Episode Three Point Two: Dead End Girl
It was a beautiful day. The noon sun shone from its perch high above, a burning orb in the cloudless azure sky that stretched from horizon to horizon. The air was clear and brisk, the frost of the morning having given way beneath the warm caress of the star's rays to form a clean and pleasant atmosphere that filled the lungs and brought forth an effervescent colour to the cheeks. And as fortune would have it, Shakahnna was currently outside to enjoy this day.
Aside from having a fully functioning laboratory, heliport and various other fixtures that would normally seem out of place on the grounds of an estate, no matter how large or owned by whom, Albert Wesker's home also boasted an expansive ornamental garden. The immense labyrinth of grey stone walls and impenetrably thick hedgerows contained the usual aspects of any configuration of that type; twisting and turning pathways that led in all directions, the occasional courtyard decorated with various statues and fountains, and the debilitating sense of being lost that could only come from something so convoluted. Naturally, however, it was something that had been designed entirely by her malevolent suitor for her amusement, and so it contained an entirely more malicious element than simply leaving her unable to navigate. At regular intervals the exuberant redhead had been accosted by zombies, most of which were clad in the ever so familiar garb of the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service, the units that currently patrolled all populated areas in the dystopian United States, and whose behaviour was characterised by extreme aggression and almost constant abuse of power. The female had become immensely fond of those men, namely because no matter how many of them you brutally executed, you never felt guilty about it afterwards. And though she was perfectly capable of tackling garden variety T-virus carriers with her bare hands should the situation call for it, her darkly paramour had presented her with a gift to mark the occasion of her being allowed into the open air for the first time since her initial incarceration.
When she had first woken up it had been to the aching in her side from sleeping atop solid ground. Her captor had provided her with a bed in her quarters several weeks previously, however, had it not been for the pleasant breeze then she might have mistaken her surroundings for her cell and assumed that the man had simply taken back the furniture that he had given her on a whim. When she had finally roused herself from her drowsy stupor, she had realised that she was instead lying in a small cul-de-sac of the hedge maze that she could only infer was located somewhere within the compound owned by the blond. A duralumin briefcase had been the only sign that it had indeed been the man whom had brought her here and at first she had been wary of the item, though curiosity had quickly overpowered her, for the better as it seemed. The container had introduced, much to her delight, a pair of cat's claws. They were markedly different from her usual weaponry, which had been four straight blades that came to a point at their ends, and instead consisted of curved daggers whose inner edges were cruelly serrated while the outer contours possessed vicious hooks at the area just before her knuckles. A quick foray into the nearest hedge revealed an impossibly strong wire mesh that she was unable to cut through, meaning that Wesker did not want her taking shortcuts. She quickly found out why, as almost immediately the undead began to make themselves known. Her new equipment had proven startlingly effective in the rending of flesh and the disembowelling of the shuffling denizens of the convoluted corridors, though she somewhat suspected that the Aryan sadist had intended that much.
Unfortunately, she had yet to be reunited with the male, and as such did not know particularly what was expected of her on this stage. Until that was revealed, she elected instead to simply rampage through the walled passages slaughtering everything that she came across. With adrenaline surging through her veins and the pounding of her heartbeat deafening her to the sound of her feet slamming into the gravel as she ran, she rushed out into a new, exquisitely decorated open area and straight for a group of half a dozen carriers milling idly at its centre. Statues of young women weeping hid their eyes from what occurred as she hurried towards the kill. Impaling the first of the emaciated ghouls through the sternum, the grinning redhead shoved the creature backwards into its brethren with a large section of its torso missing. The insensate undead scattered as the first victim fell among them, turning to face the only fresh meat that they had been given the opportunity to feast upon in days and failing to comprehend the fact that they were not going to survive the next few moments. With all of her characteristic grace and dexterity, Shakahnna whirled past the second zombie, neatly slicing the muscles on each of its arms to leave them slack before stabbing clean through the reverse of its ribcage and pierce its atrophied heart. She did not break stride, merely pausing momentarily to kick the decaying body to the ground and dislodge her blades as she turned to her third target.
Bringing her arm around to point directly at the face of her next opponent, she spun with blinding speed and thrust the points of the knives posed at the forefront of her first through its face, rotten brain matter spewing forth from the holes carved in its skull before it staggered and toppled into a heap on the floor. Her other hand flicked out, flaying the skin from the face of the next lurching individual, before she reversed the motion and cleaved apart the flesh of its chest. Pivoting on one foot, she drove the sole of her opposing boot into its knee, the impact breaking the joint with a wet crunch as the cartilage gave way and the leg bent back on itself, causing the moaning corpse to fall just far enough for its intended prey to easily drive her elbow into its neck and shatter its fragile vertebrae, paralysing it and allowing it to drop to the ground. She followed up by plunging her intricately designed knives into the penultimate monster's stomach, rupturing disused organs and spilling a considerable length of putrid intestine from its gut, before striking a second time with her other hand and piercing its lungs and heart, easily puncturing all of the major internal components contained within its torso and leaving it to bleed into itself now that it no longer had the capacity to prove a threat. The final mindless denizen of the courtyard lunged for her, peeling hands outstretched towards her, only for the enthused female to step into its reach and neatly decapitate it with both of her bladed gloves. Its head popped of like a champagne cork and landed with a splash in a nearby fountain, the water from which seeped out from a demon's mouth as it terrorised one of the crying maidens petrified at the water's edge. The crystal clear fluid quickly began to turn septic from the influence of the zombie's separated cranium, but this fact did not warrant her attention, and so she turned her focus to locating further carnage.
