This is very much longer than the rest - it was a supposedly 845 word challenge that ballooned to just over 2,000. Oh, well. I did manage to crop it for the challenge, but here's what I could find of the unedited bit.

Disclaimer Dino Crisis and all the characters and locations therein are the property of Capcom. Which is most definitely a good thing because if I owned them, there'd be trouble.


Title Fever
Rating R

Later on, Regina would blame this little hunting session on morbid curiosity and possibly exposure to the toxic pollen in the jungle. It wasn't like she would have come out here in a normal state of mind, now was it?

Well, possibly. Either way, here she was now, facing down the thing she'd been looking for – the 'blue' raptor mentioned in the files in Edward City. It wasn't blue, per se, it only looked so in the light; it was more a dark brown-black. A little taller than the rest of the raptors (about seven inches taller than Regina herself) and quite a bit bigger in general, it had to be some kind of mutate.

It seemed to stare at her for a moment (funny how its eyes seemed be more catlike than the others'), making a sound like an angry snake, before leaping at her, scythe-like claws extended, slashing downward and suddenly shrieking fit to smash glass.

First, her thigh. The claw ripped through both her trousers and skin – and her upper leg felt as though it were on fire. It landed in front of her, dark skin shining with her blood, and seemed to suddenly high kick her; her stomach, her chest, her throat screamed in pain – where was her armour? – she pulled the trigger on her gun, or maybe it was only an convulsive twitch of her finger, but she wasn't even holding her gun anymore, and she was really going to die now wasn't she? It lunged again, this time its mouth wide open, aiming for her throat, wet crunch like standing on a grape -

Stop it!

Regina blinked, took a long, shaky breath and glanced down at her hands, mildly surprised to see that they were bluish and shaking. She pressed them to her face; they felt as cold as they looked.

That didn't happen, you know that. No, it didn't. Well, she had met the blue raptor, and she had fought it, but hunting for it had been the last thing on her mind (a super big raptor? No, thanks, she was having enough trouble with the normal ones) – and she had killed the raptor. She searched for the memory – her mind felt so fogged up that she had difficulty putting the pieces together at first.

The claw ripped through both her trousers and skin – and her upper leg felt as though it were on fire. Regina cried out in pain and fell backward, landing on her rear and pushing herself backward with her uninjured leg. The raptor landed, cawing like a grizzly crow, still-extended claw dripping blood.

Surprisingly clear-minded despite the pain, she pulled the large machine gun from the holster on her back and swung it forward; as soon as it was in both hands – a wonderfully secure feeling, she had always found – she pulled the trigger, hard. The spray of bullets knocked the creature away from her, shrieking (or was that her? She couldn't remember), and it fell on its side, convulsing and seeming to cough up blood.

For a long while, it lay there, gurgling and twitching while Regina still sat there, gun poised, almost about to scream in pain. By the time she realised that she was aiming the machine gun at a dead animal, the insects and scavengers were already swarming around the corpse.

Regina had left the area, continued on her merry way toward the jungle's poison gas zone, and it had all been fine from there; until she woke up the next morning – after a night spent curled up uncomfortably on the metal floor of the ship's cabin - with a fever and a leg wound that looked and smelled remarkably disgusting. Infection. Wonderful.

Funny how she was supposed to have a fever, but she really felt cold.

She'd taken her armour and most of her uniform off (they'd wanted to help, but she wasn't that ill yet) and now sat slouched in the corner of the cabin, wrapped in an itchy blanket and waiting for David or Dylan to show up with something resembling a med-kit.

All of a sudden, a wave of heat crashed over her and she groaned – the wound prickled again and she resisted the urge to scratch at it. Throwing the blanket off her body – the cold air in the cabin did nothing to lower her temperature; somehow, her skin felt cold, but she was boiling hot – Regina stared down at her bare leg (all she was wearing now was her underwear, which usually would have galled her), half-heartedly wondering if she could get rid of the infection with sheer will power.

Before she could really try, though, the door slammed open – she jumped (or more accurately, she twitched nervously) and stared up at it, hoping to God or whatever that it wasn't a particularly Jurassic Park-esque raptor. If it was… well, she had a standard Glock, but it would be fun seeing whether or not she could aim straight right now. She grabbed at it clumsily and lifted it, closing one eye to aim – something she hadn't done for years.

"Hey, watch it!" It took a couple of seconds of wondering when raptors learned to talk before she realised that it was actually Dylan standing in the doorway, and she was aiming the Glock right at his heart. She didn't bother feeling embarrassed or apologising – it took up too much energy; she just lifted the barrel so it aimed over his head and looked down again. Even keeping her head up and her eyes focussing seemed like too much effort.

Dylan muttered something – it might have been something like 'giving me a fucking heart attack' but she didn't catch it – and marched over to her. She didn't know what she was expecting, but she hadn't been anticipating him kneeling beside her and holding his hand out. Hell, he looked like he was trying to befriend a stray dog.

"Give me the gun, Regina. You don't need it."

