Regeneration
Chapter 4: Life and Death
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Piers Nivans
"Ow!"
This shit still hurt when they messed with my arm. Sparks flew up and down the tentacle—my arm was insanely sensitive to the antivirus. "There you go, Mr. Nivans. That's the last shot for today."
I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Thanks, Doctor." I said politely. After a week of getting needles stuck in my arm (and head, the first time they did it. Ow...) every day, my arm was looking noticeable different. For starters, it was definitely smaller. It was still electroreceptive. It was still more hefty, bulbous, and lumpy than an arm should be, but it was shrinking. It wasn't white so pink and green and whatever other colors it had been. In fact, I was thankful to be able to look in the mirror, and see that my arm was the only thing off about me. My face and neck had both completely healed over, smooth and uninfected. In addition, my arm was now more...movable? I could move more of the muscles, I guess. The doctors had said that my nerves were starting to flesh out and realign the way they should be.
Also, I could still breath water through my skin, although it felt like it was getting harder. I tested that part every morning—makes waking up a lot easier. Now that we were on the ninth day of shots, the scientists felt like they knew enough about the antibodies in the blood sample from Jake Muller that they would be able to start administering it to other virus victims, with modifications.
The first few days, I asked them, maybe naively, why they didn't ust pump me full of enough of the cure to reverse the effects a lot faster. And of course, the answer I got was "Because that could cause damage to your systems." It didn't entirely satisfy me, but hey, I was happy to still be sane.
With that, the scientists left me to my own devices. I flexed the ends of my "hand". With delight, I noticed that some of the extra claws had shrunk into the flesh, and that I now had five, mostly distinct, appendages, nearly as flexible as my old fingers had been. And soon they would be. I smiled to myself, content for the moment. Then, I decided that maybe I shouldn't make such a big deal of it. It was still early, maybe I could catch Chris or someone else from the B.S.A.A. Who might be on break. I don't think Jill Valentine was. All my old buds were...well, dead. I hated that my only really close friend I had right now was Chris. No wonder Jake had made such a remark. I needed some new pals. I doubted I would really be able to pick up a girlfriend with my condition. Unless someone felt like dating me when my arm is a lightning rod.
Actually, I knew for a fact there were some women out there that crazy.
The thought made me smile, but I wasn't pretending I was gonna go on a date anytime soon. And just because I was going to make some new friends didn't mean I would have to push Chris away to make room. The both of us had plenty of time, six months in fact and all day, everyday to lay on our asses if we felt like it. Well, most of the days, anyway. Chris still had some things to do from time to time, and soon it would be time to start my regularly scheduled physical therapy. Which would probably be a pain in the ass to work into again, but I knew I'd need it—muscle is as hard to retain as it is to gain. Already, I felt in a little less firm on my abs, and hey, I was proud of my physique, I wanted to keep it up. I wanted to be back on the war on bioterrorism as soon as I could. I wanted to be sniping again as soon as I could. It was bad enough I had to wait six months. The last two months, I hear, is going to be training for B.O.W. combat again, thankfully.
I got up and decided to go for a walk to get some coffee. The North American B.S.A.A. is mostly a widespread chain of buildings hidden from the public—but they do own some typical "office" buildings. And one of them is a cafe, even though I prefer the bar across the street. I walked down the hallway and over to the lab dresser to pick out one of my new shirts. I had a new set I'd been given just today, and since my right arm was now small enough not to get in the way, it was pretty much a regular shirt, just with the right sleeves cut off. They'd been donated from a bunch of stores—which mas really thoughtful of them—and the fabric that was hemmed would be going to make bandages for the other soldiers that needed them. I opened the dresser and looked through them. A lot of them had wordings or logos on them.
Wait a second...
Was that there before? I didn't remember it. I took a closer look. It looked like it was made by a bunch of small, multicolored patches sewn together, not badly either. There was writing on a few of them. It said:
Piers Nivans
BSAA Soldier - 2010-2014
In our hearts 2010-?
