Revelations:

Mirror Mask

Episode 3:

The Thing

The Middle of Nowhere

Honestly, whoever was groaning needed to shut the fuck up.

It took a second to realize it was him. He was the one groaning.

The thought brought his eyes open in narrow slits. He felt like he was going to toss his cookies and gripped the soft cloth beneath him to fight the urge.

The ache started in the back of his skull. It felt like a tooth that was infected or a hangover that never ended.

Was he drunk?

No. No, he wasn't. He was lying on a hard cot in a cold room. His wavering vision came together as Leon made sense out of his situation. A room filled with flags and a fake Chris Redfield, a ship with a sexy little thing in a wet suit that hated his guts, and gas. Gas under the door. Gas that made the world swim. Gas that made him weak.

The man in the gas mask had whipped his ass. Made sense, considering he was subjected to whatever nerve agent had made them all face plant and wake up...here. Where was here?

He lifted a hand to gingerly touch the side of his head. The goose egg there made him wince and hiss. That was the headache. A hard pistol whip to the face was the culprit.

That's what he got for trying to fight back.

Leon rolled his jaw, loosening it, checking for a concussion or broken bones. It felt ok. It was sore as hell, but he didn't think he was operating with a cracked nugget.

Where the sexy little thing in the wet suit?

What was her name?

Valentine. It was a good name, considering she had a heart shaped ass. Wincing, he realized he was objectifying her because she was so uptight. It was completely unprofessional...as if he'd ever really given two wet shits about professionalism. But she was just fun to poke at. She looked at him like he was disgusting.

It was a new feeling for him when it came to a woman. He was lots of things in this business. "The Wiz Kid", the one gun wonder, the guy with balls of steel. He was rising up through the ranks as the best in the business. He was respected, feared, whispered about, and revered. He was also, in the right circles, a bit of a lothario.

The ladies? They just kinda loved him. It wasn't his fault. He was charming without trying. He knew how to make them laugh, how to make them giggle, how to make them love him. He just did.

And then along came Jill Valentine.

She thought he was annoying and rolled her eyes a lot. She called him a "nuisance". He wanted to make her giggle just to prove he could. He wondered if she knew how hot that ice queen thing was to a guy who never got turned down.

He blinked, chuckling a little. It didn't hurt that she was fucking gorgeous. That wet suit made her look like something out of a porno. Forget Rachel, with those tits hanging out and that girl at the FBC...what was her name? The one that was always licking lollipops when he was at the BSAA for shared briefings. Jessica...something or another.

She was OBVIOUS. In capital letters. She was the type that knew what she was doing. She was always throwing herself at Redfield in a some weird attempt to seduce him.

She was like a Playboy Bunny. You looked, because you had a dick and she was gorgeous, you looked...but she didn't linger in your head. You just moved on. She was too obvious to be intriguing.

Jill Valentine? She didn't try to get your attention. She wasn't interested in you to start with. She wasn't a bitch, not unless pressed, but she wasn't out there shopping for dick either. She was just gorgeous because that's what she was. She was understated. No makeup. No effort. But downplaying it didn't make it less clear that she was a centerfold in a wet suit.

He paused, letting his eyes open completely. He was lying on a bed in a cold room, kidnapped or something, and thinking about Jill Valentine. Why? It was easier than getting up.

True story.

He rolled to his feet, grunting. What was strange? He was fully dressed still. They hadn't taken his tactical vest - or any of his grenades or spare ammo. They hadn't taken his gun, either of them, as one was tucked into his thigh holster and the other his shoulder. His SOG was still tucked into his vest and waiting to cut up bad guys.

They'd even hung a coat on the rack by the door for him...with a note stuck to it.

It was a Voodoo Tactical Field Jacket in black. It was made to be worn in arctic climates. What kind of bad guy gave him the means to protect himself from both enemies and the elements?

It didn't matter, because he was wearing it. This place was freezing.

The room was stark, cold, and clearly a medical bay of some kind. There was an IV pole and an empty bag of fluids on the pole beside the bed and bare, whitewashed walls. The floor was metal and radiated the subzero temperatures beneath. His feet clanged as he walked, leaving out the possibility of silent movement.

Leon inspected the jacket, making sure there weren't any hidden booby traps in it or something. Of course, he couldn't be sure there wasn't some kind of poison in the lining, but it seemed a stupid way to kill someone when he'd clearly been at their mercy unconscious. If they wanted him dead, surely he'd be dead by now.

