Four months after the death of Claire, Chris is on his first field mission since returning from bereavement leave.

"Chris, your destination is four hundred metres south-southeast."

"Copy that," replied Chris flatly, "Radio silence when I get to the warm zone."

"Ok buddy."

Chris breathed in deep and stopped in his tracks, pressing his finger into his earpiece.

"Not your buddy, Jay. Let me make that clear."

"Alriiiight, sorry partner," came the nasally high pitched response, and Chris grunted.

"Barely."

He pressed on, pushing foliage and young pines aside, but the constant humming of country songs in his ear was really starting to piss him off.

Claire would have never been so goddamn annoying, Chris thought to himself. Why didn't they just give him Jill in Claire's place, instead of this insufferable prick?

"Oh man, gotta help my Pa fix his truck this weekend."

Chris flexed his fingers and screwed his face.

"That's nice," he responded, dripping with sarcasm, but Jay either ignored it or didn't interpret it as such.

"It's a Chevy, buddy, a 1990 454 SS, she's a beaut, hooo-weee!"

"Jay, listen. I don't care, I never will. Now shut up and let me concentrate."

"Yo, sorry, buddy, just thought I'd make some light conversation, like."

"Well don't."

"You sure are grumpy these days, mister."

Chris took another deep breath as his heart raced against his ribs.

"Pardon me for still grieving over my sister's death, you ass."

"Yo I get it, totally, my cousin lost his step sister to drugs, like."

"It's not the same, don't compare, now please shut the fuck up and don't bring up the topic of my mood again, you hear me?"

"I hear you, buddy, loud and crispy clear."

Chris closed his eyes and knelt on the ground; tiny twigs and fallen pine needles cracked gently under his legs, and he focused on his breathing, inhaling the scent of fresh pine wood and the crisp, cold air.

Breathing exercises was something he had become accustomed to, to soothe his mind, steady his heart and keep his blood pressure down when his anxiety crept in.

Breathe in…and hold…and…breathe out…

At first he had sunk himself into several types of alcohol and a habit of not shaving, he wasn't even opening the curtains in the morning. He'd wake up late and would spend hours sitting on the couch in his one bedroom apartment; on only one occasion he checked his keys for the one that would let him into Claire's quaint studio apartment, he had travelled the two subway rides and a total of a twenty five minutes of walking, held the key up to her door's lock before breaking down in the corridor, dropping to his knees in a weeping heap.

He couldn't bring himself to enter the apartment, preserved forever as she had left it before she embarked on her final mission. Was it tidy? Cluttered? Was her laundry on the airer ready for her to fold and put away? Were her pots still on the drainer or had she set them into their little pot tree that she had? Was her trash can empty? Was her bed made, her dresser neatly arranged like she always left it?

It wasn't until he was back at his own apartment when he pulled yet another bottle from the cupboard above the refrigerator; his hiding place for a final bottle, that he saw a hand written note on the inside of the cupboard door, in soft pink pen and delicate cursive.

Redfields never go out without a fight! Keep kicking ass, big bro! You're awesome!

In big gasps and heavy tears he had put that bottle back, and contacted his therapist within BSAA again. He had remembered in his sessions that he had always jokingly berated Claire for her little sessions of mediation and controlled breathing.

And now he could completely understand why she swore by this method of calming.

She'd be so proud of him for turning to breathing exercises and not the bottle. He slowly opened his eyes and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a solid plastic ID card holder; Claire's BSAA ID, and he stared at her picture.

"I miss you, sis…" Chris whispered, and he turned it over, to where he had shoved in the little note in pink pen and cursive writing, "I hope you're smiling down on me."

He closed his eyes once more, still clutching Claire's ID, and after a few minutes he was ready to continue. He kissed the plastic, slipped the ID back into his pocket, straightened himself up and continued on.

After ten minutes of stepping around pines and checking his wrist compass, several concrete buildings appeared in a valley a few dozen metres below him, and he grasped a pine trunk to get better footing.

"I'm here."

After no response he repeated himself, and he heard the tell tale thud of the mic on the opposite end being unmuted.

"Sorry buddy, I was serenading the room with some John Denver."

"Right…" Chris said idly, and he began scanning the area, "so there's no further intel, I'm going to have to go through all of the buildings?"

"Pretty much, buddy."

"Not your buddy." Chris frowned and crouched before pulling out a pair of mini binoculars. He focused in between some of the buildings and clicked his tongue; "They're armed, and not just handguns."