Yep, there was a note attached. "Dear Piers, this is from people who wanted to cheer you up while you are recovering. The text and patches were all donated by people wishing you well. You and Chris Redfield are the only two to receive these. The wording is a little misinterpreting, but I guess they thought it was appropriate, considering what you've been through. Enjoy —Leon Kennedy and Sherry Birkin
I was getting an incredibly warm feeling inside. It was good to know that people who didn't know me cared about me enough to sew those words onto a shirt for me-even if it made me sound like I was dead. The left and right sleeves on this one were hemmed. I tried to slip it on, and when that didn't work out, one of the laboratory officers took pity on me and helped me out. The fabric was smooth, silky, and fitting. I admired the wording in the mirror one last time, and put on a jacket over it. Not that I was ashamed of it, just didn't want an incredible amount of stares. People might think I was conceited.
Sure enough, I was getting looks. Most of them were smiles, though, and a few people walked up to me shook my (left) hand. Once I got down to the coffee tables, it occurred to me that I still hadn't been able to prepare food, eat, or drink without help yet. I gulped. Coming down here with a shirt like this and then needing help pouring a latte would be so humiliating! I looked around. People had already stopped looking at me now. I swallowed my thoughts, then walked up to the coffee machine. I thought about doing it with my left hand, then my right, then settled on both. I tried to punch the buttons on the coffee maker with my right hand—yes! The fingers were smaller and mobile enough now! I made the coffee, waited a few minutes, then pulled it out and poured it with my left hand. I'd been doing excercises with it every so often, but it still felt clunkier than my right. And since I didn't trust my claws to handle the porcelain mug, I was careful with my left hand. I carried it over to a table and sat down. I took a sip, and it definitely needed creamer. I ignored it, because I didn't really feel like messing with the tiny little packets right now.
"Oh, hey Piers!" I heard. I turned around, nearly spilling the coffee, to see Chris walking up to me. "Mind if I sit...ah, mind if I sit here?" I could see him eyeing my shirt.
"Go right ahead." I said, and he sat opposite me. "Nice shirt, can I see what it says?" I slid my chair away from the table and leaned back so he could read. "Damn, that's something...where did you get a shirt like that?"
"Huh?" I said. "Didn't you get one too?" I asked.
Chris looked confused. "Not that I'm aware of. They might've sent it to my quarters, I'll check later. That is some shirt."
"Thanks." I said proudly, lifting it from my chest and staring at the words upside-down. "Donated. People really want me back on my feet." I said, letting it snap back to my skin. Chris raised an eyebrow. "And you'll get there in a flash, I know it, Piers. Been hitting the gym lately?"
I sipped my coffee. "A little. Damn, that's bitter."
"Good, get back in the fight that much quicker." Chris smiled, reaching over to tearing open the a packet of sugar open and pouring it in. I sipped it again—much better. "Thanks."
"No problem."
Chris got up to get a muffin, then sat back down. We were quiet for a while as we sipped and ate. "Hey Piers?"
"Mmm?"
"You remember that crazy Ada Wong woman?" Chris said. Anger flooded me as I remembered how many of our friends had died and been mutated because of her. "What about her?" I said, gritting my teeth.
"That wasn't Ada Wong."
I set my coffee down. "What do you mean, 'that wasn't Ada Wong'?"
Chris finished off his muffin and told me the story.
"Check out my shirt! Damn it, Sheva!" he said, showing me the silk patchwork shirt.
I Punch Boulders !
"I asked her to stop telling everyone about that. They all think I'm on steroids or something." Chris said with a roll of his eyes.
"Wow. Ouch. Still, nice shirt though."
We were sitting in my quarters in my bedroom. Chris slipped off the shirt he was wearing and put the boulder one on. When I looked at his back, I had to hold back a laugh. Of course Chris didn't do steroids. "You know," he said, sitting down on the bed, "I'm not gonna lie, I figured maybe you'd let that Ada woman go, what with the thing about...well, back in China..." he trailed off.