Another narrow passage lined with neatly trimmed hedgerows and smooth stone monoliths led her out into another new courtyard, this one an expansive crisscross of gravel pathways and well-maintained flowerbeds, all sporting a variety of different roses. At the centre of the courtyard yet more concrete damsels knelt in a tight cluster, sobbing into their palms as they bore the burden of what appeared to be a rounded altar that formed the focal point of the open area that the redhead that recently entered. Approaching the centrepiece of the enclosure warily, Shakahnna's eyes took in a small building that had the look of a crypt that lay beyond the shrine directly opposite the opening that she had come from. Engraved upon the door was a relief of a man, standing with his arms outstretched as a serpent entwined itself around his body. She cocked her head at this, but since it was closed off, ignored it for now. As she reached the table, which came up to her waist, the stout female noticed that there were three circular indentations about the size of her palm in a triangular pattern carved into its top.
Nodding to herself, the young lady reached into the pockets of her combat fatigues, carefully so as not to slice open her clothes, and withdrew a trio of medallions one-by-one, before setting them down atop the space in front of her. She had located each of the tokens in various places around the maze that she was currently wandering, each of them having been sat upon what appeared to be small sundials scattered throughout its labyrinthine corridors and plazas. Ordinarily she would not have been interested in picking up bits of rock or metal, unless they were sharp, but these were also a beautiful shade of deep metallic green; it was obvious to her that Wesker had wanted to keep her interest in these items and so she had picked them up and carried them with her. Now that she had found the area in which she needed them she was admittedly somewhat loath to let them go considering how pretty they were, but she suspected that there was still further bloodshed to be had, and in lieu of that fact, the emblems that she had obtained were going to need to take one for the team. Or rather, her metaphorical hard-on.
She set each of the metal discs into a slot on the raised platform before her, giving each one a bang with her fist for good measure and stood back to see what would happen. After a moment of silence there was the sound of stone grinding on stone behind her, and upon turning around she realised that the direction from which she had come was now no longer viable due to the presence of another immense obelisk filling the aperture that had not been there moments previously. She winced with the knowledge that she should have known better, subsequent to the din created by the entrance of the tomb sliding open. With the most subtle and easy of motions, the flame-haired Amazon took up a combative stance, backing away from the altar in front of her without retreating to the now-closed entryway so as not to render herself cornered. Her shoulders hunched and the blades attached to her fists rose to a ready position, her feet sliding apart to allow both ease of movement and solidarity in combat if she were to be engaged immediately, her wide emerald eyes focused upon the open portal as her mind went over the numerous possibilities of what could confront her next.
There was a shuffling sound, akin to that of leather on concrete, moments before something grunted from within the structure directly ahead of her. It was a deep and primal noise, the kind that would issue from the snout of an unintelligent creature upon noticing a sudden influx of sunlight that had not been there previously. A heavy footstep resounded, and then another, and then a third, moments before a scaly crown the colour of jade emerged into the golden luminescence, two beady, jasper-tinted eyes peering out from its flattened features, surveying the area ahead of it as it emerged from the building that had been its home for an unknown number of days. Even hunched as it was, the creature was still taller than the female who occupied the open area with it, though it seemed less prepared for the battleground that awaited it, blinking dumbly in the harsh brightness as it attempted to acclimatise itself to its new surroundings. Its arms hung almost to the ground, ending in cruel, curved talons much like her own hands, though it possessed an extra advantage in the form of further claws adorning its feet. Its lips curled back away from its viciously pointed teeth and it snarled angrily as it finally became accustomed to the area, and identified, in the way that only an animal can, fresh meat. In a moment that felt very much like the prelude to something that would end in death for one or both of them, Shakahnna and the Hunter faced off.
Before the amphibian crossbreed even had the opportunity to move, however, the young woman pushed off with her back foot and began sprinting towards it, a broad grin plastered across her face. The creature opposite her was somewhat slower on the uptake, but surged forward nonetheless, ready to rend her flesh with its claws in much the same way as she had intended to do to it. It outpaced her easily, beating her to the platform between them and hopping on top of it, preparing to leap down on her with its claws outstretched. Unwilling to be impaled, the human stooped as she ran and raked a hand through the small stones that composed the flooring of the path that she was running on, before hurling the pile that she had gathered at her adversary. She had not intended to hurt it; after all, she had seen heavy calibre rifle rounds crumple on these enemies' armoured hides, but the monster lifted one arm to shield itself from the flying debris, momentarily abandoning its intentions of attacking just long enough for her to close the gap between them and cleave a gouge in its taut calf muscle, the serrated edge of her reinforced steel knives carving four deep, scarlet wounds in the leg. She ducked and rolled to the side as it roared, making a vain attempt to swat her head from her shoulders in retaliation, before hopping down from its perch and pursuing her as she plunged face first into one of the rose bushes nearby.
