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Chapter Text

Chris 

Chris Redfield was not a spy.

He was big, clumsy, loud, direct, and had a penitent for blowing things up.

He was a soldier, a weapon, not a sly man who could slip in and out of parties undetected.

His bulging muscles that screamed ‘military’ or ‘government’ weren’t the only things that made him stick out like a sore thumb. For one, his social skills were shit, he wasn’t much of a talker, much less a sweet-talker. He liked to get to the point in situations, bad for a secret agent when most of their work was skidding around the point. In short, secret agent work wasn’t his cup of tea. So, when he got a call from the BSAA asking him to go undercover? He was a bit shocked. 

It all started November twenty-first, 2007.

Chris had been in the middle of a really great sandwich, a swiss ham and cheese panini with a dollop of pesto and juicy red tomatoes. He was trying to savor every bite he could while on break, a rare occasion. He told himself he would not spare a glance to a single report or file that needed to be faxed while he got to enjoy his well-needed fifteen minutes of bliss.

Fifteen minutes that were soon interrupted by the clattering of a tray next to his. It was Jill, thank the lord, because if it were anyone else, he would’ve got up right then and there and gone back to work. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, it was just, people asked questions, which meant he had to have answers, another rare occasion. But Jill was okay, she could sit with him whenever she wanted. They had been through enough together to just accept each other’s silence or goof off telling jokes. From the somber look on Jill’s face, Chris could tell she was going to say something he didn’t want to hear. The woman picked around her salad absentmindedly, almost as if she was waiting for him to initiate the conversation. So, Chris says.

“How’s the salad?” He asks dumbly, pointing to her food. Jill glances up, seemingly broken from a daze. 

“It’s not the worst thing in the world.” She responds, letting out a sigh before checking her phone. There’s something off about her today, something distant. Chris knows her well enough to pinpoint that, but, what’s making her act like this, he has no clue. 

“Who’re you texting?” He nods a head to her device, which she swiftly pockets. 

“Carlos.”

“Oh,” Chris raises a brow, a smirk twinging his lips. 

“Not like that, Chris.” Jill groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. Carlos Oliveira was a colleague of theirs, someone Jill held close to her heart, though she’d never admit it. They went on a mission together a while back, so far back it was when Carlos was still working under Umbrella. After that, the pair had grown closer, even ending up with the man confessing his love to Jill. Unfortunately, she had pushed him away, saying it wasn’t the right time for love. Chris remembers laughing at that reasoning, in a world where zombie outbreaks are normal Tuesdays, you gotta make due. There was proof of it working too. Raccoon City was never the best place in the world, especially after the horrors of the G-Virus, but Claire and, right. It hadn’t worked out after all. Chris shook his thoughts, praying they wouldn’t stray too far. Now wasn’t the time to think about that. “It’s just, work stuff.” Jill finishes, bringing him back to reality. Her brows furrow at his sudden sour expression. “Are you okay?” 

“What? Oh, I’m fine.” Chris drops his sandwich and takes a swig of his water, ignoring the slight tremor in his hands. “I was just thinking about Claire.” At the sound of the other woman’s name, Jill’s normally hardened face softens. 

“How’s she doing?” Her attention is now fully directed to Chris. Jill and Claire had always been close, they had the same confident stubbornness that got them both in too much trouble, too many times. It was annoying at times, but also endearing. Chris let out a breath, shaking his head. Claire was a tough subject right now. Normally, he would rave about his sister for hours, telling stories of her bravery and downright stupidity, but the last three years had been different. Claire had been different. She no longer showed up to work parties, she did her stuff and went back home like clockwork. She didn’t talk much, only when she had to, she was no longer the social butterfly TerraSave and the BSAA knew and loved. Hell, she didn’t even talk to Chris anymore. It was like she was a ghost living in the shell of her own body. It was hard to watch, especially as an older brother, especially when it was his fault-no. Not right now. He needed to be present. Present. Chris took a deep breath.

“I bought her a casserole last night.” He sighs. “She took it and closed the door, barely said thanks.” 

“You made a casserole? Since when could you cook?” Jill lightly nudges him, a sympathetic smile on her face. He knows she’s trying to lighten the blow of it, but it isn’t helping much. Not when his sister treats him like he’s her worst enemy.

“Hey, if I try, I’m a great cook.” He cracks a smile, attempting to shake off his negative feelings. 

“I know, I know. Just kidding you, Redfield.” It’s Jill’s turn to sigh, making Chris remember why she’s truly here. She has something to tell him, something hopefully good, but most definitely bad. 

“Guess there’s no putting it off.” He shrugs to himself, taking the last bite of his sandwich and wiping his mouth. “What happened, Jill?” His voice sounds lower than he meant it too, his captain's voice, he likes to call it. It’s not like he switches it on and off, it almost has a mind of its own, jutting up to the front whenever something serious is going down. Jill fiddles with her fork, pursing her lips. It’s not like her to beat around the bush, so why is she?

“Wong appeared at Carlos’s doorstep last night,” She spits out dryly, obviously not too keen about the double-crossing spy being at Oliveira’s house. Chris furrows a brow. So it wasn’t bad? She was just mad at the possibility that Ada and Carlos were hooking up? A selfish relief washed over him, letting him relax his bones a little. At least there wasn’t some crazy mission he was being sent on. 

“I thought you said you didn’t like-” His voice is cut off by Jill. 

“She was in bad shape, bleeding and talking nonsense. Said she didn’t have anyone else to go to.” She intertwines her fingers, studying the specks on the lunch table. “Carlos called me, and I went down to see what it was all about. We didn’t get much out of Wong, she was so out of it, saying stuff about black masks and snakes.” Her eyes widen as the recollection streams through her memories, making Chris wonder how bad it actually was. But for Ada to ask for help, it couldn’t have been good. “She was shot in the shoulder, by who, we don’t know. All we got out of her is some hit list. A government hit list. And she’s on it.”

“A hit list?” Chris echoes, rubbing the short beard on his chin. 

“Yes,” Jill confirms, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a wrinkled sheet of lined yellow paper. She unfolds it and slides it over to Chris, who catches it smoothly, turning it over. There’s noticeable blood splotches, likely Ada’s, over the page, but he can read it well enough for his blood to run cold. 

“This is,” He breathes, scanning the names over and over again as if it isn’t real. 

“You, me, Carlos, Claire, and a lot of other BSAA members.” Jill nods her head somberly. “Someone must really hate us.” She jokes, but no laugh reaches her eye. There isn’t fear either, just anger maybe? Chris reads the paper again, biting his cheek. 

“But who?”

“Sounds like Osmund Saddler’s cult is still up and running,” Jill spits out, though it looks like she didn’t want to by the way she won’t make eye contact. “So are the plagas.” 

“It was for nothing.” Chris breathed, his breath hitching, catching in his throat. Like an idiot. Soldiers didn’t cry. He steeled himself, digging his fingernails into his flesh until he could feel hot pockets of blood starting to form. “He died for nothing. ” He repeats, this time, more seething fury etched in his tone. 

All of his memories started flooding back, attacking him, drowning him. 

He and Leon were in Spain, trying to find Ashley Graham, the daughter of the president. It was originally only Leon’s duty, but complications and colliding interest led Chris to be dropped off a couple days after the agent. He hadn’t minded, thinking it would be a good time to size up the guy his sister was fawning over, but it seemed to go the opposite. Chris had expected to hate him, the government’s golden boy, the DSO’s lapdog, all names given to Leon by multiple different people. So, there was a version of the man Chris was expecting to meet. A perfect snooty version. One that didn’t exist. 

Leon wasn’t perfect, and he knew it. He was damn close, but no one could ever get him to admit that. The guy was honestly corny at times, and aloof, but when it was time to get the job done, he became what everyone knew him to be. Chris had never seen someone work so fast, so efficiently without even trying. He was patient with Ashley, though it was obvious there were times she was getting on his nerves. He always put the girl and Chris first, sacrificing himself a multitude of times for their safety, and then he would shrug it off in the end saying he was just doing his job. That made Chris realize what Claire saw in Leon,  he was no longer worried for her. She was in good hands. That was before it all went to shit. 

Leon had gone in alone. Leaving Chris and Ashley a path they could not follow. Sure, he could’ve if he tried, but Leon instructed him never to leave Ashley’s side. After the plaga was relieved from her body, they needed to be extra careful. They had waited for what seemed like hours, waited for the agent to take down the man, clearing a path so they could finally go home. But nothing happened. Nothing until the explosion. Chris remembers ripping open his knapsack, scrounging for the bombs, his bombs, for the mines. Leon had taken them up to Saddler, knowing full well what he was doing. And Chris had let him. He had just waited, like an idiot, thinking nothing could kill Leon. He was invincible. No matter what, he always got back up again. How could Chris be so stupid? So naive? Nobody was invincible. Not even Leon Kennedy.

The worst part was going home. Writing the reports. KIA. Deceased. Telling the DSO, the BSAA, explaining his incompetence over and over and over again. Then there was telling Claire. He still remembers the look on her face, how could he forget? It burned into his mind, never truly leaving. The heartbreak, the rage, the pain, all twisted in his sister’s face after she realized the man she loved wasn’t coming back for that stupid wedding rehersal. And it was Chris’s fault. She had screamed at him, telling him it was his fault and all he could do was stand there and take it. Because what was he supposed to say? It was true, and he knew it. Standing in that pouring rain three years ago in front of his sister’s house, he knew it. And he still does. 

“Chris.” Jill’s hardened voice brings him back to reality. He blinks a couple of times, settling on her worried features. 

“Sorry, it’s nothing, sorry,”

“He died saving Ashley and you . That’s not nothing.” Chris could have laughed at her. Right, because he was more important than Leon. It was obvious who the DSO, BSAA, and Claire preferred. 

“Just, how, how is his cult still alive? It’s been three years since Saddler’s death, and I thought the plaga had been exterminated.” Chris shoes away Jill’s attempt at comfort, it won’t matter anyway. Nothing will reprieve him from the weight of Leon’s death. Jill frowns, but apparently decides not to push it. “Good.” Chris thinks. 

“Don’t know,” Jill leans back in her chair, resting her thick-cut combat boots on the table. “But it’s scaring the hell out of BSAA and DSO. They want to exterminate it quickly and quietly. That’s where you come in.” She motions to Chris with a nod of her head and he points to himself. 

“Me?” He sounds taken aback, and he is, spying isn’t his forte. Everybody knows that. “Why me of all people? Why not someone like, I don't know, you.” He points at her and she shakes her head. 

“Cause you’re the best guy when it comes to B.O.W.’s, and apparently, they’re covering France right now.” Jill explains to him. She’s right, and he hates that. Of course France just happens to be crawling with B.O.W.’s and of course he has to be the guy to exterminate them. Great. This day is turning out just great.

“It just gets worse from there, too.” She pulls up her phone and spins it around on the table, pushing it to Chris. On the screen is a blurry photo of what looks to be a man in a black tee and matching cargos that are decked out in knife pouches galore. His hair is blond, but dull, unkempt. There’s a hardened expression in the man’s eyes, but the rest of his face is covered by a mask. “They call him the black mask.” 

“Original.” Chris rolls his eyes, squinting at the picture and trying to get a better look at the man. “Do we have any idea who he is?” Jill shakes her head at his question. 

“If they do, they haven’t told me.” She shrugs, taking her phone back. “But he’s got it out for us, and apparently Ada Wong.” 

“And what’s his part in this?” 

“I’ll get to that.” Jill glances at the photo one more time before turning off her screen and focusing back on Chris. 

“He can’t be that much of a threat.” Chris says more to himself than anyone. In his mind, he's planning to drive to Claire’s house as soon as he gets off work to make sure she’s okay. 

“You can’t go to Claire’s house.” It’s almost like Jill can read his mind.

“Why?” There’s a defensive tone in his voice, that he doesn’t even try to hide.
“Because we’re going to France.” Jill stands, stretching. She says it so casually, it takes a second for it to register in Chris’s head. 

“What?” 

“We’re going to France, following two new bioterrorists that have been flying under BSAA’s radar for far too long. Their names are Achille Weiss and Oliver Sabin. They're hosting a party at their shared mansion, Monin Manior, it's a ‘charity’ event.” She puts the words in air quotations, donning a sarcastic drawl. “In reality, they’re using the party to ship off loads of a new virus without being detected.”

"There's another virus?” Chris wishes he was surprised, but there were only so many times that a call like that could surprise a guy.

“Unfortunately.” Jills nods. “So, BSAA, TerraSave, and the DSO are teaming up, they want us to gather more intel on Weiss and Sabin, make sure we have the right guys. We’ll infiltrate the party, do some snooping, y’know, Carlos’s thing.” 

“He’s coming? Who are his employers?”

“Don’t know, it was pretty hush hush, but yeah, you, me, Carlos, and Claire.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Chris stands, hands held up. “Clare is not coming with us to France. Scratch that, Claire and I both aren’t going to France! We have literal bounties on our heads, and we’re just gonna go up to the people who literally hired a masked ninja assassin to kill us and ‘snoop around’ for evidence to incarcerate them?” He yells, not really at Jill, its more directed at the BSAA. The BSAA and their disregard for their agents and soldiers. It’s something Chris has always been fighting against, but he never seems to win. Jill  strides over to Chris, until they’re inches apart. 

“Look, Redfield, I don’t want to do this either, okay? All I want is for you, Claire, and Carlos to be safe from that crazy masked man, but think about it. If we’re all together, we can watch each other’s backs.” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “The mission was just gonna be me and you, I had to convince them we needed Carlos and Claire. So, if we have to go, we might as well bring them with us. They know how to hold their own.”

“Claire can’t, she’s not ready for the field right now, you know this!” Chris shakes his head, rubbing his forehead. He paces in circles around the lunchroom, ignoring the fact that it’s way past his break. 

“BSAA doesn’t! They don’t care, Chris!” Jill grabs his arm. “We aren’t people! We’re expendable soldiers, okay?! They don’t care what happens to us as long as we get the job done, so we might as well stick it out for each other if we can.” Her voice is rough, but there’s kindness layered deep beneath it. Chris knows. She’s right, she always is. The BSAA wouldn’t give a damn if he dropped dead on the floor right now, much less if Claire did. Having her close might be the only way to protect her. “Hey,” Jill tightens her grip on his arm, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “I will always put Claire first, got it? No matter what.” 

“Jill, you can’t-”

“No.” Her voice is firm. “Claire first. Okay?”

“Okay.” Chris gives in, his shoulders relaxing. Jill lets go of his arm. “Thank you.” 

“You would do the same for me.” She waves him off. “Now you should go home and pack anything you want to bring that the BSAA won’t give you.” Jill plats him on the back, grounding him, making him feel a bit better. But he can’t deny the sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s there, and it’s very present. It feels like they’re walking right into a mousetrap, one with a cackling cat right above them. 

Claire

Claire was at the airport two hours after she got the text from Jill, two a.m. to be exact. She was actually the first one there, period. France, she had always wanted to go there when she was a little girl, and now here she was, being sent on a death mission there. It’s not like she minded though, there was actually a bit of relief that went through her once she knew her weekend plans of lying in bed all day were skewed.

France gave her something to do, it gave her something to look forward to, to put all her effort into. There was only so much paperwork she could fill out to keep herself busy and away from people’s prying questions. It’s not that she didn’t like people, it was just, people asked questions, and they wanted her to have answers. Answers she never had.

The only problem she had with the mission was Chris. Her older brother, someone she had always been close to, until as of late. Saying they weren’t on talking terms was sugar-coating it, at least in Claire’s eyes. And she wanted to keep it that way, she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, even after all this time.

All this time after…she took a deep breath, exhaling. Her leg had started thumping wildly on the ground as she chewed her nails. She was a mess, there was no other way to say it. The worst half of it being she was always like this, and for three years at that. You would think after the horrors she’d been through, she’d be able to pull herself together after one stupid casualty. She chides herself, thinking; “Cmon Claire, pull yourself together.”

A voice interrupts her thoughts and she glances up to be faced with a very dressed down Carlos. He had a big smile on his face as he carried two heavy-looking duffel bags. His outfit consisted of a Hawaiian shirt, the three top buttons carefully left unbuttoned, and a pair of comfy sweatpants. It occurred to Claire she had never seen him without all of his tactical gear, and he cleaned up much nicer than she expected. 

“Claire,” Carlos nodded to her. “Okay if I sit?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Claire scooted over, making room for the guy, who plopped down in exhaustion. “You look good.” She motions half-heartedly to his get-up. He stifles a laugh. 

“Yeah, thought I might as well pretend like I’m not being paid to be here.” Pulling out his phone, he checks the time before stuffing it back in his pocket. Claire had to agree with that, it was a lot easier to go on missions if she pretended like it was some vacation. It kept her mind from running rampant about all the things that could go wrong, an outbreak, a backstab, a death. She shudders, reminding herself of what Carlos just said. Vacation. It was just a vacation. “You look tired.” He points out, a bit rudely, but once Claire shoots up to retort, she notices the worry in his dark eyes. Her shoulders relax. 

