.
"Yes, sir." Amelia said sulkily. She put up less of an initial fight than her sister, but she would make you regret it more. Time to put her out of the way.
"Merandez, watch the already collected sample."
"Sir, what would harm it?" Amelia Merandez frowned, her dark eyes filling with confusion.
"It took us seven weeks to drill beneath the surface of what was left of that hell hole to find a sample with enough DNA to fill that vial." Linden said, treating her like the child she was. It made Amelia furious, Linden could tell. But who cared? As long as she didn't muck up Umbrella's plan and didn't shoot herself in the foot, Linden was satisfied. Even that imbecile, Ruben Salven, who was a trainer at Umbrella, could replace the girl. Linden just wanted himself rid of her.
Amelia, acting like a sulky child, went back inside the sleek, black jet. Linden turned back to his men.
"Gather anything that looks like it could be a sample of the Ashfords. Anything! I don't care if it's gray, if it's hard as a rock - just gather it!"
"Yes sir!" the men scattered, some going into some of the tunnels caused by recent explosions, others heading off over rocks. Linden turned, striding off casually and ignoring the wind that nearly swept him off his feet. This wasn't the mission he had in mind. He was expecting danger, excitement, B.O.Ws. Instead, he got cold, frozen wastelands and insolent children.
He strode into the jet. Amelia was staring, glassy eyed, at the vial filled with salvaged samples, marked 'W - R - B. Sample'. She had shed off her winter wear, leaving her in a bright blue sweater and jeans that contrasted with her dark hair, slightly dark skin, and black eyes.
"Merandez!" Linden barked. The girl jumped.
"Yes ... yes sir!"
"I know you had Salven for a trainer, but I didn't think you would be so dimwitted to allow everything you ever knew fly out of your head!"
"Sir, I -"
"Do you know how valuable that vial is? No? It's worth more than your entire family's life. Your sister worked very hard to keep you alive. Would you allow yourself to throw that work away, along with Cora Merandez and Laine Merandez 's lives?"
"No." Amelia shook her head.
"Good." Linden gave an unpleasant smile. "Now. You can shoot a gun?"
"Yes. As soon as Cora comes back from her vacation in Europe, she's going to teach me knife work as well." Amelia beamed.
"Knife work." Linden replied flatly. He needed to slap some sense into this girl. Knife work was useless against zombies and such. He sat in silence for a while, letting the ice on his boots thaw and puddle around him. Amelia was half asleep by the looks of her, one hand tight on her gun.
/Even her sister would be better than her. Pathetic./
Linden settled down uneasily, waiting for his soldiers to report back.
*
Sir Oswell Spencer looked down indulgently on his two nieces, Cassandra and Catherine. They were only two years apart, and both wanted a taste of adventure. Catherine grew tired of the labs, and Cassandra loved excitement. Of course, Madeline Spencer wouldn't be happy with that, but a talk with her brother - in - law would solve that.
At the moment, Cassandra was flipping through a book while Catherine peered through a microscope. The two were completely different from both each other and their father, as different as night or day, or a zombie and a Tyrant.
Cassandra was barely a success for the Spencer family. At the moment, she wore large, dark blue headphones to match her round, blue tinted sunglasses that her blue eyes peered through. Her dark hair hung down, partially obscuring the art on her black Pink Floyd t-shirt. She flipped a page of 1984, smiling. If it wasn't for the brilliant mind that lurked behind those cynical blue eyes, Spencer would have had her put down years ago.
Catherine had black hair from her father, neat and clipped behind her back. Her lab coat was meticulous, her dark gray sweater underneath tucked into black slacks. She turned to her father, smiling, those black eyes of hers twinkling.
"Father!" she said. "You'll never guess what?"
"The molecules you are studying movements are becoming erratic?" Spencer asked, smiling slightly.
"How did you know?" Catherine's face fell. Cassandra looked up from her tattered book.
"You make a note every time a change happens." she told her sister flatly. She was two years younger, but had the arrogance for Spencer himself. "Then you ask him to make sure that you aren't messing up."
"You do the same." Catherine said briskly, straightening the wire glasses that she used to prevent her eyes being strained.
"Yeah, but I'm not the scientist of the family."