"Assault rifles?"

"Yeah," Chris confirmed, "they're in flak jackets too. Almost like they're expecting to be raided or something."

"So…verdict, Chris?"

Chris lowered his binoculars and let out a tiny grunt.

"They wouldn't be armed and all protected if they weren't guarding something important, like intel."

"How many do you think there are down there?"

That's the tone Chris wanted. No buddy, no partner, no southern slang, just professional and straight to the point.

"Hard to tell," Chris squinted and counted the number of guards that stood out to him, "I can see…four, no wait, five…six…six guards. And that's not counting any out of view or inside the buildings."

"So what's the plan?"

Chris checked his wrist compass, which doubled up as a watch.

"An hour until sunset. I'll wait for night to set in. They're not wearing headgear, so with any luck, they won't have night vision."

"You said some might be indoors. What you gonna do 'bout that?"

"Hmm." Chris slid down by the tree trunk and pondered, "If it comes to it, I'll find a guy maybe bigger than me and take his outerwear."

"Or find a locker with some clothes in?"

"Or that."

"Why though?"

"If I wore their uniform I'd blend in more. More freedom of movement, unless they're on fixed patrol paths in which case I'm gonna have to spend some time observing. UNLESS…" Chris took out his binoculars once more, "unless their night patrol is different."

Chris sat in silence as he planned his movements. He needed to find that intel, but he had no idea which of the nine buildings they were in. His odds of getting the correct building on the first try was one in nine, or just about 11%. Not the odds he would have liked but…

"Wait." Chris knelt down and scanned his eyes over the buildings; two on the outer perimeter were simply built, and sitting on wooden slats, and…

"I think …" Chris crouch walked a dozen or so metres around the edge to get a better look, before pulling his binoculars again, "yeah, I can see military cots and some lockers through the windows."

"So does that narrow it down to seven buildings?" Jay asked, and Chris nodded, though Jay wouldn't see it.

"I'll need to make my move now, and hope that there's some clothes in those buildings that I can put on. I don't know, I've not thought this through, really."

"You should've, buddy."

Chris sighed, ignoring Jay's slip back into casual mode.

"I probably came back to work too early, my mind isn't in the right place. But I'm here now, so I might as well make the most of it."

Chris waited as the sun disappeared beyond the mountains in the west, and as predicted, the patrol changed, but he smiled.

"I've just seen the entire changeover. There's only two guys on patrol now, aaaaaand…" Chris once again used his binoculars, this time turning on night vision, "they're on opposite sides of the complex."

"Only two?"

"Yeah, rookie mistake, you'd think they'd pick up security at night with the lack of visibility, but more fool them."

"Unless it's deliberate?"

"I don't care," Chris slotted his binoculars into his jacket, "I'll give it a bit more time, see if the off duty guards fall asleep, and I'm just gonna pick a building, maybe the one with the blue glow through the window."

"Computers screens, right?"

"Likely."

"Buddy I think maybe you should come up with a plan, you've made like three since you got here."

"I really don't give a fuck. I'm either gonna find what I need or not."

"Chris-"

Chris shut off his radio, scanned the area from his vantage point again before scouring the banks for a safe way down. He had spotted a path down into there, but that was such an obvious way in he was sure to be seen, even by two guys with no night-vision equipment. A few metres away he spotted a gentle slope, flanked with tree roots and protruding rocks perfect for scaling down. Taking each foot and hand steady, he carefully lowered himself down, and he was met with the bare wall of one of the concrete buildings, second in from the left.

Perfect, he thought, as he watched one of the guards bank around the far end. He crept as quietly as his large frame could allow, right as the other guard disappeared between the two sleeping quarters on the far right. He smiled, and glanced his eyes over to the building with the blue glow in the window; yes, perfect! He could see screens! That's got to be the one he wants, right?!

He shuffled forward and leaned around the corner; still no sign of that first guy, and with quick, quiet steps he scurried to the wooden steps leading up to the door. Quick glance again and…ok it's clear, and…he pushed the door slightly…bingo!

He slid in and closed the door, keeping low to avoid the blue light casting his shadow to the outside. Propping himself up on one knee, he reached up and plugged in a USB drive to the pc tower that sat there, turning his comms back on

"Alright," he whispered, "it's in, do your job."

"Alrighty, Chris."

