Oh well, looks like less than two years between chapters this time. Two jobs, and working on a second degree …It's the best I can do. Important story note: In this chapter and the last I've mentioned "present day" that is meant to be fall of 1998, the time of the Mansion Incident, which I hope is or becomes obvious because of the events described.
Present Day
Limbundo sat in his Land Rover outside the Waste Treatment Facility. Thankfully, it was dead quiet. His office at the facility was located in a terrible spot; it was directly above the games room/bar for the workers, complete with a pool table. Why this had to be located IN the facility itself was both amazing, and frustrating for Limbundo. Noise always made him uneasy: back in his days as game warden in Africa, noise was your enemy. It covered up the scream of predators; it disguised the shot of a poacher, but most of all it just plain ruined your ability to think. With that beast out of hell he was hunting even the relative security of his office would offer no relief with all the mindless, drunken racket below. "Well maybe she'll pick off one of the drunks as he stumbles outside for a smoke or piss." Limbundo allowed himself to joke. But only for a second. He spun the well-oiled Colt Python's bullet chamber and tried to think about where to look.
When Limbundo first came to work at the Facility he got acquainted with, heck, befriended a local researcher "John" What was his last name? Limbundo forgot. Point was he worked at some sort of secretive government or private research facility up on the Arklay Mountains. He would never discuss it, even however hammered he was. Worried that one of the other researchers was some creep, a very well-built creep who always wore sunglasses and threatened to enforce a non-disclosure agreement signed by John to "levels far beyond the fine." Whatever the hell that meant. Still, John divulged he had worked with cases of rare human disease and occasional cases of decomposed bodies that ended up caught in the various grates of the treatment facility were claimed by John. It was his only lead at the moment. Limbundo didn't make friends easily, so it was easy to find this "John" on his cell phone.
Call 1…Error in connection.
Call 2…Another error.
Limbundo gave it one more chance, success, thank god. "Limbundo? Limbundo is it you?" Replied John. It was very hard to hear John over the phone, some sort of loud Klaxon was screaming in the background and Limbundo could hear muffled screams. Something was terribly wrong. Limbundo replied, "John…John it's Limbundo! I know it's hard to hear me, I've got some rotten freak wearing faces that seems to not respond to my 12-guage."
"Limbundo? Girl? Wearing feces did you say?"
"No John, FACES I said F.A.C.E.S!" screamed Limbundo. Who knew how much longer the connection would last? "Oh god…" whimpered John, surprisingly audible above the incessant alarms and screams. "Oh god no, after all these years she…oh shit…Still in Arklay…"
It was getting much harder to hear John. "John? John?" replied Limbundo.
"Limbundo, listen to me I don't have a lot of time. I've got to go and I can't talk any longer, I'm sending you a file. They'll kill me if they find out you have it, but they're going to take to long to get to me anyways now. In return I'm sending an address, it's to my girlfriend Ada. Tell her where I am, even the general location, just…Please."
The line went dead. A few seconds later Limbundo's smartphone beeped with an incoming data entry. First came the address, some condo in Raccoon City. The second was far more interesting, named "." It took Limbundo about 10 minutes to read through the files, read the dates listed of unspeakable atrocities committed to both this girl and her family. Last seen December 20th of 1967, the file specified she was missing and presumed dead. Apparently this one girl provided the research necessary to launch a profitable biological products division of John's company, Umbrella. While very influential in the town, Limbundo had not known of specific research centers in the city itself, much less the Arklay mountains. Limbundo now had to think hard of where this Lisa, who was very much alive (sort of?), could be. The choices were simple and all located around the secretive Spencer Mansion, supposedly abandoned after Spencer's untimely death on December 24th of that year. 'Yeah' thought Limbundo 'Everyone heard of crazy wheels rolling off some cliff near his mansion.' Turned out the "cliff" was far more sinister, some absolutely macabre attempt to lure this Lisa experiment in. A booby-trapped grave of Lisa's mother meant to bring her back into custody after she escaped. Limbundo figured he'd start here, at this place designated as the "Altar" How fucking sick was that?
