Disclaimer: I don't own legal rights to any of the copyrighted Resident Evil stuff in this story.
Xaori – I've come to really look forward to your reviews. I'm so glad you liked the "pancake" line. It didn't come to me until I was proofreading the chapter right before uploading it. And I'm so glad Ashley's badassery is coming through! I always liked Ashley, so I really want this to seem like a believable evolution of the character. Even when she was completely defenseless, I always thought she had a lot of moxie.
"Tell me about them," Jill said. She whispered softly enough to not attract the attention of any nearby monsters, but loudly enough to try to break the tense silence between them. "Your family, I mean."
"Like what?" Carlos asked.
"Like how much does she know?"
The words slipped out faster than Jill could filter them. And immediately she realized she would have preferred the tension of distant zombie groans.
"Who? And about what?"
"Your wife. And your background."
Even just looking at the back of his head and his shoulders, Jill could tell she'd struck a nerve.
"She knows it's paramilitary," Carlos said. "She doesn't know about the U.B.C.S. specifically. I wanted to tell her but . . . when's the best time to bring up working for a mustache-twirlingly evil corporation?"
"And I take it she probably doesn't know how much of your life you've devoted to hunting down and taking out these hydra-heads?"
"I tell her I'm going on a business trip."
"What business are you in, anyway?"
"None of yours."
It was an abrasive tone Jill wasn't used to hearing from Carlos. At least not towards her.
"Did you tell her about me?"
"Did I tell her I was going to be out on a bioweapon hunting expedition with an ex? No. I can face down a hundred zombies. But I don't want to end up murdered by my wife."
"Look, I know I'm not the one who was looking to start a serious relationship or a family, but I think that honesty is important to a . . ."
Carlos looked over his shoulder to give her an icy stare.
"You're right," he said. "You're not the one. Which is why I'm not asking you for pointers on marriage."
Jill gritted her teeth and turned away.
They continued walking across the lobby to the reception desk, both silently considering apologizing, both ultimately deciding they wanted the other to apologize first.
They walked around the desk, through a doorway behind it and around a corner into the hotel administration offices.
Cubicles on either side of the room were occupied by corpses.
One rose with an inhuman growl, lurching towards the center of the room. Even in its decayed state, the zombie was obviously the reanimated corpse of a young woman, wearing an expensive outfit and make up, dressed up and dolled up to the nines. She still looked ready to make an instant impression while giving guided tours of the facility, selling potential guests on the venue for their wedding reception or business conference. Jill immediately kicked a nearby rolling chair in her direction, bowling her over and then spraying her with bullets.
Carlos circled the room, aiming his gun on each remaining body in turn. When another woman, looking like she'd also been able to pass as an amateur fashion model pre-infection, stirred and lunged forward with outstretched arms, Carlos put her down.
"Sometimes it bothers me," Jill said, "how much less this bothers me than it used to."
"Had to get used to it pretty quick in my old line of work," Carlos replied. Some sympathy crept back into his voice. "Try to focus on the ones we can still save."
Jill nodded in response.
Carlos reached for the door marked "General Manager" and found it locked.
"Stay back. I'll break it down."
He took a step back, began leaning in with one shoulder.
"Stop," Jill said. "Don't hurt yourself, big guy. I got this."
She grabbed a couple paperclips off the nearest desk and began twisting them into shape.
Carlos' big, goofy grin returned, so impressed he barely remembered he was mad at her.
"I always forget just how good you are at that."
"Good?" Jill said, grinning with self-satisfaction as she shoved the tips of the paperclips into the lock. "I'm the freakin' master of this."
Carlos heard a few clicks, and then Jill turned the knob and the door swung open.
What was left of the general manager was slumped over his desk. Jill trained her pistol on his head, but it didn't seem like he was going to be moving again anytime soon.
Then she and Carlos began searching the room, opening every drawer, looking under every piece of furniture, occasionally turning their attention back to the dead man in the center of the room, just in case.
Jill examined the wall-mounted shelves, covered in plaques and books and folders, and then looked at the empty one. There were four clean circles surrounded by thick layers of dust.
She pressed down on the shelf, and she could hear rapid mechanical clicking coming from behind the wall. Cogs turning but not quite coming together
It caught Carlos' attention, and he turned to look at the shelf Jill was staring at.
"I think we need to find whatever was on this."
"You're late."
Jasmine's painted lips were twisted in a scowl as Daniel removed his beret and flung it on to the security desk.
She was fresh-faced, her olive skin soft and glowing and smooth. Her dark, silky hair matched her striking brown eyes, so dark they were practically black. She was scratching at the beauty mark at the corner of her mouth with her perfectly manicured nails as if it irritated her. And she was smartly dressed, a long black jacket over a crisp white shirt and dark pencil skirt.
Jasmine was beautiful, if you were into that sort of thing.
"I was attending to the other business you instructed me to. Even I cannot be everywhere at once."
"I know you don't like me," Jasmine said, speaking in that posh, plumy English accent of hers. "But let me remind you that your employer does."
Daniel laughed bitterly.
"Take it from a Parisian, my dear," he replied. "'Liking' and 'marrying' are two very different things. Where is the old man now?"
"He's napping. As old men are wont to do."
Daniel took his seat and let his eyes sweep over the vast array of monitors on the wall in front of him, the feeds of at least a hundred cameras from all over the hotel and laboratory.
"Prime seating for the grand theater of human drama," Daniel said. "All I'm missing is the popcorn."
"If you wanted some, you should have brought some yourself," Jasmine said, gingerly taking a seat on the corner of the desktop, smoothing down her skirt as she did so. "Pity we'll never be able to reopen after this. Peak tourism season was right around the corner."
"We will never have a better opportunity for a more perfect experiment than this one," Daniel replied. "As far as test subjects go, we could not do better than Jill Valentine and Carlos Oliveira. And to also be rid of the Graham girl, whose obsessive do-gooding has constantly threatened to expose . . ."
"Damn you and your 'mansplaining,' Fabron," Jasmine interrupted. "I know the plan. That doesn't mean I have to like it. All these years, my husband's been funneling profits from the hotel into his research, even though the resort was by far the more profitable venture."
"It's been that way almost as long as you've been alive," Daniel said, looking at her to make sure the implication stung as much as he'd intended.
Jasmine squared her shoulder and tapped at one of the monitors with the tip of a fingernail.
"She's already found the entrance," she intoned dryly.
"The woman who survived both the Spencer Mansion and the Nemesis project?" Daniel stretched back in his chair. "I would have been disappointed if she hadn't."
He straightened his chair, then stretched his fingers and reached for the control panel.
"Now, the real games can begin."
A/N – Part of me was worried it might be insensitive to do something as frivolous as updating a fanfiction with all of the terribleness going on in the world right now. But writing this is a little bit of an escape for me, if even briefly, and I thought readers might welcome the brief escape as well.
On a lighter note, with each chapter I feel more of the weight of writing a fic set in modern day in a franchise with a deep extensive lore that I, admittedly, casually dip in and out of. (I just bought eight of the games at once, to replay some of my old favorites as well as get around to the ones I previously skipped.) I guess my point is, when I screw something up, if you're going to call me out on it, be gentle?
Longer chapter coming soon, once I've had a chance to run a coat of polish over it.