Author: Sharl Deivo (Shar-ul Deh-vow). Here's chapter 8. I'm going to post it and chapter 9, along with 10. Enjoy.~

Eiji Shinjo: Hullo. c: Thanks! You're gonna hate what I have in store for Derick, sadly. xD Like it's stated this will not be a happy story. I actually have what I consider to be a pretty interesting idea as to the reality shift. Not going to spoil it by saying, so I have to leave you hanging in that department, sorry. Lol. Here soon you'll begin to notice her more.. uhh.. how to put it.. heroistic perspective as to the now-game reality, but what she doesn't realize is that it doesn't work. I'm still in consideration as to the disappearance of Derick and the impact it has on his family. I know I might have said it'll be purely from Saria's first person view, but I find it hard not to include Bradly and his crew's view along with Marcus and Derick's that started in chapter six. I find them fascinating and a nice distraction that allows for keeping up with what's going on with the missing little brother. Yeah, I wound have waited it out until about the Mansion and that's when I'd freak out lol.

I'm terribly sorry about the slow pace of the story, of all my stories. I have little time to devote to them and even now I'm spending that time re-reading for errors, adding new chapters to my phone to add later. I want to get ahead and add a few at a time as I go along. I do agree, the little moments allow one to dive deeper into the role of the character being portrayed, which is also why first person is epic with certain stories.

Oh, yes, her world will totally crumble. She will be faced with many hardships and deaths and she will lose many people dear to her. She will reach the point when all hope seems lost and yet she will gain it back only for it to be stamped out by something else. I'm going to be so cruel to her story, but it'll make it interesting.

Thank you. n_n I'm glad to hear someone likes this twisted and soon-to-be-depressing story. Don't thank me. I feel bad for leaving you all hanging so I'm going to make it up by throwing a few out at a time and getting the story down so I can finish it in the future.

Everyone: Thanks for reading, following and whatnot.

Let's take a peek at what Bradly and his team are doing on that end of the chain.

July 10, 1967 (3:00 PM).

The air was cool, the sun was a little over halfway and clouds dotted the sky. People hovered all around just outside the doors as the pair were in the police station, specifically the office of the Tracker Unit.

Bradly Johnson was sitting in his chair, leaning back while Jack Mares was standing on the other side of the wooden desk.

The chief leader sighed as he rubbed at his neck. He and his team had spent hours tracking leads to find the girl's brother, but to no avail.

He didn't want to tell Saria the bad news.

He also had other things to tend to and so this hunt would have to end soon, with or without finding the boy.

He had sent Marco and Fin on the last lead to the warehouse district. He had told them that if they needed help to radio in. He had yet to hear from them. That had been four hours ago.

He stood up from his seat, Jack watching him nervously. He glanced to his ally with a look of restlessness.

Jack raised a brow, green eyes scanning his superior's face. "I understand how you feel." He said in a low voice, his eyes shadowed with his thoughts.

Bradly furrowed his eyebrows as he focused on Jack. "Hmm?"

Jack looked as if considering his words carefully. "The feeling of helplessness, unable to find a missing person." He sighed.

Bradly gave Jack his full attention. He thought about Jack's profile and recalled the fact that he had a younger sibling who had went missing.

"You did all you could for her." Jack patted Bradly's shoulder as the pair returned to silence.

Bradly looked away as Jack turned to leave, but he paused when he heard his superior's voice. He glanced over his shoulder to Bradly's back as the man spoke. "You did all you could, Jack."

Bradly walked towards the door that led out while Jack stood frozen, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the desk. He had a thoughtful expression as he remembered six years before when he too had searched for a missing sibling.

He had let Jessica down. He had not protected her. His breathing was shaky as he tried to think of something else to focus on instead of his aching memories.

Meanwhile, four hours before at 11:00 AM..

The sleek and red Camaro car peeled down the road like a scolded dog, heading towards the warehouse district. Fin easily controlled the car, his hands on either side of the steering wheel as he turned a sharp corner. He saw, out of the corner of his right eye, Marco clutch the door handle and the center console in a vice grip, his jaw a set line.

He cracked a smile as he swerved around an idling black car.

"Slow down!" Marco hissed as he was jolted back and forth by the sudden movements of the vehicle.