The thorns of the shrubs that she had pitched into left thin, bloody trails on her arms and cheeks, and tugged at her clothing as she wriggled through the interlacing stems that blocked her path. Behind her, the beast that had been attempting to rend her asunder began to slash at the outskirts of the plants that were hiding her. Petals and leaves began to rain upon her as they were whipped up into the air by the wild swipes of her opponent, the aggressive snarling that was coming from above prompting her to roll deeper into the flowerbed to avoid the destruction that was occurring over her head. As she began to move away beneath the cover of the roses, the creature leapt forwards, its feet slamming down into the dirt and nearly pinning her body to the ground. Unable to see her beneath the cloak of red buds and green tendrils, the Hunter thrust downwards with the claws of its right arm, raking the earth in which they had been planted, its claws almost striking her head. In response, she thrust her own bladed fist upwards towards its face, the sudden movement causing it to shriek and hop backwards, before it circled her position and made to strike at her again.
She curled her back and brought her feet upwards, bringing the soles of her boots around to slam into its chest and knock it off balance. As it stumbled backwards, the female finished her motion by completing her roll and coming to a crouching position amid the bushes around her, before twisting around and driving the full force of her body into a straight right punch. The blades focused her entire weight and muscle power into four small areas, all of them placed directly over the area where the monster's heart was, and she was unsurprised when they punctured its thick skin, drove into its ribcage and tore through the muscle at the centre. Blood ejected from its mouth as it grunted in surprise, the crimson fluid staining its teeth as its lips pulled away, moments before it threw back its head and screeched with a pitch that made her ears ring. With that, it flopped backwards, its dying motion ripping her claws from its sternum and causing a fountain of vermilion to gush from its wounds, spraying out over the immediate area. It slumped into the earth beneath its feet, flattening a section of the budding flowers with its considerable carriage at the same time, while the girl did the same, falling back into the shade of the flourishing blooms. After a moment of intent listening, she realised that there were no other creatures and that the door which had blocked her path had not reopened. That meant that she was supposed to go down into the crypt, and since she was not really in the mood for musty and dark when it was such a beautiful day outside, she elected to remain where she was for the time being, splayed upon the ground and staring up at the blue sky while pretty red and white blossoms spattered with blood danced at the periphery of her vision. After a moment she began to feel quite tired as the adrenaline washed out of her system, and for a moment she thought that she was dreaming when she heard the disembodied voice of her captor speaking to her.
"I trust that you have enjoyed this exercise, dear heart," he purred, causing her to look around in a bid to locate him, before she sat up from her position and found him standing several yards away on the gravel path nearby, arms folded over his chest and head raised slightly as he regarded her critically.
"Enjoyed?" she asked, clambering to her feet, though admittedly she did not gain much height in comparison with the towering blond, "like it be's over now?"
"Though you may not have realised it, you have in fact been here for several hours," he informed her. He was correct when he made this suggestion, as this news caused her brow to furrow deeply. Though she could feel the vestiges of fatigue, it was difficult for her to believe that she had been running about in the labyrinth for even half an hour, let alone several as he had said. In spite of her tiredness, she was immensely disappointed that this was the end of her foray in the maze, though she was unsure as to whether this was because she was having so much fun or because it had been so long since she had been outside, particularly in an area that was so pretty.
"It didn't seem like that long," she told him, the knowledge that she had reached the end of her carnage for the day making her long for a cigarette, though she had expended that particular resource a couple of days ago and had yet to convince Wesker into letting her have another packet. She had a lighter now, however, which had been another concession he had provided with her in reply to the games that they continued to play within the confines of her cell, and so could not wait to have another packet to puff her way through. "That Hunter was pish incidentally," she continued matter-of-factly, indicating the scaly corpse that was lying in the flowerbed between them, "I mean, it didn't be bad, but it wasn't spectacular either. I would have liked to have seen one of the Tyrant Veronica's again; those are hot."
"Bliss is fleeting, my love," he stated in response to her initial comment, before looking down upon the body of the mammal-amphibian hybrid with an expression of casual disregard, "and you have my apologies for the lack of challenge provided by this adversary. I will take note of its unsatisfactory performance and provide you with a more suitable opponent when next you are allowed access to this location."
"Next time?" Shakahnna asked, raising an eyebrow at his words and fervently wishing yet again that she had something to smoke, the thought of a further opportunity to indulge in the guiltless, carefree destruction that he had provided her with today causing her skin to prickle and her breath to hitch slightly, "so you think I might get to come back here one day soon?"
The looming executive smiled slightly, approving of her eagerness. "If your future conduct earns my favour then I may consider it," he replied, a subtle glimmer of self-satisfaction manifesting on his features, the smugness of it making the redhead want to tear his face off for her own gratification. There was something about the way the older individual wore his conceit that made her want to sink her fingers into his cheeks and rip away the skin on the front of his skull so that he'd stop being so bloody cocky. She'd known arrogant men before, and none of them annoyed her quite as much as the man standing before her; perhaps it had something to do with his undeniable capability, the fact that the majority of his arrogance was completely justified.
She frowned at him and she lifted her hand to scratch the back of her head softly, being careful not to slice her own hair off with the blades of her cat claws. "I kind of don't wanna be going back in that box," she told him, looking more than slightly despondent with the concept, "I think I wanna be staying and playing a bit more."
"Unfortunately, the resources of this area have been expended until I have occasion to replenish them," he responded, the slight smirk remaining on his face as he lifted a hand to idly adjust the level of his sunglasses upon his nose, "unless, of course, you wished for me to indulge you myself."
