In what felt almost an hour or so, the surgery was successful. Scott had saved Annette's fragile life. The scar over the torso was long but not very noticeable. The two over her eyes were just as hard to see, thanks to the human eyebrow.

Lastly, the forced smile she had was not as noticeable as one might think. It's a shame it made her look slightly intimidating, yet she was a delicate flower with dreams and determination. Halfway through, the poor thing blacked out, the anaesthetic did its job.

Annette looked peaceful. She appeared to be gorgeous, and the serenity within her was glowing. Her hums and soft sounds were adorable. While she hunched into the fetal position, her mumbles were full of bliss. The surgeon wasn't needed here anymore.

Stepping over the ladder to the cavernous passage, Scott stared back at Annette; no, he stared back at the brave little girl whose life he'd just saved. Human life was so fragile. A child like her needed parental guidance. This parent could only spare one thing while she was recovering. Scott took off his lab coat and covered Annette with it. She smiled and clutched the collars to curl up inside the warmth of it.

In hindsight, Annette was still a child, like the ones he has to care for now as a father and a brother. With no parents to look up to, he had to step up and be the fatherly figure, which was harder without Zaac.

"Cindy. My love…" Scott mused. "I wish you were here… I could use your help."

Scott walked away to the ladder and then descended lower into the darkness, back into his personal hell. For the moment, it was just a catwalk suspended within a dark cavern. Down there, Claire was waiting with folded arms with Sherry. Claire's bare legs from the knees to her feet were soaked with fresh green filth.

"You're still here?"

Claire shook her head. "Not 'still here'. We went up and found the doors to the Chemical Plant locked."

"Did you check?"

"Of course, I did. Look." Claire pointed to her dirty boots with a disgusted expression. "You didn't tell me we'd be walking around in this crap."

"It's a sewer, Claire. What did you expect?"

"A door not covered in shit. Christ, I didn't think it would be this disgusting."

"It's a secret way into the NEST; it's gotta be out of the way to keep certain people out."

"Well, come on. Let's get in there already."

Claire, Sherry and Scott took the ladder up out of the cavernous passage and into the damp sewers above. There was more to do with Raccoon City than the city itself; plenty of life beneath the surface. There used to be the day before.

There was a scanner of sorts by the door. Claire didn't know what it was for, but she noticed a wrist band with a purple light when Scott rolled up his sleeve. The door opened, and it was back into the unclean waters they went. The dank smell was the stuff of nightmares.

After more steps into the grimy waste, there was movement behind them as rubble and dust rained upon them. From the balcony behind, a prominent figure was seen by Claire's curious eyes. It wasn't human. Scott looked over to Claire's sudden stop and quickly glanced at the figure in disbelief; there was more to the monster than the threatening appearance alone.

Prowling around with heavy footsteps again on the balcony was a monster as big as the Tyrant they encountered earlier. This one wore the remains of a blood lab coat and trousers; only it had claws on the one hand and a more human facial structure. It had a prominent hunch and a large eye around its right shoulder.

It was almost human-like from afar, almost a mutant rather than a faceless monster. Claire never saw such a creature at all, and when she checked back at Scott, his face ran white. Whatever he felt, he wasn't the only one; it was tension.

It couldn't see anything down below from the upper balcony like it had tunnel vision or something. From the angle, it could definitely hear something because it stopped and looked around. Something disturbed its senses as it carried on and abruptly stopped again. It wasn't aware…

Claire tucked Sherry behind her and reached for Scott, but his eyes were still fixed on the monster above. Until the monster made eye contact back at Scott, he finally budged. Claire pleaded he move, and he did. The very second the monster ripped a pipe from the railing, Scott pulled Claire and Sherry through the double doors and quickly scanned his wristband. The doors closed tight.

"Scott… That doesn't look like a Tyrant..."

Scott felt Sherry brush against his leg; she was always skittish. He brushed her blonde hair and adjusted his spectacles. "Must be the one who killed Chief Irons."

"Will it hold?"

"Absolutely."