Fin turned his head toward his friend, smile still present. "Calm down, old man. I got this."

"Got this? You're speeding!" Marco braced himself as Fin took another corner too sharply, causing the car to slide a bit before cruising straight.

The speedometer spiked past 80 m/h as the driver's foot lowered on the gas, feeding it more power. 90. 100. "You don't know what I did as a job before this, do you?"

Marco snarled as Fin slammed on the brakes, whipping the wheel to curve around a slowed car, gunning it through the yellow light.

Fin shifted gears fluidly, flashing a white-toothed and deadly grin to his friend. "Race car driving."

"Oh god.." He heard Marco groan.

"You'll be fine. I was a professional. Almost went to Nascar Racing before I got pulled out and offered this job. I was a skilled cop before my racing career. Pretty good at it, too. Didn't last long as I found my interest was shifting to vehicles. So I built fast cars, entered into tournaments, won a few. Got popularity quickly." Fin explained as he maneuvered the car through the traffic before them.

"Just because you can drive a car good doesn't mean I trust you pushing the speed!" Marco snapped as he bore his brown eyes toward the driver.

Fin shifted up a gear and leveled his gaze to his passenger. "Just trust me on this."

Soon enough the car was pulling into a long stretch of road that went between evenly spaced large warehouses. He pulled to the side, killing the engine and pocketed the keys as they both got out.

Marco was cautious when he got out, his balance thrown off from the ride as he moved over to his friend.

Fin removed the crumpled note from his pocket and straightened it out, reading it briefly before glancing around at the warehouses.

His eyes settled on one a bit down from them, on the same side as where they had parked at. He pointed to it, slowly motioning for them to head to it as he put the note away.

His friend nodded, pulling from the back seat of the Camaro his trusty rifle. The black weapon felt cool in his grasp as he gripped it close. Fin slipped out his Desert Eagle pistol that had been tucked beneath his waistband under his camo jacket. It was silver and black with a wooden grip.

The pair moved forward for the building, careful in their steps to avoid loud sounds such as glass or breakable objects that were strewn about. They arrived within several minutes as their slow pace had caused this delay. Fin took front, checking to see if the door was unlocked. It was, oddly. He pushed it open and they frowned as the door creaked softly.

They entered, weapons sweeping the large and lengthy stocked room for signs of movement. When nothing shifted they walked in more, scanning the tall crates stacked to midway up the walls height on either side of them. There was this.. dusty smell to the room and they instantly suspected this to be some kind of furniture storage building.

They pushed deeper and stopped abruptly when a rattling sound echoed.. like chains.

Fin held his pistol close, eyes flickering about the slight darkness before them. He motioned with two fingers in front of him and Marco brushed past him, rifle moving in his hold.

A bird fluttered by, causing them both to jump.

Steady. Fin mouthed and his friend nodded, turning to lead the way.

An hour of searching brought nothing to the front, but around 12:45 the lights flickered on, filling the huge warehouse with the blinding glow as they had arrived to the back of the building seconds before.

"Vell, vell. Vhat do ve haf 'ere." A strong voice chuckled as the pair whipped around to the source. They kept their guns up and extended, fingers on the trigger.

The sound of clicking followed as they looked to the armed group behind them, a tall man at the front, their guns aimed at them as the man stood with his arms crossed.

He had a wicked smirk as he eyed the trespassers with a level stare. "Vhat are you two doing in my varehouse, mm?"

Marco and Fin exchanged looks. "Your warehouse?" The latter asked with a firm tone, his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

The strange, charcoal-colored haired man nodded, his light green eyes trailing between the two men. "Mhm."

Marco frowned, recognizing the accent that the man had, not to mention how he spoke. "German." He said out loud.

Both Fin and the man glanced to him. His team mate had a look of question while the stranger had one of understanding.

"Indeed." The man confirmed.

Marco tilted his head. "So who do we have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I recognize you. Cops, no?" The stranger said, ignoring the question.

"Not exactly- more like freelance agents." Fin snorted.

The German chuckled. "Amusing. I am Sharl Deivo." He bowed his head, smirk still in place as his green eyes sparkled. "You haf exactly.. t'ree minutes befor' I order your death. Tell me vhy you are 'ere. Vhat purpose.. do you haf in my varehouse?"

