AN: The following chapter has been revamped, edited, expanded etc. . In other words, and in my own selfish words because I am dead tired at the moment.....Read it!

Chapter 4: What Is Real

When he stumbled into the bunk room, sodden and weary, he was stupidly lost in a mission to find anything short of a drying towel rather than search through the hordes of blankets piece by piece. He tore his way to the beds, jagged steps and all. It wasn't until the short and sound gasp of his partner that he pulled himself together. He leapt back alongside her and cocked the deadly magnum forward...

--Toward half of a mans' face, the skin running greasy with sweat and blood. Over and beneath what lay left of his shredded and bloodied clothing, he was stained deep with the scent of bereavement; an appeal to none but death.

Slowly, Billy tapped the magnum down at the sight of human eyes from the survivor. They were forlorn. The man could tell well enough that the sight of himself would rip anyone disturbed, and yet he watched them for lengths of times before turning away shamefully in his sighs.

Billy was the first to break if only by mind first. Rebecca inched ahead and immedietly the con latched his attention on her movement. She crouched to the poor fool, and tentatively--as he assumed the medic was instructed to do so because her body was shaking—she reached out to pat the cleaner side of the assumed infected man. Instinctively on his part, Billy readied his magnum at rest, but nothing happened, at least for a while. The man let out a weak response of pain and grumbles to the girls' questions. Billy shook his head

A heavy palm clamped on her shoulder and she gasped. "Rebecca..." Her shoulders slouched in response and Billy could literally picture the exact look on her face.

He called her name again, and this time she rose up to his attention, only to have his gaze averted. Very rookie like, her body language was showing: arms hugged loosely around the waist, lips frowning over in deep thought, fingers taping quietly... He'd give her some time.

Billy turned to the survivor and scrutinized him by an unknown will. The surfacing thought was it must have been like this for all of them. All of the "zombies" they killed. How long it took to for all of them to die and then reawaken? Was there any feeling in between, or any control? Could a cure be possible to consider let alone exist? He glanced Rebecca's way. For certain she wished more than him that they had the time to answer all these questions. He was certainly curious but now willing. To him, things were simple: they arrived, they were armed, and they would shoot what was undeniably going to emerge from this mans body.

but...

Completely open, Rebecca touched his shoulder and Billy immediately looked out from where he wandered off. By her strained smile, her faze was well over and she must have been watching him think.

He was about to reassure her with a quiet joke when she interrupted.

"Ah…Adie." The man reached a well worn and tarnished hand towards the single cuffed fugitive on the other side of the room. Reluctantly, he was acknowledged.

Carefully, Billy crouched on one leg and brushed his dirtied hands among a pile of scattered files just beside the bed. He felt a feeble wood poke the side of his hand and flipped over a picture framed photo of a young woman smiling faintly. She was surrounded by three children.

Standing and with little to no emotion in his lean face, he handed the photo to the sickly man without any eye contact. At first, he stiffened in the arms but flashed a shaky grin upon connecting his eyes with the picture. With a stubby grip, he pried the photo from Billy.

"There you are..." His mouth flickered faintly through the pain of his horribly scarred features.

Adam was this name and Billy watched the middle aged man swallow hard and shake his dark yet paling head. He looked positively lost in another time. Hearing him talk to the picture, the ex marine felt a tiny dose of relief until the he realized he was being stared at appreciatively. Fast as he could manage, the con looked away. There was a feeling of guilt somehow on his back, but Adam just hummed blissfully as if to banish the awkward moment.

"I would have told her…" he went on. "I'm going on a business trip or some…something like that…because…" He tried a laugh but death bit back twice as hard. The photo fell into his lap as pain gathered in his chest and face. The sensation lasted long. He groaned and cursed as his hands continued to scratch nothing but his own skin. Somehow, the scratching appeared satisfying so he kept on vigorously; evident in his panting sighs.

Billy turned his head up from his cuff. His gut dropped like a ton at the sickening sight and he needed a distraction. He searched the night table beside the bed on a whim but was met with the same stock of paper he'd seen in any other cabinet in this godforsaken hell hole. Adam continued to suffer beside him without rest, scratching furiously at his stomach. Deeply frustrated, Billy slammed the drawer shut in defeat.

Defeat... What was there to win in this anyway? He gritted his teeth and tried to think of something possibly uplifting for the better of his conscious.

