(Mwahaha I stole the chap title, malibu ;)

Chapter One- Lost in Translation

"You should stick up for yourself more, you know."

"What's the point of that? That'll just give them more of an excuse to laugh..."

"Ugh, Brad. You're not a bullied kid at high school. You're part of S.T.A.R.S for Christ's sake!"

"Yeah, but it's not like I'm important or anything. I'm just the pilot. The least dangerous job in the team. Not that I'm complaining..."

"Hmm, I don't know. You could crash and kill everybody!

"..."

"Or...maybe leave everyone stuck on a mountain or something during a rescue mission. 'Cos suddenly the team gets attacked by werewolves!"

"Shut up!"

"Aww, don't tell me you believe all that stuff...hey, maybe the zombies and vampires will join in and we'll be embroiled in some big Transylvanian nightmare!"

"Stop it!"

"Aww, loosen up Brad. I'm kidding. No wonder everyone calls you Chickenheart."

"Don't start!"

"Okay, okay I'm sorry. Friends?"

"..."

"C'mon, don't make me beg. That's not very gentlemanly."

"Okay, sure. It's just..."

"Uh oh, speaking of the big bad wolf...I gotta report to Wesker. See ya."

"Hey wait..."

"What?"

"..."

"Don't wuss out on me, Chickenheart. What?"

"Stop calling me that! I was gonna say...I wouldn't leave you to be eaten by werewolves."

"Aww, you're so sweet, you know that?"

"I mean it!"

"Well, to be honest Brad, I don't think you know what you're capable of until you do it."

It seemed too bad that dreams performed no use to a zombie whatsoever. They never conveyed any sense to Brad, nor filled his howling bowels, yet they were all he had as he lay in confinement, mounted on some machine. A zombie had no need for sleep, but in Brad's case, it was all he could do to not close his sagging eyelids. Of course, the passing shapes outside of his glass coffin were enough to keep him alert. After all, they were what fed him unidentifiable carcasses whenever he was within an inch of starvation. Which was often.

Today was not feeding day, unfortunately. Brad hated being stuck in a container with no room or freedom. His rotting flesh seemed to crawl and scream with impatience, as he scratched at the glass surface. He caught the attention of one of the humans, who examined him coldly through the glass. Her mouth seemed to shape words, but Brad could not hear through the barrier, so he concentrated on her bandaged arm, smelling faint traces of blood, regardless of the glass separating them. He clamped his jaws together in anticipation, as the human rolled her eyes and walked away. Disappointed, Brad moaned softly, his decaying mind painfully reminding him of his last snack.

*

Brad was bored. And hungry. He sulked openly, as he gave an aloof stare at the monster beside him, in a similar coffin to him. He also seemed to be a fellow zombie, wearing bloodstained police clothing. The clothing provoked a feeling of familiarity in Brad, as he clanged his knuckles against the glass to catch the other zombie's attention. The other zombie groaned and turned his head away from him, as Brad caught a glimpse of meat in the other zombie's mouth. Infuriated, he groaned at the glass world. Why was he not fed whilst the other zombie got to gorge in front of him?

He began to thrust his rotting limbs at the glass, and to his surprise, the glass shattered and splintered before him. He fell to the ground, amazed at his own strength. He clambered to his feet, and leered at his surroundings. He looked at the bewildered zombie police officer, and gave him a toothy grin. He was going to find that smug woman earlier. His bowels growled in agreement.

Suddenly, red lights screeched around him, piercing a sharp pain in Brad's eardrum. He clamped his bloody hands to his ears, and stepped backwards. He howled when a piece of glass sliced his foot, and spun around to face the circular facility he was in. He limped away from his prison, the strong stench of blood and bleach hitting his nostrils. He could hear the protests from the other creatures in the glass coffins, all screaming for his liberty. Brad glared at them in triumph. He would be the one to taste that woman's flesh, to leave this prison, to see the sky...

Brad shook his head. He had no need for sky. He prompted himself on finding the woman from earlier. He swayed on the spot whilst straining his eyes for any human shapes nearby. He felt a rush of excitement when he saw a shadow by a metal machine, a shadow that smelled human. He limped towards it, feeling adrenaline pump through his dead body. Perhaps it was this strange surge of adrenaline that clouded his perceptions, and rendered him unaware when a man in a baggy white suit thrust a pointed needle into his arm. As quickly as it came, the adrenaline seeped away from his limbs, and was replaced by a cold numbness. He grunted in fury, as his body dragged in fatigue, and his eyes rolled as he thudded onto the metal grated floor. He could hear low voices echo the facility, in synch with the screeching red sirens. Somehow he sensed things would be different for him now. He was stronger than that police officer, and those other creatures. Surely. he would be rewarded for his unique abilities in flesh. This was the hope he held before drifting into unconsciousness.

Again, Brad was placed into a glass coffin, albeit a rather bigger, expansive one. The glass was noticeably thicker too, so there would be no more breakouts from him. Brad was grateful for the extra space, although bitter that escape had felt so close, and yet so far. Food was just as rare as before too, to his disappointment. And so, he found himself deep in dreams once again. Dreams of wind, rain, sky and a woman's voice...

(Ugh I fail. I'll be quicker updating next time. )