The pair looked to each other. They knew the gambling. They couldn't tell the truth, that they were truly here looking for Sharl who was a standing member of Night Rider and had connections to Memphis and the dead Rango. Perhaps he might know something about Derick's vanishing and the appearance of Memphis and Rango.

No, they hadn't expected to run into him, but perhaps..

An idea came to Marco and he lowered his pistol, noticing the worried glance he received from his partner. "How close are you to a.. Rango Hawkins?"

He saw Fin's eyes widen and be also saw the smirk wilt from Sharl's face as he took in the question.

"Vhat?"

"You heard me. I asked how close are you to Rango?" Marco pressed, a neutral expression in his face.

"Not very. Vhy? Ohh, you mean to 'ell me zat he is dead, ja? I'm avare." The accent was heavy in his voice and his words rolled with an almost strange curl, especially when he tried to say 'to tell'.

Marco nodded. "And your relationship with Memphis Coal?"

The air felt suddenly cooler. He noticed how tensed the German got after his question. Sharl's lips curled into a frown as he peered away, green eyes frosting with deep anger.

"He is a.. nuisance. Trouble in ze vorst kind." He replied with.

"And a boy named Derick Wesker? We're looking for him." Marco asked as he gained the man's attention again.

Sharl shook his head. "Memphis mentioned a boy, but a name vas left out. 'e said zat ze boy vas take'on. 'e said.. trouble brews. Eine Mühe, wirklich (A bother, really)."

"He also said that the Night Rider's had no hand in the boy's kidnapping." A sharp voice called from beyond their line of sight. All present turned in the direction of the voice.

Out from behind a stack of crates came a 5'7 form clad in brown clothes, a black jacket over them with spiked midnight hair and forest green orbs that were laced with a sparkling shine. The individual's mouth was upturned with humor as he casually strolled over to the gathered people.

The armed people lowered their weapons at the sight of Memphis Coal. The high ranking Night Rider member had his hands tucked into the belt line of his pants.

He eyed the two tracker's with a look of calm. "Interrogating Sharl will get you no where but on the sights of our gang. Sharl, leave us." He said dismissively.

Sharl nodded and gestured for his men to leave, but he remained for a moment. "Vill you be fine alone vith zese men?"

Memphis simply nodded and so Sharl reluctantly left with a bow of his head.

"Memphis Coal. What an honor." Fin was scowling at the man, clutching his pistol tightly.

"Johnson's boys, I take it?" Memphis asked in a purr as he moved to stand a few feet from them.

"In a way." Fin chuckled.

"So the NR doesn't have the boy?" Marco asked, eyeing the man nervously.

Memphis shook his head. "As I told the girl we do not have him." He snorted as if the idea in itself was absurd to even consider.

"Do you know who does?" The rifle wielder asked as he scrunched his face in concern.

Memphis directed his gaze toward the ceiling as he now held an air of indifference. He stood there, staring off into space for a moment before looking to the pair with a sudden expression of hesitation. He leaned forward, his voice a whisper.

"Spencer."

July 10, 1967 (12:30 PM).

The body on the bed began to shake as three hours had passed. Hands were pressed to the glass viewing window as lips curled into an excited smile.

Marcus had been expecting some form of shock or seizure to occur and it did not disappoint. It hit just a few seconds ago and so now he was tapping at the button on the wall to call in his young researcher assistant. Soon enough footsteps echoed as Francis Trevor entered the room.

The brown haired, green eyed woman was a distant relative of George, that pesky little architect friend of Spencer's.

She wore a simple white lab coat with a black t-shirt and a white skirt. Her matching heels clicked against the tiled floor as she walked.

She peered cautiously towards the glass to the boy before directing her gaze to Marcus. "Yes, sir?"

He turned to her with a strange glint to his eyes. "Tell Sir Edward and miss Caroline that it has begun. Tell them he will need immediate observation for the effects- hopefully the desired ones will show like the rest. One can never fully tell with science." He mused, rubbing at his jaw thoughtfully.

"Understood, sir." Francis said with a bow of her head before she turned to leave the room.

"Oh, and miss Trevor?" He said, causing the young researcher to turn toward him with an arched brow.