“Yeah, well, I got like three hours of sleep last night.” She admits, grabbing her ponytail and running her hands through it. Truth was, she never got any sleep. She had been up all night, pacing, wondering, thinking. So much could go wrong on this trip, and it would be her fault. She would slip up and someone she cared about would die. Those were the thoughts that kept her up all night. Carlos blew out a breath and whistled quietly as Jill sauntered up to them. 

“Ugh, she always looks so great.” He grumbled to himself, but his smile was ever present on his face. He was glad she looked good. Jill was wearing a white tank with black sweats and a matching jacket. Her red suitcase clicked loudly on the ground as she walked. 

“Hey guys,” She waves tiredly. “Next time I’ll make sure to ask that they don’t send us on a six a.m. flight.” 

“Please do.” Carlos nodded his head vigorously in agreement. “You don’t know how many alarms I had to set.” 

“I can imagine a lot based on how much time you took on that outfit of yours.” Jill raised her eyebrows, eying him up and down. There was an amusement on her face, making Carlos’s smile widen. 

“You like what you see?” 

“Hardly.” She brushed past him, opting to sit next to Claire. “How are you doing?” There was this sympathy to her voice, one that made Claire sick. Don’t get her wrong, it was good that Jill cared about her, but she still hated the sound of grating sympathy. It was like they knew she was struggling, was it that obvious? 

“Me? I’m doing great, how are you?” She avoids eye contact, partly because of her irritation, but partly because she knows Jill will see right through her. 

“I’m tired, but I’m here.” Jill sighs.

“You can say that again.” Carlos butts in. “Hey, where’s Chris?” He sits up and uncrosses his arms, scanning the bustling airport for the large man. He should be fairly easy to spot in a crowd, but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

“He better be here soon,” Jill glances at her phone. “Our flight leaves in forty minutes.” 

“He’ll be here,” Claire shrugs. “He’s always late.” It was true, it was something Chris was very good at. He would be here. Carlos and Jill exchanged glances with each other before looking at Claire. 

“Well, tell him to hurry up.” Carlos thankfully breaks the uncomfortable silence that had started to engulf them. If there’s one thing that Claire is grateful for with this trip, it’s that he’s here to alleviate any tension with his bad jokes and optimistic personality. 

“Hurry up what?” A deep, rough voice questions right behind Carlos, making the man jump back. 

“ Ey! Don’t scare me like that, man!” He frowns as a smile spreads across Chris’s hard features. Claire folds her arms at the sight of her brother, turning away from him, and hoping he won’t approach her. She doesn’t want to deal with him, not now, not ever. 

“Don’t get scared so easily then,” Chris shrugs, dropping his bags to the floor and giving Jill a small greeting. “How you guys doing?” Tired seemed to be the consensus and Chris sat down next to Carlos, running a hand over his hair. 

“Ready for France?” Carlos nudged him.

“ Oui Oui.” Chis replied dryly before stealing a glance at his sister. One that Claire notices. She buries herself in her phone, pretending like she’s looking at a very intriguing text message. Once she’s sure his gaze is off her, she stands. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom before our flight leaves.” She jabs a weak thumb in the direction of the restrooms. Jill nods her head silently, acknowledging her words. 

“Just be back in time to board.” Claire nods her head and gets up to make her way to the bathroom, tucking a loose strand of hair from her face. It’s pretty empty in there, save for an old lady washing her hands in the sink. The lights flicker momentarily, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Sighing, she chooses the stall furthest from the door and collapses. 

“Pull yourself together.” She hits a fist the the middle of her forehead, trying to ground herself. This shouldn’t be this hard. But why is it? Why does her heart keep racing, why does her mind keep running laps around her? Why can’t she look at Chris? This wasn’t like her. She was supposed to be confident, borderline cocky. This wasn’t her. That’s what Leon would tell her, but that doesn’t matter, he’s not here anymore. He might also tell her that she needed to pull herself together, no he wouldn’t. He would say something stupid, something corny about being a team and ‘getting through this, the both of us’. Then Claire would nod her head and act like she didn’t care too much, but it made her heart flutter.

“No.” Her mind told her. “Leon’s gone, he’s not gonna save you now.” She exhales.“C’mon, Redfield.” She steels herself, tightening her fists. “You’ve survived zombie apocalypses, you can do this.” She pulls herself up and unlatches the door, making her way to the sink. She turns it on, washing her hands while looking in the mirror.

Carlos was right, she did look tired. She looked like she had been through hell and back with dark bags underlining her usually vibrant blue eyes. Wrinkles creased her brows and forehead as if she were always scowling, which wasn’t her best look by a long shot. What happened to her? She rubbed the creases on her forehead like she could wipe them away with a moment's notice. It wasn’t that easy. She frowned, rubbing with a harsher force. “Look at yourself, Claire.” She gazed down at the water, trickling down the sink and into the drain like a sad river.

Her hands gripped the edge of the ceramic, stabling herself. There was her ring, still sitting on her finger with no real meaning at all. It’s dull now, and she contemplates throwing it away from time to time, but she can never make herself do it. It’s stupid, really. Claire forces herself to look up, back at the mirror. “You need to get it together.”

Carlos

He hated the idea of going on a mission right now, especially teaming up with the DSO, BSAA, and TerraSave. It’s not like he hated them, and thankfully the people he was working with were his friends, but the thought of them being in danger just soured his mood even more. Especially with Jill coming along. The two of them hadn’t been on a mission together in forever, and he had Umbrella to thank for that. Once he was officially unemployed by them, his future employers were notified of his ‘penitent to favor certain women over his job’.

That was the end of his employers teaming up with the BSAA.

So, him being on a mission with Jill, they must have been pretty desperate to send a team out there, this only served his anxiety, and fueled more questions. Like why Claire and Chris were tagging along. Spying wasn’t really in their line of work, so it was odd that BSAA chose them to be their representatives for this mission.

It didn’t make sense.

Not that it helped they were all being chased by a bounty hunter while they completed this mission. It’s hard to focus on a job when you have a masked assassin breathing down your neck waiting for you to slip up so they can blow your brains off. So, Carlos was tense, a little more tense than usual, and it was getting harder to hide. Especially from the likes of Jill, he loved her, but damn she was too good at reading between the lines. Another reason why he fell for her, he guessed. “She doesn’t like you.” The voice in his head graciously reminded him. “She rejected you, remember?” 

“I know, I know.” Sighing, he rolls his neck and pulls out his phone. Surfing the internet would keep his mind off Jill, he hoped. 

“You know what?” Chris eyed him suspiciously. Right. He was sitting next to Chris.
“I know that my back’s gonna kill me on this flight,” Groaning, he smoothly drifts away from his subject thoughts. “Where’s Claire anyway? She pooping?” That comment got him a death glare from Chris, so he made a mental note never to say that again. But after Chris got over what he had said, his brows furrowed and he scanned the airport. 

“Wait, where is she? She should be back by now, right?” He turned to Jill as if she would have an answer. She shrugs. 

“Want me to check the bathrooms?” Both men nodded, so she groaned and picked herself up, stretching. “She’s probably just lost track of time” She mutters under her breath, but goes anyway. 

“I’m here! I’m here!” Claire dashes up to the group. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching the time.” Jill turns around to look at the men with an “I told you so” face that Carlos adores. 

“What took you so long?” Chris questions in a very brotherly-stern tone. 

“I said I wasn’t watching the time.” His sister responds dryly.

“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt,” Carlos thought to himself. Honestly, this mission was carrying more baggage and drama than any mission he’d gone on in the past, and that was saying something. He didn’t mind it, mostly because it didn’t affect him, but also because it was kind of interesting. It spiced things up a bit, as bad as that sounded to say. He really did hope Chris and Claire worked out what they had going on, but for the time being, it was his sole entertainment on this mission.

“Attention passengers of flight 315, we are missing Chris Redfield, Claire Redfield, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira. Again, we are missing Chris Redfield, Claire Redfield, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira. Our flight will depart in five minutes.” 

“That’s our cue,” Carlos jerks a head to their gate. “We gotta get going, Chris.” The BSAA captain seems less than thrilled to leave, but he gives in with a groan. 

They get on their flight fairly easily and settle in their seats. Carlos and Jill are next to each other, someone at the BSAA must love him, and Chris and Claire are  far in the back. Their flight is packed with people looking forward to getting away from dull boring America and recuperating with a glass of wine in hand. Carlos surveys the area, getting a rundown of all of the people around him. A bad habit, he knows, but it makes him feel better. There’s a group of middle-aged women in front of him, each with honey-brown hair, gossiping up a storm and smelling distinctly of cigars. A man behind him coughs violently, must be an old guy, and his guess is correct by the sound of the guy’s voice. 

“Damn France,” The man grumbles. “You know, Sheryl, Greece would be a lot better for my asthma.” The woman next to him, presumably Sheryl, mutters. 

“You don’t know that. Arnold. You should be glad we’re going on vacation at all.” The rest of the people on the flight don’t stand out too much, just college students or business employees, the usual. He relaxes in his seat, rolling his neck.

“Your neck sore?” Jill starts a conversation, her head stuck in the emergency pamphlet. Carlos looks up.

“Yeah, I think I slept on it wrong.” He rubs it, wincing. 

“Do you want some ibuprofen?”

“Aw, Jill, you can just ask me on a date, y’know?” He deflects her offer, maybe it’s a nervous habit, but he likes to think it’s because of his pride or something manly like that. He’s got a nasty routine of staving off Jill’s worry with flirtation, but it hasn’t really been working. “Obviously. She rejected you.” Those three words seemed to circle his mind no matter what. It’s like he couldn’t get away from them. 

“I’ll ask you on a date the day Wesker comes back to life.” Jill snorts, he likes her laugh, though it’s kind of weird to say. There’s just something about her letting loose, dropping the badass agent facade when she’s comfortable. 

“I thought I’d shoot my shot.” Carlos holds up his hands in mock-defense, a playful grin on his face. Jill smiles back and her eyes meet him. She quickly pulls her gaze away and back into the pamphlet. 

“What do you think we’re gonna find there?” Her tone fades into seriousness. Carlos frowns. 

“Hm?” He pauses. “I don’t know, but we’re gonna find some damn good evidence to lock those bastards up for good.” 

“You say that with so much optimism.” Jill sighs, resting her head on the back of her seat. Her eyebrows furrow and she bites her lip. She’s worried, Carlos sees it. Usually she doesn’t show it, but this is different. There’s a bounty on their heads, making this mission all the more dangerous. Knowing Jill, she was probably thinking of all the ways the mission was going to go wrong. He wants to say something to comfort her, but it would probably turn into some stupid joke. That wouldn’t help her, it would probably just make things worse. So, he opts to say;

“Someone’s gotta be the glass half-full guy, and it's not gonna be you or Chris anytime soon.” This earns him a small smile from the woman. 

“Yeah,” She shifts. “You got that right.” Her agreement hopefully meant she was going to be okay.

“Only eleven more hours left till we get to L’hexagone. ” Carlos notes, gazing out the window. 

“Right,” Jill breathes. “Eleven hours.”

Chris 

Chris squeezed into the row of seats, his muscles making it hard to fit lithely. He let out an annoyed groan and plopped into his seat. It still felt tight. “Why couldn’t they make these damn seats bigger-”

His eyes caught on a familiar red jacket, and his own sister took the seat next to him with a huff. She immediately pulled out her phone and began scrolling. Chris tore his eyes away, not wanting to seem invasive. “Not even a hello,” Chris thought. But he understood her reasoning. He hadn’t even tried to stop Leon from going into that castle. Leon obviously hadn’t revealed his true intentions, but still. Chris should’ve realized the signs. He didn't even register the man stealing explosives from his bag until it was too late.

Chris squeezed his eyes shut. The stark fact that he could’ve prevented Leon’s death was a burden he bore for the past three years. It tore him to pieces when he watched the castle explode, watching the walls crumble. And it had broken him even more when Ashely had collapsed, screaming his name. The scent of the smoke still lingered in his nose. He could recall the crumbly gravel in between his fingernails, the weight of his weapons strapped to his back. The sounds of Ashely’s cries echoing far louder than the explosion could have, haunting him, an ever present reminder of his failure-

“Chris? Chris?”

Claire’s voice echoed in his ears, grounding him in the present. He blinked slowly, as if he had woken from a dream. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he tried to make his lips form words. 

“Wha- what?”

Claire looked at him with wide, confused eyes. ‘Uh, you need to put your duffle in the above compartment.”

Chris then realized that Claire and a flight attendant were looking at him strangely. He felt heat rise into his cheeks, and bowed his head. “Uhh, right. Sorry.”

“The plane will take off in a few minutes, so I just wanted to let you know.” The flight attendant said apologetically, as if she was sorry for waking Chris from a nap.

“Yeah, thanks.” Chris tried to flatten himself as he shuffled out of the row and put his duffle in the overhead compartment. After another ordeal of shuffling back to his seat, he huffed out a frustrated sigh and pulled out his phone. He stopped midway before clicking on messages when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He identified them to be Claire’s, who was still looking at him with a confused expression, but her eyes had softened a bit into concern. 

“You good?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. I just spaced out there for a sec.”

“We called your name like five times.”

Really?” Chris’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize. Sorry.”

Claire’s lips pulled into a tight line, a telltale sign that she was worried. Chris wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but he didn’t have a clue of what to say. Hell, he didn’t know how to start a normal conversation with her, since she’d been ignoring him for the past three years. What a way to be brought together. Bioterrosim had a way of doing that. 

Chris pulled out his phone again, preparing for a long, tight, and uncomfortable flight. He also expected there to be silence on Claire’s part. Would it be like this for the whole mission? Claire couldn’t avoid him the whole mission. At some point they would have to talk, plan, and collaborate. She would have to listen to him, and he would have to listen to her. They both had to put the past behind them in order to complete this mission. Maybe it was finally time to move on, to accept the happenings and the outcome. Again, shit like bioterrorism had a way of forcing people together. Just like Raccoon City forced Leon and Claire together. 

Chris mentally slapped himself for allowing that thought to pass through his head. Instantly the castle was before him, collapsing on itself, towers leaning in on each other. A smoke cloud reached high into the sky, spreading its gloom on the ground below. Chris could feel the heat of the flames, the faint breeze that did little to cool him off,  and a hand gripped on his forearm. The tiniest of sensations sprouted across his arm, small and wet. Tears. 

Suddenly the ground shook beneath Chris, and an electronic voice sounded from the overhead speakers. 

“This is your Captain Willis today, we are getting ready for takeoff-”

Chris allowed the announcement to filter into the background, but pushed his feet into the floor of the plane. He attempted to ground himself in the moment as the plane slightly lurched forward, being guided to the take off spot. He stole a glance at Claire, who had her headphones on and was still staring at her phone. Exhaling, Chris remembered his original thought process before he spiraled again. Working with Claire in the field. They need to be on talking terms again. Right. 

Cautiously, Chris lightly tapped his sister on the shoulder. She gave no response, totally invested in whatever she was watching. Rolling his eyes, Chris poked her again, but harder. Claire pulled her arm away and gave Chris an annoyed look, pulling down her headphones. 

“What?”

Chris rolled his shoulders, this was going to be one hell of a conversation. “Okay, look. I know we haven’t interacted a bunch, and definitely haven’t worked together in a long while, but listen. We both have a job to do, and an important one at that. We both need to put our differences aside and agree to work together. And that starts with cutting the silent treatment.” 

Claire stared at him, her lips drawn into a slight frown. She then scratched behind her ear, using the movement to look away from Chris. “I know that we have to work together and interact on this mission. Believe me, I wasn’t planning on letting anything get in the way of that.” She hefted out a sigh, and turned back to her brother. “But let's just keep it at mission talk for now, okay?”

Chris raked a hand through his short hair, trying to cover his disappointment. All he wanted was for Claire to be his sister again. He loved her and missed her calls, visits, and the times they spent together. He especially missed when they would go to bars together and point out weird people and laugh about them. A small smile lingered on his lips, but Chris quickly tucked it away. Those times were gone. Things were different. And if this was the way Claire wanted them to be, then so be it. 

“Okay, sounds good.” 

Jill

The flight was pretty uneventful, and Jill slept most of the way. It was easier to relax knowing Carlos was sitting next to her. She wasn’t dreading landing, not like she thought she would be, she was itching to be on the field. It felt like it had been too long since she was really doing something important, most of her days were spent writing reports and faxing them over to government agencies that didn’t give a shit. This mission was different though, she was back in action, actively making a difference. She turns to Carlos as the plane lands, nudging his shoulder. He’s sleeping soundly, brows knotted and arms crossed. Even in his sleep he didn’t let his guard down, but Jill assumed she looked pretty much the same. One too many close encounters with death will do that to a person. 