He put on the jacket and was instantly warmer. The pockets gathered some of his gear from his vest even though he zipped the coat enough to still leave access to his chest. He tugged the 9mm off his thigh and moved to the one door in the room.

He was just about to ease it open when his ear buzzed.

Surprised, he lifted a hand - and found a communicator snuggled happily in his ear canal.

He blinked, twice, and pressed it. "...to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

The voice that came back wasn't a bad guy...even if they weren't terribly fond of him. "Kennedy?"

He shook his head, lightly, "Jill Valentine. I was just thinking of you. It's colder than a well digger's ass in here. It must suit you down to the ground."

He could practically HEAR her eyes roll. "...I see the cold hasn't frozen off your funny bone."

He laughed now, delighted, "I have lots of those, kiddo. Maybe when I find you, we can locate yours and tickle it."

There was a loud sigh before she answered, "Let's start with figuring out where we are. Any clues on your end?"

There was a buzz and a third voice joined them. "Jill?" That Italian accent. Leon had to admit, it was entertaining.

So he answered, "Parker, my man, welcome to the club. I have to admit, this is the least exciting three-way I've ever been a part of."

Again, he could hear Jill sigh. She spoke into the silence after Parker laughed, "Ignore him. Parker, do you know where you are?"

Parker came back, sounding amused, "No. I woke up in a naked room."

And Leon piped in, "Really? I woke up naked. I'm still searching for my dick. I think it escaped up my ass to protect itself from the cold."

Parker laughed. Jill sighed, "Kennedy? Do some reconnaissance and shut up."

Leon chortled and tried the handle on his door. Nothing. It was locked. Apparently, their doors were as well. Jill was the first one to offer a way out. She had her lock picks and set about opening her own door.

In her room, she listened to Leon and Parker speculate about their location. Kennedy - the guy was as professional as a farting clown. He was all wink, wink, nudge, nudge. He was unflappable. He really was not at all concerned that they'd woken up in the middle of nowhere.

Someone had extracted all three of them from that ship. The question was why?

There was a crackle of sound and a voice filled the room. They all fell silent to listen.

A pop and a hiss brought an end to the strange artificial emptiness around them. "The Norse myths are the myths of a chilly place, with long, long winter nights and endless summer days, myths of a people who did not entirely trust or even like their gods, although they respected and feared them."

Jill kept carefully picking at the lock, listening. What was it with bad guys and their attachment to the dark and dismal?

The tumblers turned, clicking each segment of the lock into place as she went.

And the voice went on, "Someday – whenever the Norns, those inscrutable spinners of fate, decree it – there shall come a Great Winter- unlike any other the world has yet seen. The biting winds will blow snows from all directions, and the warmth of the sun will fail, plunging the earth into unprecedented cold. This winter shall last for the length of three normal winters, with no summers in between. Mankind will become so desperate for food and other necessities of life that all laws and morals will fall away, leaving only the bare struggle for survival. It will be an age of swords and axes; brother will slay brother, father will slay son, and son will slay father."

Into her ear, Kennedy murmured, "...sounds like a fucking party."

And Parker returned, "... I must have lost my RSVP."

The voice added, "The wolves Skoll and Hati, who have hunted the sun and the moon through the skies since the beginning of time, will at last catch their prey."

The lock clicked open, Jill eased the door wider to peer into the crack it made, and the voice added, "Are you the wolf...or the prey?"

The door was ripped out of her hand before she could do more than focus her eye through the crack. The thing that waited wasn't human. It may have been, once, before science had made it a monster. It was half melted nightmare, half tortured horror. It looked like Munch's The Scream if it had stood in a wax museum.

It was tall and hunched, it's face frozen in a perpetual howl. It had claws that dragged the ground from its ape-like arms. Its chest was open, pinned that way with clips as if it had stood up from the surgery table and left in mid-procedure, you could see the heart beating inside the naked cavity while the blood pooled and spilled down its bloated belly.

It had two faces on that melted mess of its body. One lodged in the chest with eyeballs missing that dangled like perverted ornaments on the ruined skin. And one on its neck that was cocked to the side, stuck screaming as if it were howling for its own relief from the suffering forced upon it. Teeth lined the open mouth, chomping and drooling. They ringed it, from one end to the other in the macabre oval, sharp and deadly.