"Sir?"

"Send to me miss Speyer. I have a task for her." He said in an almost bored tone.

With a dip of her head the researcher was gone from the room, leaving him alone to observe the writhing unconscious boy beyond the glass.

Several minutes later the body began to slow in shaking and soon settled on the bed with a few final twitches.

It was over, the first part at least. Results would come a day later. For now it was just time to wait. By tomorrow Spencer and Mark would return with the final subject.

All was going according to plan.

Marcus rolled up his sleeve and stared at his watch. It was roughly 6:35 PM. He sighed, feeling tired. He'd been up for a grand total of three days.

As he recalled the date was July 10th, 1967. Saturday.

He rubbed his temple as the boy remained still, now on his back from his prior shaking.

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the glass. The hollow ring that sounded from the contact caused the boy to shift, rolling onto his side as he coughed. Marcus snapped his eyes opened as the boy slowly began to sit up, fluttering his eyelids to reveal his deep green hues.

The monitor beside the twin bed beeped repeatedly.

The boy was sluggish to move, his limbs clearly a burden as he fought for some control over them in his drowsy state. When the boy was taken he had been sedated and kept such so as to limit resistance.

He turned his head, studying the room he was being held in. His eyes traced over the stark white before settling on the glass.

Marcus knew he could not see him. The viewing glass was one sided and only from his angle. The boy would simply see his own reflection.

"Hello?" He heard the voice radiate from the box to his left. He glanced to the communications device as he heard the confusion in the boy's voice. "Hello?" The boy tried again, but he received nothing as Marcus stood still, his arms folded against his chest.

This was different. With the other subjects they had not awoken until the next day, when the virus had halfway taken over. Why was this boy any different?

A low knocking caused him to look toward the door with an arch of his eyebrows. "Come in." He called and then the door opened.

In entered Lucy Speyer, a young assistant who helped him with filing. Her short brunette hair was pulled back with two opposing small bands of free hair framing either side of her face. Her brown eyes swept the room before focusing on him as she strolled over to him, booted shoes lightly grazing the tiles. She wore a simple buttoned lab coat with grey sweat pants. She was the casual type in fashion but she had a knack for being clever.

"You wanted me, James?" She also had a knack for being on first name basis even when she was scolded for such.

It was what he secretly liked about her.

He turned his attention to the boy as she moved over to stand beside him, following his gaze. "See the boy?" When she nodded he smiled. "Find him suitable clothing that has a bit more.. color to it, will you?"

"Choice color?" She questioned with a tilt of her head.

"Hmm.. navy blue, light blue, brown or perhaps something else deep- just no black or white." He stated as he looked to her.

"So it shall be." She turned and slipped out of the room, leaving him to his own devices.

He moved over to the communications com and tapped the button, hearing the crackle of static in the room with the boy, who turned his head to locate the sound.

"Steady, now. You're safe. Fresh clothes will arrive later on for you to change into and then we'll see about getting you some other items. Hungry? Thirsty?" His voice sounded mechanical in the other room that the boy occupied.

The boy frowned, ignoring the questions and instead asked his own. "Where am I?"

Marcus watched him through the glass as the boy searched for the speaker. "I cannot answer that yet. For now let it be simply known that you are safe here."

The boy clutched his chest as if in pain and said, "It hurts.."

"I know, son. We're going to fix you."

The boy leaned forward, putting his head between his knees as he groaned in pain. The conversion was the current stage he was going through.

"Breathe slow and deep." He said in a soothing voice through the device and the boy complied. Soon the pain passed and the boy could sit up straight again.

"Who are you?" The boy hesitantly asked, looking to the glass.

"I'm a professor."

The boy remained silent as his eyes began to droop. The cord connected with his arm to the monitor was putting in another sedative. The boy laid down on his side and stared blankly at the wall before his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.

"Interesting boy.." Marcus mused.

He'd check on the boy again later on, but for now.. he really needed sleep, desperately. He could feel his system trying to slow down, but he kept it up so he could fully function.

He rubbed at his temple, massaging it as he sighed.

He gave one final glance to the viewing glass and twitched his lips into a fixed line. "We'll see how far you will survive.. Derick Wesker."

With that said the door opened and shut behind his retreating form.