Her lips split into a broad grin at this and she cocked her head in a non-verbal challenge. "Sounds good to me," she said, slipping back into the comfortingly familiar combative stance that she had utilised against her previous victim. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards the slightest fraction, his smirk growing that much more tangible at her words, as he placed a hand to his torso just below his chest and bowed to her in a gesture of gentlemanly deference.
"As usual, my lady," he said, straightening to his full, impressive height once again, "the pleasure is all mine."
He surged forward, his body becoming a blur of ebony that any normal person would have been hard-pressed to follow, as he came to take possession of her immediately. But she had grown accustomed to his speed and was dancing to his beat, which was why her first strike found a home at his left side, the blades of her right fist flaying the skin from his waist, before a backhanded swing of her other hand tore through his forearm as he reached for her. Shuffling back a fraction of a step, she avoided the bloodied appendage by inches, moments before she brought her hands around in front of her and thrust them both into his chest, the blades stabbing into the flesh there and emerging with a sheath of crimson covering each individual knife. It was at this point that she was no longer able to deny her inevitable capture, and his left hand clamped around her throat in a manner that was forceful but still permitted her room to breath. No sooner had he done this than he stepped towards her, pressing his body against hers even as he forced her gaze up towards his face. Two pinpoints of burning red flashed momentarily behind the dark lenses that were staring down at her, an increasingly common occurrence during their liaisons, before he sneered broadly, evidently impressed all the more at even this brief spell of resistance.
"You have improved," he stated, lifting his wounded right arm to bring his fingers to her hairline and gently brush away an errant strand of fiery hair, before softly running the index digit of that same hand over her cheek in a display of affection that was likely motivated more by a notion of possession than any real fondness.
And that was exactly it. Days after he had dredged up her most closely guarded secrets and sent her into a depressive downward spiral, he had returned to her in silence and they had come to a wordless consensus that they would continue their mutual indulgence together. She had reasoned that at least if he were with her then he would not be out hunting down her family or causing more catastrophes in the outside world, and that allowing him the opportunity to partake in the battle for dominance he so seemed to crave would hopefully keep him in a good mood. Lord only knew what a vindictive bastard he was when he was pissed off. Though she had obviously still been quite upset by his knowledge of her past, and required much penance to make up for her betrayal of those people that she had once loved, and still did even if she did keep them at arm's length, eventually she had come to enjoy their pseudo-genial concourse and the undercurrent of struggle that it contained once again. They had solved the problem of her supposed weakness for the plight of others by ignoring it, and that suited her fine. Wesker was not her significant other, he was not someone that she loved, and so there was no need to resolve issues that might affect their relationship. Hating him suited her fine, because his actions made him such a hateful person to begin. It didn't matter what she felt about him personally, because she could never be his friend or lover knowing what he did with his considerable strength. He stood against everything that she believed; having one more reason to despise him really wasn't such a bad thing. Fondness on the part of either of them was superfluous.
"Not finished yet," she replied, smiling sweetly, moments before there was the sound of flesh being tortured and ripped asunder in the general area of his stomach as her gloves thrust into his gut. He grunted quietly in response, the slightest sound of discomfort in spite of the fact that he had almost been disembowelled, and then shoved her away, the motion sending her stumbling backwards and causing her to flail her arms in order to maintain her balance as they came loose from his body. When she finally managed to steady herself, the male was already directly in front of her once again, his right hand seizing her lower jaw roughly, while the other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him, the warmth of her exhilarated, sweat-soaked skin pressing to the more subtle heat of his, both tangible to the entwined couple even through their clothing.
"I had rather hoped not," he told her, his face hovering mere inches over hers, before he descended to capture her lips with his own. She stumbled back slightly, her posterior bumping against the edge of the circular altar that she had not realised was right behind her. Placing her off-hand against the stone, she lifted the other to press the points at the tips of her blades to his cheek, before drawing them gently across his skin, four parallel strokes opening in his face which began to bleed immediately. She could feel his jaw tense with his arousal even as he continued to dominate her mouth with his, though she openly reciprocated. He began to push her backwards gently, tipping her so that she was resting upon the carved shrine, though he did not break contact with her. Once she was horizontal, she lifted her legs and laced them around his lower back to ward away the tension in that area on her own body from being held in that position.
During the course of their interaction over the last few weeks they had indulged in many old and new pains and pleasures. The razor blades had come out to play several times, occasionally with the added bonus of fire, as well as some rather interesting experiments with acid. She now possessed a rather interesting pattern on her arm from that particular incident, although she had also witnessed the extent of her suitor's regenerative capabilities when she had taken a syringe filled with the corrosive compound that he had brought to her and stabbed it into his arm. The appendage had fallen off moments later, only for another to grow back in its place shortly afterwards, and Wesker had not been pleased with her actions in respect to that injury, though to the best of her knowledge he had not used it as an excuse to go after her estranged family. He was also intent on continuing the charade of her interrogation, and had periodically starved her, adjusted the heating of her habitat to both unbearably hot and cold levels, and even provoked insomnia in her with the aid of agonisingly loud white noise. She had borne each of those punishments with her usual aplomb, and her answer when questioned was always for him to fuck off. They had grown used to that particular exchange, and it seemed that he no longer found it as aggravating as he previously had.