“Carlos, we’re here.” She shakes him harder until his eyes flutter open. His deep brown eyes. Jill’s nose scrunches, did she really just think that? 

“What?” Carlos’s eyes shot open and his hand moved to his hip, where one of his many guns usually rests. He blinks back, noticing it’s not there and then sighs, falling into his seat. “I’m assuming we’ve landed?” Grogginess sets back into his voice once he realizes they aren’t in any danger. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” Jill gets up and opens the top compartment, pulling out her bags. “I’ve got your bags if you got our backpacks.” 

“Aye aye, captain.” Carlos grabbed their backpacks and slung them over each of his shoulders. He was a tad bit more muscular than the last time Jill had seen him and she hated how she noticed that of all things. “You excited to drink some wine and eat some bread?” Carlos joked behind her as they filed out of the plane. Jill rolled her eyes, leave it to Carlos to make light of a situation like this. She would never admit it, but she was glad at least someone here wasn’t morbidly depressed, and didn’t have any personal vendettas against certain people. Jill knew Chris and Claire were going to be a ride, so at least she would have someone to confide in when their bickering got to be too much. 

“You know very well we’re not going to be doing that.” She responded, not able to hide the smile appearing on her lips. Thank god he was behind her. “Follow me.”

“Speak for yourself Señorita. ” Carlos continued. “But you know what they say, when in Rome…” He left the thought open ended and Jill didn’t respond. She was too busy weaving her way through the crowd of people, trying to find an opening to regroup.

“Hey, Oliveira.” She called, turning around, looking for the mop of curls amidst the sea of people. 

“Yeah, behind you.” Carlos responded and she whipped around. Sure enough, he was right behind her, still shouldering their bags. 

“Don’t sneak up on me.”

“You’re the one who told me to follow you.” He shrugs and does a one-eighty. “Where’s the Redfields?” 

“They were in the back of the plane, so probably still trying to get off.” Jill pulls out her phone, opening an email from none other than Piers Navin, showing them where their safehouse will be. “Our apartment’s an hour from the airport.” At her words, Carlos groaned. 

“I hope the BSAA’s gonna pay for my chiropractor appointments after this.”

“You’ll be fine.” Jill rolled her eyes yet again. 

It didn’t take long for Chris and Claire to catch up to them, though there was still an obvious tension between the two. Jill and Carlos both silently decided not to question them on anything as they made their way to their taxi. Thankfully, Carlos knew French, which didn’t surprise Jill in the slightest, but Claire and Chris? They were all over him in seconds asking him to translate simple phrases they had heard over the years. The car ride didn’t take nearly as long as Jill thought it would, she was just glad most of the tension had dissipated thanks to Carlos’s French lessons, and soon, they were standing in front of a thin red brick building with an emerald green door.

“This is it,” Jill opened her car door, climbing out and placing her hands on her hips. 

“It’s not the worst thing in the world.” Chris was unpacking all of their bags from the trunk while Carlos set up a payment with their taxi. Claire stood next to Jill, crossing her arms and frowning. “What’s the matter, Redfield? Not to your liking?” Jill nudged her playfully and the other woman grinned. 

“I prefer spooky mansions infested with zombies.” This made Jill raise her eyebrows in surprise and she broke into a smile. 

“You’re hilarious.” 

“I know,” Claire nodded in affirmation. “Key?” 

“All yours,” Jill handed the woman a dull golden key with a red tag on it reading merci. The red-head made her way to the door, unlocked it and opened it up. Whatever France was doing to Claire, Jill liked it. It was almost like seeing the old Claire again, someone she hadn’t seen in almost three years. It would be a flat out lie to say it didn’t make her happy to see the woman like this. It’s what she deserved, happiness. 

“Got all our stuff.” Chris slammed the trunk and slapped the hood of it to let the driver know he was done. “This house gonna fit all us?”

“We’ll have to room up, but it’ll be fine.” Jill grabbed her bag from Carlos and followed Claire in. “I call Claire!” She shouted, waving behind before she disappeared into the house.

“C’mon, Jill, you’re not gonna make me sleep with Carlos are you?!” Chris laughed, clapping Carlos on the back.

“Aw, Chris, did you want to stay up and paint your nails with Jill?” The man retorted in a light tone, lugging his belongings into the house. 

The apartment was fairly standard, there was a small entryway that led into an even smaller kitchen. Two cabinets on one side, a stove, sink, and a fridge were their only appliances. “Guess we’re washing all our dishes by hand.” Jill opened the fridge to find complementary water bottles and a piece of paper written in french that she made a mental note to give to Carlos later so he could translate it. There was a bedroom across from the kitchen with two twin sized beds against the floral wallpaper. Chris was going to love this. The room was a jack and jill, leading to a virtually similar room. Jill could only find one bathroom, which was next to the living room. There was a small tv with a velvet couch facing it. In front of the couch was a mahogany coffee table with a stack of books in the middle of it. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Chris’s deep voice groaned. His bags audibly dropped to the floor and Jill could only assume he saw their living arrangements. Almost immediately after his words, Carlos burst out laughing. 

“Damn bro, maybe you’d be better off on the floor.” 

“Shut up before I pummel you, Oliveira.” Chris grumbled, cursing under his breath as he made his way out into the living room. Claire and Jill sat down on the couch, pulling out their phones almost simultaneously. 

“Did you like your bed?” Jill asked, not looking up but smiling all the same. Chris let out a huff at her words and collapsed into a blue armchair across from the couch. 

“Who’s the interior designer for this place?” Carlos exited the room, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “A blind woman?” 

“Carlos,” Jill reprimanded. “It’s not that bad, and it’s just a safe house. It’s not like we’re going to be spending all of our time here.” This was temporary, and despite the excitement everyone was feeling right now, they still had a mission. Jill reminded herself that constantly. Don’t get too comfortable, always be on guard. 

“They could still give us a pretty one.” Carlos mumbled a half-hearted retort, making his way to the fridge. “Did they leave any food?” 

“You’ll have to go to the store.” Jill responded. 

“I’ll go with you!” Claire shot up from her spot, earning her confused glances from those around her. “What? I just want some fresh air.” 

It was decided that Claire and Carlos were going to get food and Chris and Jill would hold down the fort and go over  the debriefing first. They would be infiltrating Weiss and Sabin’s party at the Monin Manoir, thankfully some tech whiz at the BSAA already got them invitations. Their aliases left a lot to be desired, but it was just a mission, so Jill tried to brush it aside. She and Chris would be Thomas and Agnes Blythe, a wealthy couple from Virginia, who dabbled in bioterrorism affairs from time to time. Claire and Carlos were Helena and Eduardo Hernandez, again, another couple, but this time, from the shores of Costa Rica. They built an empire from selling all forms of viruses to different dealers. It was a hell of a backstory, Jill would give the BSAA that, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. 

“By the detail in these aliases, I’m guessing we’re gonna be doing a lot of talking.” Chris groaned. Poor guy, he hated normal conversations and now he was expected to fake one and not trip up lest he blow their cover. Jill couldn’t imagine how nervous he was for the party. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll have your back.” She promised, a sympathetic look passed through her eyes. 

“You don’t really have a choice.” Chris grimaced, dropping the papers they had spread on the table and leaning back in his chair. True, but she would have helped him even if she did. She knew parties weren’t his scene, especially over the top lavish ones, so she made a mental note to do most of the talking. 

“Hey, how’s Claire doing, by the way?” Jill swiftly changes the subject, collecting their debriefs and placing them in a neat pile on the corner of the coffee table. She doesn’t want to come off as nosy, but she can’t hold it in any longer. A part of her hopes Claire’s in such a good mood because she and Chris finally put aside their differences, but she knew that was a long shot. Chris audibly sighed at her question, closing his eyes.

“How do you think she’s doing?” 

“Well, I’d say bad based on your reaction.” Jill folded her legs. “I was hoping you guys would talk on the flight.” 

“Oh, we talked,” A twinge of irritation bit in his tone. “But we didn’t get anywhere.” There was a defeated look to him, Jill had to admit. It was hard to talk to Claire when she was so dead set on something, she was stubborn that way, Chris knew that better than anyone. 

“I’m sorry,” Jill didn’t really know what else there was to say. She wasn’t very good at stuff like that, which is why she and Chris got along so well. The two of them would rather talk with their fists than with their mouths. 

“It’s fine, it’s not like I expected us to make up or whatever.” Chris shrugs away her apology, running a hand over his head. “No big deal.” He finishes in a tone that makes it seem like it’s a very big deal. 

“Yeah,” Jill sounded.

“Yeah,” Chris repeated, tracing his fingers along the grooves in the arm of the chair. He inhaled. “I don’t think I’m ready for tonight.” Jill was waiting for him to admit that and he actually took longer than she expected. 

“I know.” 

“Wow, thanks for your support.” He rolls his eyes, but grins.

“I’m just agreeing with what you said.” 

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Claire

Claire was itching to get out of the safehouse the moment she had stepped inside it. Everything was too close, too cramped, and it didn’t help at all with her vow to never talk to her brother again. But she knew Jill was worried about her, it was so painfully obvious that she decided to fake a change of heart, just to throw her off her scent a little. Jill didn’t need to be worrying about her, she had everything under control. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Carlos was walking strides ahead of her, but he must have noticed her silence. She runs up to match his pace and shrugs her shoulders. 

“Nothing much. You?”

“I’m thinking about the party tonight.” He confesses, picking up a loaf of bread and tossing it in their backpack. “Y’know I don’t think I’m gonna get used to putting our groceries in our backpack, it feels like stealing.” 

“Yeah,” Claire hums. She surveys the store for what feels like the fifteenth time. It was actually pretty similar to an American grocery store, save for the whole bag thing. People were milling about, eyes searching for the food they needed, staff members in red dutifully stocked shelves, and a couple of kids ran around their parents' feet. “Why are you thinking about the party?” It was a dumb question, she knew that, but talking to Carlos kept her mind off things, off Chris. 

“I hope we don’t run into any trouble,” He grabs a couple cans of beans. “How long we staying here again?” 

“Three days.” 

“Damn that’s too short.” 

“It’s not like we’re on vacation.” Claire stifles a laugh. She wishes she were on vacation right about now. “And don’t say we are.” She gives him a look and he smiles. 

“Hey, let me pretend.” They walk up to the checkout counter, pay for their things, and start their trek back to the apartment. 

Jill and Chris were right where they left them, lounging in the living room, eyes glued to their phones. Jill glances up upon their arrival, eyes immediately going to Carlos, though she quickly looks back at Claire. Chris doesn’t even bother to look up. He just says;

“You got any food for me, Carlos?” At his words, Carlos throws a chunk of bread at the man and it lands in his lap. “Thanks.” 

“How was the store?” Jill stands and takes the bags from Carlos, bringing them over to the kitchen counter and setting them down. She starts to unpack things and stock the cabinets. 

“Pretty uneventful,” Claire takes a piece off the baguette they bought and she sits at one of the barstools. “And the debriefing?”

“You and Carlos will have to read it over,” Jill jerked her head to the coffee table where the papers sat. “After all, you guys are married now.” This earned Jill an incredulous glance from both Claire and Carlos. They exchanged disgusted looks with each other.

“What?” Claire went to grab the papers and flipped through them like a mad man. “Ah, dammit.” She cursed as she read and Carlos moved to hover over her, reading silently to himself. 

“C’mon, Jill, I thought you and I were a pair.” Carlos smirks, glancing up at the woman, who just crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. 

“Not tonight we aren’t.” 

“Tomorrow, maybe?” 

“Don’t push your luck.” Jill’s tone is harsh, but there’s a smile on her face. “Now,” Her eyes go down to her watch. “We should honestly probably start getting ready for the party. An operative already dropped our outfits off for the night, so just, clean up nice.” She glances at Chris when she says this, and Claire has to agree with that. This is going to be the hardest part for him, seeing as there’s not going to be anything for the guy to blow up, or rocks to punch. Chris grunts and pushes himself off the couch.

“Where’d they put our stuff?”

“Broom closet, right next to you.” Jill points to an almost invisible mahogany door and Chris yanks it open, revealing four black duffel bags, each with their names on it. 

“Carlos,” He calls, and the other man walks over, grabbing his bag. “Jill, Claire, and me.” Chris pulls out the rest of the bags and sets them on the table. Claire grabs her bag and stalks to the bathroom, calling out behind her.

“I call the bathroom.” She slams the door shut behind her and unzips her duffel bag.

Inside it is a silky burgundy dress that unfortunately reminds her of Ada. The neckline is a v-shape and the dress itself is sleeveless. The finishes are pleated carefully paired with a sweep train. Underneath it is a short white coat that’s covered in expensive looking fur. There’s a golden clasp on the front to keep it in place. A box next to it reveals a set of golden earrings with diamonds encrusted in the middle and a couple of matching hoop bracelets. She snorts at how lavish this all looked, rich people and their clothes. Untieing her hair, she shakes it about, trying to get rid of the frizz in it. “You’re gonna need to take a shower.” She tells herself, but groans all the same, flipping on the dinky shower faucet and letting the thing burst to life.

After a couple of minutes of waiting, Claire realized there would be no hot water so she’d just have to brave the cold. Great, and of course it had to be like this. She mentally pumped herself up, before stepping in and being greeted by blistering cold water. She hissed and grabbed the tiny shampoo bottle that was given to them and washed her hair as quickly as possible. 

That was definitely the shortest shower she had ever taken, and even after she got on her dress, she was still shivering. Opening a drawer in the vanity, she found a blow dryer and she used it to make her hair look presentable.

Thankfully, the BSAA had sent her with a bag of very expensive looking make-up, which kind of made up for the cold shower, and she applied it expertly. Thank goodness Ashley had taught her before she left or she’d be a goner. It almost felt like she was getting ready for prom, or a formal, and it transported her back to her youthful teenage years.

Teen Claire would have never expected to grow up to be a secret agent, that was for sure. She finished applying her make-up and zipped it back up in the blush pink bag that was provided to her. She stuffed her airport smelling clothes into the duffel and closed it. Hopefully nobody was waiting on her to be finished, because the make-up had taken a bit longer than expected. She opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, leaning against the wall and strapping on the black heels given to her. Now she really felt like Ada. 

“You look nice,” Jill smiled at her with an almost proud-like tone, making her feel a little less out of place in her ridiculous outfit. 

“Thanks, so do you.” She motioned to the woman, who was wearing a navy blue sheath style dress with a square neckline. There was a left slit on it that reached a couple inches above her knee. Her jewelry was silver, compared to Claire’s gold, and she had a bright sapphire encrusted in her necklace. She looked amazing, Claire thought. She would blend in with the crowd seamlessly, with her aura of exuberance and wealth. 

“Well, I feel ridiculous.” Jill lifted her hands up, gesturing to her body. “It’s gonna be hard to drive the bike in this thing.”

“They rented you a motorcycle?” Claire raises an incredulous eyebrow and Jill smirks. 

“I told them I wouldn’t go if they didn’t.” She plops down on the couch and motions for Claire to join her.

“Where are the boys?” She glances around the room, not seeing Chris or Carlos anywhere. 

“Taking forever to get ready, that’s where.” Jill grumbles in a light-hearted way, picking up their debriefing papers and flipping through them mindlessly. The sound of a door unlocking reveals Chris and Carlos and Claire has to audibly hold in a laugh at her brother’s get-up. It’s obviously way too small for him and his muscles, it’s almost comical. He’s wearing a basic black suit with a stunning gold watch that was most definitely just as expensive as Claire’s house payments.

The man grimaced, pulling at the neck of his dress shirt. Carlos trailed behind Chris, stuffing a gun in his pants belt. He’s donning  a similar suit, the only difference is that it’s a stark white, pairing nicely with his tan complexion and unruly curls. He’s got the same type of confidence as Jill, making Claire wonder why she and Chris were even a part of this mission at all. Carlos and Jill would easily be able to complete it without the Redfields. 

“Are we all ready for a fun night?” Carlos opened his arms wide and clapped his hands together. “Or is it just me?” 

“Just you,” Chris and Claire mumbled simultaneously, then turned, surprised at their unison. Claire glanced away, turning her back on her brother. 

“Okay, then,” Carlos tilted his head, but was quickly distracted by Jill. “Wow, Jill, you clean up better than I thought you would.” He jabs with a grin on his face. The woman gives her signature eyeroll and she stands, sizing him up and placing a hand on her hip. 

“Funny, I was just going to say the same to you.” She hands him the papers and goes back to her spot on the couch. “We’ll be working in teams tonight, Me and Chris and then you two.” She points her finger at both Claire and Carlos as she speaks. “Your guys’ job is simple, keep people talking, keep a lookout, and find the keycard that will gain Chris and I access into the computer room.”

“That doesn’t sound simple.” Carlos mutters.

“Chris and I are going to be gathering all the intel we can once we get into that room, so I’m gonna need you guys to be watching our backs at all times. Carlos, I want you to keep a headcount of security-” 

“You got it.” 

