September 21, 2040 6:02 pm ~Over an Ocean probably the Pacific?, An Airplane~

I watch the clouds pass below. Large cumulus billowing monstrosities that swallow the entire earth. Above, only clear skies and space. Below, I'd imagine maybe some stormy weather? A little hard when I can't be everywhere at once to know what is going on around me. I do see a crackle of light periodically so probably a thunderstorm if I had to wager a guess.

The low hum mixed with a somewhat higher pitch of a metal body driven by jet fuel and electricity, thrumming through an otherwise peaceful serene sun bouncing off of a sea of those billowing monstrosities.

What the fuck am I doing here?

As I sit here, in one of the most exotic and exquisite private jets I've ever sat in, a leather swiveling chair beneath me and a mini bar with more drinks then should be humanly consumed, in front of me, jiggling and clanking a bit in the low thrum of the propelling metal body, I wonder where this ride ends.

Everything happened so fast after I removed the envelope from the door. Sure enough, as I went inside my apartment and read the letter, it was the same haunting message from almost 15 years ago. The one that made me want to stop living.

A love letter.

A profession of feelings usually forbidden within the military, or at least frowned upon. Even after bills pass to make things more inclusive and accepting, they never really take away the stigma of what it was to be... different.

And this isn't about orientation. The amount of people I have had to hold my tongue when they would poke jabs at my heritage, at my being an orphan, at my cold demeanor, and hell even at my first name, which at the time was "too American to be Asian".

Any reason people will find to be cruel, they will.

But not Seth.

He was different from most. I knew it almost immediately when he offered to take my dishes to the mess hall after a meal. I ate in privacy most of the time, trying to keep my distance from others and focus only on my training. The less I concerned myself with others, the more I could focus on what was important, which to me at the time was survival.

But that one act of kindness, no matter how small, changed my perspective, at least a bit.

From there I slowly began to let my walls down whenever the blonde man came around. He was clearly of strong German-American descent, and built like a fucking army tank with war scars to boot.

He was building a special unit in tandem with the top ranking military and sought out "those with potential to join." A proposition I couldn't refuse.

All in all there were nine of us including him, and we were given training no one else was given.

However, I never once felt excluded in this unit. We all came from different backgrounds and upbringings. Any slight discourse was resolved with communication. We broke down barriers in order to be connected. It's why we were so good at what we did. This was something we spent years building up. Game nights, training exercises, open format discussions, encouragement to open up to each other. Camaraderie. There was nothing I'd ever felt closer to in my life.

Brothers. The family I didn't have growing up.

And on some level, more than that.

Well at least with Seth. Everyone else called him Major Sanders. Hell, I did too. But as we got to know each other and I learned about his upbringing, also an orphan, I always felt something stronger than a typical mentor-mentee dynamic. He felt like a part of me.

I didn't really understand at the time what this growing bond meant. I chopped it up to a simple friendship, a familial bond I'd never experienced in the foster system. So, like a fool, I never questioned anything about it.

Love was not a topic that meant anything to me. I was cold, distant, and generally didn't see the need to care about anyone other than myself. Being in Squad 5-A changed that. On some level, we all had love for one another. Not romantic or anything, but that was probably the closest I ever came to understanding the foreign concept.

So it came as no shock that I didn't see the signs of the romantic nature.

I just thought it was familial.

But when I read that letter, for the first time, I understood the words. They reached beyond my tough exterior, and made me realize just what a fool I'd been.

The signs were there, the looks, the gestures, the feelings I had whenever I was around Seth. However, I didn't understand them.

Seth wrote me a letter and it wasn't until after the attack on our unit that I found it. It was brutal. An enemy unit had discovered our location, somehow, a leak in intelligence, perhaps?

But in the attack, Seth and three others in the unit were blown to smithereens, and in the chaos of escaping, I'd discovered a letter that apparently Seth was planning on giving to me once we were done with our mission.

In it, a confession. A love that no one would understand, comprehend, or even approve. He planned to leave the military after the mission and profess how he felt about me. He hoped I'd join him. But he was scared shitless. I guess even our heroes have fears. He was afraid if he would ever have the courage to give the letter to me or if he'd be able to follow through.

And reading every word broke me that day.

As they do now.

Every word had flooded back every emotion I'd suppressed all those years. I sobbed harder than I'd allowed myself to sob before. Everything was... incomprehensible.