"We're not on a mission right now." I said flat-out. "Besides, if I'm making a mistake, hell, I'm not regretting it yet."
Chris looked surprised, but nodded. "Well, if you change your mind, I've already escorted her out. She'll face the Supreme Court here, and then go to the U.K. for her trial."
"I'll keep that in mind." I said.
"You wanna join me for some food?" Chris offered. Actually, as much as I had wanted to spend some time with Chris earlier, I wasn't feeling it right now.
"Not really, no. Thanks, though." I said. Chris looked a little disheartened, but brightened up a little anyway. "You want me to bring you back some lunch, then?" he said. This wasn't a bad deal, so I said
"That's decent of you, sure. Can you get me another one of those bacon sandwiches? That stuff is awesome."
Chris laughed."Sure. See you in about half an hour bud."
Then he left. I laid down on my sheets, still fully clothed. I felt tired again, which was absolute crap, since it was only 12:30. I was getting tired a lot lately. Oh yeah, I guess the doctors warned me about that. A little nap wouldn't hurt, Chris could wake me when he brought the food back...
Hands. Hands ran up and over my body. One was a woman's hand, and bristled with barbs and spines. I felt lumps rise and my flesh rotting wherever it touched me. I shied away from it, but it grasped at my arm, clawing the virus into my skin. I ran, and tripped, falling off the ledge into darkness. I fell, and fell, and then slowed down, realizing I was sinking, and struggling for air. The water in front of me lit up with that face. Haos' face. The water demon grabbed me, and tried to crush me in its grasp.
The scene changed. Haos was gone, and the water was a deep blueish green. I could see light up ahead. I swam to the surface and gasped. I pulled myself onto the shore, and my hands found metal. I looked up, and realized I was on the sinking sub from before. From last week.I briefly realized I wasn't wearing anything. I looked down at my arm, but it was normal, and healthy. I looked up. Chris was crouched over me. "About time you got here." he said. Then a light grew behind him, and he stepped back. Back into the shuttle.
"Wait! Captain!" I yelled, but too late. Chris's form flew backward into the sea.
The scene changed again.
I was in a pool. I heard a splash behind me, but when I tried to turn around, firm hands grasped my waist and shoulder and kept me from doing so. A man's hands. They slid up and down my back, and around to my chest. "Easy there, Piers." the voice said, and I knew who it belonged to. I wasn't scared, though. This was how it was supposed to be. Chris whispered in my ear again. "We have a future with the B.S.A.A., Piers. But I'm laying down my gun soon. I can't be here with you forever." he said, trailing his tongue down my neck. His arm came around and gripped my throat tightly, too tightly. I was losing breath. I hissed. Soon though, the hands disappeared, and I was floating away. I was sinking in the water again.
Water. There was so much water...
I jerked up. I yanked my sweat-soaked shirt off and stared at it.
There...had been something off about that dream. Hard to tell if it was a nightmare or not.
Hope that it wasn't reflected in me, I really did. I didn't want it to stare other people in the face. That aside, I was going to have to stop having dreams about Lanshiang and Haos, although I didn't blame myself. It was time to get past that.
As for one suspicious part of the dream...well, there I went again, thinking back to Jake's words. I didn't have so much of a problem with potentially liking men, just that I didn't know how I was supposed to feel about it if I did. It didn't help that the only guy I could think of, duh, would be Chris Redfield. I had definitely never liked men, and if I did now, my proverbial boner and that dream were pointing straight at the man I served under.
There was also the strangling feeling. I wasn't ready to head the BSAA.
But then Chris came back, holding a plate with a large BLT sandwich on it and a Sprite. The entire time we ate, Chris never questioned the fact that I was shirtless, never mentioned anything that seemed out of the ordinary. I chatted, and had a good time, and then told Chris I would rest for a while. He didn't have anything to do, so he promised he'd check up on me soon. Then he left.
I laid my head back down on my pillow and sighed.
This sucks.
Had to heavily edit this chapter. Hope you enjoyed. —Chris