“-and Claire, be on the lookout for cameras and blindspots.” Claire nodded her head in affirmation. It was easier said than done, but not terrible. She could do this, besides, she had Carlos to help her. It’s not like she was going to be doing this alone. 

“And what if our masked friend shows up?” Chris rubs his chin, leaning against the wall. “Then what?” 

“We run like hell.” Jill states simply. “He took Ada down like it was nothing, and he’s not inclined to let us escape like he did her. If you see him, run.” Her words seemed to send a shiver through the whole group. It reminded them of the dangers they truly faced going into this mission. It almost felt like a trap, if Claire was being honest, the way the guy could sneak up on them in a moment’s notice. It scared her. She gulped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Copy that.” Her voice sounded dry. She cleared her throat. “Guess we better get going.” 

“Yeah,” Chris murmured, picking up a set of keys that lay discarded on the counter. “You driving, Jill?” 

“You know it.” She catches his key-toss with ease and spins on her heel. “Let’s get going, big guy.” The pair walked out of the apartment and toward the car garage across the street. Carlos picks up the other set of keys and pockets them. 

“Shall we?” He motions dramatically, letting Claire exit the house first. They click the unlock button a couple of times to find exactly which one is theirs. To Claire’s surprise, it’s a sleek 2019 model of the Bugatti Chiron. It looks like its never been driven by the way the light catches on its shiny exterior. Carlos lets out a whistle of admiration, pulling the keys out of his pocket. “Okay, I’m definitely driving this one.” He circled around it, taking everything in, glancing at Claire and gauging her expression. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re not a little impressed.” 

“I’m more of a bike person.” She shrugs, hopping into the passenger seat. The car smells of air freshener and cleaning supplies, expensive cleaning supplies. It almost feels like it should be in a museum, not in the hands of some government operatives. Carlos must have been thinking the same thing because he said;

“Where the fuck did they find this thing?” Claire stifled a laugh and settled herself in the leather, trying her best to feel comfortable, to brace herself for what was to come. Hopefully this would be an uneventful night.

Jill

Chris steered the bike into the courtyard of the Monin Manoir.

The courtyard they just entered wrapped around a small plot of land in the middle, on which stood a fountain. Water poured from a vase a woman held, dressed in ancient garments. She was beautiful, but her expression was solemn.

Jill couldn’t help but think it was an omen.

Green grass surrounded the driveway, with trees neatly planted in intervals along the pavement. Surrounding the front steps were various cars, mostly white and black. An impressive white SUPER TESLA 9000 sat at the front steps, glinting in the fading sunlight. J

ill watched a couple exit, the man wearing a white tux and the woman sporting a bodycon white dress. Even from her position on the motorcycle she could tell that their clothes must have cost just about as much as their car. Apparently Chris had the same thought, because he muttered “rich people” under his breath.

Turning her attention to the mansion, Jill let out a surprise whistle. It was huge, probably spanning at least three normal American houses. It had tall windows with black panes and ornate metal working around it. The exterior was mostly stone, various different types of tans and browns that blended together in a seamless pattern. Up above, the roofs were tall and pointed, with interesting spires at the top.

“Wow, this is impressive.” Jill said as Chris pulled up behind a black limousine. He killed the engine and tore off his helmet, running a hand through his short hair. Jill supposed he was trying to fix it, but there wasn’t enough hair that he’d have to worry about that. Other than that fact, she could tell that it was a nervous gesture. Carefully pulling off her own helmet, she picked a few loose hairs out of her face and smoothed them to the sides. Jill smiled at Chris, hoping it looked encouraging. 

“Ready to go in?”

Chris huffed, pulling his jacket tighter around him. “I guess. But I think this suit is too small.” He rolled his shoulders in discomfort. Jill patted him on the back in sympathy. 

“Maybe you should be cutting out a few reps, muscle man.” 

“Shut up.” Chris said with an eye roll.

A loud growl came from behind them, Carlos and Claire pulled up in a surprisingly expensive looking car. Claire quickly shoved the pricy door open, taking a gander at the mansion.

“Wow, this is something else.”

“This looks like the shit from period dramas,” Carlos said. “I’d never think I would actually get to see one.”

Jill smirked at him. “With all the undercover work you do? Please, a rich billionaire party had to have happened before.”

Carlos shrugged and  his eyes dipped sideways, something Jill’s brain registered against her will. “I’ve been to a few parties, but none as fancy as this.”

“Makes you realize how much bioterrorists make these days killing innocent people.” Chris growled, bringing everyone back to reality. Claire’s brows set in and Carlos’ easy expression faded. Jill could feel her own eyes steel over.

“Let's get this over with.” Claire mumbled, sliding her arm into the crook of Carlos’ elbow. A tingling sensation spread around Jill’s chest at the sight, but she ignored it. Chris offered his arm to her, and she took it. Together, the agents strolled towards the entrance. Jill noted the tall, thick, wooden doors that they approached. She vaguely wondered how someone would install such big doors. 

A mousy looking butler with a tiny gray mustache took their invitations with a “merci,” and let them into the mansion. Inside was almost more impressive than outside. A large staircase whipped upwards to the right, connecting onto a large balcony.

The railings of the balcony were gold, and designed in swirling patterns. Huge pillars carved with intricate designs of leaves and flowers held the balcony, decorated with gold streamers. Hanging down from the railings was a large banner saying something in French, with an exclamation point to emphasize the word. Jill had to assume that it was meant for some sort of welcome, it wouldn’t exactly say Hail Bioterrorism!

In front of them sat a huge main hall, white tile floor that reflected light from the large candelabras that hung above. An expensive looking rug covered half of the tiles, red and gold and brown and sprinkled with many designs.

All around the room people chatted, some holding glasses of champagne. Jill noted how well dressed they were, many of the men wearing colorful tuxedos to match their date’s outfit shade. Most of the women donned expensive jewelry, diamonds and rubies and gold encrusted bracelets. One of the ladies had a matching emerald watch with her husband, as they were displaying it to a group of people. 

Beside her, Chris grumbled something inaudible, and Jill traced his line of sight to the matching watch couple. 

“All that death and destruction just to have matching fucking watches?” Chris seethed, his muscles were tensed and fists clasped tight. Jill pulled Chris’ eyes away from the guests and into her own green eyes. 

“Hey, listen to me. You can’t have every rich aristocrat jab a stick up your ass just because they have some expensive shit.”
“I know,” Chris said, his voice low and threatening. “But think of all they’ve done, and for what? Just to get some fucking cash-”
“I know, I know,” Jill said. “But you can’t let it get to you. We’re here to bring them down. Remember that.” She released her tense gaze. “Don’t make me have to drag you through here, Blythe.” 

Chris’ eyebrows furrowed at the unfamiliar name, but then cleared when he remembered it was his alias for the night. 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Blythe, I won’t.” He cracks a small smile and offers his elbow to Jill, which she takes. They saunter past the main entrance, pretending to ooh and ah at the architecture, and then dipped into the parlor. Here, multiple people were sitting on colorful couches, each topped with some ornate framework. Butlers scurried around the room, offering refreshments and snacks to the guests. A short butler came up to Chris and asked him if he wanted a drink in broken English suffused by a heavy French accent. Chris took two drinks with a nod, and handed one to Jill.

“Well, he picked out the foreigners quick.”

Jill took a small sip of her drink, and her eyes caught on a large black trench coat.

The man wearing it had graying slick back hair, a short dirty blonde beard and sunglasses. She squinted, a memory floating in her mind.

Then it took hold.

Suddenly she was on a table, looking up warily at a bright light flashing in her eyes. People with masks and gloves were surrounding her, whispering to each other quietly. She could feel things in her arms, things that weren’t supposed to be there. Her breath began to come in spasms as no comfortable weight of a weapon was identified against her hip. She stretched her fingers, trying to feel for something, anything that would be useful. Her fingers wouldn’t move. Panic bloomed across her chest as she strained again, pushing willpower through her veins. The voices above her abruptly stopped, and heavy footsteps filled the room.  Out of the corner of Jill’s eye, a man came up to the table, a permanent scowl beneath his sunglasses. 

“And who might this be?”  A low, rough voice said. Jill was face to face with the sunglasses man, who was smiling, but she couldn’t tell if his smile reached his eyes. Chris, who gave Jill a concerned look, faced the man with his stone expression. 

“This is my wife, Agnes Blythe.” He started, picking up on the fact that she wasn’t going to introduce herself. 

Jill smiled, her eyes darting around, not wanting to look at the man. “Pleasure. And you are?”

“Achille Weiss.” He said, gesturing for Jill’s hand. She complied, and he kissed it, and Jill suppressed a shudder. 

“Welcome to my humble home, Mr. and Mrs. Blythe.” Weiss leaned in, his upper lip quirking slightly. “I trust you know what you’re here for?”

Jill noticed Chris’ frown deepen, so she flashed a smile. “Of course.” She struggled for another thing to say, but her brain failed her.

Weiss' face lingered at Jill’s level, and she could tell that his eyes were searching her up and down, mapping every part of her person. Her smile faltered, but she managed to cock her head to disguise it. Weiss let out a breath through his nose, Jill could feel it on her skin. Then he turned his gaze to Chris, who instantly froze. Jill silently prayed for Chris to look more open, and it seemed to get to him, because he smiled. It was weak, but it was an effort. 

“Good.” Weiss said, pulling away from them. “Help yourself to my hospitality. My house is open to you.” With one last lingering look, he stalked away. 

Jill let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and Chris put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay? You kinda spaced out there for a second.”

Jill nodded, looking away from her partner. “Yeah. He just-”

“Reminded  you of someone?” Chris had a sympathetic look in his eyes, and his hand squeezed her shoulder comfortably. He knew exactly what she was thinking. An old partner, a friend of both of theirs. Now, obviously it wasn’t him, he was dead, but that didn’t mean his memory still lingered in the crevices of both of their minds. 

“Yeah,” Jill said, taking another sip from her champagne. 

“He’s gone.” Chris said into her ear. “He won’t come back again.”

“Right.” 

Carlos 

The Manor was probably the most decked out thing Carlos had ever seen in his entire life, and that was saying something.

He tried his best to survey the area without looking too suspicious. Claire was wrapped around his arm, holding on for dear life. He could feel her fingernails grip tighter each time someone approached them. He did feel a little bad for her, this was definitely not her cup of tea. He wished he could tell her it got easier every time, at least it did for him. After every encounter each of his many personas became more seamless and distinct. It took a while to master, coming from the slums of South America where being rich was but a dream, but soon, he was like every other wealthy person that walked into the room, prudent, wasteful, and an all around bitch. 

“This sucks.” Claire mumbled under her breath, eyes darting about the room. “I’ve seen three cameras so far.” 

“You need a drink to loosen you up?” Carlos jokes, eying a security officer in the corner. “I caught our first security detail.” He jerks his head in the direction of the balding man and Claire follows his gaze. 

“There’s a lot less security than I thought there’d be.” Claire tenses as a man brushes past them. 

“Yeah,” He agrees, leading her over to the bar and giving the bartender a friendly nod. “Two sangrias, please.” The way he says it betrays a hint of his natural hispanic accent that rarely appears when he speaks normally. He doesn’t usually lean into it that much, but, he might as well play the part of Costa Rican drug lord well, right? The bartender nods a head and gets to work on their drinks straight away. Claire thrums her fingers on the counter, biting her lip. Carlos nudges her side and leans into her ear. “You look tense.” 

“Oh,” She jolts, fixing her posture to the best of her ability. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He gives her a small smile. “Just act like we’re at a party.” 

“Gee, that helps a lot.” She takes her sangria from the bartender thankfully and takes a sip. 

“How else should I word it?” He puts the rim of his glass to his lips, pausing to watch those around him. Who looks like they have information? Who doesn’t? He takes a casual sip, leaning against the bar. “Look open.” He motions to Claire, and she copies his posture. “But also uptight.” Claire furrows her brow, repositioning herself so that she’s close to him, but not as open. 

“How am I doing?” 

“Better than Chris probably is.” This gets Claire to relax a little, and she smiles. A man appears at the bar, with a woman at his side. He’s older, maybe in his sixties, Carlos guesses, with balding gray hair and golden rimmed round glasses. He has a trimmed beard that reminds him of Colonel Sanders if someone shoved a brick up his ass, judging by the way the man scowls. He orders a drink and then turns to the woman. She’s blonde, and is significantly younger, though Carlos can’t place an exact age. She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her body tightly, paired with dazzling golden hoops. She orders as well and then spins around, eying Carlos. 

“Dave, honey, I don’t think we’ve met this couple yet.” A smile spreads across her face, revealing a set of pearly whites. Her husband’s eyebrows raise and he looks like he’s sizing up Carlos. 

“I don’t remember you from the last party.” There’s suspicion in his voice, maybe he was military. He’s most definitely American while his wife has a distinctly Dutch accent. Carlos puts his arm around Claire’s waist and dons his flashiest smile.

“My name is Eduardo Hernandez, and this is my wife, Helena.” He dipped his head to Claire, who gave the couple a nod of acknowledgement. “I apologize for not meeting you sooner, Mr…”

“Buchanan. David Buchanan.” The man stiffened his coat, not bothering to shake Carlos’s outstretched hand. 

“Ah, Mr. Buchanan, you see, me and my wife are from Tica which I’m sure you’ve heard of.” He raises an expectant eyebrow as the Buchanan’s exchange confused glances. 

“I can’t say we have, Mr. Hernandez.” 

“Oh, I apologize. I meant Costa Rica, you see, Tica is a fond name us locals have given to the country.” He flashes another well placed smile at Mrs. Buchanan, she seems more privy to his charm anyway. “But you see, we had some flight delays, so we weren’t able to make it to the first party. I do hope you understand, sir.” He gave a slight bow to David, who seemed a bit taken aback. That’s right, show me your pride. Carlos waits a moment before the other man sighs. 

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Hernandez. I was just interrogating you, can’t help it sometimes.” His shoulders loosened, he was relaxed thinking Carlos felt inferior to him. Right where he wanted him. 

“So, what do you guys do?” Mrs. Buchanan pointed her glass at Claire. “How do you make you big bucks?” Carlos could feel Claire’s stomach tensing as she caught her breath and gulped. He could practically smell the fear coming off her in waves. She tightened her grip around her glass taking an excruciatingly slow sip. He should say something, so she doesn’t have to. Draw the conversation away from her and back to himself. He opens his mouth to speak, but Claire beats him to it.

“I think of it as charity work, what we do,” She starts coolly. “We buy products from outside sources and give back to the community by making them stronger and more suited for things such as war.” Damn. She pulled through, honestly surprising Carlos. Each word she spoke was veiled by kindness but hid evil intent, hats off to her, she was acting like a bonafide rich person. 

“Ah,” Mrs. Buchanan nods her head intently, as if she even gives a shit. She’s probably just making conversation to please her husband. “Very interesting operation you’ve got going on, Mr. Hernandez.” 

“It’s a family business.” Carlos replies dryly. “Nothing much.” 

“Ah,” Mrs. Buchanan repeats, shifting uncomfortably. She coughs, clearing her throat. “We should probably move on, darling. There’s so many people to talk to.” Her eyes dare to meet Carlos one last time, but she swiftly looks away. Mr. Buchanan nods in agreement, reaching out his hand to Carlos. 

“It was good to meet you Hernandez, and your wife.” He gives Claire a smile that she tries her best to return. 

“Yes, yes, likewise, likewise.” Carlos beams, shaking the man’s hand with force. With that, the Buchanan’s were gone. Claire audibly exhaled, easing up. 

“Finally.” She breathed, her eyes widening in annoyance as she watched the couple trail off. “And wow, Mr. Hernandez.” She cracks a smile and Carlos shrugs. 

“What can I say? I should’ve been an actor.” 

“You can say that again.” Claire agreed, resting her elbows on the bar, and gazing up at alcohol selection before her. “And I,”

“Did a great job.” he finishes her sentence, taking the final sip of his drink. “I mean it.” Claire glances at him, searching his eyes for some sort of pitying lie. Once she seems certain he’s telling the truth, she looks away. 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem.” He sets his glass down and puts his hands in his pockets. “Now, I think we’ve got a keycard to find.” 

“Ugh, right.” Claire groans, pushing herself off the bar and standing next to him. “Where do you think it is?” She asks a good question, really. Carlos scans the perimeter of the place, picking out more security detail scattered across the mansion. The keycard is most likely on Achille, which means they’re going to have to find a way to distract him so they can pocket it off his body. Easier said than done.

He sighs, squinting. Where there's security, there’s someone important, so he searches until he finds a clump of them, and sure enough, there’s a graying man they’re all keeping an eye on. He looks important enough, Carlos shrugs. 

“You see that guy over there? Gray hair, glasses, matrix-style outfit?” He jerks his head and Claire starts scanning the crowd until her eyes brighten. 

“Yep.”
“I think that’s our guy.” 

“Okay then,” Claire faces Carlos, determination settling in her eyes. “What’s the plan?”

