Author's note:
Forgive the horrible butchery of Code Veronica. I haven't played it in longer than some folks have been alive. It's probably been almost twenty years. And it was on Dreamcast, the last time I played it. So I apologize in advance.
….
X: Oh, baby, it's cold outside
ANTARCTICA, 1998
:::::::::::::::::NINE:::::::::::::::::::
It was a mystery how they didn't freeze when they walked around that horrible place that was, quite possibly, in Siberia. Claire peeked around in frozen hallways and pursed her lips, trying to determine if they were the only living beings in the arctic wasteland. It would seem, after about an hour of searching, that the answer was a big yes.
She managed kill a few zombies that were lumbering around the cold floors, but honestly it was mostly just derelict here. Empty. Why had the plane brought them?
Her hand pushed open a small door and she moved inside, studying the room where she found herself. It was a library or a study of some kind. There were pictures on the walls and plants in pots in the corner. There was a desk littered in papers and an over turned cup with pens in it. Claire leafed through the papers, reading reports. Apparently in 1968 the laboratory complex was used for two projects, the t-Virus Project led by Dr. Edward, 5th Earl Ashford, and Project CODE:Veronica, led by his son, Alexander. When Edward died from Progenitor Virus exposure in an incident possibly orchestrated by Dr. Oswell E. Spencer, The Earl Spencer. As Alexander was not a virologist, the Ashford lab's research into t-Virus bioweaponry ceased until 1981, when it was taken over by Dr. Alexia Ashford, Alexander's adopted daughter born as a result of CODE:Veronica. Over the next two years both Alexander and Alexia were mutated as a result of Alexia's fledgling t-Veronica strain. Both survived, though Alexander was kept in confinement and Alexia was put in a comatose state, projecting another fifteen years before the virus would properly bond with her. With both researchers believed dead by the company, the laboratory was abandoned, with all work in the complex devoted to the transport terminal.
So the question was answered on Alexia being real.
The other question was...where was Alexander?
As if the fates sometimes answer for us, Claire froze where she stood as a moan warbled through the room. She listened, brows arched, as something pitifully called for aid somewhere in the facility.
Her fingers were shaking as she picked up another piece of paper. This one was hand written..in red ink? No...in blood. It said: "The end is nigh. Father, forgive me. Avenge me."
She shook her head, speaking quietly, "...why does Umbrella breed nothing but psychos?"
She turned toward the door and froze again as the book shelf on the wall shivered. Her hands felt along the drywall and knocked, knocked again, and found a hollow place near the edge of the shelf. She wasted no time shoving the shelf to move it.
Although her mind said: Are you kidding!? You fucking retarded or something? You don't want to KNOW what's behind there!
But she did. She had to. She was here. She was hoping there was a way off this rock and back to Leon.
She was here.
She had to gather what she could while she was here to help them find Chris, defeat Umbrella, and save the world. Sure, that was stupid and trite and cliche as hell...but wasn't that the whole point of playing a hero? Nobody wants to play a hero who runs away crying. Besides, what if the way out was behind that fake wall?
She felt along the bare wall when the shelf was shifted and her fingers slipped against a knobby place on the chair rail. Shaking, she pressed the knob. The wall grunted, some gears set up a squeal as they ground to a start, and the wall shifted away to reveal a passage. Claire poked her head in, gingerly, and found it was a short little off chute to nothing. There was no secret passage to freedom here, just a grate in the cold tile floor.
Claire eased over and peeked at it, looking down.
The thing that was moaning was there. It looked...like a man? It looked like a man in chains with a blindfold on. He was sitting pitifully alone in a cell with his arms bound behind his back. He must have sensed she was up there because his face turned up toward her and he moaned again, sounding sad and forlorn.
Was he hungry?
Was he human?
You just didn't know in this place.
Claire said, softly, "...somebody needs a Snickers."
And the moaning increased, loud and painful. She backed up, shaking her head. It was a horrible thing to know something was being kept down there. Something was being held prisoner.
Why?
It couldn't be anything good. It was never anything good with these kind of people.
She wasn't sure, but it sounded like the voice from that thing roared a name up from it's prison. She didn't know what was happening in this land of madness. It was like stepping into a rabbit hole and waking up in a macabre wonderland. Cross dressing perverts with bad aim. Sunglasses wearing bastards that were supposed to be dead with monster eyes. Teenage pimple pushers trying to join her on the door in the ocean after the Titanic sank (Claire hated that movie. Hated it. DiCaprio cried like a girl. She despised him.) And Leon.
Leon.