Claire felt the layers of grime on the sewer walls. The moss between the cobblestone bricks was sticky, and she brushed her hand against the green filth by her knees and got to wondering. "This isn't regular sewage, is it?"

"Just chemical refuse. It's not healthy, but it's not dangerous."

Without warning, a floodgate next to Sherry opened, and suction began. The force was so much it was enough to suck Sherry into the lower level, carried away by the cold refuse. Scott rushed to the floodgate and reached out for Sherry, but his fingers barely touched hers, and she was gone.

"Damn it!"

"Sherry!" Claire cried. "No..."

"Sherry, where are you?" Scott tried to look through the floodgate, but the flowing refuse obscured his vision as it went straight down. "Sherry!"

"I'm fine!" Sherry yelled down below. "I don't think there's any way back up from down here."

"Sherry, just stay safe!" Claire called, "We'll find a way back to you!"

"You have a lot of trust for Sherry…" Scott said, standing back up after his fruitless action. He stretched his hunched back and cleared his throat.

"Are you telling me you don't, Scott?"

"Of course I do; what kind of man would I be if I couldn't trust my own family? What I'm getting at is that you only just met Sherry, and suddenly you assume a motherly role over her."

Claire wasn't sure if she should take that as an insult. It was coming from a friend, so she let it slide. "What are you trying to say?"

"You don't know her or where she comes from. You're getting a little too involved-"

"No disrespect intended, but I don't need anyone to tell me how to be a good person."

"I'm not telling you anything. Only that faith is built on a foundation of trust. If the flow is disturbed," Scott waved his hand, "it's all over in seconds. Years of trust becomes a foundation of lies."

"My parents raised me to treat others how I would like to be treated and to see the good in people. So I just don't want to see anyone get hurt, here on out."

"That's real motivation, even if it is unhealthy." Scott turned away and carried on walking towards the end of the waterway. Claire followed close by. "Can't save everyone..."

"I can try."

"Zaac used to think that way. He thought he could save everyone; even when the situation was out of his control, he died believing that he could win." Scott stopped with Claire. He addressed her. "He'd go out of his way to do everything he can to control the situation. It's an unhealthy condition, one of which I wish he stopped encouraging while he was ahead. He should have just given up, but he didn't. Took it to the grave..."

"How could you talk about him like that? Have some respect, please."

"I only wished he was a realist like me. If he were to understand the grave situation as I did, he would still be alive to this day."

"He wouldn't give up like that, though. That's not who he is."

"I suppose it isn't. Better for him to die the way God intended rather than someone he's not." He waved his head. "Talking about my little bro should make me feel sad… but I don't feel anything… Must be the meds..." Scott felt dizzy. He stumbled and leant on the wall to his right and placed his right hand on the slimy bricks.

"You okay?"

"I don't know. I…" Scott held his head with his free hand. "I've been taking a lot of drugs recently; I think they're still in my system." He stood back up and shook his head quickly. "We still need to find Sherry." He resumed his pace through the waste and climbed over a high ledge. Claire still followed.

"Any idea where we'll find her?"

"All floodgates lead to the BF2 dumping area; we'll intercept her there."

Claire climbed over the ledge. The height peaked at her waist. "You have this wrapped up."

They stepped into a control room that was used for sewer monitoring and maintenance. The control devices were unused and had visible layers of dust. Personal belongings closed the corner of lockers to the left; it must've been demoted to a lowly staff room, one that was used mainly by the slacking workers of the Raccoon sewer services. The entire corner was collecting dust; nothing of value was worth a look.

Hunched over the table in the middle of the room was another person. He was rifling through documents and personal effects scattered over the whole table. He resembled Scott, only older and just as distressed. He was a blond man in his late-twenties, light goatee and wore the same expensive spectacles.

The second the two stepped into the room, the man hopped away from the table, literally dropping everything he was doing. Not only the sense of surprise bored into his trembling face, but he also appeared to be apprehensive at the first moment he locked eyes with Scott.

