Authors note- Sorry for the late update. Unavoidable delay due to computer problems. I promise to update faster from now on. Enjoy, the good part is coming soon.
It was midday in the far southern edge of Clark County, Nevada. The arid desert stretched out for miles around with no life save the pale green cactuses and sparse patches of dried shrubs. The harsh sun shined bright in the sky, scorching the landscape with temperatures exceeding 100° F.
There was a mediocre gas station on the side of one of the roads stretching across the desert. Inside, a slovenly, overweight man sat behind a desk, relishing behind a small fan, trying to relieve himself of the unbearable heat. His face and shirt were covered in sweat, giving off a foul smell.
"I hate my job," The man muttered in a manner that suggested he had said it every day of his life.
There was nobody else at the station. It was out in the middle of nowhere and the nearest sort of establishment was over ten miles away. The job was as boring as it was lonely.
It was close to late noon and customers didn't come often at that time of day. Fortunately, closing time wasn't far off. The attendant checked his watch and sighed in relief.
"Thirty minutes and I'm home free," He said, leaning his head back in his chair.
"Ding-ding"
The front doors jingle bell rang. The attendant lifted his head and saw a young, athletically built man with red hair step into the station. He was dressed in a shady way. His attire consisted of a black short sleeve shirt with boots, trousers and sunglasses to match.
The young man approached the desk, his walk as casual as an everyday bystander.
"Can I help you?" The attendant asked, eying the man carefully.
"I'll take a pack of Marlboro lights," The young man replied, his voice an ominous monotone.
Nodding slowly and slightly unnerved, the attended turned around to the cigarette rack…..and that was it.
The young man's arm suddenly rippled and shook. Then, with a sharp, scraping sound….and the young man's fingers split apart and from out of the torn flaps of skin came five, razor sharp claws, each the size of a banana.
Hearing the strange sound, the gas attendant instinctively reached for a .38 caliber revolver hidden beneath the cigarette rack, spun around and gasped in horror at the five shining claws poking from the man's fingertips. All on instinct, the attendant fired a single round into the young man's chest.
The man barely staggered as the bullet entered his torso. In fact, he smiled as he raised his clawed hand and brought it down onto the attendants head. In a split second, it was over as the attendant's body went limp as the claws neatly dug into his skull and carved his brain like a stake.
The young man retracted his clawed hand and the attendant collapsed to the floor, a gruesome spray of blood erupted from his cloven head and stained the counter.
The young man was completely indifferent. There was no regret, no remorse, nothing but an empty blank stare in his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses that suddenly emitted a soft, whirring sound as a tiny screen appeared on the smooth surface of the right eye glass. A camera.
Watching the monitor in the survelience room, Wesker grinned with delight as subject C-2 finished demonstrating his new abilities. Dr. Murphy sat in a chair facing the monitors beside her boss, a look of pity on her face for the innocent attendant subject C-2 had just murdered under Wesker's orders.
"Well done, Steve," Wesker said smoothly with a sickly smile on his face. "I'd say he's ready. His regenerative capabilities will render any convential weapon useless. That attendant was a mere toy compared to what is coming this way and even they will be no match for him."
Dr. Murphy looked at Wesker with uneasy eyes and studied his expression, seeing nothing but malevolent anticipation and confidence in what she created. Or rather, what he forced her to create. Still, it wouldn't hurt to make a small suggestion or at least a harmless warning.
"But sir, the S.T.A.R.S. have pulled off impressive records against some of Umbrellas greatest BOWs," Murphy said. "Even the Nemesis was ultimately defeated by..."
Wesker suddenly slammed his open hand onto the camera control panel with a loud thud. Dr. Murphy jumped in her seat, her eyes widening.
"The Nemesis was an insect compared to subject C-2!" Wesker hissed fiercely, his grin curved into a scowl. "The S.T.A.R.S. cannot win against him. We've tested him through every kind of convential weapon and the results are clear: Subject C-2 is invincible!"
Dr. Murphy nodded quickly, inwardly cursing herself for daring to question Wesker.
Wesker took his hand off the control panel and breathed out.
"Have subject C-2 return to base," Wesker ordered calmly. "He's had enough practice and we've surely drawn enough attention."
Dr. Murphy nodded again as she typed at the control panel. Through the eye glass monitor, Steve Burnsides vision turned about and headed out of the gas station as calmly and smoothly as an everyday pedestrian.
Murphy looked back at Wesker as he left the survelience room without looking back and she sighed with relief, feeling safer. She looked back at the survelience camera of subject C-2 and shook her head in shame, knowing only too well it was her fault an innocent man had died for no good reason and another man had been turned into a mindless, monstrous killing machine at the control of a madman. And to sum it all up, there was nothing she could do about it.
It was late noon in Los Angeles. The streets were jammed with traffic and people crowded the sidewalks, most of them returning home from work.
Chris had been out jogging around the block that his apartment was on. Taking advice from Jill, Chris jogged two to three miles a day, five days a week to stay in shape and relieve stress to keep his mind off of things.
Finishing his last mile, Chris panted slightly beneath his sweat covered shirt as he walked off the last one hundred feet to his apartment. He lumbered up the stoop and entered, passing by his fellow tenants.