He could thank himself for one thing if he wanted to, and that was Rebecca's absence. She was out getting supplies in the safe house just a few doors down.. If she wasn't right now, she'd be hysterical, and him, being her unofficial pillar of support; he wouldn't quite have shined at his job with demons resurfacing from all four corners of the room.

He tried to think of something else, but could only think of Rebecca... God. It had been more than five minutes since her departure and the room was safe to say the least, so why worry about it? They both scouted it with keen eyes; one of a soldier and the other, a STARS. For good measure even, he scouted it himself again before heading back to keep an eye on poor Adam. The person they were...trying to keep alive.

He thought of Rebecca's words as they quietly battled the fate of this very unlikely survivor. You can't prevent death. Was what he said to her. He could help the situation but she clearly could not. For years, since a ripe age, his mind had been trained to work around human empathy while she was a package of innocent emotions waiting to burst. He knew how this was an obvious waste of time for the both of them, but voicing his opinion any more could have only harmed the trust he worked so hard to build up between himself and the girl. That was the funny things about risks. Everyone had their own definition.

Maybe he should just leave the place. Get out, get her, and just go. He was right. Who could prevent death from this?!

"Addie…"

But weren't they all in the same boat? In this…situation where reality brinked with hell, was there really a better person or a leader to listen to? A better risk to take? He felt inclined to shake his head. There was no dominance nor was there a challenge. This was survival and everyone, living or dieing—himself somewhere stuck between the middle—had a right to help and do whatever it took to stay alive.

So no... Maybe this wasn't a complete waste of time.

"Ah…Addie…"

If only he had thought of this sooner.

He turned to the opposite end of the room where a few scattered desks lay in a corner. As he reached the closest one, a middling rush of water could be heard from behind the walls. The mush of misty running water, while not a comforting sound, it was meters more of a would be relief, however, for some reason it failed to distract him.

"Ahd. D-Dee..'

Tired, sick of it all, Billy slamed one hand hard against the wood of the closest counter. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist. Something moist in the corner of his eyes had welled and he sighed disgustedly soft. He was supposed to be acting like a criminal. He didn't want to think about what to do with himself and his future until it was all over. Adam, was now apart of it too.

"Ahh…Addie.. AddDiee! ADiiEEEE!...Ah-AhDDiIIIIIiEEE!"

Why? Why was this happening? Why did he have to see this? Where was the running water? Why couldn't he hear it anymore?

"Oh my god..."

Distractions....He might as well have been wasted the moment he turned around. Half awake from what was happening and still leaning against the desk, Billy stared at his partner who had just entered the bunk room.

She stood on uneven legs, her eyes trailed helplessly over Adams violently convulsing body. The poor man was trapped in a spasm and could barely control himself as he rolled from side to side and eventually across and off the bed spread, hitting the floor shoulder and head first.

Trance'd, Rebecca watched as the body buckeled and twisted to face upwards again. The wounds on his chest she bandaged were in process of popping open as if an invisible knife was cutting apart the stitches.

He moaned loudly, teeth stretching from the bleeding gums. A deafening roar of anguish that made both of Billy and Rebeca's insides skipped high heights. Billy's skull swam with particular pressure as he watched Rebecca unthinkingly dash towards the clearly infected. She had dropped the little white box she was holding and slid to her knees, close by...

Billy didn't think twice about it. He yanked Rebecca up to her feet and then pulled her to him, catching just a glimpse of her wide green eyes before she locked into his right arm. Again, he pushed himself onto the heels of his feet, his arms too occupied with tugging Rebecca along. She squirmed uselessly in his grip but he refused to unlatch her. Letting her go was equivalent to letting a bird fly with clipped wings over a sea of cats. She was acting just as smart as a bird with clipped wings too. Stupid and failing to grasp the idea of what was going on and where. She needed a guide.

His magnum poked him in the side. He ignored the mockery. As much as he wanted to chastise himself for not using his gun earlier, he held it in.

He darted his head back and forth between "Adam" and the door of escape, and finally, at long last, his shoulder bone hit a familiar wall. Almost mad, he groped around it with his palm and thumb until a round metallic sphere slipped into his hand. Almost..!

He was already done twisting the knob and ready to press his entire body weight when something tried to pull him back.

