I started this when I was 18 and I'm 32 now so I guess I should finish it.

December 19th, 1967

"Mo…Ther…Mo…Ther…" Through haze and blurred sight, guided more by animalistic smell than anything Lisa trudged through the hallway. This was the Spencer mansion but to Lisa it was a collection of scents to be hunted. Somewhat confused, she for some reason sensed the faint presence of her father from many directions in this place. But it was the strong, very strong, scent clearly of mother that led her.

She trudged through the main first level hall to a gated door at the back of a stairwell. The door was open and led to a number of concrete steps lit by white wax candles. They led to an open pit surrounded by metal grating and a ladder. Unable to use the ladder, and besides the fact, it was unneeded with her unique abilities. She simply jumped down.

"Mo…Ther!" The scent was overpowering now. A few meters away lay concrete. "Mo…Ther…Must have." Thought Lisa. She made a beeline as she could to the sarcophagus. Suddenly, with the skull of mother in sight, a concrete slab sealed off mother.

"Welcome, sweet pet." Mused Spencer in the distance, slowly rolling out of the elevator. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. "NOW!" He yelled with determined menace. From behind him and coming down the ladder at the far end of the alter were black clad Umbrella security special forces. This team, with their iconic gas masks (left filter only) were Spencer's trusted associates when "real work" need to be done. This had been pre-planned to a "T" - success, was inevitable.

One operative on each side of Lisa carried a net weighted by heavy lead balls and near-simultaneously they netted Lisa who screeched in rage. Both operatives crouched, holding down the net and the other two raised dart rifles. Each fired a single dart with carfentanil: an extremely powerful tranquilizer, but the dose was (only slightly) lowered for Lisa. "Do it, now!" sneered Spencer.

Two darts hit Lisa. She spun 180 degrees once and fell silent.

"Good. Retrieve the specimen and take her below to the labs." Said Spencer, dismissively. He turned his chair and started rolling away. "C'mon you filthy bitch." Spencer heard one of the operatives say. Such discipline should be better, but he would permit it given their excellent performance just seconds ago. He heard a thump and a click as the operatives put Lisa in specially designed, and quite heavy, pillory cuffs that had a steel thick padlock. This was no ordinary woman to be cuffed.

Then an inhuman howl. A howl no ordinary human could make.

"Sir sh…" Cut off. Spencer wheeled around. "Sir!"

With a bone-crunching whack Lisa, somehow having recovered from her knees hit the operative to her right with full force. He let out a howl as he fell to the concrete abyss opposite the concrete sarcophagus.

Stunned, the second operative holding the net froze. Lisa twirled another 180 degrees and knocked him so hard he hit the opposite wall of the altar with a splat, leaving behind a distinct shadow of blood, before slipping quickly and silently into the abyss.

"Switch to lethal, pistols now!" Screamed Spencer.

Both surviving (not for long) operatives withdrew their 9mm Colt .45 pistols and opened fire with full metal jacket rounds. Splatters of green and brown tissue and blood extruded from Lisa several feet in either direction but she wasn't even slowed. She rushed the officer furthest from Spencer and shoulder tackled him. He fell back six feet and momentum easily carried him into the abyss. With a howl, he entered his final few terrifying moments of his life as he fell into darkness.

"Fucking bitch!" Yelled the final security operative. He cleanly ejected his clip and inserted a fresh one. He would let the power of the rounds do the trick. He opened fire and he simultaneously walked towards Lisa. With a satisfying pound, round after round hit her and the momentum of the shot knocked her perilously close to the edge of the abyss.

Click.

He was out. The room fell dead silent except for the final brass shell casing dancing with a "tick…tick-tick" onto the concrete floor.

In an inexplicable act or perhaps accepting fate, he dropped his weapon and stood. Lisa turned around, and gave a half-second stare. Then with a demonic yelp she jumped at the operative and slammed her hands down bound in the pillory as they were onto the top of his head. It blew up like a mouldy cantaloupe. Lisa moved quickly.

Spencer backed his wheelchair into the lift. With the buttons on the outside it was difficult to reach the correct button and the specimen was quickly gaining ground. He did hit the correct button, finally, and the lift started to rise. "Why are these so mercilessly slow?!" He thought. As the lift slowly moved up.

And then it slowed.

And then it started moving down.

As it lowered to a stop Spencer was where he least wanted to be on all of god's green Earth. Inches away from the face of glorious specimen Lisa Trevor.

She was wordless. She cocked her head right, then left. Like a jungle cat eying up unusually helpless prey. Tentacles extended from her head as she caressed Spencer's face. One tentacle slowly moved into his mouth, one flickered by his left nostril and one tapped his right eye, almost playfully.

There might as well be gyroscrope attached to Spencer's wheelchair because he was shaking so violently due to fear that his vibrations were physical. Sweat and tears streamed down his head and eyes. Then he closed them and waited. Lisa sniffed," Fa…Ther?"

It was a question. For she smelt not only her father on Spencer, but his death-scent.