But after I'd picked myself up, one bottle of wine, and almost 2 hours of solid crying later, I saw the secondary note the sender of the deceased Major's letter had intended for me to read.

Morgan. Peter Morgan.

He was one of the surviving members of Squad 5-A.

He apparently had a reunion he was planning for the surviving members of our squad.

I had questions, of course. Like, how had he found the letter? I'd thought I'd left it at the bunker that day and that it had been destroyed along with the rest of the base after we'd fled. Along with my heart.

And yet, there it was. Untouched. Undamaged. And a part of me I thought I'd lost, returned.

After being suspended, and told I needed to go spend time with family or friends, maybe a reunion was exactly the thing I needed right now.

The letter gave me nothing in terms of how to be in contact, but that if I wanted to join, I had to be at a specified location at a certain time, with a week of provisions. It felt very much like a take it or leave it sort of thing.

I'd reeled back and forth for hours on whether or not to do this, but even if I didn't want to see anyone, the bottom line was that I had too many questions after seeing the letter. Did the other members of the unit get things like this? Why did this feel so emotionally driven? A simple invite would have done, and yet Morgan seemed to understand my motivations better than I did.

I needed answers.

And so, here I am, sitting on a leather chair, feeling a coldness as I look around at the empty cabin. I'd half expected at least one other member of my unit to be there, but no. I simply was greeted by a steward who helped me onto the jet and then instructed by the pilot via intercom to get on and take a seat. Once in the air, the seat belt sign was turned off, and I was free to eat or drink whatever I wanted until we arrived at our destination. I'm pretty sure the person I thought was the steward didn't get on. Another oddity. And yet something else was bothering me more.

What was the destination?

Peter Morgan had been just another member of the squad when I was there. A former drug addict turned tactician, he was the poster child of success stories in the military. His ability to see a battlefield and understand the enemy was parallel to none. Even in his episodes of relapse, he was able to think clearly and put the mission above all else.

And his journey was no different than anyone in the squad. We all had demons we battled with and overcame.

However this whole thing screamed money. It made me uneasy, like there was something more to it. If I knew Morgan even half as well as I thought I did, the man never did anything without purpose. And he'd planted that letter there, knowing I would want answers.

It's like he knows me better than I know myself

That should scare me more.

And yet, here I am.

I slowly stand up, unable to sit around dwelling in the past any longer and go to the bar. I need something a little stronger than wine. Reliving my own trauma has made me feel the need to drown it out in whatever way I can, and the amber and clear liquids in front of me seem like an appropriate way to do so.

Vodka.

That's a good starting point.

I see a bottle of the good stuff, Wesker's. Not sure why someone decided to name a drink after that guy. From what I understand he was an ass. But damn it's good vodka, and just like my philosophy on names, I could care less what it's called. Just that it's good. I put a couple of ice cubes in a cup and pour the liquid over.

Within seconds the liquid hits my lips. The perfectly bitter, yet somehow sinus clearing pungent taste is just what I need to stop thinking about Seth and the stupid letter that sent me into near suicidal spins for the years following.

And fuck I really just need the release right now. I'm so over feeling sad and angry at the world and I just need to let it all waste away into nothing.

Did Morgan know I would react like this?

Fuck it, I don't care. I tip the glass back as I down the first drink.

My throat is on fire.

But it burns so good.

And as it burns I don't think about my feelings or what Morgan is really thinking and instead I just turn to a constant source of forgetfulness. Maybe it's not healthy, but right now I just don't give any shits.

A couple more drinks later, and my head is swimming. It's been awhile since I've had this much and soon my thoughts become silly, spinning with the rest of the world and I can hear myself giggle. I stumble back, somehow landing in the chair behind me as everything becomes a series of fuzzy colors.

Then darkness.

September 22, 2040 10:56 am ~Over an Ocean probably the Pacific?, An Airplane~

"This is your captain speaking, we are taking our final descent to our destination. Please fasten your seat belts as we prepare for landing."

The intercom blares in my ear, probably heightened by the throbbing pounding in my head.

I groan as I feel the pain aching through my body and look up to see the blinking symbol for the seatbelt.

Right. I blacked out and am slowly waking up.

As my thoughts come back to me harder than a hammer hitting a nail, I manage to push through the pain of the hangover and slide my buckle into place. I lean forward, groaning a bit as things begin to shift.