Within seconds, Chris heard the pc's fan pick up in speed as Jay operated on his side; the USB drive was extracting all data and duplicating it at just the push of a button remotely. Chris would never have imagined that sort of technology existed if he hadn't had seen it do its magic with his own eyes.

The sound of voices outside alarmed him, and he quickly looked about for a hiding spot, only to find there wasn't one. He dived under the desk right as the door opened, and two men walked in. He recognised their faces as the two guards patrolling…so why were they in here? They were laughing between them, and they approached the screen so closely that Chris could smell the dirt on their boots.

"...yeah I'm here until next week, then it's back off home to my whore wife," said one of the voices with a thick accent, though Chris wasn't sure which country it originated from.

"I'm here for another three, but I'm only going home to a cat that hates living with me, ha, maybe I shouldn't slap her about but fuck her," said the second, but this one was an American accent…a multinational bioterrorism group?

"Ha, hey, we're both going home to abuse pussy!"

Both men laughed and Chris chewed the inside of his cheek. Domestic violence disgusted him, and so did animal cruelty, and he considered ending both the men on the spot.

"Speaking of pussy…what's happening with the girl?" enquired the European accent, and the American sniggered.

"I don't know how much longer Wesker wants to hold on to her; been a few months and she hasn't so much as squealed."

Chris' ears burned at that name. Wesker?! Was this his work that he was extracting back to BSAA?!

"Chris…did they say Wesker?" asked Jay quietly, but of course he knew Chris couldn't respond without being caught.

"She's certainly built of something unreal…" sighed the American voice.

"Even after everything he's done to her, she still hasn't talked. I'm surprised he hasn't started slicing fingers off yet," remarked the European accent, and the American hummed in response.

Chris clenched his fist.

They had a prisoner here? A girl? Wesker was torturing her? How low was this bastard gonna go?!

"Hey, the fuck is that?" said the American, and he quickly strode to the desk. Chris' eyes went wide; had he seen the USB drive?

He heard a ceramic clatter, heavy gulping, and the clatter again above his head.

"Damn, forgot my coffee! Was ice cold!"

Both men chortled to themselves, and Chris silently blew a sigh of relief.

"Anyway, kick up here for a while, no poor bastard is going to be stumbling about here, I'll call you when I want to have a sit down."

"Sure," said the American, and with that the European left the building, but Chris was now stuck under a desk with a man who could end him if he so much as sneezed. He watched the boots pace, the wooden floorboards creaked and sighed under the weight, and Chris weighed his options.

All he had to do was get intel and then get the hell out, no more, no less. But…if they had a prisoner…

Chris watched the boots as they raised up; the guy was sitting on a chair with one leg folded over the other. How was he going to get out? Chris slowly reached for his old combat knife from back in the United States Air Force.

He closed his eyes and thought.

Somehow he was going to have to get this guy away from the desk so he could crawl out. He had nothing to toss away to get him to move, but he had another idea. He slowly manoeuvred onto his back, and began to gently pull at the man's bootlaces, and with a finesse that even surprised himself, knotted the boots together. He then took a few deep breaths, pulled his balaclava over his mouth and nose, open his eyes, and wished for Claire to watch over him.

"Hey," growled Chris, and sure enough, the man got up quickly, and just as swiftly fell over his own feet. He hit the floor hard, and Chris dove out onto the man, pinning his arms to his sides with his knees, he placed his knife to the guy's throat.

"Call for help and you're a dead man, you hear me?" Chris whispered, and the man whimpered in submission. Chris nodded; that was MUCH easier than he thought it would be!

"Where's the girl?" demanded Chris quietly, and the man softly coughed.

"Next building over…please don't kill me…"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure, p-please…spare me…"

"Which building?"

The man was now shaking, and he turned his head upwards.

"Out this door and it's the one on your left as you step out…"

"If I find you're bullshitting me…" Chris pressed the knife harder into the man's thin flesh, and a tiny trickle of crimson formed under the sharp metal.

"I'm not, man, I swear!"

"Good."

Chris stood up and held a hand out for the man, who took it in earnest, hopping as he corrected his footing.

"You know what? Your European friend is right."

Chris brought his elbow up and smashed it into the man's face. He fell like a house of cards as blood ran out his nostrils, and a gargled snoring escaped his throat.

"Have a nap. I'm sure he'll wake you when he wants to swap."