With a screech that deafened her tentacles extended into Spencer's eyes, nose, and mouth drilling through soft tissue and bone boring their way to his brain. Like a lawn sprinkler; blood and brain matter sputtered in all directions as Lisa flung him upwards suspended by her tentacles and unleashed child-like rage over the man that caused her family so much pain. Hell was but a Disneyland vacation compared to the pain Spencer was made to feel in his last moments. Lisa made every moment feel like an eternity as she tickled his pre-frontal cortex first for maximum conscious horror. The altar below the mansion finally had its sacrifice.

Present Day

Limbundo entered the cabin. The fire still burned fresh. Bandages, brown with dried blood and even bits of tissue adorned the walls. He raised his shotgun and moved slowly. A couple steps creaked as he walked to the bedroom area. He felt the bed…Still warm. He turned around and after investigating knew the cabin was empty. He headed towards the door, still sensing she...Was close. A wooden bump was heard a second later, though hard to localize. Limbundo walked up the steps and headed past the bedroom.

Then he was hit with a bone-crunching impact to his solar plexus. It flung him across the room to within inches of the fireplace. Lisa moved slowly but with determination towards him. Limbundo knew he had internal injuries but he still had some time. He grabbed the shotgun and aimed with determination. One shot *SPLAT* bodily gore flew around the cabin. Two…Three…The deafening cracks of the shotgun flung Lisa to the back wall. She lay.

Limbundo staggered, walking on his knees towards her. He reloaded a shell and put another between his teeth.

Suddenly she sprung up and knocked him over. His shotgun flew out of his hands and the shell out of his mouth similarly. Lisa started limping towards the exit, the door at the front of the cabin. Limbundo followed, leaving his gun but retrieving his revolver.

Outside was a picket fence. Lisa moved faster now, bowling over the fence and breaking a portion of it but likewise retreating while stumbling. Limbundo would not lose his prey. He followed her into the dense grasses outside of the cabin towards the river beyond. When Lisa reached the river she turned and recoiled, turning around.

Limbundo similar staggered towards her. He stood now and walked determinedly. He raised his revolver and clutched the trigger…Then suddenly felt a sharp pain in his right ankle that made him reflexively fall prone. On his ankle was latched a disgusting oversized snake of a species Limbundo had never seen before. "Fuck!" He yelled in pain and disgust, ripping the snake (and some thin ankle flesh) off and hurled the thing into the river.

Lisa started walking over. But Limbundo, raised his revolver, "Not today, Vuta." As he sneered the Kenyan word for "bitch". He fired at her body core. Once, twice, three times. And that's all it took. The blasts knocked her into the quickly flowing river and she fell motionless except for the current. It took her down river and in the distance Limbundo could see the Umbrella Treatment Plant, HIS plant, where she would most likely be chewn up by the mechanisms involved in those turbines. This was poetic after all, the monster returns to where he found it, but this time. It is slayed. At worst, his men would be able to clean up whatever was left. "Vuta!" He spat for good measure. Spat blood?

At this moment Limbundo started to feel very, very unwell. Looking at his ankle, it had quickly swelled up with sick colors of purple and yellow. As the adrenaline wore off he started to feel searing pain as if he was branded with a white-hot tool. In addition, his vision and senses started to blur.

He crawled and stumbled his way towards the cabin but he lost his way. Finding the white picket fence, now expanding and contracting in he sight, he dropped his weapon and hopped the fence. Only to fall beside a grey statue lying in the woods. He was now in a narrow path, white picket fence on either side, close to the cabin. His pants were ripped and his skin was quickly turning pale – even white pale!

Limbundo could soon move no more. As he lay in the darkness he heard a flutter. His head spinning now with the most intense vertigo he looked up and saw a murder of crows descend to a few trees above him. They cawed menacingly as they looked down upon him. In the end, nature had won. Fair trade, since he had finally done his duty to eliminate the unnatural. He closed his eyes and let death embrace him.

*******

A hundred metres down the river Lisa was swept ashore. Her strength already had returned and she climbed into the thick grass. Oversized moths and disgusting bugs fled from her. Suddenly, she cocked her head to the left. In the distance, her eagle-eyed sight could make out figures running, screaming, shooting, towards the front of the mansion. The "bad house" as Lisa now thought of it. Several of them made it inside, a few going around the side of the mansion as bad doggies chased them. She knew better than to go to the "bad house". Everyone who went there soon enough made their way outside, to the cabin, to home.

There she would recover. Patch her wounds, wait for these new bad people to spread thin and try to invade her home. Then she would strike. And once they died then she could do the only thing that kept her going, what gave her purpose, and the only thing that mattered. She could go see mother in the dark depths of the bad house. And finally, they would be together again.

The End of the beginning…

******

Note (July 1st 2017): It has been pointed out to me a major inconsistency with RE 5 in that Lisa could not have killed Spencer. My answer is this: in 2003 when I wrote most of these chapters, Spencer had no (official) description at all that I could find, and I did try. I always intended for him to die this way. Yes, he was fleshed out in RE 5 (astonishingly accurate to my original design including spindly antique wheelchair) but I was not willing to compromise my vision in what would be essentially a "post-storyboard retcon" from my angle. This is fan fiction, after all