Claire 

Claire hated the plan. A lot. Mostly because it was her job to keep the creepy looking guy distracted while Carlos did what he did best, which was apparently stealing. She didn’t know, that’s just what he said. Her heart thumped in her chest with each step she took up the winding staircase and toward the man. Her comms were on and Carlos was speaking quietly in her ear. 

“When I say zombie, it means I got it.” 

“Can you please choose something a little less trauma inducing?” She hissed, smiling at a woman who walked past her. 

“Okay, fine, Nemesis. Trauma-inducing for me, but not for you. Happy?” 

“Ecstatic.” She rolls her eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. The man, Weiss, is surrounded by a group of aristocats laughing about something like it’s some hysterical joke. It looked like the group was surrounding him like some sort of shield, making it that harder for Carlos to slip in unnoticed. She took in a deep breath, exhaling through her mouth before approaching the man. He took no notice of her, deep in conversation with another man. She cleared her throat. 

“Ahem,” She put on her best smile. “You must be Mr. Weiss, yes?” The man turned, mimicking her smile to a tee. That alone sent shivers up her spine. His eyes were covered by thin-dark glasses, reminding her of something that she couldn’t place her finger on. 

“I am. And you are?” He took her hand in his, shaking it with calculated precision. 

“Helena Hernandez.” His hands were cold, too cold, making her want to rip away from him as soon as possible. There was something unnatural about his gaze, it was almost inhuman. “Maybe he’s a B.O.W.” Her brain told her, which made sense. Jill had said there was an outbreak of them in France recently, and judging by the fact Weiss was a bioterrorist, well, those things seemed to go hand in hand.

“You have a husband?” Weiss questioned, motioning to her left hand, and her blood instantly ran cold. She hadn’t taken off her ring, Leon’s ring. She had forgotten to in the haste of leaving. Her breath caught in her throat, forming a lump and making it hard to breathe. 

“Not right now, Claire. Not right now.” Her eyes bored into the ring and she bit the inside of her cheek with such force that she drew blood. The coppery iron taste melted in her mouth, but served to ground her in the moment. 

“Yes,” She started a bit shaky. “His name is Eduardo.” 

“Ah,” Weiss touched a finger to his chin, stroking his blonde beard. “Interesting.” His manner of speaking was almost robotic, everything he said felt so unreal and Claire had to stop herself from running away right then and there. “You know,” Weiss brought her attention back to him. “There’s something familiar about you.” He drawled.

“There is?” Claire tried to hide her momentary cough with a smile. “Hurry up, Carlos.” She prayed he was almost done, but she hadn’t seen him move past her at all in the past five minutes. 

“Yes,” Weiss’s gaze moved back to her ring. He studied it, tilting his head. It was almost like he was looking for something by the way he scrutinized every last detail. “I think you and my friend have the same jeweler.” He finally landed on an explanation, hand caressing the diamond on her ring. “He has such a similar ring and it made me wonder, that’s all.”

“Oh, probably.” Claire laughed nervously, slowly pulling her hand away “It’s a pretty big company I got this from.” That was a lie. Leon had her ring specially made, of course he did. It matched his, fitting together like a puzzle when placed on top of each other. He had joked saying it was because of all the ‘shitty puzzles they had to solve in Raccoon’ but she didn’t really need an explanation for his corniness. She loved it anyway. 

“You’re gonna love me, Claire.” Carlos’s voice buzzed to life on her coms, causing a surge of relief to wash over her. “I got the key card, or, uh, I mean Nemesis.”

“Thank goodness.” She thought to herself, smiling up at Weiss once more. “Well, I really should get going, my husband is probably wondering where I am.” Her excuse felt dumb, lackadaisical, but she was willing to do anything right now to get away from the man’s icy stare. “I just had to introduce myself to you.” 

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Hernandez. It was nice to meet you as well.” He spoke in a slow manner. “I’ll see you again sometime, yes?”

“Of course.” 

“Hey, Claire? You there?” Carlos asks and Claire turns away from Weiss, putting as much distance between them as possible. She swears she can feel his eyes watching her, so she speaks in her utmost hushed tone. 

“Yeah, sorry, just talking to Weiss. You got the card?” 

“Yeah, I’m bringing it to Chris now. He’s in the bathroom, but I’m gonna ask him to meet me at the bar.” Static buzzes, letting her know that he’s getting increasingly further from her. “After that you and I regroup, okay? Meet me at the car in thirty?”
“Okay,” Claire nods to no one in particular. “Sounds good.” 

“Perfect. See you in a bit.” The comms go silent. 

“See you,” Claire’s voice drifts ever so slightly. Everything is going according to plan, so why does she feel so sick?

Chris

Taking one last glance at Jill, Chris determined that she was set for continuing the mission. He had the same thought Jill had when Weiss approached them. He looked shockingly familiar, and not in a good way. But that man was long gone. It was nothing that they needed to worry about right now. A shiver still made its way up his spine.

“We need to confirm the location of the office,” He whispered in his captain voice. “It's probably in the same spot as we marked on the map, but let’s make sure.”

The next thing that Jill said surprised him. “Honey, we should go take a look at that balcony in the front room. I was thinking we could build something like it in our new house.”

Chris must have given her a dumb look, because Jill raised a questioning eyebrow. Oh, right. He was Mr. Blythe, a bitchy aristocrat. She was his wife, another bitchy aristocrat. They were surrounded by bitchy aristocrats that they were planning to take down by exposing their secrets of bioterrorism. He smiled at the thought. 

“Yes, darling, let’s give it a look.”

The pair made their way to the balcony, maneuvering through the crowd, which had now grown thick. Chris was surprised at the amount of people who were at this event, who supported this bullshit. It made his blood boil. A small squeeze from Jill told him that he tensed up again, and he released a breath, hoping to relax a bit.

It was hard being here, surrounded by miserable people putting on a facade of happiness, benefiting off the less fortunate like it was commonplace. It was these types of people that made the world a worse place. They were the ones who would infect a whole city and then sweep it under the rug. He grimaced at the thought.

They reached the stairs, seemingly carved out of white marble with a gold railing. Chris’ dress shoes and Jill’s heels clacked against the stone as they traversed up the winding staircase. The sound echoed in his ear, seeming way too loud then what it ought to be.

Chris tuned in the constant chatter of the crowd below, using it to remind him that hardly anyone would hear their footsteps. At the top of the balcony a few people stood, looking down on the other guests with blank expressions. “ Must be people watching,” Chris thought, he’d done it before too. Plus, there was so much going on down there, it was hard not to get lost in the action.

Jill pulled him to the side of the balcony closest to the adjoining hallway, the one that supposedly the office was down. She rested her hands on the gold railing and let her eyes rake the crowd below. How could Jill be so good at this shit? She looked like just another rich woman, haughty enough to think the people below her were actually less superior. It was in the way Jill held her head, the way she let her eyes fall from a high vantage. She was just so damn good at this. 

Chris, on the other hand, fought to keep himself composed. He was unsure if he wanted to let his arms rest on the railing like Jill, and awkwardly went through the motions of setting them on the railing and then shoving them into his pockets a few times. They ended up in his pockets, to Chris’ relief. He didn’t have to think any more about his composure as a rich-ass snot, because Jill shifted slightly, and then practically fell onto his chest, spilling her champagne. 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry honey!” She exclaimed, drawing bored looks from the other guests. She frantically tried to wipe the spill off of Chris, but that obviously didn’t work. 

“Let’s go find you a bathroom.” She said, pulling Chris down the hall. They passed one guard, standing lazily against the wallpaper. Jill explained the situation to him in a dire voice, as if Chris had just ruined a very expensive suit. Hopefully the guy would buy her act, and judging by the bored look on his face, he did. And he apparently had been through situations like this before. Chris mentally high-fived Jill for her acting, she was better than he thought she’d be. The guard just rolled his eyes and pointed down the hallway, which jutted to the left. 

“Down there, third door on your left.”

Chris nodded his thanks and Jill pulled him towards the bathroom. When they had officially turned the corner and were out of sight from the guard, Jill dropped his hand. 

 Chris  squinted down the corridor. “Apparently the bedroom is at the end of the hallway.” 

Just then their comms rang with Carlos’ voice. “Guys, I got the key. Meet me at the bar.” 

“Affirmative. I’ll meet you there.” Chris said, and then turned to Jill. “I’ll bring the card to you. Pretend like you're super sad about my dress shirt or something, and won’t come out of the bathroom.”

Jill raised a judging eyebrow, but Chris brushed it off. “Just think of something. But explore that bedroom.”

“Got it. And I’ll be sure to make up something more convincing.” 

Chris rolled his eyes, and then spoke to Carlos again. “Jill’s gonna stay up here and keep watch.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Turning to Jill, Chris gave her a nod of affirmation. “You good with that?”

“Yep. Just don’t keep me waiting, Blythe.”

Chris cracked a grin. “I won’t.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3

Carlos

Getting the key card was like taking candy from a baby, easy, mildly boring, and it gave him immediate satisfaction. The cool, sharp edges of the rectangular shaped object felt light in his hands and he shoved it in his pockets, scanning for a large man coming out of the bathrooms . He pressed an inconspicuous finger to his com, switching to Chris and Jill. 

“Guys, I got the key. Meet me at the bar” He spun around, glancing at the multitude of hallways that could lead back to the bar. Seriously. The one thing he hated about mansions was the fact that they were so confusing, but it’s not like he was going to complain to Chris of all people about that. It only took a moment before the other man responded. 

“I’ll be there in a sec.” Carlos could hear him say something to Jill off-coms, but it wasn’t something he could register. “Jill’s gonna wait here and keep watch.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Carlos answered, though it really didn’t sound good. He wanted to see Jill, make sure she was holding up okay. It’s not that he didn’t want to see Chris, but, y’know, Jill. He groans and turns around, weaving his way through the crowd and trying to find the bar again. 

By the time he gets there, Chris is already waiting for him, back leaned against one of the house’s many marble pillars. He’s got the same tenseness Claire does, making them look even more similar than usual. Carlos strides up to him and slides the card to him. Chris pockets it with ease, stiffening. 

“How’s Claire?” His voice is rough and his eyes shifty. The man is clearly uncomfortable.

“Helena? She’s holding her own.” Carlos responds dryly, waving the bartender over. He can see Chris chiding himself for forgetting the code names. It must not be the first time.“One whiskey, on the rocks, please.” He gives a curt smile, then turns his attention back to Chris.

“Another drink?”

“I didn’t know you were counting.” Carlos’s eyebrows furrow but his tone is calm. He takes the cup from the bartender. Chris’s eyes widen in some realization and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, old habit.”

“Calling out people’s drinking habits?” 

“You could say that.” Chris runs a hand over his head. 

“How’s Agnes?” 

“Agnes? Uh, right, she’s doing great.” 

“Great?” Carlos raises his eyebrows and takes a sip from his cup. That was a relief, if it were true. He couldn’t really tell with Chris, mostly because it was hard to decipher anything coming off him besides discomfort. 

“Yeah, she thinks we’ll leave by eight.”

“That early?”

“She’s a fast talker.”

“Right.” Carlos finishes off his drink. “I shouldn’t keep you from your wife. ” Damn that stings to say, because to be honest, he hates Chris and Jill pairing together. They had so much history with each other, being a part of S.T.A.R.S. and going through the Spencer Mansion, along with so many other missions together. Jill was adamant she only saw Chris as a friend, a brother, even, but that didn’t mean Carlos was cool with them being alone together. Because what if she did like Chris? What if that was the reason she rejected him? He sighed. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll get going then.” Chris jabs a finger in the direction of the balcony and he was off. Carlos sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was beginning to feel like he had been in this stupid mansion forever. 

“Having a drink?” A thick Spanish accent appeared behind him, causing his back to stiffen. The gun in his belt felt heavy right now, but he couldn’t do anything yet. He didn’t even know if this guy was a threat. “May I join you?”

“Go ahead,” Carlos smiled, clearing his throat. He glanced up, catching a glimpse of the man. He’s kind of decrepit looking, like a vampire that just woke up from a one hundred year nap, but most of his features are covered by a thick cloak. Yep, there’s definitely something off about him. 

“Carlos Oliveira,” The man clicks his tongue and Carlos’s eyes widen. Shit, shit, shit. “Are you scared?”

“Why would I be?” He tries to keep his tone cool and even, no use in letting this guy think he’s scared, because he’s most definitely not. He could take him in a fight if he had to. The man hums.

“Your voice betrays you.” He cackles softly, something that shoots shivers up Carlos’s spine. “It is okay to be afraid, child.” 

“I’m not.” Carlos clenches his jaw, now wanting more than ever to reach for his gun, but he can’t. He can’t blow their cover, not yet. “And if I was, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you.” He spat in a moment of indignance, this guy was really getting on his nerves. He shook his head and turned to walk away from the bar. Just because this guy knew his name, didn’t mean Carlos was going to entertain him. The man didn’t react to the outburst but he placed an icy hand on Carlos’s shoulder. Then, Carlos felt the all too familiar press of a gun to his stomach. Great. 

“Let’s have a civilized talk, hmm?” The man presses the gun further, making the other grunt. “In my office?” 

“Do I have a choice?” Carlos remarked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. The man chuckled. 

“Ah, we all have choices in what we do, child.” So he was annoying and spewed cryptic bullshit, another bonus. 

The man led Carlos across the grand ballroom and down a dark hallway, keeping the gun pinned into his stomach. They made one turn before finally stopping at a door that looked like the fifty other doors they passed. How this guy remembered which one was his office was beyond Carlos. The man opened the door and pushed him inside, revealing a mahogany room lined with bookshelves. There was a desk planted in the middle of the area, with papers and scrolls tossed about it in a heap. Textbooks lie open-faced on the ground next to ripped shreds of paper that never made it to the trash can. There was a crackling fireplace on the left side of the room, burning bright before two leather armchairs and a coffee table.

“Please, do sit.” The man gestured politely to one of the chairs and Carlos carefully sat on the edge, scanning the room for any possible escape routes. Okay, he still had one over the guy, as far as he knew, Carlos didn’t have a weapon, and he needed to keep it that way for the time being. He narrowed his eyes on the man.

“What do you want?” He leaned forward. The mysterious man smiled, sitting down across from Carlos. 

“What do you think I want?” He tilted his head, irking Carlos. If there was one thing he hated, it was people who beated around the bush for no reason. There were times when it was needed and times when it wasn’t. This was one of those times. He groaned. 

“I don’t have time for your cryptic bullshit.” 

“Such a feisty child,” The man tutted, shaking his head. “Though there is spirit in you.” He spoke like some sort of cult leader. Carlos wasn’t a fan of cult leaders, as was everyone else on the planet besides the cult followers, which obviously. 

“Are you ever gonna tell me why you kidnapped me?” He tapped his foot, impatience getting the better of him. Though there was fear in him, it was mostly for Jill, for the mission, this guy was just boring him. 

“Ah, straight to the point I see.” The man lifted his right hand, hovering over his head. He steadily removes the hood of his cloak, making Carlos’s eyes widen in alarm. The man’s entire head is shaved, and his skin is gravestone gray, though that’s not the worst of it. His entire face is covered in cracks that seem to glow a sickly green, just like his eyes. His teeth are bright yellow and he flashes an evil smile towards Carlos. “Do you know who I am, Carlos?”

“No,” Carlos gulps. “But it’s pretty obvious you know who I am.” 

“Yes, yes, of course I do.” The man nodded his head. “You are a gift, sent to me to purify.”

“Fucking what?” A creeping sensation fills Carlos’s body just looking at the guy, now paired with his veiled threats, it was scaring him a bit. 

“A child, wandering alone in the darkness,” The man’s voice dripped with piety, masked by something more sinister. Though unlike most bad guys, this guy seemed to fully believe what he was saying. He finished. “waiting to be scooped up by his master, and taken back to the herd.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me.” Carlos reaches for the gun in his belt, but the man raises a voice. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he shakes a bony finger at Carlos, mid-movement. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Do what?” 

“Reach for your gun.” Shit. He knew, and maybe he did all along. The man pulls his cloak out of the way of his left arm and reveals the gun still in his hand. “Give it to me.” He ordered, expectant hand outstretched. Carlos cursed to himself, powerless to do otherwise.

He handed his gun to the man, who took it and placed it on the desk in the center of the room. When he returned, he cracked a smile. “You remind me of someone, a man I…fixed many years ago.” He spoke as if reminiscing on a happier time in his life, but in a twisted, grotesque way. “He was just like you, quick with the one-liners, sarcastic, tough on the outside.” He paused, his smile disappearing and being replaced by a blank slate of a face that was almost worse. “Unfortunately, things didn’t end so well for him.” His eyes moved back to Carlos, staring daggers into him and making him shiver. 

“Oh yeah,” He cleared his throat. “What are the odds?” 