"Rebecca." At first, he peered down with hunting eyes but let it slide the moment he saw her truly scared. She was helpless, terrified and desperate, all so very contrary to what was going to kill them if they didn't think fast enough...and yet they once had those same exact emotions too. It was all so impossible to think about and yet, tonight, it made perfect sense in the most sickening ways.

"Rebecca!" He called again, loaded with determination to leave rather than calm her down first. He was right for acting so but she made no move. Too focused on breathing in and out, she had turned still. "Rebecca! …Rebecca!" He shouted.

The sound of scuffling footsteps started like a warning and he quickly scouted for Adam. He found him just staggering to his feet, adapting through wild motions of his arms and jaw, a new want for hunger...

Enough! He turned back to Rebecca to find her looking down this time and regrettably, he stalled yet again. Her breath was shallow and cold on his neck and her eyes were distant looking. She looked ready to faint. Enough! He grabbed by her shoulders and shook her.

"HEY!"

At last, she moved. She grabbed onto his waist with her shaky arms, and it scared himself when he saw her reaching for his gun. Instead of restraining her first, he peered at the sides of her hip and saw both her gun and holster had been torn from her belt. Missing.

Where was... No, no time to think

What happened next surprised himself. He restrained her poorly. One hand over hers on the magnum, he squeezed her attention to reality until she was looking up again. He squeezed her hands again and called her name as calmly as he could.

Gently he slid the magnum from her fingers and pushed her behind him.

"I'll do it. Don't worry. I'll do it."

He nodded to himself to assure he was in control and then whipped his head around quick. One step and a half, he slid forward on his left leg to angle his aim. A single shot would do it and the zombie was dead center in his range. Both his aim and stance were secured…

Unexpectedly, he jolted. The weight in his free arm had shut against the side of him and he felt his head tilt right on impulse. Soft skin and red hair had fallen deep into the crock of his neck. Under the midpoint of her rosy bangs, Rebecca's eyes were knitted shut.

The magnum still pointing ahead---a tad slanted--he gave her hand one last squeeze.

"…thank you."

He heard that one.

Without a word, he looked back, closed his eyes, and fired.

Chris Redfield was gargling when he thought he heard his phone ring. He planned on turning the water off first but his reflection in the mirror was quicker to act. It grabbed his attention by both of his fully brown dilated eyes and in doing so, the delusional ring faded to the back of his mind for the remainder of some time.

His reflection…it was no surprise to him. There were logical things to blame for looking like a ragged beaten rag at the end of the day---the mirror being one but from a naturalistic point of view but such was the life of a working man on the clock.

He shrugged. If anything, he thought with a slight "hmph" of satisfaction, this bit of insomnia on his face was a sign of hard effort put to work. It was a mark of approval.

As his thoughts fleeted to an end and the topic of sleep began, a tiny string of shivers beneath the skin of his back had run down like a heavy weighted breeze. It was his phone?

Tired of looking at himself for more than a half a minute, he reached out and turned off the running faucet. Once the handle squeaked tight, the very near end of a familiar tone could be heard clearly. Wordlessly, he reached for his back pocket and pried open the tiny black phone just before the final note hit.

"Thish ish--" He realized he was speaking with a mouth full of toothpaste and quickly spat into the porcelain sink. 'Guess his cheeks were puffy looking for another reason…

"Hello, Chris? Chris?!" The speaker carried a worried voice of a female and the perfect silence from him when he retracted from the phone could only grant more time for her to fret.

Once the miss communication was clarified, another pause followed, much smaller, until Chris spoke again.

"Anyway…" was the start. He quickly stepped out into his bedroom and closed the bathroom door with the back of his foot. "why are you calling?" When Cindy had answered him, he could hear her much more clearly. The bars on his phone must have grown an extra two or something.

Cindy chatted on, trifling through minor details on certain events that related to them in another portion of their lives, completely separate from the norm. As she continued, Chris silently plotted himself onto the nearest edge of his bed for a comfortable seat. He listened in on her story of how she had to close up the diner by herself and quick rush to the infirmary and stitch up a patient. Once or twice, he would rub his nose to keep himself awake but that was only when she talked about George. The guy was just too standoffish to his own gender

Still talking. This girl could go on for hours… He glanced at the clock. Late.

Finally, at long last, the chatty blonde let in an open chance for him to talk.

"That's good. That's good." He felt nervous laughter build up around his yawn. "Now, is there something-----

"Chriis!"