During the ride up to the eighth floor in the elevator, he considered calling Claire to see how she was doing. He knew that she had been depressed for the past few months in the wake of Steve's death and decided to check on her to be on the safe side. Her college, the University of Colorado, was a good three hundred miles away from Los Angeles and he had only visited her a few times.
"Sucks to have family living so far away."
The elevator bell pinged and the doors opened. Chris walked out and turned left down the hallway to room 808. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"Jill, I'm back," He called.
There was no answer but he heard the muffled running of water in the bathroom and realized Jill was taking a shower.
Shrugging, Chris walked into the kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge to relieve his dry throat and heaving lungs from a day of jogging. He chugged half the bottle down in one go so fast he had to catch his breath when he finished.
Then he heard the phone ring behind him and nearly dropped his water bottle in surprise. Breathing out, he walked over and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Chris," the caller said.
"Oh hey Brian, what's up?" Chris replied.
Brian Othic was a former RPD sergeant and one of the only two regular police officers in Raccoon to escape the city with Leon being the other.
Brian had known Chris for years. He was an excellent police officer and had lofty ambitions of joining S.T.A.R.S. before the T-Virus outbreak came along and shattered his dreams. Since then, he had recently reunited with Chris and joined his small but effective team in their efforts of finding Wesker and destroying what was left of Umbrella, calling it his "revenge".
"You're not going to believe this. I think I've found something good," Brian said with grand enthusiasm.
Chris cocked his brow slightly.
"What do you mean?" He asked. "Did you find a lead or is this another career goal you picked out?"
"You know what I mean," Brian chuckled. "I'm serious. I may have found a link to Wesker."
Chris' spine shivered slightly at the mention of his sworn enemy but that didn't numb his eagerness to hear Brian's report.
"Go on, I'm listening," Chris said, listening intently.
"Okay," Brian began, breathing in deeply. "About two weeks ago, a fair number of people have gone missing in the northern section of the Mojave Desert in Nevada, not far from Las Vegas. Nearly ten people have gone missing so far."
"Okay," Chris said with a nod.
"One person claims he saw some kind of monster in the desert not far from where the people began to disappear but, of course, nobody believed it," Brian continued. "I think there may be something up in Nevada."
Chris was silent for a few moments and was about to speak when he heard Jill exit the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She noticed Chris.
"Oh your back," Jill said.
"Hold on," Chris said before turning to Jill. "Jill, Brian is on the phone. He says he may have found something linked to Wesker."
Jill froze and looked uneasy for a moment but then nodded in understanding before going into her bedroom to get dressed. Chris turned his attention back to Brian.
"Go on," Chris said. "Anything else?"
"No, that's about it," Brian said. "But…there was something about a young man with red hair spotted wandering around the desert though."
Chris immediately stiffened, his eyes widening, realizing who the boy more than likely was.
"What?" He said as steadily as he could.
"Yeah," Brian said steadily. "I…I think it may be…"
"I know," Chris interrupted, suddenly sounding more serious than usual.
Brian said nothing more. Chris breathed in deeply, knowing what he had to do.
"Listen, Brian," Chris said softly. "You keep on digging for intel, find out what you can and email me. I'll inform the others, okay?"
"Okay," Brian said simply. "But…are you going to tell your sister about this?"
Chris was still and silent, initially unsure how to answer. And he decided not to.
"Goodbye, Brian," Chris said quickly and hung up.
He held his forehead and sighed, a million thoughts flowing through his head at once. He heard Jill leave her bedroom and turned to her as she approached.
"Did you hear the rest?" He asked.
"I heard some of it," She replied, still looking uneasy. "Especially about…..Steve."
Chris nodded slowly, regretfully acknowledging what had to be done. He looked at Jill and saw great concern in her eyes. She knew what he was thinking.
"I need to be alone for a few minutes, Jill," Chris said softly. "I need to think."
Jill stepped aside and let Chris walked past her to enter his bedroom but the look of worry on her face did not diminish.
"Chris," She said softly, almost in a motherly tone.
Chris stopped and turned around.
"Take it easy, okay?" Jill said, forcing a smile, hoping she could lift her roommate's spirits. "Everything is going to be all right."
Chris stared blankly at Jill for a moment and nodded to her before wandering into his room.
He slumped down onto his bed, holding his head in his hands, his frustration and concern growing ever so steadily and made his brain ache.
"How am I going to do this?" He muttered to himself, suddenly feeling another surge of sympathy and regret for his sister rush through him.
He had two simple options. Either he told her and convinced her to help them and possibly break her heart. Or, he could lie to her and ruin any chance they had of saving Steve, if that was possible.
He knew only too well that she had chosen to sit the whole thing out. But what if he could convince her to change her mind? What if he could tell her that she could still save the only boy she ever loved in her life?
It wouldn't be easy of course. She was stubborn and often true to her word but he had to try. He needed her help more than ever. She was too valuable an asset to be ignored, forgotten and cast away.
Plus, there was no telling what Wesker was up to. For all he knew, he could be stalking Claire while Chris and his comrades were out in the desert searching for leads. He could be watching her right now through her dorm window.
It was too risky to leave her out of the affair any longer. The time had come to take some serious action. He had made his decision.
Chris reached over for the phone on the table beside his bed and dialed Claire's dorm room number.