LEON. In all capitals. It was crazy how nuts she was for him. Even in the middle of a nightmare, she kept picturing the last time they'd gone at it. She doubted her brother would be at all thrilled about how many times the former rookie had played wheel barrow with his little sister.
She wished he was here. Either of them. Both of them. Jesus. All this to find her brother and he was too stupid to just send her a fucking message and let her know he was alive and well.
He'd always been better at punching things than thinking. It was why his nickname in the Air Force had been Sir Hits Alot and everyone always sang parodies of that Big Butts song around him. One - Chris was a notorious fatty chaser. If there was a fat chic within a hundred yards of the base, he was nailing her. And Two - if there was something to punch, Chris punched it. From exams to walls to an angry unfortunate moment with a Salvation Army bell ringer one Christmas, Chris loved to punch things.
He'd always warned her, "Don't mess with these guns, Claire! Don't mess with 'em!" And then he'd kiss his biceps and grunt while flexing.
She missed his stupid big earred face. He was her dude, after all.
The face in the prison below her, however, wasn't at all endearing. It let out another pitiful wail and scared ten years off her life.
Claire turned and fled the small room, running for the door. She was just poking into the hallway when a hand grabbed her arm. Panicking, she kneed her attacker straight in the balls before he stop her.
Steve squeaked, high and loud, and tumbled to his back on the floor gripping his boys. He squealed, "Why!? For god's sake! WHY!? Why are you so cruel to me!?"
It echoed down the cold hallway. It cracked like a pre-pubescent boy. It was followed by Steve's quiet weeping.
Embarrassed for him, Claire coughed and turned away, muttering, "...geez...man up, Sideburns."
He squealed, "It's BURNSIDE! What's with you assholes!? You went right for my babymakers! How am I gonna get you pregnant now, Claire!?"
And she kicked him in the gut where he lay on the floor.
Steve made an OOMPH sound and curled into the fetal position, shouting shrilly, "BIATCH!"
Claire rolled her eyes and moved down the hallway. As if. If she were the last person on Earth...if it were Armageddon and there was NO ONE ELSE ANYWHERE...she would never let that sniveling little turd touch her. They were both red heads, for pete's sake, their baby would come out with no soul.
"We need to find a way off this rock."
Steve came limping after her, sniveling, "I found something that might help."
Ten minutes later, they were standing in a freezing chamber staring at a big ass piece of machinery. Claire had spent a summer with Chris learning how to ride tractors and combines. This damn thing looked like something like that. It was a CAT or something. It was HUGE and meant to eat up ice and snow like a hungry whore.
Claire nodded, happily, and said, "Nice work, dumb ass, where's the key?"
He cleared his throat.
She waited.
He cleared his throat again and stuttered, "Hah...uh...right...so I-I-I was kinda messing around and it just..." He peeked over the side into the drop beside the machine.
The key was winking dully on a very narrow, very frozen, very danger ledge that cropped out over an endless drop into the abyss.
And Steve lamented, "...I guess I can't really juggle."
Claire gave him a very dry look and answered, "Really? Because you're a fucking clown, Sideburns. I thought all clowns could juggle."
Annoyed, Claire shifted down the small maintenance ladder that descended into the pit. He danced on his feet a little, watching her. "It's not really safe, Claire. I mean...the ledge could give."
"I'm sure I'll be fine, princess. I didn't see you getting the damn key BEFORE I got here."
"I was worried my buff physique would crack the ice...I'm kinda afraid your big hooters and PHAT ASS might do the same."
Claire paused on the ladder and gave him a narrow look, "I don't have a fat ass, you little turd."
"Not F-A-T...ya know...P-H-A-T...Pretty Hot and Tasty?"
Claire rolled her eyes and kept going as he added, "Although...you are kinda curvy, Claire. You're in college right? That Freshman fifteen will get ya everytime."
Asshole. Because she wasn't some stick figure, he was implying she had a weight problem. Without missing a beat, she answered, "Could be worse, I guess. I could be an anorexic emo-chic with no hair on my balls."
And Steve squeaked, "I love you, Claire! Why are you so cruel to me!?"
Dear God she missed Leon. She was praying to anybody who would listen that he was ok. Maybe if she was lucky, he'd show up here and save her from spending another moment with the soap opera former prisoner up there.
She eagerly clutched the key, slipping twice on the ice and nearly plummeting to her demise, and shimmied over the frozen ground to the CAT. Climbing in, she shouted, "Steve! Raise the damn platform!"
And they both heard the buzzing. Buzzing. BUZZING.
Claire turned too slow as the first bug took a swipe at her face. She felt the stinger pass through her hair as she ducked. Steve shouted a warning and vowed, "I'll protect you, sweet buns!"