“Yes indeed,” The man agreed. “Oh, but I’ve been rude. I haven’t even properly introduced myself to you, child.” He stood, almost like he thought he was exerting some form of holiness, but it just made him look all the more creepy. He kept the gun trained on Carlos while speaking. “My name is Osmund Saddler, and I am here to convert you.” 

Jill

Jill watched Chris disappear around the corner, officially leaving her alone. She took a deep breath, readying herself for whatever surprises could occur at this phase of the mission. It was going smoothly as of right now, but that made her all the more tense.

She’d feel better punching the guts out of something or aiming her gun at someone instead of this agonizing wait. It was better to know the threat than be oblivious to it. 

Jill reached for her hip pouch, feeling her knife securely strapped to her thigh. She brought it out, concealing it against her body. She wanted to be prepared. Jill glanced at the bedroom door, a white door with a gold handle, the initial W carved into it.

Must be Weiss’ room, she thought. Didn’t know people still carved their initials into their door knobs. Clasping one hand firmly around the cold metal and the other around the hit of her knife, she pressed her body weight against the door, and let it slowly open.

Thankfully, it was silent, allowing her to strain her ears for any unwanted movement. When no rustling or breathing alerted her, Jill set to carefully scanning the room through the cracked door, taking into account the four poster bed and its long sheets.

Something could be hiding behind the sheets, beneath the bed.  She carefully scrutinized the sheets, waiting for the telltale swish of the cloth. Glancing behind her to make sure the guard out there wasn’t spying on her confirmed that she was alone. Jill then took another long look at the bedsheets, and then let her eyes fall over every other aspect of the room that they could find. 

A nice bedside table sat to the right of the four poster bed, a lamp, book, and a phone charger occupying the space. On the further wall squatted a small desk with a stool under it, and  an expensive looking vase decorating it.

Also on that further wall was another door, with a small box attached to the wall. It glowed red, and Jill instantly identified it to be the key card holder. When nothing else reached her vision, she decided it was time to move.

She pushed herself into the room and whipped the door shut. No weapon or eyeballs met her face, but a dejected coat holder did, sporting one very sorry looking cowboy hat placed on the top. 

Jill again scanned the room, this time noting a fancy looking fireplace that had been hidden behind the door. There were a few papers on top of it, and that sparked one thought in her mind: info. But before she could take advantage of it, Jill quietly crept up on the bed.

Her eyes darted to the bedside table, and she grabbed the book. She then bent down slowly, but not all the way, and then chucked the book under the bed. It slid across the wood floor and out the other side. No gunshot or sound of surprise followed her intrusion.

Just to be sure she quickly flipped up the hanging bed sheets, revealing the underside of the bed. Empty. Jill let out a sigh of relief and pocketed her knife, that was the only place a person could amply hide in this room.  Other than the bed coat holder, fireplace, and desk, the room was empty.

There wasn’t even a window, to Jill’s surprise. But with the room thoroughly searched, Jill went to the fireplace and picked up the sheets of papers. They were just random poems, a few sheets from a comic book, and bills. Jill shoved them back on the fireplace, annoyed. 

She then made her way around the room, picking through the bedside desks’ drawers, searching the sheets, looking under rugs, trying to find anything that could aid them in their investigation. Jill came up with a whole lot of nothing. Well, she did find a few comic strips, but not like that was information the BSAA wanted.

 Just then her com buzzed, and Chris’ voice sparked to life. “I’m outside---” Static overwhelmed the comms, followed by a small high pitched beep. Jill grunted, and shut the com off just as a soft knock sounds on the door. 

“Clear.” Jill says, and Chris enters, handing her a square key card. 

“Damn, this is tiny, I thought it was gonna be bigger.”

Jill nodded. “Me too, but apparently Weiss doesn’t care about that.”

Chris stalked over to the fire place, he must have seen the wad of papers on it. 

“It’s nothing.” Jill said as Chris flips quickly through the papers. 

“Damn, nothing? Have you searched the room yet?”

“Yeah. It’s empty.”

“Shit. Well, there better be some good intel in that office.”

“You got that right.” Jill’s hand squeezed the small card in her hand, the card Carlos had pickpocketed. She remembered talking to him once about thieves and pickpockets. In that conversation, Carlos had claimed to be an expert. Jill brushed it off, saying that when she sees it she’d believe it. Now the evidence was right in her hands. Carlos and Claire were together. She knew they were supposed to wait for them by the car, and hoped that they were doing okay. 

“Hey, before we go in, let’s double check on the others.” Jill said to Chris, who nodded.

“Carlos, come in. I got the key to Jill, she wants to know if you’re holding up.” Chris said, and Jill didn’t know if he was avoiding talking to his sister or was trying to make her sound a little desperate for Carlos. Carlos better have not set him up to it. 

Jill watched as Chris squinted his eyes, she couldn’t hear the conversation because she’d turned off her com. Chris cursed and brought a hand to his ear again. “Carlos? Carlos are you there?” Jill watched as Chris’ brow furrowed, and a small pang of fear hit her chest. 

“Is he not responding?” She asked.

“No, and the com’s acting up.” He said, double tapping his ear. He waited for a split second, and Jill figured that he was restarting his com. She moved to do the same, but Chris’ voice rang again. “Carlos? Carlos, you there?” He paused, and Jill double tapped her earpiece, but was greeted with static. She turned it off just as Chris explained their situation again. 

“Carlos? You there?”
Just then Chris’ eyes lit up, and he gave Jill a hopeful look. But it soon washed away, replaced with confusion. 

“What is it? Is he okay?” She asked, but Chris held up a “wait a moment” finger. 

“What do you mean Los Illuminados? Did a cult member capture you?” Chris asked with an edge to his voice. Jill instantly knew that things weren’t alright. And she’d heard of the Los Illuminados, it was the mission where Leon was-

“Where, where are you?” Chris said. “Can you find a way to tell me where you are?”

Jill inched closer to Chris, wanting to hear the conversation but knowing that it was impossible. The coms were for undercover agents, and if they could be heard then that would defeat the whole purpose. Chris’ brow furrowed as his hand left his ear. He turned his determined eyes on Jill. 

“Carlos is in trouble. I’m going to help him. Get the info. Call Claire if you need her.” 

Jill nodded. “Be careful.”

Chris grinned. “I will.” 

He dashed out of the room, leaving Jill alone for the second time. She glanced around the room. 

“Okay, Jill, let’s do some snooping.” She took the key card and slid it into the panel. It beeped, flashing green before a click sounded. She pressed her body against the door, assuming a position in which she could peer into the office without people seeing her. Desperately hoping that there wasn’t someone waiting for her, Jill reached for her knife and drew it. She held it close to her stomach, but not too close.

Peeking in, her eyes detected a desk and comfy looking chair facing the door. Behind the desk were a few bookshelves, mostly empty. To the left of her was a window, looking out into a dark sky. Time flies when you’re having fun. Jill steeled her hearing, trying to pick up on any out of place noises.

She heard the breeze slightly gushing outside, the ever present hum of air conditioning, and the electric static of lightbulbs. Satisfied, Jill flung the door out and brought up her knife, peering behind it. There was nothing, save a grated vent.

Again, she let out a sigh of relief and closed the door behind her, leaving it open just a smidge. Jill then came to the desk, and inspected every inch of it. She felt under it carefully for any weird bumps, scrutinized the chair and even placed a book on it. Nothing tried to eat her or kill her.  Sliding gingerly into the chair, Jill popped the computer. The screen lit up the room, blinding her momentarily. 

“What are you hiding, Weiss?” Biting her lip, she clicked the screen. No password, weird, but it made her job easier. She flicked through a couple of files, most of the stuff was boring rich people stuff she couldn’t even bring herself to read. There were some memos, some things about all the lavish parties Weiss was holding, and then there was her ticket. An encrypted file. The only one in the whole bunch. 

“Gotcha.” Jill grinned to herself, putting her usb plug into the computer. The screen flickered and started up again, a loading screen on it. She leaned back on the chair, crossing her legs. All that was left to do was wait. She thrummed her fingers against the desk, glancing around the room. There was a window to her right and a vent to her left. The window seemed to be the only source of light in the room during the daytime.

Outside of the window was a lush garden with a winding pathway leading who knows where. She sighed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. This wasn’t the type of mission she was used to, waiting around for shit to happen. It was definitely doable, but like Chris, she was better with a weapon in her hand and a target in front of her. She glanced back at the loading screen. Fifteen percent.

Damn, this was going to take all night. A muffled creaking sound wafted through the room, making Jill’s hair stand on edge. She whipped her head around. Nothing. “Don’t get paranoid on yourself, Valentine.” She muttered to herself before standing up, really wishing she would have brought a gun. The noise came again, this time, a little bit louder. Jill jumped back, eying the computer screen.

Thirty percent.

Her hand fell to her thigh where her knife was strapped. She brushed against the hilt, waiting. Then the vent burst open. 

She didn’t register it at first, but once she saw the vent flying toward her face, she ducked. A masked man with disheveled blond hair crawled out. He was brandishing a knife. “Oh, fuck.” Jill picked herself up, sizing the man up and then looking back to the keyboard. He followed her gaze and took a step toward the computer.

“No!” Jill rushed into him, knocking him into the nearest wall. He recovered quickly, confused for a moment. Slashing his knife upward, he hit Jill’s weapon out of her hand and it clattered to the floor. She dived for it, but he got there first, picking it up and using it to push Jill away. Her eyes wandered to the screen, but her attention was grabbed by the man bringing both knives down on her.

Grunting, Jill tumbled to the ground, groaning as her back slammed onto the wood. She didn’t have time to dwell on that though, as the masked man was already swinging again. Jill kicked up, slamming her heel into the man’s chest and pushing him backwards. He stumbled into the wall, groaning. Jill took the opportunity to throw a cross body punch to the guy and then sweep kicked him.

He crashed onto the floor, the knives slipping from his hands. Jill grabbed one of the weapons and held it above her head, but the man recovered, grabbing her wrist and twisting it. She screamed out and the man picked her up, throwing her into the chair.

Wood and splinters flew everywhere and Jill could feel the wind being knocked out of her. Her body screamed at her to stop fighting, to just let him win, but she couldn’t do that. She picked herself up. The computer screen read sixty-five percent.

Five more minutes. She could do five more minutes.

Wiping the dripping blood from her cheek, she brought her fists up. The man charged. He picked up a broken chair leg and swung it at her head, but she dodged it, grabbing his ankles and sending them both to the ground with a crash. Taking the chair leg from his hands, Jill held it high above her head and brought it down. She missed, slamming it into the floor instead of him. Shit.

The man stood up, shaking his head dazedly. Then he grabbed Jill’s arm and dragged her toward the door, throwing her against it. “Agh!” Jill shrieked as her body was repeatedly slammed against the door. It felt like someone took a jackhammer to her spine. She grabbed onto his arms, digging her fingernails into them, hoping he would give up.

Finally, the door gave way and Jill was hurled onto the bedroom floor. She moaned in pain. Her body ached as fire shot through her bones.

The masked man strode up to her, heaving breaths. There was a glinting knife in his hand that his grip twisted around. Jill scrambled back, surveying the room for something she could use as a weapon.

She saw a vase. A very expensive looking vase. That would have to do.

Shooting up, she dashed toward the table the vase was sitting on and grabbed it, chucking it at the man. He dodged it with practiced ease, still stalking toward her.

Jill got behind the table, pushing it forward into him, knocking him off his guard. While he was distracted, she hefted the stool in the corner of the room, using it as a shield.

Why was he still pursuing her? He could have taken the usb and left, so why wasn’t he gone?

Jill braced herself as he came barreling toward her. When she looked up, the knife was inches from her face, being stopped by the stool. She threw it aside, opting to scatter papers from the table in her attacker’s face as some sort of desperate distraction. It didn’t do anything and he was getting closer.

Shit, he was getting closer. Jill dove onto the bed, scrambling to the other side of the room. If she could just get the usb plug, she could get out of here.

The door to the computer room seemed like it was miles away. “C’mon Jill,” She muttered under her breath, half–hobbling-half-sprinting to the door.

The masked man raced toward her, hitting her in the back of the neck with his elbow. She crashed to the ground, searing pain running through her. Get up. Her mind forced her to move out of the way before another blow landed on her.

This guy was serious, he was either going to kill her or capture her. Jill dodged another knife. Probably kill. She goes low, dropping him to the ground and then scurries away. Just get to the door . She dashes inside of the room and yanks the usb plug out of the computer, tossing the device to the ground.

She turns around to be met with a lead hook that sends her to the ground. “Fuck!” She reaches and clasps the dejected plug back into her hands. Whipping around, her eyes widened. The masked man is right behind her, coming down on her thigh with a knife.

The pain is like no other.

She screams, but can’t even hear it through the hot blood pulsing through her system. The knife is embedded inches above her knee and blood already starts leaking out of the wound. Can’t let this bitch win, Jill drew in a shaky breath. But the masked man doesn’t deliver the final blow. He just stands there, blinking. 

“The fuck….” She stares at the man, who just stares back. It's like his brain just rebooted or something. 

The man doesn’t say anything in response to her comment. His gaze drops to the knife wound and it lingers. He then looks at his hands, covered in blood, her blood. It looks as if he’s confused, or maybe contemplating something.

Either way, Jill doesn’t know what to think of it. What is he doing? She wondered. The man looked up at her again, then turned around and left. He just left. Jill sits there, dumbfounded. “What the fuck,” She mutters under gasped breaths as she looks back at her leg. She opens her fist, revealing the bloody but still intact usb plug. Whatever that man was up to doesn’t matter, because she got the drive.

She got the drive.

Claire

Carlos was nowhere to be seen. Claire checks her watch for the seventh time, she’s right on time, a couple of minutes late, really. But no Carlos. She pulls her coat tighter around her body, staving off the cold night air as she unlocks her phone to check for any texts she could have missed. Nothing. 

“Where are you Carlos?” She hisses under her breath, putting her finger to her com. “Carlos? Carlos? You there?” Silence. It’s too long, and Claire’s chest constricts. Where was he? Her mind started spinning, spinning ideas of what could have happened to him. It dizzied her, and she leaned against their rental car for support. Maybe Weiss and Sabin got to him, maybe the masked man did. Maybe he was lying dead in some room.

No. Don’t think about that.

She turned to her coms again, this time calling Jill. “Jill? Come in. It’s Claire.” There’s no response. Fuck. Her blood runs cold. “Chris?” She switches, hoping, praying her brother will say something. But she’s met with radio silence. “Shit, shit.” She fumbles around for her phone and dials Chris’s number, cursing along the way. It goes immediately to voicemail and says;

“Hey, you must have missed me. I’ll call you back when I get the time.” 

“Dammit.” She dials Jill but garners the same silence. 

“You seem tense.” There’s a voice behind her that startles her enough to drop her phone. It clatters on the ground and she whips around to be face to face with Weiss. There’s a concerned expression across his face and he leans in.

There’s still something familiar about him, something wrong. His voice, she’s heard it before but she doesn’t know where. Then she catches it, his coat blows in the wind and she sees something that makes her eyes widen in fear.  An umbrella shaped pin with red and white coloring. The insignia for the fucked up bioterrorist organization. She gulps, eyes trailing up Weiss again. What was his name? Achille? Achille Weiss? A.W. She freezes. “Are you okay, Mrs. Hernandez?” Weiss takes a step forward, boots thundering heavily on the ground. A cold, calculated smirk spreads across his features.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He removes his glasses revealing bright red eyes the color of spilt blood. Albert Wesker. He’s alive. He’s fucking alive and standing right in front of her. How? Claire gasps and pushes herself back into the car, tripping and falling onto the pavement. No. It can’t be. “Oh, Claire.” Wesker takes another step toward her and she scrambles back, reaching for the knife hidden under her dress. 

You can’t take him, Claire. The voice in the back of her head scolded her. 

“You know, I always liked you better than your brother.” Wesker continued, grabbing her arm with an iron grip and pulling her upward. Claire struggled to escape to no avail and he twisted her arm. She winced in pain, biting her tongue. “Chris.” The man seethed, jaw clenching as he said the Captain’s name. “How’s he doing anyway?” He pulled himself closer to Claire, close enough that she could feel his hot breath encompass her face. Her nose scrunched and she pulled back, but Wesker only moved with her. “Good? Bad?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Claire replied, gazing into his eyes with a steely glare. Wesker’s smile faded and he tightened his grip around her wrist. She cried out, the stinging pain of latex twisting skin fueling her body. 

“Don’t mistake me for a weak man.” He breathes. “I don’t take well to arrogance.”

“And I don’t take well to you.” Claire grunted, kicking Wesker in the shins. The man stumbled back, surprised by her sudden aggression, but he recovered all too quickly. 

“Insolent girl.” Wesker cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He pulls out a gun, training it on her chest. Claire freezes, hand slowly moving to where her knife is concealed. “Hands in the air, Redfield.” There’s almost a bored expression on Wesker’s face and he tilts his head expectantly. The safety clicks off, and that’s more than enough for Claire to raise her arms. 