Jill missed losing her face as she scrambled back, its claws swiped a breath from her nose, and she kicked the door shut on it. It hit the heavy metal restraint and roared. The roar was high pitched, echoing, like the laughter of a hyena across the savannah. It hit the metal container where they were strapped and bounced back, shaking the walls.

In her ear, Leon spoke, and for the first time he didn't sound amused, "You alright?"

She answered, quietly, "For the moment. I can't get out of this room."

"You don't have any weapons?" He sounded surprised.

Jill replied, hoarsely, "Nope. Do you?"

"All of them."

Parker added, softly, "Me as well. All of them."

Damnit. DAMNIT. Someone was fucking with her. Why? Who? Did they want to see if she could survive without weapons?

She was in a blue tank top and thermal leggings. Someone had tucked her legs into knee-high camel brown boots. She was freezing her ass off and weaponless, underdressed and in trouble. The thing at the door was running its full weight into the metal.

Leon came back to her, coolly, "I'm gonna make some noise and bring it this way."

Surprised, Jill replied, "Why?!"

"I need this door open. They left you your lockpicks. They took your weapons. They left us no way out but gave us our weapons. They want us to fight this thing and save you."

UGH. Jill shook her head, "...that's fucking sexist as hell."

"Maybe so. But somebody has to play Skoll and Hati here, Jill. And someone has to be the prey."

Shit.

She shook her head again, "...it's Valentine."

"Whatever. Stay in that goddamn room and don't be a hero."

He backed up. In her ear, Parker said, "I'll make noise as well. Whoever gets out first, find the other."

"Deal. And keep it the fuck away from Jill." Leon kicked his door. He kicked it again. He shouted. Parker did the same.

Leon shifted and kicked the wall. The clangs were so loud that you'd have heard it on mars. Jill remained quiet where she was, listening. Eventually, the noise worked. It drew the thing off her door and she heard it race down the hallway.

Stay put, he'd said, but she didn't. Who did he think she was?

Jill Valentine followed no man's lead...it just wasn't her style.

Naturally, the thing came for Leon first. Why not? It was his luck.

It was strong enough to knock the door clear off its hinges, telling him that Jill had been held somewhere with a sturdier door. Again, someone was giving them the chance to save her. Why?

It came for him so fast that he barely had time to comprehend that it moved like a gorilla, awkward, dragging its massive arms, but it was speedy. He kicked over the cot when it threw one of those arms at him and ducked behind it. It slapped the metal frame and echoed it around the small room.

On his butt, Leon kicked the bed toward it. It spun, scraping the floor in a squeal of metal, and Leon shot it from the floor while it stopped the ambush. The bullet took it in one of those screaming faces, but it didn't slow it down. He lined up another shot at that exposed heart...and realized it wasn't the heart at all. It was the stomach.

The stomach was in the chest. Why? And why was it pulsing?

Something was SQUIRMING in that chest. He aimed at it and the thing threw its arm at him again. He ducked, it slapped the wall above his head, and Leon shot it in the stomach.

Blood and pus erupted, stinking like foul farts in a room full of stinky cheese, and Leon gagged a little at the stench. But the stomach rolled again, the thing wailed, and it came for him.

It rushed him.

He shot it twice more in the stomach and watched that crap fly. The good news? It didn't like the pain. It recoiled, shrieking. The bad news? The blood was ACID. It sizzled and stunk where it struck. It left blackened marks on the floor where it landed.

He shot it again as it ran for the door and it ducked left and raced away, squealing.

Into his headset, he said, "Parker?"

"Yes?"

"You're up, pal."

"Fantastic."

Leon rose from the ground, glancing down at the smoking smears of crap that had erupted from the thing. "Jill? Did you stay put?"

She came back to him, sounding droll, "I don't stay put, Kennedy. I'm not a dog."

"So you're weaponless and running around a strange area with a monster hunting you?"

"You got a better idea?"

He shook his head, moving to the doorway. It was time to find her. Why didn't anyone ever listen to him?

He sighed and lamented, "...women."

Jill eased open the door and out into the small hallway. She went the opposite direction of the thing, hurrying quickly. The first open door, Jill ducked through and found some kind of infirmary. It was four beds deep with dead bodies. Dead. Half frozen. Some were open like they'd been mid-operation. Some were stuck in a tableau of torture. There were tools poised above them with things aimed at their exposed cavities.