-----He felt the need to sigh as he lightly tossed the phone onto his bed. Claire's voice could and had pierced through the thick walls of his room like a heavy pick straight through thin ice. The idea of Jill not spending the night was slowly becoming less of a burden on him as he so vaguely suggested and she so subtly denied his offer.

"Go to sleep!" His sister shouted again. His solid bedroom door had proved to be about as thick as paper.

For the second time, the stout headed brunette tried his best to act civil as he opened his bedroom door. He caught a glimpse of his sister on the pull out bed, her bed.

Claire was fully clothed in warn out clothes, his clothes to be precise. She was lying flat on her stomach on a pull out where a hefty bowl of popcorn was propped beside her elbows. Dead in front, was the obvious small yet blindly flashing television that let itself known well when all the lights were off. The fifteen inch box, somehow became ten times bigger as its image overcastted the entire mattress in a bright glow.

He hadn't noticed entirely because of all the flashing lights but Claire was looking at him ever since he opened the door. She gave him a look, like he was the reason behind everything that ticked her off. She sniffed before scooping a handful of buttery sweets from the bowl.

"Trying to pay attention here." She motioned ahead with a wavy hand gesture and for good measure she rolled her eyes back to the screen. Chris uninterestedly followed her point and saw two men fighting in a huge house that looked like either it was under repairs or a train had ran through it.

He let his eyes talk to her before replying with nonchalant smugness.

"To what?" and quickly closed the door before any nearby pillow or object could connect with his face.

He laid his back against the door with a short sigh when suddenly, a ray of screams and sounds exploded in a massive incoherent blur behind him. The door swayed obtusely accurate into the middle of his back making Chris Redfield think something was very very wrong as he twisted himself around and reached for the knob.

He ignored Cindy on the line completely as he pushed his bedroom door open once more.

Gone was everything.

The living room was in a hazy blend of grey and purple, the kind of purple, seen in a deadly gas. Methanol. It sat still above the grey which, deep in the center looked like an unnatural abyss of fire was creeping closer.

Fire... Fire!

His wit collapsed into dread. His arms could only manage up to his chin as layer after layer of dust and debris pushed into his face and body. Everything piled into him. They stung his eyes easy and his skin charred to a sticky paste. All he could do was stand and wait for the smoldering thick odor of death to greet him.

"Over here!"

Claire's voice! It was Claire's voice! No…Claire couldn't be here. It was death. This was death's voice calling to him

"Hereee, big brotheeeeer!"

His head and body bolted upward as he awoke but something soft held him from taking off. It was the soft flesh of human hands against his forehead and shoulders. They could undeniably feel his sweat.

He looked up, and immediately, the words "Thank God. She did spend the night" shot thorough his mind like a profession. Booze, wine…it would have seemed comforting but one swig in Jill Valentines arms had him talking.

"Are you alright?"

"A dream…"

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"It was…wrong. My sister.."

"Your sister's fine." She reassured him. "She's staying with a friend, remember?"

"…Yes…" He remembered.

It was dark all around him. Cool and comfortable. There was still the comforting gentle weight of her hands resting on him. When he looked up properly he saw she was leaning beside him from where he must have fallen asleep on the couch. When? He forgot.

"Jill…" He breathed. Her image was slightly titled and blurred. He struggled to find her at first. Where to look…her eyes…her face… "I'm going to be up for a while…" he said.

Her blue eyes quirked but eventually evened out to a smooth complexion of concern. Without pressing, she found one of his arms and held his hand. "I bet." She said kindly. "Wild dream?" she whispered.

"Wild nightmare.,," Her face deepened in a sympathetic response. It was warm and comforting. Steadily, Chris raised his head up more to get a better view. He looked mislaid.

"Want some coffee?" she asked "I couldn't sleep either."

He gave an off beat nod on his slightly pale face. "Yeah…" Once she gave him room he stretched himself up, feeling dizzy on his feet. The middle of his legs had no feeling as well as the front of his head.

"God I'm still a wuss. Of all the dreams I had…"

"C'mon." She patted his back as she led him to his kitchen apartment. "The only thing you still are is a horrible pilot."

Even though it felt extremely bizarre, he had laughed.

END

AN: Feedback is greatly appreciated. A dog doesn't know he's a good boy unless his owner tells him so, am I right? (bad analogy, I know.)

Anyway, please review!