“What do you want, Wesker? Why are you here?” Wesker grins. 

“Let’s just say I’m a ghost…coming back to haunt your dear brother.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “But I also want you and…your other friends. What are their names again?”  He taps his chin in mock-confusion. “Jill, Chris, and Carlos, right? That’s the mighty team sent to take us down?” His eyebrows raise and Claire gulps. “Pathetic.”  No. This was a trap, it was all along and they had walked right into it. How did they not see the signs? Were they okay in the mansion? Has Wesker already gotten to them? Her heart thrummed in  her chest as questions swirled around in her mind, not letting her be. 

“Then what? You gonna kill us?” She strengthens her gaze, standing tall. If there was one thing she wasn’t going to do, it was going to be looking scared. Wesker laughs at her proposition, but there’s no cheerfulness behind it. 

“If it were my way, yes, but, my business partner has better plans for you.” A business partner? Since when did Wesker take orders from other people? He continued his speech, eyes staring coldly into Claire’s soul, making her feel exposed. 

“I thought you didn’t take orders from other people.” She ventured, maybe she could get some sort of information out of him. “So who is it? It has to be someone more powerful than you.” She shrugs, hoping that it gets to him. She forces a smile to play on her lips, serving her taunt. It seems to work as the man shifts momentarily. Wesker’s grip tightens on his gun and he bites his tongue.

“We are working side by side to fulfill correlating goals.” He explains. “Goals humans like you wouldn’t understand.” 

“Try me.” She crosses her arm slowly, eying the weapon cautiously. If she could get him to talk long enough, maybe, just maybe someone would come. If they’re not already captured. She reminded herself. This isn’t Raccoon. Leon’s not gonna get you out of every shitty situation you get yourself in. Claire winced. She could have gone without that thought. Wesker placed his glasses back on his face. 

“I don’t have time for this.” The man sighs, shaking his head. “Follow me.”
“I would rather die.” Claire ferociously bites back.

“And join your lover in the grave so soon? Shame.” That throws her off balance. It makes a lump rise in her throat, it makes anger boil and stew in her stomach with murderous intent, but it also scares her. He’s right. What would Leon say if she just threw her life away like it was nothing? If she went down without a fight? She hadn’t even tried to protect the ones she loved and she was accepting defeat so fast. She took in a deep breath, grounding herself and taking a step forward. She was going to get out of this. She was going to get out of this.

Carlos 

“Convert me?” Carlos echoed Saddler’s words, confusion in his expression. “You mean, you don’t want to kill me?” He was used to bad guys wanting to either eat him or blow his head off, conversion was a new, unpleasant, addition to this list. But, hey, congrats to Saddler for surprising him. 

“I believe in a higher power, Mr. Oliveira. That being said, no murder is necessary if a child repents on his own…free will, correct?” 

“I’m gonna have to go with incorrect.” His response makes Saddler hiss in annoyance. He stands up and leans down until his face is way too close for comfort. Carlos can smell his rotting flesh, and, is that garlic? He gags, pulling away and covering his mouth. “Damn, you really need to brush your teeth.” He waves a disgusted hand, trying to fend off the smell. 

“Silence, child! Your voice has become a grating thing.” Saddler’s green eyes flash with glowing light. Carlos might have been surprised by it, but with all the shit he put up with at Umbrella, he couldn’t bring himself to react. “I will remember to remove your tongue once I gain control over your mind.” The cult leader says, eyes dimming back to a less-glowy green. “Oh yes,” He smirks. Yeah, Carlos doesn’t like that, not one bit. “I’ll have you remove it yourself, hmm? Wouldn’t that be intriguing?” He turns to Carlos as if he’s supposed to nod his head in agreement. 

Where’s Chris when you need him? Carlos wondered, cringing at Saddler’s remark. He could only hope that someone had noticed he was missing, because the cult leader was getting scarier by the second. “I’m not ripping out my tongue.”

Carlos decides to land on this response in a dry tone. “And I’m not joining your cult.” Saddler must have been expecting this answer, because his smile widened, revealing all of his dirty teeth. He paced around the chair, fingers tracing along the edges. Carlos could feel his body tense up, knowing full well the man could pull the trigger at any time.

He had been in countless situations like this before, but it never got easy. The waiting, the agitation, the acceptance of death, it was all so much. So, he did what he always did, he focused. His eyes trailed the chair before him, it was a plush velvet-leather with buttons on the head. There were intricate golden carvings around the edges of the feet that almost looked like talons, giving the chair a creature-like appearance. 

He’s gonna kill you, Carlos. The voice in the back of his head warned. He’s gonna kill you, then Chris, then Claire, then Jill. No.

He clenched his jaw, he wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t going to let himself be beaten down by some random holy dude who wanted to recruit him in his stupid cult, but by the way he was circling the chair, it felt more plausible that he was just going to flat out kill him.

Wait. His brows creased. A cult. Where had he heard someone talking about a cult?

He wracked the back of his mind, hoping to come up with something useful, something that might help explain what was going on at the moment. Right. His eyes widened. Chris and Leon. They had gone on a mission in, what? 2007? That was the year they rescued Ashley Graham from some cult, right?

He snapped his head around, giving the man a good look. Then an image popped in his mind, an image from Chris’s debriefing when he got back.

Osmund Saddler, the man who killed Leon Kennedy.

Immediately Carlos’s blood ran cold. Leon wasn’t someone easily toyed with, Carlos knew that much. He was pretty much perfect at everything, so to know the man in front of him was the one responsible for a death that shocked the national government? It put things into perspective.

“Many people have spoken those very words to me,” Saddler starts, yanking Carlos out of his thoughts. He must have spaced out throughout some of the cult leader’s exposition, and he was glad. “Some of them were even feistier than you, believe it or not.” 

“I believe it.” 

“Silence!” Saddler raises a hand, but composes himself, lowering it. “The point is, what makes you think you’re any different, Carlos?” Carlos made a mental list in his head describing in great detail why he would never join the cult. He was about to answer, but then Saddler’s voice cut him off. “Because you’re smart? A soldier with a rough upbringing? Forced to fight at too young of an age?”

His words chilled Carlos to the bone, but it only got worse. “I know much about you, Carlos. You see, I used to trade with your old employers, and they have ways of giving up information about their past employees.” He explains. “Your brother killed right before your eyes, a life full of crime, but then you were saved by the Communist Guerilla. That makes you special, right? Or maybe it’s your life of crime after that, being captured and shunned by your home country, a prisoner in America, until Umbrella found you.” Saddler chuckled at the word Umbrella and Carlos tensed. Umbrella was a tough subject, for him, for everyone, really. But here Saddler was throwing it around like they were only a quaint pharmaceutical company.

If only.

“What happened, though? You turned on your own employers and for what? Power? Honor? A clear conscience? Or…” The cult leader circled around back to Carlos, beady eyes glaring into his own. He inhaled, taking in all of Carlos’s fear. “A girl.” Carlos wishes he would have tensed, but he saw that coming. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, of course this guy knew about Jill. Of course. And he was probably going to use that against him, but the how was what chilled Carlos to the bone. 

“Don’t bring her into this.” He spoke through gritted teeth, amusing Saddler.

“Ah, I was correct.” He smirks, finding his seat again. “Many self-righteous humans have similar stories, Carlos. So, do not be mistaken to think you are any different.” Saddler purses his lips. “So, Ms. Valentine, yes? She has joined us tonight as well?” 

“I said leave her out of it.” 

“She will make a fine trophy.” 

“Son of a-” Carlos jumps up, fueled by an otherworldly rage. He fists clench and his knuckles whiten under the pressure. Saddler doesn’t react, he just tilts his head.

“Don’t let anger cloud your judgment, child.” 

“I’ll let my anger cloud whatever the fuck I want.” Carlos hisses in between clenched teeth. The guy can talk shit on him, he can even talk shit on Chris, but Jill? No. He wasn’t allowed to do that. 

“Then you still have much to learn.” Saddler shakes his head in disappointment, only fueling Carlos’s anger. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Suddenly, a buzzing appears in Carlos’s ear as his comms flicker to life. 

“Carlos? Carlos, you there?” It’s Chris, but Carlos barely registers him through his rage. Then Chris speaks again. “I got the key card to Jill. She’s making quick work of it and asked me to check on you.” Jill. She was okay, she was fine. He paused, dropping his fists. 

Cool it, Oliveira. He could almost hear her saying it. I thought you said anger doesn’t solve any problems. It was true, anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere. At the end of the day, he still had a gun pointed to his chest and getting one satisfactory punch was only going to end with him in an early grave. 

“Carlos? You okay?” Chris’s voice rang again, snapping him out of his daze. Right, he had to find some way to warn Chris of what was happening, to signal for help without Saddler realizing it. 

“You said you want me to join your cult?” Carlos spoke as inconspicuously loud as he could, praying Chris would catch on to what he was trying to say. Saddler knitted his eyebrows, perplexed by Carlos’s sudden change in demeanor, but he nodded his head slowly. 

“I believe everyone has a divine purpose to serve the Los Illuminados.” 

“Los Illuminados,” Carlos repeated. “Huh.”

“What do you mean Los Illuminados? Did a cult member catch you?” Even through the static, Carlos could hear Chris’s voice rising in alarm. “Where, where are you? Can you find a way to tell me where you are?” 

“Say, this office is on the left-hand side of the first floor, correct?” Carlos questioned, slowly finding his seat again. This seemed to confuse Saddler and he grimaced. 

“You will find that your sarcastic quips will not quell my desire to hold you in righteous arms.” 

“I’m gonna pretend like I know what that means.” He bit his lip and squinted, nodding his head. Please hurry up, Chris. Carlos thought, then paused. Mary, please tell God to accept me into heaven. He sends up a quick prayer, feeling much better about the situation after doing so. He turns his attention back to Saddler. “And I’m gonna assume I’m right about our location.” 

“I don’t find this entertaining.” Saddler stood and waltzed to the desk in the middle of the room. He set the gun down on the far end of the table next to his own weapon, Carlos noticed. He moved around a couple of papers before picking up a shiny object that had been hidden underneath them. It was a key. Great. Nothing good ever started with a key. Using the key, Saddler unlocked a drawer on the right of the desk. It clicked and creaked, giving way and sliding open. “You will make a perfect bodyguard.” Saddler spoke, carefully lifting out a vial with red liquid swimming inside of it. It swished around like it was alive. Carlos’s skin crawled. 

“That better not be a bug.” He cringed. “I can deal with zombies and the occasional mutated beast, but bugs are where I draw the line.” Saddler chuckled at his joke, so either he thought it was funny, or it was indeed a bug. Carlos hoped it wasn’t the latter one.

“La plaga es lo que llamamos.” Saddler retrieves the liquid into a syringe and sets the vial onto the counter. “Pero creo que un mejor nombre sería la vista, ¿no te parece?” Carlos translated quickly in his head. The light? Saddler thought a better name would be the light? He scrunched his nose, they called it the plague for a reason. A very good reason, he thought. “You and your friends have proven yourselves time and time again.” Saddler chuckles. “Your skills in combat, your intellect, your stealth, they will prove themselves worthy to our cause.”

“You want to infect all of us?” Carlos questioned, brows furrowing. If that was the case, then Saddler already knew they were coming. This mission had been a trap all along. 

“I admit, I used to be shortsighted.” The cult leader droned on, ignoring the question. “I used to think that killing you was the only way, but then, then my eyes were opened.” He widens his eyes, reaching out for something unknown. “Why kill you if I can have you as my own? Why waste such skill, such talent? ” His eyes flick to the liquid, studying it with awe. Then he turns to Carlos. Alarm came over Carlos’s face as he watched Saddler inch closer to him, eyes gazing into the syringe like it was liquid gold. “Whoa, man, hermano, whatever you want me to call you. Get that needle out of my face and we’ll have a civilized conversation, yeah?” He stood up from the chair, hands up in defense and slowly backing away from the cult leader. 

“Carlos?! I’m on my way, so keep him occupied!” Chris spoke on the comms after what felt like forever. Thank god he didn’t forget about Carlos, he was almost starting to think he did. 

“What do you think I’m doing?”  He hissed, eyes looking for some type of weapon against the cult leader. There was a paperweight on the coffee table, that was it, that will do. In one swift motion, he ducks under Saddler, diving for the paperweight and crashing into the table. The man spins around in confusion, bur quickly gains footing of the situation, calling out;

“¡Mis ganados para mí!” 

Oh no. Carlos mentally groans, preparing himself for what is to come. He picks himself up, eyes traveling to the table where his gun sits. “Oh yeah.” He smirks, tossing the paperweight at Saddler and clocking him in the head. 

“Agh! Insolent human!” The man wailed, clutching his forehead, but still moving forward. The vial smashes to the ground, glass and liquid parasite flying every which way. “No!” Saddler cries out. “Cover me, my children! But bring his body to me when you’re finished with him.”

With that, Saddler is gone, and Carlos doesn’t even try to chase him. Mainly because security is swarming the room, but also because he doesn’t think he can sit through another one of the guy’s lectures.

Carlos then turns a heel and reaches for the gun on the table, barely missing it before a security guard barrels into him, sending him to the ground with a thud. The guard then proceeded to try and bash his head in with a club, but Carlos was too quick, rolling out of the way before his brains were splattered on the floor.

He pushed himself up and threw a left hook at the guy, sending him in a momentary daze. That was all Carlos needed, he grabbed the guy’s club and thwacked him on the back of the head, sending him to the ground once and for all.

Just then, another guard entered the room, this time with a taser. Of course he had a taser. The man charged at Carlos, taser crackling with lively electricity. Carlos took another eye at the gun and then picked up the nearest item, a book, and chucked it at the taser-wielding maniac. Once the man stumbled, Carlos drop kicked him, grabbing the taser out of midair and shocking the brains out of him.

Unfortunately, this was a Ganado, and unfortunately its head split open to reveal a fully grown parasite. Now, Carlos didn’t know this, and it definitely wasn’t a pleasant surprise. The parasite reeled and snapped, grabbing him by the neck with one of its tentacles. He kicked it in the legs, pulling at the tentacles and trying to gain some sort of leverage before it was too late. He dug his fingernails under it, feeling the cold, slimy constriction on his throat closing down on his esophagus.

Dammit. His struggles weakened. It wouldn’t be long before this thing silenced him for good.

The world started to blacken, as dark spots took over his vision. He could feel tears being squeezed from his eyes and the blocking of his airways. This was it. This was how he was going to die. Then there was a sound, a loud sound.

Maybe a gunshot? Carlos couldn’t tell.

Slowly, the ganado's grip on him lessened, and it dropped him. They both fell to the floor, but only one of them lay dead. Carlos rubbed his purpling neck, glancing up. It was Chris. Chris in all his glory, holding a smoking gun he could only assume was the man’s trusty beretta. His face was covered in splatters of blood and clean slashes, there was also a splash of what looked to be champagne over his dress shirt. Carlos didn’t want to know how many of the ganado he had to fight off before entering the room. Chris scowled and he reloaded the gun, kicking the ganado to the side. 

“Need a hand?” His features softened and he reached up, helping Carlos up.

“What…” He took in a shuddering breath. “Took you long enough.” Carlos coughed, testing out his voice. Damn, that parasite did a number on him. 

“Duck,” Chris ordered sternly and Carlos complied in the nick of time. He turns around to be faced with pulverized ganado painting the walls. 

“...thanks.” He croaks, grabbing his gun from the table and clicking off the safety. 

“No problem.” Chris shrugs, side-stepping a pile of goop. He surveys the room, eyes challenging any parasite that decides to get back up. When he’s certain the room is clear, his shoulders relax. “Let’s get back to Jill.” Carlos nods his head in agreement. He couldn’t have said it any better. He turns to the Captain. “How many of those…parasites are out there?” Unfortunately, Chris smiles at his question and tightens his grip on his gun.

“Enough for us to get our bullet’s worth.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4

Claire

Wesker took Claire to his car and shoved her harshly in the backseat, not speaking a word. She tried her comms again, but it was obvious there was some type of intervention because all she got was static.

Shit. She could only curse so many times, and it wasn’t going to get her out of this damn car, so she rested her head against the window.

Hopefully Chris would notice her absence, after all she was his little sister. He had like a sixth sense when it came to her being in danger. Chris. She had been so rude to him, so distant, and all he was trying to do was keep her safe.

Like always.

No . She reminded herself. He killed Leon, remember? Chris was the reason Leon was dead. If he had just kept an eye on him, if he would have gone after him into that castle. That was three years ago, Claire. Still, she couldn’t get over it.

Seeing Chris, it reminded her of Leon, but it was starting to seem like everything did. She saw him in Jill, with her tactical skills and confidence, In Carlos with his quippy remarks and gentle smile, and in Chris, because he was his best friend.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the painful memories away. You’re being kidnapped, do something useful. Her hand slipped to the ring on her finger, the only thing grounding her at the moment. Wesker was alive. It was still hard to believe, even with him sitting directly in front of her. She stared at him again, it was definitely Wesker, the sight made her shiver.