Shit, now I know not to drink at however many fucking thousand miles in the air. Apparently the altitude just makes the experience horrible.

Or maybe I just can't hold my liquor like I used to. Not like I've tried very hard to test this theory. Years have passed since the last time I really went on a bender. I guess this was my attempt at getting sober, and I just relapsed.

As the plane jars again, I groan. This is going to be hell until we land.

I sit up with the next bit of turbulence, my whole body feels like it's on fire and I grip the seat. I can feel bile lurching up in my throat as the plane continues its descent and it burns.

Not in a good way this time.

I can't even look out the window as the sun is brightly shining and I'm already on the verge of throwing up without adding a blinding light. I reach over, looking away and manage to shut the stupid bright light away by closing the window which helps, but even now I feel my stomach will betray me.

Fuck, there it goes.

I groan as I puke on the floor of the ridiculously expensive red carpet, or at least I assume it's expensive based on the fact this is a private jet. I shudder. Although I feel better right now, I know somehow this is going to come back to bite me. I don't really have the money to clean a jet, at least, I assume I don't. How much does jet carpet cleaning cost?

I'm really starting to regret the decision to get on this stupid plane.

And then I feel myself lurch forward as I feel the plane make contact with the ground.

I swear, though after I say it my head starts hurting and I don't remember which swear I said. Perhaps I said several?

In any case, I feel the plane lurch forward as I'm launched back now. I grip the handles as the plane rushes forward. Soon it begins to slow and I let out a sigh. I'm in a cold sweat. The headaches, the bile, it's all a bit much for my body to take right now.

I do my best to breathe normally as I feel it slow down and soon the inertia stops with the plane, despite the sensation that I'm still moving forward. It's a bit surreal, heightened by the fact that I'm wildly hungover.

No sooner does the seatbelt sign turn off I stagger to my feet and amble over to the bathroom.

A few more hurls later and I flush the toilet, groaning. I definitely should have eaten something before getting shitfaced. I put my hands on the sink and prop myself up as I try to catch my breath.

Although my head is throbbing, I do eventually pull myself together long enough to splash my face with water and take a small sip from my cupped hands. Perhaps I should grab a bottle of water before leaving. I was told I could have whatever I wanted.

I look up at the mirror once I don't feel like I'm not about to pass out and try to put myself together. I run my hands through my wispy black hair and style it to the side a bit, hoping it dries the way I want it to. My skin is looking a little flush at the moment, probably will ask for a cheeseburger or something once I finally meet Morgan.

My brown eyes, dark to the point of almost being black, stare back at me as if telling me that I need food now rather than later. Unfortunately, I've never really been big on airline food and even thinking about a bag of peanuts makes me want to puke more, which feels counterintuitive right now.

I once again splash water against my pale porcelain face, making sure to use a towel to dry off. My lips look a little red at the moment, probably from the aggravation of the hurling combined with drying off with a towel, but they'll probably return to their pale color once my skin has calmed down.

Finally, with a push I leave the bathroom, grabbing the few belongings I brought with me as I make my way to the front of the plane. I had taken off my red blazer while the flight was going, and put it back on once I reach the front. One less thing to carry.

"Thanks." I say as I arrive at the cabin door.

No response.

This strikes me as odd. There's definitely been someone talking to me throughout the flight over an intercom. Are they okay?

"So uhh, unresponsiveness usually is not a good thing. You alright in there?"

Still no response.

Curiosity is taking over my mind. I reach for the door and twist the handle expecting it to be locked.

It's not.

I push the door open and blink as I look at two very empty pilot chairs.

"...Is this a fucking joke?" I ask as I step inside. Sure enough there is no one.

And then I see a blinking light that says the word "Auto-pilot".

I suddenly turn white as a sheet at the realization no one was flying this plane.

"What the fuck? I'm going to kill that fucker." I grumble and then head back. I actually feel a tremble at the thought that somehow someone was controlling this thing without anyone being here.

How fucking rich is Morgan?

Maybe I don't wanna know.

September 22, 2040 12:43 pm ~Mystery Location, Airstrip~

I push the door open as the stairs descend onto the ground below. A rush of humid air bursts at me and for a moment I can't breathe. I put my arm in front of my face and try to block out the blinding sun and the heat. But it's not going away, so after a few seconds, once my eyes don't feel like they're on fire, I put my arm down again.