The Land Rover roared to life, and headed up the mountain.
December 4th 1967
Dr. Marcus was on his way to meet Lisa, fascinated, no…Obsessed, as ever.
He barely slept these days, the research gathered from her was amazing. The way the Progenitor virus had blessed her, given her strength and a violent temper that would put the most savage historical warriors to shame. Despite her rabid appetite for faces, her appetite for food was declining. It was getting difficult finding all these faces, Lisa wouldn't cooperate at all with anything unless she got a face a day now. She was always sewing on her free time, incessantly covering her expanding facial disfigurement with fresh faces, covering some, and discarding others near the door where they were disposed of by orderlies. Lisa had already been provided with the faces of all orderlies and doctors that worked on her mother, minus himself naturally, and she now was becoming somewhat of a face connoisseur. She wanted beautiful women faces, which were somewhat easy, but she also would scream for male faces with "Daddrry!" or another half-understandable cry. Faces that resembled the missing George Trevor were a lot harder to find. If only Marcus had known, he'd have made sure George and his daughter would have had a long and highly private reunion as a reward for Lisa's obedience. Hey, Spencer wanted to get rid of him and it would have been a hell of a lot more productive to the company's needs!
One of the things Lisa continued to attempt was her journal, the one item of luxury she cared about other than faces. This was interesting because she had lost track of time (and most of her literacy). She couldn't remember dates anymore, the latest entry was titled "19" likely a reference to either November or December 19th, either of which was incorrect. It was hard to read the other printing of the journal, but since she hadn't been writing for a few days it was time for Marcus to obtain this critical piece of research data. Marcus' heart skipped a beat: They hadn't fully opened the door to room B-2000 in almost a month. Lisa would leave a 1-foot diameter dent in the stainless steel wall everytime they tried. Today, Marcus had a new tactic to get in. He peered through the viewing bars, 'whew the stench' he thought. "Good morning my Lisa, how are you?" asked Marcus. "Frraaace! Frace Frace Frace!" moaned Lisa. Wow, her voice was getting pretty husky. Need to run a level 1 androgens check on that later, he noted. "Now Lisa, you need to be a good little girl and then you get your face. You know that sweetheart." Said Marcus. "I need your little red book there."
"Brook myne, myne!" yelled Lisa as she grabbed and clutched the book. At least that level of reason was there. Ok, no more time for this small talk. Marcus closed the plexiglass seal to the viewing port and told his security officer beside him "Ok, drop the gas." Seconds later after a radio call, gas flooded through the ceiling of Lisa's room soon making it opaque with white smoke. After 15 minutes, the call was made to suck back the gas and replace with oxygen. The whole process took maybe 45 minutes before Marcus could see Lisa fallen in an awkward position. Even though he had two of his most trusted security officers, armed to the teeth, beside him, he still opened the door very cautiously. Lisa was motionless, obviously asleep, if not in a coma after that amount of gas. Marcus and the men slowly walked in, but Lisa was completely motionless. A security officer placed a heavy wooden "handcuff" locked around her wrists, surprisingly easy to do since her wrists were already together clutching the journal. However, precautions must be taken. Marcus slowly bent down, trying not to gag from the rotten stench, as he reached for the journal. He grabbed it and, wow, if the girl did not have one tight grip. Marcus was trying with all his strength to wrench it free. Suddenly a high-pitched screech reverberated around the room. "MOOOOOTHERRRR!" Marcus didn't know what happened; suddenly he was lying on the other side of the room. He could barely breathe, broken ribs he knew immediately. How many? Felt like all. Scarlet red lights flashed slowly around him, a deep klaxon blared. Across the room a decapitated security officer lay awkwardly still clutching his high-guage weapon. Blood covered most of the floor, the walls, and a good portion of the ceiling. Despite the seering pain Marcus could not help but breath as heavily as he ever had…There was no sign of Lisa, and the door to her cell was missing from it's hinges. Marcus fell into a hopeless darkness, his consciousness unable to bear reality any longer.