There had been times when he had not wished to torture her, however, and they had simply passed the time in conversation. They avoided the subject of her former life for the sake of harmony, though he seemed much more willing to divulge information of his own history to her now that she had become such a permanent and welcome fixture in his life. Originally he had been adopted by the Spencer family as a potential future husband for the eldest daughter of that bloodline, Annette, though for reasons that he did not care to discuss, another male who had been adopted for the same reason, William Birkin, was chosen for the role instead. He had been raised by a distinguished British couple who were close business associates of Lord Ozwell Spencer, the then-head of the legacy, and it was evident that though he had been a part of high society for the majority of his life, he despised that particular band of individuals with a greater fervour than any special forces unit or uncouth redhead that he had encountered since. In time he had executed a number of Machiavellian schemes, which had culminated in his current position within Umbrella Incorporated. As Chief Executive of the organisation he had manipulated the decisions of Ozwell Spencer and his successor, who was currently serving as Wesker's supposed superior, as well as the government of the United States. With this in mind, it was obvious to Shakahnna why that particular nation was in such disarray.
She had found it hilarious when he had cited absolute power as his goal. It was not that she did not respect his strength and resources, quite the opposite in fact, but his ideals were laughable. The former S.T.A.R.S Lieutenant had amassed strength all her life for the purposes of protecting those that were close to her and defending those who were incapable of doing so through their own efforts from people who meant to do them harm; her feud with the corrupt corporation was a symbol of that. That he possessed more power than she would ever have need of, and squandered it by collecting it the way other people collected stamps, had caused her to become angrier than she had ever been in her life, as well as break out into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. She was amazed that a man with such intelligence and such apparent insight could be so obviously blind to the point of everything, though she did remind herself that this was Wesker she was thinking of. At times he was so dense that even Matt was quicker on the ball than him; at least her former lumbering cohort had been fighting for a cause, even if that cause was only one person.
"We're not doing this," she murmured as their lips parted slowly, her warm breath brushing gently over his features due to their proximity.
"I beg your pardon?" he queried, raising an eyebrow. She continued to stare into the black ellipses that covered the area at the centre of his face, fancying that she could see his monstrous eyes narrow at her words ever so slightly.
"I'm not doing this with you," she informed him, feeling her mouth brush against the pursed line that was his own as she spoke, "this is what you want."
"I had assumed that this was a matter of mutual gratification," he responded, his voice tinged heavily with consternation at her sudden unwillingness. Her honest, emerald eyes watched him, the dark barrier between them giving their interaction a detached nature.
"I be's wanting it too," she confessed, lifting her hand to his shoulder and pressing it gently away from her in a bid to get him to move from their compromising position, unlacing her legs from his waist and placing her feet back upon the gravel below, "but you always talk about power being desirable in its own right, like it's the end you pursue, and it doesn't be like that with us. You be's wanting power over me to get my compliance; its something that you actually, passionately desire, and I can't be letting you have it."
"Indeed?" he asked, rising somewhat and removing his hand from where it was still clasping her chin, "and what has brought about this sudden resolution?"
She let out a short, humourless chuckle, a slight smile appearing on her features. "It's not sudden; its always been that way," she recounted, his apparent agitation growing all the more at this statement, "I've always wanted to punish you for the things you've done, and if I can't physically making you be suffering, if there is nothing that I can take away from you to hurt you, then I can just not be giving you anything. If it's me that you want, then it's even easier for me to keep that from you; being denied is the least you deserve."
He studied her silently for a moment, his frown and her smile differentiated only by the curve of their lips, the emotion of both expressions being one of acute displeasure. Without warning, he lifted away from her completely and allowed her to return to a standing position, removing himself to a position that was several feet away as she hopped down from the altar that he had previously laid her down atop. "Eventually you will come to realise that in resisting me you are denying yourself," he informed her, the frustrated pinch at the bridge of his nose remaining in spite of the neutrality on the remainder of his face, "should you ever wish to be rid of this façade that you present me with then you need only to inform me; I would delight in stripping it from you."
"I'll kick you in the nuts if you ever try stripping me, bitch," she told him, placing her hands on her hips and shooting him a look of measured disgust, though she was probably not aware that her cheeks had turned a vibrant shade of scarlet at his comment, "but I guess we'll see, right? Its not gonna happen today, but you can try again tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. It might take weeks, or months, or years, decades even. Depends on whether spite or lust is the stronger impulse, really."
"Quite," he agreed, bringing his right hand up to idly adjust those strands of his hair that had come loose during his moment of distraction when he and his beloved had seemed to be on the cusp of something that would please them both, "you understand, of course, that if you will not indulge me then I must escort you to your quarters."
"Sometimes you're such a brat, Wesker," she teased, grinning in actual happiness this time as his jaw tensed slightly at her taunt, "okies, let's go back, but you should get me some cigarettes while you're trying to figure out how you're going to get me next time. I think a packet should just about last me the rest of the day."
-
Gathering herself against the cold, Amy Decker walked along the frost-glazed street towards the U.B.C.S checkpoint at the outskirts of the city's "safe-zone". In actuality, this was a misnomer in more ways than one. The small gathering of military vehicles and personnel was said to be on the outskirts, but was in fact several blocks from any actual human presence; this was mainly due to the fact that no one wanted to live in a place that might be overrun by zombies at any time. With every inch that the roaming hordes of undead gained, the living moved a yard in response, until they became a tightly clustered ball raging against the inevitability of their own destruction. That they called this place safe truly was a lie, for that reason and because it was often that humanity was its own worst enemy. Crime went unchecked, and that which the custodians of the country, the individuals who had appointed themselves as the law, recognised were usually punished in overly extreme manners. Vigilante killings and organised lynching was common, and objectors were often subject to the same punishment making them few and far between. The young woman was unsure as to who she feared the most, the zombies for their mindless destruction, or the people who were equally capable of such atrocity, but who justified their actions using words like "justice" and "righteousness". Though they were merely shades of the men and women that they had once been, the flesh-eating ghouls were at least free of that pretension.
