Today was a good day. He may have killed his old plaything less than an hour ago, but now he has a new one. The spectacular sight of the mayor's daughter cowering in fear before he shot her was invigorating, not as exquisite as that other officer days ago. Still, it fuelled the hopelessness and insanity that is Brian Irons.

All of his toys would naturally get lost from their owner. The times he spent hunting them down like cattle and snuffing out their pathetic lives was a job that needed to be done. Why should the prey live without fulfilling their duty? To bring excitement and satisfaction to their hunter, that is the purpose of being the prey.

Irons' new toy was a woman in her late-teens. Younger and much smaller than the mayor's daughter. She wasn't a challenge; she was far too easy to be considered true sport. There was still space in his office for another stuffed trophy.

Considering she'd be easier and lighter to hang up on the wall than a full-sized woman, she'd be the first person to be stuffed and mounted to decorate his office with. Could always hang up the mayor's daughter later in the day. This time he wanted his first to be a younger and more fitting specimen. Then the prey woke up…

The woman couldn't speak; her mouth was gagged with a blood-red cloth. Tasted bitter and stale. She looked up high at the cracks of the weathered, cobblestone ceiling. There was moss forming in between the brick formation. Through that rotten green muck, something dripped through the open gaps close to her head. She couldn't hear anything past the dripping.

Her limbs were held down with leather straps, arms above her still head with legs spread apart. He head was held still by a vise. She was on some sort of wooden rack, with restraints strong enough to hold a man four times her size. It was so tight her flesh bulged over and under the straps. Could still breathe but the tightness left a horrible impression.

Salty tears were the only thing keeping her warm; there was a terrible draft escaping from the cracks and gaps in the walls and ceiling. It was no surprise that she was crying. The rag in her mouth made her sound as pathetic as she seems, muffled and distressed. Irons' slammed his hands down on the bench she was on, staring down at her.

"Oh good, you're finally awake," he said with false surprise. "I feared the dosage might have been too much for a young woman like you. It would be no fun if you were unconscious the whole time." The woman could only moan in response. "There's no joy in my work if I cannot hear your screams." He ungagged the poor woman's mouth, and immediately she gasped for air. Engorging her tiny lungs by the mouthful.

"Irons, what are you doing?!"

"I know you're scared, Miss Parker. You should be."

"What are you doing!?" she cried, "Let me go!"

Irons slammed and wedged a surgical scalpel where his right hand previously was. "Don't be scared, Sergeant. You know what you signed up for when you became a cop." He picked up the scalpel and paced slowly around the room, stopping until he was right by Annette's right side. "You shouldn't worry, though… I'm not going to kill you… I'm just going to hurt you really, really bad." He pressed the scalpel against the flesh above her left eyebrow.

"Why?" She sobbed. Heavy tears flowed down her cheeks, drowning her hair. "What have I done to deserve this?" she stuttered.

"You survived…" He gagged Annette's mouth with the same rag, muffling her voice but not her emotional screams. "I would be lying if I said this wasn't going to hurt because it's going to hurt a lot."

The real reason Irons didn't use any form of anaesthetic is purely of the fact he would never use it, and there would be no fun in carving up his prey if he couldn't hear their cries of agony.

Irons cut down Annette's eyebrow with his scalpel, skipping past her left eye. She could see the sharpness of the blade as it passed over out of her view, during the intense moment of her screams as it finished at the bottom of her cheek. Cutting down.

The one time she paused, she caught a glimpse of the edge, it wasn't sterilised for surgical use. "The truly tragic thing about all this is that I'm the only one enjoying it." Irons pressed the tip of the scalpel to Annette's other eyebrow and cut through her tender skin, drawing droplets of her blood over his hand. Her cries were relentless. "Scream all you want, Sergeant. It just makes the moment more exquisite, and all the more satisfying. Not like anyone will hear you..."

Irons was just forcing the pain out of Annette. He made surgical marks over her face, constantly complimenting her on her soft, youthful skin. Some of which was stained with blood after fresh incisions underwent. Her cries and fidgeting hardly delayed the inevitable. That was two fresh incisions that were far too close to the eye.

Her S.T.A.R.S. vest was unzipped, her white blouse was ripped open, exposing her quivering bare torso. Her flesh quaked under Irons' lightest touches. He felt up her entire torso with one movement of his free hand, up to down.

She hoped he was more interested in making her an art piece than making her do something she wanted no part of. Was he always like this before psychiatric evaluation? A rapist and sadist? He'd seem so.