I leave the plane, eager to get out of the completely empty hull. However as I stand on the ground, it hits me that someone definitely let me onto the plane. They were dressed like a steward.

Why the hell did they not get on the plane?

I turn to look at the metallic shell, empty and looming over me. It's cold. I feel cold.

And all of a sudden I think I've made a huge mistake.

What would Seth say about this?

I clutch the letter in my hand awhile before putting it in my pocket.

I need answers, but not at the expense of the last words of the only man I've truly been in love with.

There's a strong earthen scent. I hadn't really gotten much of a look at my surroundings especially with the window down and the hangover. But now that I've put on a pair of sunglasses and life feels somewhat tolerable again, the thick foliage is around on all sides. I'm on what looks like a giant airstrip in a clearing in a jungle of sorts. And I'm very overdressed for this.

I take off my jacket as I feel sweat on my brows forming. I really wasn't sure where the destination was and thought maybe with the fancy jet we were going somewhere, I don't know more corporate?

But no, I can hear birds and other animals making noise in the far off distance and a breeze rustling the tropical leaves in the trees. I feel the heat sizzling up from the air strip below me. This is somewhere in the tropics.

And there's no direction on where to go. There are no buildings, there's no...no...wait a moment.

I take a second and squint, and sure enough I see a sign in the distance. I walk over to it and am truly surprised that I saw it. It's mostly brown but has a yellow star at the top with words below but barely visible.

"Resort this way." I read it as I tip my glasses down to make out the letters.

Resort?

If this is a resort, where are the guides or like the tropical drinks or anything like that? There's a path that appears to have some sort of makeshift railing that goes off to the side and into the jungle, but it's just rather odd. I'm about to walk down, when all of a sudden I hear a whirring behind me.

I whip around, and watch as the empty plane I just stepped out of come to life, and within a few minutes it begins to move. I stand in bewilderment as it then takes off. Did someone wait for me to get off or did it just auto pilot?

I duck as the air whooshes past as it flies above me reacting on instinct. Probably unnecessary given how far above me it was.

As I watch, somewhat baffled, jaw open a bit, I notice another plane in the distance from where this one took off from. It's the first sign of life that I've seen so far and as much as I'm jumping for joy in going to a mystery resort in the middle of some jungle that I'm sure has terrible reception, and totally isn't the beginning of my murder mystery dateline special, I'd rather not go alone.

Might as well see who it is.

The plane lands a few minutes later and I approach waiting for the door to open, my small black suitcase in tow. I now am drenched in sweat, and wishing I wasn't wearing a red button up shirt and black slacks.

Note to self, definitely kick Morgan in the groin for all of this fucking mystery and not really prepping me to be in a pilotless jet on some remote jungle infested resort.

Unfortunately, I'm not prepared for what happens next.

The door to the new plane opens and the person who steps out makes my skin crawl up from the base of my spine to my neck.

I knew this meeting was going to happen, how couldn't it have? It's literally the whole reason I'm here.

And yet, I thought after almost 15 years, that I'd be able to deal with it.

But between the letter, the memories, and remembering his fucking hand slamming into my neck, knocking me out, my free fist curls into a ball and I begin to grind my teeth together.

The blond man whose steel blue eyes and tight jaw steps out of the plane, looking down at me. His cold demeanor reaffirms just why I can't believe this is my first interaction on the island.

We stare at each other awhile, I can feel the tension crawling up in my shoulders.

"...Wong." He finally says, his deep baritone voice making me want to throw up the rest of the alcohol in my system.

"...Jeffries." I respond as we just stand there looking at each other.

Rodney Jeffries, the man who forced me to leave a place in which I wanted to die.

The man who kept me from Seth.

I want to punch him.

Author's Notes: Yay we are finally getting into the belly of this beast. And yes yes I promise I do have bioweapons and other forms of RE monsters planned, I just have to do a little set up to get everything in place. I hope you all are enjoying the read so far. I have fun things planned. Chapter 3 is coming along nicely. Been on a Resident Evil 4 Remake binge lately. Not exactly sure when I'll have Chapter 3 done, but at this rate hopefully sooner rather than later. Feel free to leave comments, thoughts, or just say hi :) Interested to see how these past relationships play out, definitely getting weird though. Auto Piloted planes, secret resorts, past grievances. Lots of fun ways this could go hehe 3 Thank you for taking time to read my story thus far.