Chris began peeling the jacket off the man, patting him down for any ammo, in case he woke up earlier and tried to act, though with the obvious show of cowardice just now, it wasn't likely. Besides, if this girl was a prisoner and treated poorly, she might need something to keep her warm. With that in mind he also relieved the man of his pants, pulling the cuffs and waistband over the now unknotted boots. He wrapped the garments around his neck, but he creased at the warmth of them.

"Damn, you're on a rescue mission now, Chris?" Jay finally spoke up.

"It won't be much," Chris whispered, "but saving one person is better than none at all."

"Got you buddy, I'm just going through the files now, I have some info on how they've treated their prisoners."

"Alright, give me the details as I make my way next door. I need to know what she's been through, to gauge her reaction to me."

Chris slowly raised up to look out the window; the other guard wasn't in sight, and he crept out the door, scanned the area, and hurried to the building on his left. He entered, and immediately he held his breath at the sudden, ghastly smell. A prison or an abattoir?! The place was painted in dry, brown spatters of blood, a bed with restraints sat in the centre of the room with ripped padding and blood stained leather. Above the bed was a surgery light, however it was turned off; the only light source was a dim old lightbulb slightly off-centre.

Along one wall was a table, covered in all manners of equipment that Chris could only guess were used for. The stench was unbearable, like a deadly cocktail of blood, shit and piss, maybe with putrid meat thrown in. Chris had smelled a lot of garish things in his time, but this was beyond anything he had ever experienced invading his olfactory senses. It took all of his strength not to evacuate the contents of his stomach.

"Alright Chris, so turns out they capture people who think they'll give them info on either other bioterrorist groups that they see as competition, or companies that fight bioterrorism."

"Right, so this girl is either part of the good guys or bad guys," Chris still kept his voice low; who knows if another guard was in here, though with how bad the place reeked, he very much doubted it.

"Seems like it."

"Either way, I might as well try and get her out. At least when we press her for answers, we'll provide food, water and far more desirable living quarters."

Chris touched his handgun lightly and rounded the room. He inhaled as slowly as he possibly could in a vain attempt to stop himself from smelling the toilet death stench, but it was barely working. In the corner was a black, iron wrought door, and he approached it before pressing his hand against it. It gave with considerable ease, and opened slowly with a faint metallic sigh.

"Chris, I have some info on what they do to their prisoners. Not the actual torture but in between. It might be of help to you."

"Er….alright?"

"Ok. So to prevent detection from the outside they are injected with a drug that effectively silences them. Something about affecting the larynx and vocal chords in such a way that a voice is essentially taken away."

Chris scanned the new room he was in; it was dark, damp, and it smelled even worse than the previous room, and he briefly leaned back out to gasp the only slightly better air of the dimly lit room behind him.

"So, this girl, she won't be able to speak?"

"Correct. In the same injection, there is a substance that also temporarily blinds them. So she won't be able to see you either. Also…oh man…the SAME injection also effectively numbs the nerves in the ear."

"No voice, no hearing, and no sight. I can see this getting messy."

"Not only that, Chris, but the prisoners are routinely given a, well, an epidural. To stop them from fleeing on foot."

"No voice, no hearing, no sight, AND can't walk? Fucking great."

"I know you want to save people, Chris, but you don't have to."

Chris slowly shone his flashlight beam over the room; it was more a corridor with little rooms; cells, either side. The paint was-

"So this prisoner, she's the only one here right now, and her injection was only twenty minutes ago."

-the paint was flaking in patches, revealing pale plaster underneath, the-

"Damn, they even give them numbers-"

-the cells were all empty as he passed by them; five, six, seven-

"CHRIS."

Jay's sudden and abrupt usage of his name startled him, but he swiftly shifted into mild anger. Before he could say anything he approached the final cell.

At the back of the cell with wrists tied to a wet, rusted pipe was a young woman, barely clothed; whatever they had put on her was torn in several places, almost revealing one breast. The clothing was yellowed all over, mottled with brown…excrement or blood? Going by the smell, perhaps both.

Her hair was knotted and tangled over her face as she hung her head low, and Chris precariously shone her light over her, raised up by his aimed gun. Whether a reaction of some kind to the light or not, the woman raised her head almost painfully.

The flashlight and gun clattered to the ground, and Jay's voice spoke again over his earpiece.

"Chris…it's Claire."

Of course I wasn't going to kill off Claire, I think that was fairly obvious from Chapter 1, right?!