One was a woman, slashed open at the hips, with her uterus and her small bowel removed and lying on the metal tray beside her. She was chained to the headboard, her face wrenched in horror and pain, her eyes open and screaming. Her mouth left wide in a silent plea for mercy.

They'd hacked these people up without anesthetic. Her chest was cracked and her stomach missing, ripped apart as if something had torn through it to birth itself into the frigid air.

The man beside her was split from tits to asshole. He was flayed wide, pinned open and hooked up like someone was securing a moth to a spit. His flesh worked like a blanket, opened and offering a gaze into his innards. His arms were bound like the woman, his face collapsed in horrible, horrifying, brutal suffering. His naked boned chest was cracked and jagged, jutting into his organs and his lungs. His heart was half eaten, his stomach ripped apart like the woman.

Jill gagged before she realized it. She threw her hand to her mouth and turned away, taking small shallow breaths. She would not vomit. She would not vomit She would not vomit.

Her eyes trailed to the row of counters on the other side of the room. Things were trapped inside gelatinous goop. They looked like spiders made of human flesh with rows of teeth. Their were eyes floating among the teeth, watching her. One had half of a human head growing off its dozen legged form. They were bulbous and looked like bubbles made of tissue lumping all over their small forms.

The biggest one was about the size of a small cat.

She eyed them, stepping forward to see a little better in the flickering light, and her gaze rolled to the final bed. A woman bent in half, cracked at the spine as if someone had snapped her. Her naked breasts and arms were exposed, her head thrown back like she was in the throws of a good fuck...but she wasn't. She was bursting with legs like the spiders in the jars. Eight legs exploded out of her savaged torso beneath her breasts, that had grown nipples like knives above them. Teeth and moves, at least a dozen, were woven among the legs - open and horrible. Her legs dragged on the floor, forgotten, much like she was, simply becoming an incubator for the thing that grew out of her.

What had happened here?

What madness lurked in this frozen nightmare?

She turned toward the one door in the infirmary, hoping to find a coat perhaps in an office, when she saw what lay on the table beside it. A small table, like an exam tray almost. Small, tiny, just big enough for a baby.

Or what was left of one.

It was soaked in blood. Its face had split open like a ripe melon. Teeth lined the interior of the skull and turned the head into a killer somehow. The eyes were blue but bulging, soaking in blood in the devastated cavities. The nose has ripped in two, showing bone and bloody sinus beneath. The mouth was twisted in a terrible cry.

The little body was peppered in tiny appendages, almost like warts, they looked like suction cups on the bottom of the leg of a squid. They were filled with mouths and teeth. The baby was opened up at the waist like the adults. Someone had cut her open to dig inside of her. Her heart lay on the tray beside her, rotted and missing chunks.

She had a little pink bunny gripping in one gruesome hand. What was left of the onesie that she wore had a unicorn soaked in blood...and the named Maisy.

She was someone's baby girl.

Jill started to open the door beside the tray and the baby moved. It moved and grabbed for her. It made a small squeal and reached one tiny hand with the beginning of a claw toward her, snapping all those teeth.

Jill grabbed the scissors on the tray beside it and stabbed it right in its twisted little grin. She stabbed it while it squealed. When it kept on reaching for her, she ripped the scissors free and thrust them into the heart.

It jerked, it gasped, it vomited a geyser of blood that flew up as if a volcano erupted. She backed off, stumbling, and it splattered down like rain around the tiny corpse. The baby gasped and...cried. It cried, weeping wildly like a hungry infant should, and died twitching in the bath of blood.

Jill's hand flew over her mouth. She shook her head. The baby stared at her, sightless, finally dead.

It was mercy.

It was mercy.

It was- Jill turned, stumbling, and threw up the empty bile in her stomach in the sink against the far wall.

She gagged and shivered, shaking, trying to stifle the pain and grief that ringed around her chest. The horror lingered in her throat nearly as disgusting as the vomit. But she touched her ear and whispered, hoarsely, "You can't kill it unless you shoot it in the fucking heart."

She stared at her haggard reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink and knew she'd have nightmares about that baby for the rest of her life.

Post Note: Off and running. This story? Entirely for me. So naturally, it's where my brain wants to dwell. It's horror, so beware the gore.