Annette wasn't enjoying the pain Irons was inflicting, not hard to understand why. Irons felt offended. "I cannot enjoy my work if the subject isn't willing," Irons stated. "This is a marvel in taxidermy and the moment should not be taken lightly because of something so trivial as pain. Something so insignificant should be let out for the artist to hear, to further value the masterpiece."

Irons made a remark about the lack of encouragement. Since she was disobedient, he'd have to force her to smile. A quick incision over the lips and cheeks should fix that. He started with a small slit, then a rip.

Annette's flesh that held her jaw was torn as far as it could. Iron's hand held her mouth in place, not only she couldn't talk or scream, she couldn't breathe and had the horrible taste of her own blood in her mouth. Tearing through the muscles and nerves like paper, he forever cut a smile on her face.

After that, he carved down her torso. Starting from below her ribs and breasts, he slowly cut down towards her bellybutton. He could've done it a whole lot faster but decided to do it slowly, just to hear her screams of pain. The fingers of his rubber gloves were almost fully stained with her blood. He slit her all the way downwards like a zipper.

"This is excruciating. If only you could speak right now, you'd be screaming like there was no tomorrow." She screamed, which only came out as a muffle. "Begging me to stop. I'd like that." Irons chuckled. "But there is only so much a person can take before it's considered a distraction."

Annette couldn't breathe. Couldn't bear to see her own body being whittled away, the brain can't handle seeing the body with all the gore. She didn't dare to do anything to entice her blood to circulate.

Blood seeped from her brows and cheek. Torrents flowed freely from her torso. The pulsation wouldn't stop; her body was in shock. She did everything she could not to breathe. Irons insisted her to stay quiet, jokes aside he craved her agony.

When a gunshot was heard outside the door, the door's lock and handle from Irons' side broke off, thus opening the door. It wasn't in any way unheard of. Irons pulled out his magnum handgun from his holster and took aim for whoever walked through the rotted oak door.

Barging through was Scott, Claire and Sherry - what a predicament was for Irons. With him holding the two at gunpoint first, Scott and Claire weren't able to pull out their handguns, without the fear of getting shot by a now deranged police chief.

"Why must you civilians always show up where you're clearly not wanted?" Irons grumbled.

Scott made slow movements in front of Sherry, in case Irons tried to interact with her. "Irons? What are you doing!?"

"What's it to you, Doctor?!" Irons barked in response.

"Annette!" Claire shrieked, covering her mouth with horrid shock. Annette was barely conscious. "What are you doing to her, Irons?!"

"I have nothing to say! You're the ones prowling around wherever you please, intruding on me and my work!"

"Intruding? We're just trying to get the hell out of here!"

"No, you're not!" Irons walked towards Claire but stopped to gouge his scalpel into Annette's right thigh. Her scream was just a mere muffle. "Don't lie to me! You're after G aren't you?"

"G?" Claire mused to herself, oblivious to the situation momentarily.

"Don't play dumb with me, girl!" Irons snapped harshly. "Why else are you here with Doctor Wesker? Huh?!" His eyes drifted away from Claire and rolled over to Sherry. "Hey… Aren't you Doctor Birkin' s-"

Scott went to pull out his handgun, but Irons wasn't nearly distracted enough to take the first shot at him. A .44 magnum slug went off and pierced clean through Scott's left shoulder and struck the wall behind. He dropped his handgun.

Sherry cried, and Claire pulled out her new Colt S.A.A. and fired off two shots quickly at Irons' chest. The quickness and power of the single-action revolver put Irons down on his back, presumably dead.

It was hard for Claire to decide on who to help first. Couldn't avoid the fact that Annette's wounds looked far worse than Scott's; she was bleeding heavily on the rack. Scott wasn't. Claire ripped out the scalpel and ungagged her as soon as Scott got back on his feet. Claire couldn't do anything beyond that. The wounds were beyond her basic first aid. All that was left was the leather straps.

"Claire..." Annette breathed.

"Don't talk… We need to stop the bleeding." Easier said than done; there was already a pool forming around the incision on Annette's stomach and by her neck area. Claire started to panic while she unstrapped Annette's limbs. "I don't know what to do..."

Scott heaved his body back on his feet to see the commotion by Claire. "Oh, don't worry about me..." He grunted. "What's happening-"

"Scott, she needs help!"

"Oh?"

"Can you help her?"