She breathed warmth into her chilled fingers, a trail of white steam drifting from her hands as the water vapour cooled instantly in the air, the heavy overcoat covering her ordinary clothing doing little to ward away the chill, and she could not help but feel a little envious of the stocky, dark-haired male beside her, who seemed unfazed by the temperature. They kept an even pace as they approached the parked armoured convoy that marked the exit of the supposed controlled area, neither of them fazed by the heavily armed individuals manning that camp. The majority of the soldiers ignored them, since they were on the wrong side of the barricade to be a threat, but one man, a heavy-set individual in his late twenties with hair cut close to his scalp and carrying an Assault Rifle, came toward them as they made to pass through.
"Hold up," he said, the tone of his voice brisk and indicative of a command, though his choice of words belied his lack of true military discipline, "sorry folks, restricted area past this point."
"I know," the brunette replied, nodding at his words, "but I have something that I need to do."
"That so," the decidedly unsubtle man responded, raising an eyebrow as he looked the female up and down in a manner that made her distinctly uncomfortable at the attention she was being paid, "you know, a pretty girl like you shouldn't be wandering around outside the safe-zone without an escort. It's dangerous out there. I mean, all sorts of bad things could happen to you."
"She has an escort," the man beside her interjected bluntly, drawing the armed U.B.C.S member's attention, the first individual obviously not liking what he was seeing when he noticed that the chestnut-haired maiden's companion was considerably bigger than he was and much more threatening in appearance, though he had managed to be almost completely nondescript prior to choosing to draw attention to himself, "and I fail to see how her attractiveness affects her chances of survival."
"What, you? You're not even carrying..." the trooper began, moments before a knee-length khaki-green trench coat was drawn to the side to reveal a large, heavily-modified revolver holstered beneath a powerfully muscular left arm. There was a moment of silence before he continued. "Yeah, yeah, alright, whatever," he said, holding up his hands away from his weapon and backing away from the couple with an expression that suggested interfering with them was no longer something that he wished to do, before he reached to the bonnet of a nearby Humvee and took up a clipboard, "you guys registered at the survivor's camp? I'll need your names if so."
"We are; it's Amanda Decker and R-..." she started to respond, before the man beside her gripped her arm with his left hand, squeezing at the area beneath her shoulder to draw her attention to him, before he shook his head, staring her in the eye the whole time.
"David Thorne," he finished, without turning his gaze away from her to address the man who was taking down their details, "those are the names that are registered at the shelter."
The soldier looked at them sidelong as they both came to return his questioning glance, neither of them willing to comment on the sudden friction between them. "Right," he grunted, making the necessary notations and then looking back up at them, "twenty four hours to do what you need to do. After that your property gets distributed around the camp, but I guess you already know that by now. Plenty of people went missing after the last incursion."
"We don't really have any property worth distributing," Amy replied, sounding somewhat forlorn at this, as the two of them began to walk through the gathering of vehicles towards the area that was beyond the protection of the Biohazard Countermeasure Service, "not anymore."
They passed in silence out of the fortified blockade and onto the deserted streets, the group of men defending the remaining denizens of the city paying them little heed as they made their way out into what was certain death for most. These roads were littered with burnt out wrecks of cars and the bodies of those who had been unable to survive the various skirmishes between the encroaching undead and the desperate living. Long before they had been overrun, the majority of the houses and businesses here had been looted, mostly to aid in the recovery effort and to provide comfortable sanctuary to those who had been driven from their homes, though naturally some of this crime was not so altruistically motivated. There was a special kind of tragedy about these broken pathways that had once been so full of life, for those few good people who would live through the initial attacks would often return in search of their loved ones and never be heard from again. Those rare selfless beings were gradually dying out, leaving only the cowardly opportunists to defend those that remained. It was no real surprise that the cities of America were slowly being snuffed out one by one, like candles in an increasingly dark room.
"I'm sorry," the female muttered, as the mismatched pair made their way through the dangerous area of the once-thriving community in search of their intended destination, "I almost gave you away."
"Its fine," the man who was apparently named David replied, still as brisk as ever, though displaying a certain degree of personal fondness for his companion that he had obviously not possessed for the sentry who had previously accosted them.
"No, its not, I'm being a burden to you," she told him, the scarf wrapped around her throat muffling her speech, though in these deathly silent avenues her voice was easily heard, "my parents left the country a couple of months ago after I left Shak's cat with them, and they probably think that I'm dead after hearing about Angel being destroyed, so its okay for me to go by my usual name; no one's going to be hurt by that, but I forgot that you still have family involved in this."
"Really, Amy, its fine," the taller of the two asserted again, "and please don't say things like that. You're the only one who knows where the remaining S.T.A.R.S units are in this country and without you I'm just dead wood floating along with the current. If there was one thing that Hague impressed upon me before his suicide then it was that you were in no way expendable. Your knowledge about our own organisation, as well as Umbrella, will make or break this whole operation, and without you we'll never restore this country to a place where people can live freely without fear."