She didn't like the tone of his voice, no, she didn't. It seemed to her condescending, pitying, quiet in a way that made her feel like she was on her death bed – if there was any kindness to it, she completely missed it – and that embarrassed her many times more than the fact that she was sitting there in nothing but her underwear. Actually, she may as well have been wearing her armour again, for all she was paying attention.

After a few seconds, she wordlessly (she didn't think she could trust her voice right now) twisted the gun around in her hand and offered it to him butt first. She wouldn't ever say it loud, but she was more likely to shoot herself with it than anything else, and that wouldn't do anybody any good. And now I can't even do my job properly. Useless.

"Thanks." He put the gun on the ground and pushed it toward the main console. "I've got a couple of med-kits here, I'm gonna see what I can do with your leg, is that okay?"

Again with the damned death-bed voice. She wasn't going to croak it in the next ten minutes, why talk to her like she was? Suddenly determined not to give him any reason to be any more annoying, she lifted her head up quickly (sparks seem to explode everywhere, like someone doing welding right behind her eyes) and gazed at him steadily.

"Fine, go ahead," she said, possibly a little too loudly. Dylan glanced at her quickly before grabbing something out of the med-kit and messing about with it. Regina watched disinterestedly. Finally, he knelt beside her and held out a syringe and glass bottle full of colourless liquid.

"I'm gonna need to inject you with this, Regina, okay?"

Stop asking me if everything's okay, she groused, and stared at the substance suspiciously. She didn't like needles for one thing, and for another, who knew how old that stuff was? Files she'd been reading from the area suggested that the community had been in the time frame for over ten years. Did drugs go off?

"What is it?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she had to ask. Dylan turned the little bottle over, squinted at the writing on it before evidently deciding that he had no idea.

"Antibiotics. For the infection." No matter how lousy she was feeling, she had to grin at the way he hid the label shiftily. "It won't cure it straight away, but it'll help. "'Course, if you've got tetanus, you're screwed anyway, but…"

Forgetting the fact that she'd been immunised and that wasn't an issue:

"Thanks. Just what I need to hear," she said, pulling herself into a sitting position. Something dribbled down her leg as she did so – looking at it bemusedly, her mouth twisted into a grimace as she saw the pinkish-white substance staining her skin.

Dylan shrugged.

"Just sayin'."

"Well, just don't. Go on, do it. Where?"

"Your arm 'll do."

Regina lifted the arm closest to Dylan, the left one, and looked away as he started to do something with the bottle and syringe. After a few moments, something metallic and sharp pressed against the inside of her arm – before twitching and scratching the skin instead of… Ugh, she didn't want to think about it… instead of doing whatever, followed by Dylan muttering 'Aw, Jeez'. Was he shivering?

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking back over toward him.

"Huh? Nothing."

"You nearly cut my arm open with your shaking; there's something wrong."

"I did not."

"Don't change the subject." Suddenly feeling cold again, Regina pulled the blanket around her and was amused as Dylan visibly relaxed.

"Fine." He sighed. "Just… it's Edward City. We could've saved them – those people. But we didn't get there in time and now a thousand people are dead. I hate that feeling. It's like I—"

"Don't even finish that. It's not your fault, it's not mine and it's not anyone else's." She gasped slightly as the needle pushed into her skin, and then kept going; if anything, talking would distract her. "They were here for… what, ten years? Fifteen? We couldn't have helped them, it was too long, and all we can do now is try and save our own asses."

"I know. There, done. It's just…" He floundered for words for a few seconds; Regina absently rubbed at the growing spot of blood on her arm and stared at one of the bolts in the ceiling.

"You know, I don't think it's ever going to stop hurting."

Regina grinned suddenly and nearly laughed.

"Wait a year. You'll barely remember you said that," she said after forcing the smile off her face.

"Oh, thanks."

She wondered: was he being sarcastic because he thought she was insulting him, or because he thought she was trivialising things?

"No, I mean it." She didn't want him to think either – she understood… really. "Last year – on Ibis Island, they told you about that, right?" She'd have been surprised if they hadn't.

"Yeah…"

"I found a woman in one of the labs. She was unconscious, dying maybe, I don't know. When I was in the room with her, I saw Kirk and took off after him. I forgot the woman. By the time I got back, Kirk had killed her. Shot her, blood everywhere. I felt guilty as hell; thought I should've done something for her - and didn't think I ever wouldn't. Now… I can't even remember what she looked like."

"One woman," Dylan pointed out.

"Don't think it doesn't apply. Death is death is death, see?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll take your word for it." Dylan got up, shaking his head. He looked vaguely ill and Regina felt a pang of sympathy for him. She'd numbed herself to it – seen too many dead people to even bother mourning them anymore – but he obviously hadn't. She felt tempted to tell him, don't be such a Boy Scout – you can never help them all, but that, she figured, was something he needed to tell himself.

"You do that," she said, instead. Dylan nodded once and made for the door to outside – just as he got to the door, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her.

"… Regina? Thanks."

The door slammed shut; he was gone. Regina leaned back, still rubbing her arm, smiling but not really sure why.

"You're welcome."