"Please…" Annette added, with severe weakness in her tone, "help me..."

Scott adjusted his spectacles. "I-I'm not sure if I can do anything," he admitted. "This isn't a place for surgery..."

"Surgery?!" Annette wailed. It's not a favourite word of hers.

"This woman needs surgery! And don't have the tools to do much." Annette began to cry, holding the pain in her gut. "Unless..."

"Come on, Scott; you can do it," Sherry cheered. "You can do anything." Scott focused his eyes on her cheering and positive nature.

"Surgery, though? Under these conditions? I'll do what I can." Scott walked to a wooden cabinet holding unmarked chemicals and crude surgical tools. He held his chin. "Hmmm…" He took out an unmarked jar containing a blue liquid. "Damn. This won't do. Umbrella makes all these, and none of them can substitute for a local anaesthetic unless-"

Cowering in silence, Brian Irons took out Scott's legs with one sweep of his strong right arm. Scott tumbled to the floor and landed right on his left shoulder. The suckling bullet wound hurt even more. Irons stood up and put Claire back in the sights of his magnum handgun. Even with two bullets in his chest flowing with blood, he was foaming at the mouth with too much adrenaline to lay down and simply play dead.

"If you think that'll be enough to kill me, you're bloody wrong!" Irons snapped. He grunted and clutched his chest with his free hand. "You'll die here before you get G! You'll all die in this town along with the rest of us!"

There was a hatch behind Irons. A fleshy purple tentacle protruded through the wooden cover and sought out for the closest person within reach. It was Irons… The tentacle lashed around Irons' right ankle and dragged him to the floor. His screams and cries were futile when he was forcibly pulled down the hatch and out of sight.

Scott heaved himself on his hands and knees, watching and listening in horror as Irons' screams were still heard distinctly, along with several gunshots. Less than ten seconds later, silence followed.

"Oh my God..." Claire whispered to herself.

"I don't even want to know what's down there," Scott whispered. He signalled Claire to help him up on his feet and promptly dusted himself off quietly. "It's a good thing that bullet passed through me. Otherwise, that would've hurt a lot more than it should."

"What's G?"

"No clue..." Scott resumed his investigation of the unmarked chemicals inside the wooden cabinet.

Claire rushed over to Annette and comforted her. She was still conscious, but the blood forming around her gut refused to stop. "Scott's here to help you, Annette; you'll be fine..."

"I-I don't want to d-die like this, Claire..." she stuttered.

"Like what, honey? This is nothing. Just a flesh wound."

"Not the wound… Just… Not like this… Listen… I may talk big…" Annette still breathed, "dying for my colleagues… friends and all that… But… I-I'm still too scared to die..."

Claire frowned sympathetically. "Annette…"

"I can't go like this… Unfulfilled… Single… Unloved." She retracted her right hand to see her whole palm stained red with her warm blood. "A virgin..."

"Oh…?"

"Captain Zaac has you… you have him and that doctor over there..." Claire's view drifted at Scott, who was furiously rummaging the wooden cabinet for any anaesthetic. He was constantly grumbling. "He looks like a fatherly figure… a supportive one. Someone I long for..."

"Like Zaac…?"

Annette nodded. "Like him, yes… We all have our heroes… Even in a situation like this… you should be glad to have had him at your side. Because when I look around… there's no one standing by me anymore."

"Scott, what's going on over there?" Claire called.

Scott turned around to Claire and stood over Annette with a green chemical. Is was a thin liquid, sloshing around in an unmarked jar. "I got something I can use as an anaesthetic."

"Are you sure?"

Scott shrugged. "I have faith it might work. Since there's no way to sample them, I'll have to go in there and find out."

"Is that wise, Scott?"

"Not entirely, but it's necessary. Neither of us has the luxury of time so… if you don't mind, I have a deadline to meet. This could take a while, though."

"How long, Scott?"

"A few hours at the most..."

"You're kidding..."

"...is what I would say if I didn't have any first-aid." Scott took out a small green med-pak from his hip, one hidden under his fading white lab coat. He unzipped the bag and equipped himself with rubber gloves and an absorbent tissue cloth. "A good doctor always carries first-aid."

"Will it be enough to help her?"

"Only one way to find out. It might take an hour or less." Scott began to rearrange Annette's body and limbs to his preference, placing her in the form of a still log while he cleaned up the small pool of blood over her stomach with the tissue cloth.

"Really?"