"No, you're just the bookworm." Catherine sighed as if she was ten years older than Cassandra, instead of only two. "Cassandra, if you only learn to apply yourself..."
"That's Cass to you." Cassandra turned back to her book.
/These girls may not be able to handle an outbreak./ Spencer thought. Seventeen and nineteen. Of course, there were younger soldiers - a thirteen year old boy had been used experimentally, but he had died in his first mission. Since then, fifteen had been the cutoff. Special cases were allowed through - siblings, children straight out of a Ender's Game book, manipulation purposes, it depended. /They're so immature, so innocent. They'd be torn apart. They need to be hardened./
"Uncle Oswell," Cassandra put her book down, peering over the top of her sunglasses at him. "When will I be able to join a special forces team? Or at least be trained."
"Why?" Oswell asked sternly.
"We're in the largest T-Virus research center in the world. If there's an outbreak..."
"Then you will be kept safe by armed soldiers."
"That's bull..." Cassandra closed her mouth at the stern look her uncle gave her. "Anyway, you cut people up. Why can't I have a little fun?"
"*I* don't cut people up. I hire people to perform autopsies." Oswell thanked God that neither of these girls were heir to his fortune. That belonged to his older son. Catherine was too rigid, and Cassandra was too relaxed.
/Hmm. Maybe they could do with a little discipline. Maybe then they'll know the T-Virus isn't a game or a homework assignment./
"Then again." Oswell said. "I'll talk to a team leader. See what I can do."
He already had the team picked out - Team Biohazard, a team placed on the shit list of Umbrella's teams. The experience would do Cassandra and Catherine good. They had so much to learn in case any harm happened to their older cousin.
"Sounds good to me, Dad." Cassandra pushed her shades up her nose and turned back to her book.
"Thanks." Catherine said with a smile, then fiddled with a dial on the microscope and wrote down a couple of notes, smiling. She did have a lovely smile, one that relaxed that ivory face of hers.
Oswell planned out the meeting with Scythe in his head. The young man was so predictable. This would be too easy.
*
Cora Merandez still wasn't used to the code name that she used. Phoenix. Used to symbolise a new life under Umbrella, a new life that she had earned. She had fought, and fought, and fought, and lost. She was an Umbrella soldier now, in her mind.
"Cora, you okay?" Ada Dodge, a.k.a. Pandora put a hand on the other female's hand. The two were the only females in Team Biohazard, and hence they were friends, despite their differences.
"Yeah, Ada." she said with a smile. "But that's Ms. Phoenix to you."
"Right, Ms. Phoenix."
"Very well, Ms. Pandora." Cora said, and the two began to giggle together. The jet launched off into the air. Cora noticed that Hojo was gripping onto the armrests of his airplane chair tightly, his knuckles white. The tactics expert was looking like he wished his feet were on solid ground.
"Anthony?" Cora asked. He jumped.
"Oh. Cora. Phoenix." He was an easy going man, but at the moment he looked like he wanted someone to come put him out of his misery. "Hi." He answered the unasked question. "I'm afraid yeah. But we'll be there in a couple of hours. So ..." he shrugged. Cora turned her attention away from him. She had spent too long in Europe, she would be unused to the changes back home.
Darien Marx felt like a victim in a horror movie just waiting to happen. For one thing, he was bundled up. He wore his customary undershirt with workman's shirt buttoned up. Over that he work a dark gray cardigan, a black turtleneck sweater, and a dark blue vest. If that wasn't bad enough, he wore two winter jackets as well as layers of gloves, thick rubber boots, and a wooly hat pulled over his glasses.
"Is this really necessary?" he asked his superior. "It's preposterous. Uncouth! Derisory! Ludicrous! Traveling to the Antarctic to test out something that may not even work?"
"Quiet, Marx." snapped the team leader. Jim Linden wasn't as puffed out like some sort of snowman as Marx was. He wore a single, long parka, one pair of leather gloves, and a pair of boots. The man's voice was tinged with a heavy North Canadian Accent but...
/Does he expect us to believe that he's somehow immune to the cold?/ Marx thought scornfully. /If the man could, he would wear a flowered Hawaiian shirt and tan out here! In the Antarctic!/ Marx shivered as a particularly harsh gust of wind cut through all the layers of clothing.