"Thank you," she responded, her voice breaking into a quavering whisper mid-sentence. They continued to walk along the frost-coated tarmac in silence for a moment, and then she spoke up again. "Shak told me before she left that Hague had told her you wanted her out of your unit; is that true?" she asked, confronting an issue that had been bothering her since the redhead's disappearance some months prior now that they were alone to discuss it. She was surprised when the older man nodded, without showing the slightest hint of embarrassment about his conduct towards a woman that Amy had only the utmost respect for. "Why?" she questioned, her eyes narrowing slightly in indication of her annoyance at his frankness, "she only ever wanted to protect you all."
"And in doing so she jeopardised our mission," the dark-haired male answered, evidently a man who was used to speaking his mind when asked for his opinion and not accustomed to putting on airs for the comfort of those whose company he kept, regardless of how he respected or cared for them, "its all well and good to protect your own, but not at the cost of an objective that we had all decided long ago would be worth our lives. I can't begin to comprehend the trauma that she went through, but I won't have her belittle the cause that I have dedicated my every waking moment to by insinuating through her actions that it isn't worth my life, or the lives of anyone else in our group. I have no time for anyone who will stand in the way of achieving that goal, whether they are our enemy or our ally."
"You drove her away," Amy accused angrily, her eyes beading with tears and her face turning red with her embarrassment at reacting in such a manner, even as she remembered losing the last person that she had truly cared for in her life. For a moment, David did not speak, evidently contemplating the circumstances surrounding his former colleague's vanishing act.
"Perhaps," he eventually conceded, though he sounded sceptical.
Walking the empty streets was a harrowing experience for Amy, namely because she had once lived in the neighbourhood that now stood deserted. From their current position, she knew all of the shortcuts back to the housing estate where she had once been raised as a child, the place where she had met Matt for the first time when they had been in their teens, and where she had decided that he was the only one that she ever wanted to be with. There were so many notable firsts connected with that place, so many beautiful memories, that she was tempted to deviate from their amble in order to pay it a visit. When she imagined how it had changed, however, she knew that it was perhaps best if she never laid eyes on it again, lest that tender reminiscence be corrupted by the destruction that could be seen all around. Instead, they simply continued on to their destination, a church on one of the side streets that stood as a familiar landmark between her former home and the school that she had once attended alongside her beloved. They passed through the open gate into the orchard that bordered the old building, the grass that was being allowed to grow unchecked glazed with frost and surrounding numerous trees that were in the process of budding. The ordinarily beautiful surroundings were choked by the darkness and coldness that surrounded them, Umbrella's crime having sapped the life from a place where manmade and natural magnificence had once existed hand-in-hand, faith offsetting growth in harmony.
When she was a youth, her parents had brought her here every Sunday to share the doctrine of their religion. Though they had never had her christened, and though she had received all of the benefits of a secular education, they had at least wished her to acquire the moral imperative that they themselves possessed, and it was that same belief in right and wrong that had eventually motivated her into action against the corporation. She had continued to come here on a weekly basis even when she had decided that she could not believe in a God who would allow such atrocities to befall his creations, though more to spend time with her significant other than to hear the congregation regurgitate the lessons she already knew by heart. During spring there was an abundance of peach, cherry and apple blossom, and the most beautiful flowers grew in the immaculately tended grounds where they had often come to be alone together and make plans for a future that had ultimately never come to pass. They had once decided to be married within that building, and there was a bitter sting to the realisation that this would not happen now. Even without the dedication of a ceremony like that, however, they had been as close as two people could ever have been, and only her vendetta against the organisation she despised was stopping her heart from breaking for him; she knew that if there were any form of life after death then he would want her to finish what she had started. Even though he was gone, the lingering memory of her very own giant would smash away the ugliness and emptiness of the world that she had been left with and gently touch her face to remind her that he loved her the most. When she thought like that, he didn't seem quite so far away.
"Is this the place?" David queried, as they approached the structure's main entrance. Her response was only to nod, confirming for him that this was indeed the location of their rendezvous with some of the remaining members of their underground organisation. Some time after the destruction of Angel and the beginning of their residence at the survivor's camp in Amy's hometown, the resourceful young woman had arranged for them to be reunited with their brothers in arms. That she had managed this with so little to work with had astounded her powerfully-built companion, but was a testament to how useful she had proven to S.T.A.R.S this past year. Her networking and information-gathering skills were insanely overdeveloped for someone who had once been nothing more than an intern.
It was his turn to utilise his skills, however, and he reached into the confines of his jacket to remove the weapon that had frightened the guard several minutes earlier, raising it in his right hand and pushing open the doors to the church with the other. With the female following close behind, he scanned the interior of the lobby critically looking for any hostile presence, before moving into the main chamber. A quick scan of this room revealed nothing more than it had been abandoned long before. Several benches had been taken from either side of the aisle that cut directly down the centre, and those that remained were covered in a thin veil of dust. Any valuables had been stolen from the altar and the organ to the left of that focal point had been shamelessly vandalised. High above, one of the two stained glass windows that brought attention to the place where the minister would stand had been smashed and fallen leaves congregated amid the broken shards on the floor. There were no people here, living, dead or in between. Satisfied that there were no threats, he placed the weapon back into its holster under his arm.
"I'd like a moment alone," she told him, gesturing towards the altar at the other end of the room, "if that's okay."