"Can't rush perfection, Claire. This isn't exactly the best place for surgery."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"I suggest you give me time and carry on without me, Claire."

Claire folded her arms in disagreement. "Why?"

"Unless you want to wait for me and be my operating assistant I suggest you make your way to the NEST."

"I don't see-"

"Claire… Someone needs to find Sherry's parents and a way out of the city."

"But that's your department."

"Fine… I guess you can operate-"

Claire stopped Scott's next word dead in the tracks with a quick wave. "Alright, alright. I'll go. But what about Sherry?"

"What about me?" Sherry asked.

"Coming or going," Scott replied. He adjusted his spectacles. "You wanna go with Claire or do you want to stay with me?"

"I'm coming."

"Okay honey, you can go with me. Just please stay close."

"I will, Claire."

Claire stood by the wooden hatch in the ground with Sherry and opened it slowly. There was nothing but silence down past the iron ladder, the hazy wind brushed past her legs. She took a few steps down the ladder and stopped. "Are you sure you'll be okay, Scott?"

The wound in Scott's shoulder flared up. He grunted in response. "I'll be fine, kinda in my element right now."

"I'll see you soon then." Claire descended the ladder alone. Sherry stood naively with her hands close to her chest. She stared at Scott, who was just finished cleaning up Annette's blood formation.

"Go on, sweetheart. Claire will take care of you."

"But Scott I only just got you back..."

"You're in good hands, Sherry, but I'm needed here." Sherry nodded and went down the ladder after Claire. Scott sighed and went back into his med-pak. It was disorganised and almost empty of essentials. Only a few bandages, morphine shots and dry patches were left. And a brand new surgical suture. Just what he wanted.

"My eyebrows are flaring up..." Annette mumbled.

"That's good. Think about that while I look for something to seal the wound." He took out some surgical suture, the needle and twine along with an empty syringe. The green chemical sat on the rack for his use, filling up his syring.

"What's in that?"

"Something to ease the pain ma'am. It's not as good as an anaesthetic, so please let me know if I'm hurting you."

"Annette…" she breathed, "call me… Annette."

Scott nodded and injected the chemical into Annette's swan-like neck. Her body tensed up before becoming wholly relaxed and still. "It's a good thing Umbrella made most of the junk here; I know how to use all this equipment, yet they didn't have the decency to label the jars."

Annette's tone of voice was painless and relaxed. Sounded like she was just tired, despite having her gut quivering open for her muscle tissue to see the light of day. "Thank you… I hope it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, it isn't ma'am. This is what I'm trained for. How are you feeling? Numb?"

"A bit."

"That will have to do."

"You're a good man, Doctor..."

Scott looped the twine through the needle's eye and pulled out a generous amount of length for it to be used. He hesitated to get started after musing to himself for a few seconds. "If you get to know me more, you'll find out how wrong you truly are."

"Still… you're helping me, and that makes you good in my books… People like me can't stand blood. How do you do it? It looks so hard."

"It isn't for everyone." Scott started to stitch up Annette's gut wound with the surgical suture. It was no different than fixing the button of a shirt or a combination of two patches of fabrics. He brought both sides of her tender skin together perfectly. "I have a gift to give to the world. A gift others took advantage of."

"It's amazing." Annette watched Scott stitch up her torso's skin like he was sewing a pair of old trousers. Slow it was, the effort really was nothing short of perfection. Perfect accuracy and hardly noticeable due to the material of the thread. Hardly any gaps or blood. "I can watch you work without any hesitation."

"Thanks to the miracle of the chemical CB-3, I think. A very potent anaesthetic, if you find the right one. Which reminds me..." Scott stopped working on Annette and took another dosage of the green liquid. With the cap on the syringe's needle, he tucked it away into his med-pak. "Might need that for later." He chuckled before getting back to work.

"Thanks for doing this, Doc. I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

"Hearing that from you feeds my soul. Hearing a simple thank you from people you help can go a long way. Moments like this make me glad I left that thankless job during that time I was stuck in retail."

"Now here you are… Saving my life..."

Scott nodded and smiled. "That's quite a step. Not bad for a store manager reject."

"Tell me, Doctor… Are you seeing anyone? I owe the man who saved my life something."

Scott snickered. "I'm sorry… I don't think my fiancée would like that."

"Oh..."

"If we make it out of this, drinks are on me."

"Now, I'msorry. I don't drink, but tea would be nice. Do you have any more brothers or sisters?" Scott rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. She has no boundaries at all, and she was losing her senses…