Linden knelt by a piece of flesh smeared across a rock, taking a sample.
"Spread out. Look for any sign of a corpse or anything." Linden ordered.
"This is ridiculous. Sir." another man said. Or was it a woman? Their voice and figure were blanketed in covering from the cold. It was impossible to tell anyone apart. They were all wearing black jackets, even. Only Linden was distinguishable from the others.
"Umbrella's orders, Merandez!" snapped Linden. She lowered her scarf enough to allow dark skin and flashing black eyes to show her displeasure. She was so much different from her sister, Phoenix. Amelia Merandez was small, young, and weak. He doubted her ability to hold a rocket launcher due to her small size, or to even understand orders. She was only fourteen. Pathetic. Umbrella were massive, and they needed an army. And it was understandable that they would draft young soldiers. But fourteen year old girls? Pathetic.
"Yes, sir." Amelia said sulkily. She put up less of an initial fight than her sister, but she would make you regret it more. Time to put her out of the way.
"Merandez, watch the already collected sample."
"Sir, what would harm it?" Amelia Merandez frowned, her dark eyes filling with confusion.
"It took us seven weeks to drill beneath the surface of what was left of that hell hole to find a sample with enough DNA to fill that vial." Linden said, treating her like the child she was. It made Amelia furious, Linden could tell. But who cared? As long as she didn't muck up Umbrella's plan and didn't shoot herself in the foot, Linden was satisfied. Even that imbecile, Ruben Salven, who was a trainer at Umbrella, could replace the girl. Linden just wanted himself rid of her.
Amelia, acting like a sulky child, went back inside the sleek, black jet. Linden turned back to his men.
"Gather anything that looks like it could be a sample of the Ashfords. Anything! I don't care if it's gray, if it's hard as a rock - just gather it!"
"Yes sir!" the men scattered, some going into some of the tunnels caused by recent explosions, others heading off over rocks. Linden turned, striding off casually and ignoring the wind that nearly swept him off his feet. This wasn't the mission he had in mind. He was expecting danger, excitement, B.O.Ws. Instead, he got cold, frozen wastelands and insolent children.
He strode into the jet. Amelia was staring, glassy eyed, at the vial filled with salvaged samples, marked 'W - R - B. Sample'. She had shed off her winter wear, leaving her in a bright blue sweater and jeans that contrasted with her dark hair, slightly dark skin, and black eyes.
"Merandez!" Linden barked. The girl jumped.
"Yes ... yes sir!"
"I know you had Salven for a trainer, but I didn't think you would be so dimwitted to allow everything you ever knew fly out of your head!"
"Sir, I -"
"Do you know how valuable that vial is? No? It's worth more than your entire family's life. Your sister worked very hard to keep you alive. Would you allow yourself to throw that work away, along with Cora Merandez and Laine Merandez 's lives?"
"No." Amelia shook her head.
"Good." Linden gave an unpleasant smile. "Now. You can shoot a gun?"
"Yes. As soon as Cora comes back from her vacation in Europe, she's going to teach me knife work as well." Amelia beamed.
"Knife work." Linden replied flatly. He needed to slap some sense into this girl. Knife work was useless against zombies and such. He sat in silence for a while, letting the ice on his boots thaw and puddle around him. Amelia was half asleep by the looks of her, one hand tight on her gun.
/Even her sister would be better than her. Pathetic./
Linden settled down uneasily, waiting for his soldiers to report back.
*
Sir Oswell Spencer looked down indulgently on his two nieces, Cassandra and Catherine. They were only two years apart, and both wanted a taste of adventure. Catherine grew tired of the labs, and Cassandra loved excitement. Of course, Madeline Spencer wouldn't be happy with that, but a talk with her brother - in - law would solve that.
At the moment, Cassandra was flipping through a book while Catherine peered through a microscope. The two were completely different from both each other and their father, as different as night or day, or a zombie and a Tyrant.