"D-Dr Wesker?!" the man stammered. "You're alive?!" He breathed quickly after.

"Richard? What are you still doing here?"

"It's safer down here than up there on the surface." Richard chuckled nervously.

"Got that right. Scott, you know him?"

Richard pointed at Claire viscously with his bony finger. "Who's that?!"

"That's none of your business, Mr James," Scott said, adjusting his spectacles. "We're here looking for Birkin's daughter Sherry. Have you seen her around anywhere?"

Richard hesitated and quickly hid away his pointing hand behind his back. "No, I haven't..."

"What's wrong with you, Richard? You're acting-"

"Suspicious?" Claire interrupted.

Scott looked down at Claire. "My thoughts exactly..."

As soon as Scott looked away from Richard, he pulled out a Browning HP from his rear and aimed at Scott. "Stay away from me, Doctor!" he screeched. He had an aggressive look in his crooked smile. Scott put up his hands, hoping he wouldn't shoot.

"Seriously? Again?" Claire sighed. She has never drawn at gunpoint in the first nineteen years of her life, and now she's been taken at gunpoint four times. No one is this unlucky.

"James, what are you doing?! Put the gun down!"

"You being alive has compromised everything!"

"What are you talking about? Damn it, put the gun down now!" Richard stood still. He never moved or shown any signs of listening. Scott moved closer to him very slowly; the tiniest body movements was crucial to him. "That's an order, Mr James!"

"An order?!" Richard moved his aim to Scott's face and pulled his handgun's hammer back. The sound of the click was too aware to Scott, and it made sure that he stopped dead in his tracks. "I'm sick of your orders, Doctor! It's all I bloody get! 'Richard, get me chemical SF-2.' 'Richard, open that door.' Richard, do this. Richard, do that. Do you have any idea what it's like being bossed around like that, Doctor!?"

Scott was still stood in fear of having Richard's handgun aiming at his face. In the time, it slowly drooped down to his chest with deadly intentions. He stared into the open space of sudden recollection. On the other hand, Claire was thinking about her Colt S.A.A. tucked away by her hip and how quickly she could fire at Richard. The reflective spectacles of his thought made it hard to determine who or what he was focusing on. She'd never know, so she couldn't risk it.

"What do you have to say to that, Doctor? You always have some witty remarks saved."

Scott's eyes rolled to Richard's own and met them accordingly. Their glares locked. "That's why you betrayed the team…"

"How' d-"

"You're the turncoat!"

Scott reached for his handgun as quickly as he could from the holster under his left armpit. It was in vain; Richard had already landed a shot at his chest and stunned Scott's swift motion, then placing another round into the right side of his chest. Scott dropped his handgun to his feet and tumbled back.

Claire quickly drew her revolver and fired a powerful 9mm round clean through Richard's right shoulder; he dropped his handgun and cried. Scott fell into her grasp and held him close, and tried to keep him on his feet. She tried to keep Richard in her sight, but he was already running away to a ladder opposite them.

Before Richard could flee, Claire fired again, barely grazing his head and striking the wall be the ladder. She extended her arm to fire a third shot, but Richard had scuttled away down the ladder out of sight.

"Damn it." Claire held Scott on his feet, and he was able to straighten up before hunching back into pain. "Stay with me, Scott."

"Ah! Shit! Ah! Ah… That hurt!" Scott cringed. "Why am I the one who always get shot?"

"It's always the healers."

Scott collapsed onto the table, face down. "Where'd that fucker go!"

"A ladder by the table."

"Doesn't matter." Scott groaned. "It doesn't go anywhere." He pointed to a small out of place platform in the far left corner of the room. "Elevator… Take that elevator down to BF2 and follow the waste to Sherry… Fastly!"

"Fastly?"

"Just go! Find Sherry."

"I can't leave you like this."

"Don't worry about me… Just get going."

Claire nodded and rushed to the red platform Scott pointed at. It was big enough for two persons, but this time she was going further into hell solo. She felt sorry for leaving Scott to bleed on the table, he didn't deserve that, but it's what he wanted. Had to oblige.