Jesus.
Claire swatted at the next bug to try to insert its giant stinger into her face. It was moths or something. Enormous flapping things that smelled like dust and poop.
One aimed for her neck as she ducked and its stinger smashed into the roof of the CAT and missed her head by a breath.
"NOW STEVE, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"
There was the boom of a pistol going off and one was blasted out of the sky as it swept into the cab of the CAT to kill her. Impressed, she blinked as Steve whooped and bragged, "See that, hot stuff!? That's how I show Kimmidee's how to protect his WOMAN!"
...what a hoser. Claire rolled her eyes as Steve blasted another one and she shot the third as it rushed up toward him.
He pulled a lever on the machine up at the top and the CAT rose through the air on the platform with a metallic scream of machinery grinding. It kept right on going as Steve shouted, "WAIT! Don't LEAVE ME CLAIRE! I said I was sawry!"
As annoying as he was, she wasn't cruel enough to leave him to die. So she stuck her hand down and grabbed his as he raced to the machine and leaped up just as the roof of the facility opened and showed dingy daylight laced with driving snow. They hit the surface in the machine and Claire's tits froze to her clothes at the temperature. Steve shrieked, "Holy Hawtness! It's colder than an unused condom out here!"
Oy.
She couldn't wait to get away from him.
He tried to snake a hand over her thigh, "They say the warmest place on the body is between the butt cheeks, Claire. Can I stick my sack in your crack?"
She cranked the engine and the machine took them forward across the turgid tundra. It was clear and gray. The sun poked through filthy clouds and gave them some semblance of an idea that it was likely mid afternoon based on the position in the sky.
They were nearly to the far side of the endless snow when Claire realized she had no control of the machine. It was on some kind of auto pilot. It was likely programmed for whatever escape route the masterminds of that shit hole facility had schemed up.
She let go of the steering controls and leaned back in her seat. "I guess we just wait now."
Good gawd it was cold. She was shivering, her teeth chattering, when Steve looped his arm over her shoulders. "Lean into me!" He squeaked above the wind that roared around them as they moved.
She did, because she was just cold enough to let him hold her.
The cold must have put her into some kind of early stage of hypothermia or something, because the next thing she knew, she was pinned to the side of her seat with Steve groping under her clothes. Claire shouted, slapping at him, "Stop it! You stupid bastard!"
"I'm warming you up! You can't die Claire! I'll die with you! I love you!"
He got a handful of breast - and an elbow to the face. His nose cracked, and blood sprayed all over them both as he shrieked and backed off, slapping wildly at her like a pissed off prom date. "Why don't you love me, Claire!? Biatch!"
Claire started to answer and the wind brought the sound of the moaning. It made her eyes flair wide. It made her neck crane left.
But it didn't matter. It was too damn slow.
From beneath them, the world cracked. The ice split and screamed. The sky wept frigid tears of freezing rain. The world burst with noise and fear. Steve screamed...and a tentacle slapped the side of the CAT.
It threw them to the side with a high pitched whine and crunch. Claire grabbed for her weapon as she fell forward onto Steve. She tried to roll and the tentacle slapped the gun from her hands like a playful child.
She fought as the CAT rolled and it didn't matter. It was over.
The CAT flipped, Steve grabbed her to roll her beneath him, and his back was torn away in a horrible, horrible, terrible burst of blood and ripped flesh. He screamed so high, so loud...she grabbed for him, shouting, "OH GOD! I'm so SORRY!"
And a tentacle jerked him off her, ripping him away into the crying sky.
He'd saved her life, the coward, and somehow become a hero.
"STEVE!"
The tentacle rose above her as the CAT spun a circle. It looped around her throat and jerked, forcing her body to flop like a rag doll as it tossed her into the sky. She screamed, she tumbled, and the thing that had waited in that cell caught her with his tentacle again to jerk her down to him.
She stared at his sightless face. She grabbed for his blind fold and jerked - and his eyes were nothing more than sockets of naked bone filled with rot and maggots and blood.
It roared with rage into her face and its breath smelled like rotten eggs and old blood. Inside the mouth, a tentacle waved in a nest of disgusting infection. The tips all looked like tiny pink hoods on the end of long black cocks.
They ejaculated something smelly and ripe all over her face. A normal facial was bad enough. But this was the worst one she'd ever received.
It smelled like a body left too long in the sun as maggots dripped down her nose.
Her belly heaved. Her heart clenched. She vomited onto that waiting face, the puke stank like fear and old pizza, and the tentacle tossed her away, away, away...down into the abyss left by the broken ice.