"I'll wait in the foyer then," he replied, nodding to her in a display of respect for her wishes, evidently seeing nothing wrong with allowing her to kill some time between now and when their contacts joined them, "but you must call me if anything happens, no matter how slight. Likewise, if anything happens then I will come and get you."
"I will," she agreed, before looking down at her feet with a sorrowful look on her face, "I'm sorry for snapping at you."
"I understand the pain of loss," he told her bluntly, moving back to the first chamber that they had entered and placing a hand on the ring of the door that would separate them once it was closed, "I would ask you to save your apologies for when you are actually at fault, but you are forgiven."
"Thank you," she said to him once again, moments before he pulled the portal closed. She stood staring at the entrance for a moment, before sighing heavily and turning back to the aisle behind her, walking the path towards the raised dais at the very rear of the building, her feet kicking up clouds of dust from the long disused carpet. She passed the rows of benches, casting a fond glance at the place where she had once sat with her family during the weekly sermons, before climbing the trio of steps that let to the podium from which those readings were given. Once there, before the bare, wooden box that she had once spent so much of her time looking up at, she raised her arms and placed her elbows atop its surface, lacing her fingers and placing her pale lips against the chilled skin of her hands. She closed her eyes and began to speak.
"I suppose even if you can hear me then you can't answer, I mean, I spoke to you for years and you never said anything to me. Maybe you aren't really there, or perhaps you are, but you're so big that one person's voice is too quiet for you to hear. If that's the case then why can't you hear us all in unison, crying out for you to save us? Its true that man's suffering is man's fault for the most part, but just because that is the case doesn't give you the right to let it happen. Sitting on your hands is a sin that you yourself have punished people for. For an omniscient, all-powerful being, you really aren't as glorious as my parents always made out. Even I'm trying harder than you, and I'm just one, weak little girl. I realise how futile it is to shout out into space and expect any answer other than an echo, if that, but at this point I'll try anything. I have to believe that someone out there can make the difference that I can't seem to make. So if you are out there and you can hear me then please, no more death, no more suffering, no more of this; I'm begging you."
She screwed her eyes shut tightly, droplets beading at the corners of her eyes as she uttered those words to the empty air. "Touching," a voice uttered from somewhere directly behind her, causing her to start suddenly and cry out, before she turned to face the person who had not been there moments before, placing her back to the podium that she had previously been leaning upon. Her tear-filled cerulean orbs came to rest upon the figure of a man who was taller than her even though she were standing atop the steps before the altar, clad in black formal attire and wearing a pair of darkly-tinted sunglasses upon the bridge of his slender nose. She shrank back against the surface behind her, recognising him as the man whom Shakahnna had spoken of, the man that had murdered her one true love. There was a horror in her expression, however, that belied a deeper familiarity with this individual.
"No," she breathed, feeling as though his very presence was crushing her, "it can't be you. You can't be here."
He stepped toward her, and had it been possible for her to shrink back further then there was no doubt that she would have done it. "Tsk, tsk, Amanda, this is not the correct manner in which to renew old acquaintances," Albert Wesker chastised, the thin sneer on his face making her cringe in terror, "I must say that I had always been curious as to why S.T.A.R.S seemed so knowledgeable of my affairs; now that I find one of my former employees in confederacy with them, however, the matter is suddenly not quite so perplexing. Incidentally, such disloyalty necessitates some measure of retribution."
Trembling with fear and an equal measure of adrenaline, the young woman's hands balled into fists and she took a deep breath, her beautiful features creasing into a bitter, aggressive frown. "You think I could turn away knowing what you were doing?" she shrieked out, forcing herself to stand up to him lest she crumple in the face of the panic he instilled in her, "you were killing people; more than that, you were torturing them, experimenting on them, turning them into monsters. What kind of person turns the other cheek to that?"
"Many have," the blond informed her casually, the worst aspect of this statement being its brutal honesty, "and those many have profited from doing so; others have suffered needlessly because they were unwilling to simply do nothing."
"I could never," she asserted angrily, "but it doesn't matter. There are other S.T.A.R.S coming; they'll kill you."
"That would be an unlikely outcome, dear heart," he stated, pausing to adjust his sunglasses idly with his right index fingers, "unfortunately, I was unable to locate the individuals you had hoped to contact. I was, however, able to arrange this little reunion between the two of us, and now that I have you the destruction of that organisation is assured."
The pretty brunette's face became ashen as he spoke, her body betraying her as her courage fled away. She broke, running along the raised platform on which the altar was set towards a small door on the right side of the wide chamber, though in her frantic bid to escape she broke the cardinal rule of retreat and looked over her shoulder to see if the individual who was terrorising her was giving chase. When she saw that he was no longer behind her she turned her eyes back to the path ahead, only to crash face first into his chest and slam to the ground painfully. He loomed over her as she tried to climb to her feet, feeling all hope slowly dying, and turned her face to the doors that led to the building's foyer, the damp tracks on her face giving her miserable expression that much more weight.
"David..." she murmured, reaching out towards the church's entrance hall with her right hand, desperately hoping that he would come for her like he had said he would.
"He cannot save you, my dear," Wesker interjected, "he could not even save himself."
The outstretched arm curled into her body as she began to sob quietly, the last, smallest fragment of hope that she could hold onto falling away from her. There was no resistance left in her when he reached down to grip her wrist and lifted her to her feet, gently guiding her towards the doorway and the inevitability of her fate.