"After everything we did for him..." Scott mumbled. He bled quietly over the table. His blood stained the paperwork and the personal belongings that once belonged to decent workers.

Scott lifted himself, but he fell to the ground. His blood was thin because of the copious amount of drugs he took over the last few weeks; he didn't think he would slip on the forming pool of blood under his feet.

The second time was successful. Scott sat up, and after one swift push, he was back up on his own two feet. Now blood ran from his chest like a gout of rushing water at an alarming rate. He was getting weak. He couldn't close the wounds with his hands; there was no force. It did nothing.

"Whoever it takes… Whatever it takes..." He extended his arm. "How long it takes… I'll find you, Richard… and I'll kill you..." He chuckled weakly, and his arms fell flat at his sides. "That's… my promise..."

After a single step forward, Scott came tumbling back at the door and pressed his back against the wall. He slumped and sat down on the ground. The wall was cold; it was refreshing as the cold air blew through the door's gaps.

When things went bleak, Scott's eyelids felt heavy, and the void of darkness was closing in. He could see his heart beat erratically through his chest. The rhythm was angry and all over the place, kicking around between his lungs. The withdrawal symptoms were starting to wear off. He could feel his back burning against the wall, his temperature burning to the touch, and the inside of his mouth tasting like the Sahara Desert.

Scott's head dropped, his arms fell flat, all things went to black. With the tiniest slither of hope, he prayed, for the first time in his life, he prayed for someone to help him. The door by him suddenly opened; his hearing wasn't entirely gone yet. He pried his eyelids open wide enough to see the small feet stood by him.

Whoever his guardian was, she sounded beautiful; her voice was like an angel strumming a golden harp, serene and kind. She brushed Scott's unkempt hair back with her gentle hand and raised his chin up to her level with the other; her skin was as soft as her fingertips lightly rubbed his cheek.

He squinted his eyes to see his guardian angel. She took off his spectacles and brushed over his left ear and down the back of his neck. She placed a small kiss on his forehead and put away his spectacles into his shirt's pocket.

Annette Parker… Scott's saviour was the very woman he had saved. She looked gorgeous, her smile was perfect, and her eyes were a flawless emerald green. The scars over her eyebrows and mouth were unnoticeable, and her cheeks were rosy. In hindsight, she was an angel. Positively glowing, she was.

"Annette..." Scott breathed.

Annette shushed Scott with her thumb against his lips. "Save your strength," she whispered. She took the med-pak from Scott's rear and laid him down on the colder ground. Arms at the side, he was very still and had stopped moving. "Rest easy, Doc; I'm here for you."

"I hope you know what you're doing..." he breathed again. His breaths were more relaxed and calmer than before.

She was in the zone. Annette had little to no experience in matters like this, but she was willing to do what she could with what she got. "I've seen Casualty. It can't be much harder than that."

"That terrible show…?" Scott choked. "Oh goodness gracious, I'm gonna die… I'm gonna die at work..."

"Heroes never die," she smiled. She unbuttoned Scott's shirt and let out his shaved torso to the open fresh air. His body was quivering, and his wounds were suckling. She didn't have to, but she felt across Scott's bare chest, having never been this close to another man before. "You've been shot," she remarked. "I think I know what to do."

"CB-2 and forceps..."

Annette examined the contents of the med-pak, and there were enough medical items for bullet wounds. The years in the R.P.D. taught her a few things about bullet removal. Then, armed with forceps and a syringe of that green chemical CB-2, she was ready to get to work. "You may feel a little prick, Doc." She made a small movement, and the needle was sheathed into Scott's tense neck. The chemical was entering his veins.

"Annette…" Scott breathed. "Thank you..." He tried to give a thumbs-up but gave up entirely and passed out.

"It's time to repay my debt to you." She put away the syringe and rolled up his lab coat, and slid it under Scott's head. She soon got to work on him and bored into his bullet wounds for the pesky 9mm with the forceps.