Cassandra was barely a success for the Spencer family. At the moment, she wore large, dark blue headphones to match her round, blue tinted sunglasses that her blue eyes peered through. Her dark hair hung down, partially obscuring the art on her black Pink Floyd t-shirt. She flipped a page of 1984, smiling. If it wasn't for the brilliant mind that lurked behind those cynical blue eyes, Spencer would have had her put down years ago.
Catherine had black hair from her father, neat and clipped behind her back. Her lab coat was meticulous, her dark gray sweater underneath tucked into black slacks. She turned to her father, smiling, those black eyes of hers twinkling.
"Father!" she said. "You'll never guess what?"
"The molecules you are studying movements are becoming erratic?" Spencer asked, smiling slightly.
"How did you know?" Catherine's face fell. Cassandra looked up from her tattered book.
"You make a note every time a change happens." she told her sister flatly. She was two years younger, but had the arrogance for Spencer himself. "Then you ask him to make sure that you aren't messing up."
"You do the same." Catherine said briskly, straightening the wire glasses that she used to prevent her eyes being strained.
"Yeah, but I'm not the scientist of the family."
"No, you're just the bookworm." Catherine sighed as if she was ten years older than Cassandra, instead of only two. "Cassandra, if you only learn to apply yourself..."
"That's Cass to you." Cassandra turned back to her book.
/These girls may not be able to handle an outbreak./ Spencer thought. Seventeen and nineteen. Of course, there were younger soldiers - a thirteen year old boy had been used experimentally, but he had died in his first mission. Since then, fifteen had been the cutoff. Special cases were allowed through - siblings, children straight out of a Ender's Game book, manipulation purposes, it depended. /They're so immature, so innocent. They'd be torn apart. They need to be hardened./
"Uncle Oswell," Cassandra put her book down, peering over the top of her sunglasses at him. "When will I be able to join a special forces team? Or at least be trained."
"Why?" Oswell asked sternly.
"We're in the largest T-Virus research center in the world. If there's an outbreak..."
"Then you will be kept safe by armed soldiers."
"That's bull..." Cassandra closed her mouth at the stern look her uncle gave her. "Anyway, you cut people up. Why can't I have a little fun?"
"*I* don't cut people up. I hire people to perform autopsies." Oswell thanked God that neither of these girls were heir to his fortune. That belonged to his older son. Catherine was too rigid, and Cassandra was too relaxed.
/Hmm. Maybe they could do with a little discipline. Maybe then they'll know the T-Virus isn't a game or a homework assignment./
"Then again." Oswell said. "I'll talk to a team leader. See what I can do."
He already had the team picked out - Team Biohazard, a team placed on the shit list of Umbrella's teams. The experience would do Cassandra and Catherine good. They had so much to learn in case any harm happened to their older cousin.
"Sounds good to me, Dad." Cassandra pushed her shades up her nose and turned back to her book.
"Thanks." Catherine said with a smile, then fiddled with a dial on the microscope and wrote down a couple of notes, smiling. She did have a lovely smile, one that relaxed that ivory face of hers.
Oswell planned out the meeting with Scythe in his head. The young man was so predictable. This would be too easy.
*
Cora Merandez still wasn't used to the code name that she used. Phoenix. Used to symbolise a new life under Umbrella, a new life that she had earned. She had fought, and fought, and fought, and lost. She was an Umbrella soldier now, in her mind.
"Cora, you okay?" Ada Dodge, a.k.a. Pandora put a hand on the other female's hand. The two were the only females in Team Biohazard, and hence they were friends, despite their differences.
"Yeah, Ada." she said with a smile. "But that's Ms. Phoenix to you."
"Right, Ms. Phoenix."
"Very well, Ms. Pandora." Cora said, and the two began to giggle together. The jet launched off into the air. Cora noticed that Hojo was gripping onto the armrests of his airplane chair tightly, his knuckles white. The tactics expert was looking like he wished his feet were on solid ground.
"Anthony?" Cora asked. He jumped.
"Oh. Cora. Phoenix." He was an easy going man, but at the moment he looked like he wanted someone to come put him out of his misery. "Hi." He answered the unasked question. "I'm afraid yeah. But we'll be there in a couple of hours. So ..." he shrugged. Cora turned her attention away from him. She had spent too long in Europe, she would be unused to the changes back home.