“Where are you taking me?” She challenged, leaning forward with her arms crossed. Wesker’s eyes moved to the rearview mirror and he glared.

“Silence.”

“I’ll be quiet once you tell me where we’re going.” She retorts. Wesker ignores her, go figure, and he focuses back on the road. Claire groans, flopping back against her seat. “Chris is gonna come for me. So will Jill and Carlos” This catches the bioterrorist’s attention, and he quirks an amused brow. 

“And what makes you think I don’t already have them in captivity?” He offered, eyes flicking back to the mirror. He shoots her a cold grin and she shivers. He can’t have them, they’re probably out looking for her right now.

“I don’t believe you.” Claire’s voice shakes, but she clears her throat. Wesker chuckles darkly, assumingly catching her tremble. He shakes his head.

“Your fear betrays you, Ms. Redfield.” He takes a sharp turn off the main road and onto something a bit more mysterious. The streetlights from before that illuminated Claire’s path were all but gone, now there was only pitch black, save for the headlights on their car. “It also makes you weak.”

“Spare me the Terminator talk.” She spits, rolling her eyes. Fear was what drove her, in Raccoon City it was the only thing that told her she was alive. Fear was her ally, it’s what kept her human. Wesker would never understand that, he would never know what it was like to feel something like that, something that fueled you to keep fighting, keep surviving.

He was just a tool, a weapon with no other purposes, nobody to care for but himself. 

“I’m only trying to help you, Claire. Help you see the errors of being human.”

“Like you would know what it’s like.” Claire leaned forward, hissing through her teeth. “You’re a psychopath.” Wesker grunted a laugh, eyebrows raising in agreement. 

“Maybe.” He takes another turn, throwing Claire into the side of the car. 

“Agh,” She pulls herself up, rubbing her head where the impact hit her the hardest. 

“At least I’m not a self-righteous girl who can’t seem to save anyone.” His tongue clicks. “Not Chris, not Jill, not Carlos, not…Leon.” A smirk dances on his lips and his eyes move to her. He pulls down the rim of his glasses, so he catches her full attention. Claire’s jaw tenses and her fists tighten. 

“Don’t talk about him.” Her tone becomes thunderous as rage simmers beneath her surface. Her breaths become short, hot, as her nails dig into the skin of her palm. Wesker feigns innocence.

“Hmm? Why not? I’m not allowed to speak of the hero that saved all of America?” He fixes his eyes back on the road, gloved hands gripping the steering wheel and twisting. He exhales. “That’s how they describe him, I assume?” He looks to her for confirmation, but she remains silent.

“But you know what they really mean, Claire.” Wesker pushes his sunglasses back over his eyes.

“He was really just a sad lapdog to them, one that ran out of tricks.” He shook his head with despondency. But Claire could see right through him, he was enjoying this. “That’s what reminds me of Chris. He’s the same way. Did you know that? Self-righteous, loyal, thinks he’s invincible. It’s almost comical how similar they were, yet they could never get along, could they?” 

“You don’t know anything about Chris,” Claire says through gritted teeth, wanting nothing more than to choke Wesker out right then and there. But she couldn’t risk crashing the car, that would end badly for both of them. So, she settles on trying to fix her breathing, reign in her anger.  “or Leon.” 

“Denial,” Wesker tuts. “Such a human disease.” 

“At least I’m human.”

“Hmph, at least.” Wesker veered the car over and parked. Claire squints to see where they were. There was a huge warehouse in front of them, with sliding doors made of solid metal. Other than the house, there was nothing else in sight, save for a long and winding ramp. “Get out.” Wesker orders, opening his own door. “And don’t try anything.”

Claire complied, getting out of the car and pulling her coat tighter around her. The night wind whipped around her, sending her hair everywhere. 

“Where are we?”

“Always one to ask questions.” Wesker beckons her forward and they make their way to the warehouse. Almost as if it senses their arrival, the doors lurch and creak open, kicking up dust and pebbles. Claire shields her eyes, coughing. When she opens them, they widen. Sitting in front of her in a sleek private jet with a pointed tip. It’s so large, it almost takes up the whole hanger. Her heart sinks. 

“Where are you taking me?” She backs away, chiding herself for not bringing her gun. If he got her on that plane, there was no chance Chris and the others would be able to find her. Wesker sighed, pulling out his gun and cocking it. 

“Do I really need to use this right now?” He pursed his lips. Claire stared down the barrel of the gun, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t get on that plane, but she couldn’t let him kill her. Either way, it was a loss, so what could she do? Wesker’s brows furrowed, and he touched a hand to his own comm.

There was a static buzz and Claire wished she could hear who was on the other end. The bioterrorist kept his gun trained on her, but leaned in, speaking in a hushed whisper. “The asset was wounded? How?” He sounds mildly annoyed, but there’s a hint of surprise there.

Claire almost grins at that. It’s Wesker’s turn to have his eyes widen, whatever the person on the other end had said triggered something in him. “Dammit!” His roar echoed throughout the hanger and Claire flinched back. “No, no,” Wesker’s voice returned to calm, but it was accompanied by an edge.

He spoke. “No, he wants her alive. That was the deal, whether we like it or not. Just, just send the asset back to base. I’ll meet him there.” The buzz on the comms ended and Wesker turned to Claire, murderous intent flashing in his eyes. “It seems Ms. Valentine is giving my agent trouble.”

He seethes at the mention of Jill. “I should have killed her when I had the chance.” He mutters this to himself, before looking back at Claire. “Get on the plane. Now.” He doesn’t have to ask twice, there’s something switched on in him, making Claire realize he’s not going to take any more of her backtalk. She leads the way to the door and walks up the steps, entering the jet. 

It’s lush inside, mocking the situation she’s in, with dimmed lights shining on expensive leather cushions.

There’s a tv hanging from the middle wall and tables at each chair with ample space. The floor is a velvety beige that bounces back like a cloud when her heels step on it. She sits in a chair, immediately hit by a wave of comfort.

If she wasn’t in a life or death situation, she might fall asleep in this. Wesker trails behind her, finding the seat across from her. He touches his comm. 

“Ready for takeoff.” Almost immediately, the engine roars to life, shaking the ground beneath them. Claire grasps onto the arms of her chair for support as the vehicle lurches forward. Slowly, they move down the ramp, picking up speed along the way until they're in the sky.

She forces herself to look out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jill’s bike, or maybe the ridiculous car she and Carlos rented, but there was nothing. Nothing. 

See, Claire, they aren’t coming for you. Her mind told her with a sneer. This is what happens when you don’t prepare yourself. She bit down on her lip, hard. Tears pricked the rim of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Not now, not when Wesker was here. She had to be brave, she would find a way out of this. Her life depended on it.

Jill

Jill’s leg screamed in pain with every hobbling step she took. The open wound squelched and spat out chunks of blood each time she put pressure on it, only serving her anguish. 

“Fuck,” She breathed, catching herself against the wall nearest to her before she collapsed to the ground. Daring to look at the wound, she cringed.

The masked guy had gotten her good, she couldn’t even see the blade. It was probably about four and a half inches, Jill assumed based on the mil-tec insignia on the handle of the blade. It was a boot knife with serrated edges, damn, she could feel that.

She winced, touching it tentatively and being rewarded with a burst of pain. “Agh,” Looking up, she noticed her masked assailant was gone. Good. One less thing to deal with. She presses a bloody finger to her comms. “...Chris?” Hot, heavy breaths escape from her lips as she leans even more weight against the wall.

Sweat beads on her forehead, dripping to the ground next to her blood. “Chris…you there?” Grimacing, she switches to Carlos. “Oliveira?” Please answer, Carlos. No answer. Fuck. “Okay then,” Her eyes fell back onto the knife. She had to get it out, because if it got infected it would be a hell of a lot more serious issue than it was right now.

She inhaled. Her eyes scan the room for something to stop the gushing blood coming from her leg. Things are strewn about the floor from her fight just moments before. Tables were smashed, sheets were ripped off beds, and vases lie in shattered pieces on the wooden floor.

She pushes herself off the wall and hobbles over to the four-poster bed, sitting on it carefully and hissing in pain. Tucking strands of sweat-covered hair behind her ear, she grabs a chunk of the sheets on the bed and rips them apart. Then, she presses them down around her wound and braces herself for what’s about to come.

She positions her right hand around the hilt of the knife and her left on her thigh, steadying her grip. Biting her lip, she pulls.

The pain is like nothing she had ever felt before and it rips through her entire body like a razor. Its excruciating burn makes her cry out in pain. The serrated edges take pieces of flesh with them as she pulls the knife out and tosses it to the ground.

It clatters, spraying bits of blood around with it. Jill then takes the sheet and wraps it around her leg, securing it tightly where the laceration is. After the ordeal is done, she huffs, flopping onto the bed.

Her chest rises and falls quickly as she pants, gasping for air. “Okay, Jill.” She speaks to herself. “You gotta get out of here.” Pulling herself up, she steadied herself on one of the bed’s posters. She then took a hesitant step forward, hissing as she fell down on her bad leg.

Though it was painful, she had to keep going, she had to find Carlos, Chris, and Claire. She had to warn them. Unless it was too late, she paused, hand hovering above the doorknob. What if the assassin had already gotten to them? What if they were already dead?

Bile rose up in her throat at the notion, but she forced it back down. No. They weren’t dead, they couldn’t be. She shook the thought out of her mind and pressed forward, opening the door. Using her dress, she covered her injury, trying her best to not look like she had just gone through a gruesome battle.

Her mind wandered back to the assassin. His fighting technique was brutal, but familiar. It mirrored many of the skills she had been taught before, and almost to a tee. Then there was his knowledge of her moves, it was like he could see them coming a mile away, and he countered them perfectly every time. She shivered.

Just who was this guy?

“Focus, Jill.” She told herself. She didn’t have the time, or luxury, to ruminate on who it was that was chasing her down, even if she wanted to know. 

The hallway before her seemed to stretch and bend right before her eyes, making her stop and close her eyes. Come on. She hit her temples, pressing down hard. She had to get somewhere not so open. Her eyes traveled to the party below, no one seemed to notice her up there, thankfully.

With her hand against the wall, she continued walking forward, taking it one step at a time. She made it to a door, thank god, and she shoved it open.

It looked to be a guest room, with a lavish queen sized bed in the middle. There was a window behind it, overlooking some sort of pool that spanned at least half a mile long. A chair and desk sat quaintly in the corner of the room. Jill grunted, slamming the door shut, not even bothering to turn on the lights.The world tipped again, and she caught her footing just before she toppled over.

Her knees buckled shortly after, this time she let herself fall, not able to take it any longer. Her eyes fluttered once, then twice. She fought, gritting her teeth, trying to stave off the sleepiness that was running through her bones. Don’t fall asleep. She wished she could slap herself with how weak she was acting. T

his wasn’t her.

She was better than this.

“Get up.” She mumbled, face pressed to the plush velvet floor. “Get up, Jill.” But she couldn’t. Darkness was seeping into her vision, swimming around and mocking her every breath. Her breathing slowed, and the pain started flowing away. She was falling off, she knew it. Dammit. She breathed out, letting the darkness consume her.

Chris

The ganado before Chris burst into pieces of flesh confetti and fell to the ground with a thunk. One more down, but he didn’t know how many more were left to go. It seemed like they just kept coming back.

The hall he had found Carlos in was almost like a house of its own, miles from the party in the main area, making him wonder about the sheer size of the place. He grunted, he hated mansions. The Spencer one had kind of ruined them for him. 

“Chris? You good?” Carlos’s voice brought him out of his reminiscing. He shook his head, blinking a couple of times. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He readjusts his gun, shrugging off the other man’s worry. He narrows his eyes, studying Carlos’s injury. “Are you good? That bruise isn’t looking too great.” Cringing, he motions to his own neck to show Carlos what he’s talking about. The bruise on Carlos’s is a deep purple that stands out garishly and his raspy voice is only adding to the look.

“This?” Carlos touched a hand to his neck, wincing. “I can barely feel it.”  He speaks in pauses, swallowing harshly every so often. “But I do feel bad for the ganado that I vomited my guts onto.” He chuckles, then coughs. Chris scrunches his nose, backing away from the man. 

“If you barf on me, I’m shooting you.” He says dryly. Carlos smirks, rolling his eyes. 

“After all you went through to save me?” That’s true. He did waste a lot of bullets on a lot of ganados on the way down the winding hall. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t push your luck, Oliveira.” Chris tries not to smile, but fails miserably. So, he turns away, focusing on the task at hand.

They need to find Jill and Claire, then get the hell out of this mansion. It was easier said than done, especially since there was some type of interference with their comms, making it impossible to communicate and regroup. So, they had to find them the hard way, and without attracting any unwanted attention.

Anybody could be a ganado, and Chris would pay money to bet most of the people in the ballroom were some sort of mutated monster. But this was why Chris was here, this was why he was on the mission.

This wasn’t the hard part, he could blow up B.O.W.’s all day long. The hard part had been walking around disguised and shit, pretending to be some socialite with a brick up his ass. Chris pauses. He turns to Carlos, motioning with his head toward the corner of the hallway.

There's the sound of muffled voices speaking, so each man goes silent. Pointing his fingers, he signals the plan. They were going to charge them, so hopefully they didn’t have guns. In a quick blur, Carlos and Chris sprinted forward, guns blazing.

The two security guards jumped, caught off guard, but dropped to the ground like flies once the bullets sprayed over their bodies. Then, the head squirmed, bursting and revealing the parasites. 

“Oh, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Carlos gags, aiming his gun at the first one and taking it out. Chris makes light work of the other and turns around. 

“Do me a favor and hurl in that plant over there.” He points to a standalone bush, potted in a delicately golden-carved pot. 

“Will do.” Carlos mock saluted and made his way over to the pot, barely making it in time. “Ugh,” He wiped his mouth. “Those things gross me out.” Chris rolled his eyes, Carlos was being dramatic, maybe on purpose.

The guy had been through zombie apocalypse’s, watching people bleed out and rot before his eyes. Parasite-infested humans couldn’t be that bad, unless the guy had really bad experiences with bugs. 

“Come on, Jill and Claire are waiting for us.” Chris pushed on, taking another turn he hoped would lead them back to the main room. In truth, he had no idea where he was going, but it’s not like he was going to ask Carlos for help.

“I think we made a wrong turn.” Dammit, Carlos. Chris turned a sharp heel. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“I don’t know.  This just doesn’t feel like the right place. I don’t remember this hall.” Carlos did one-eighty, studying the walls and squinting his eyes. He then shrugged his shoulders expectantly. Chris sighed, irritation clipped his tone. 

“How could you remember any of the halls when they all look the fucking same?” He came off a bit harsher than expected. Reel it in, Chris. He breathed. He hated to admit it, but he was getting worried about Jill and Claire, especially with the comms acting up. Each second in this maze of a back hall felt like wasted time. Snapping at Carlos wasn’t supposed to happen, it was just, he needed to find them. 

“Whoa, calm down.” Carlos furrowed his brows. “I’m just tryin’ to give some helpful input.” He took a step towards Chris, forcing him to look in his eyes. He frowns. “Hey, they’re gonna be okay. Claire and Jill are badasses, they’ll be just fine without us.”

He gives a sympathetic smile and Chris returns it with a weak one, shoulders relaxing. Carlos is right. They’re fine. They can hold their own, he knows that. He just, expected to be out by now. 

“Yeah, I know.” He agrees half-heartedly. It would still be better knowing where they were, knowing for sure that they were okay. Huffing, Chris rolls his shoulders. “Which way should we go?” He turns to a surprised looking Carlos. 

“You’re asking me?” He pointed to himself, unsure of what Chris was getting at.

“No, I’m asking the dead body behind you.” States Chris, pointedly, motioning to the ganado on the floor. Carlos whips his head around, staring at it. 

“You’re a funny guy, Redfield.” Carlos rasps, taking a step in the opposite direction. “We need to go left. That’s the way that cult leader took me.”

He beckons Chris to follow him and he does so, begrudgingly. Hopefully Carlos knew where he was going, because they were counting on him to get out of this maze.

They walked for what felt like hours. The trudging of their boots became a buzz in the back of Chris’s mind as they rounded yet another corner. Enemies were getting sloppy, charging at them like they had nothing better to do. Chris and Carlos would make quick work of them, Carlos would make a quippy remark, and then they’d go back to walking.

At one point, Chris wished someone would send a Tyrant their way just to alleviate the boredom that was gnawing at his brain. At this point, the girls were probably back at the house, waiting for them. Carlos stopped at a wall and Chris bumped into him, having been staring at his boots. 

“What is it?” He groans, blinking back sleepiness. Carlos turns around, a confused look on his face.

“I think we made a wrong turn a couple turns ago.” This woke Chris right up. His eyes widened.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was.” Carlos shrugs. “But I don’t remember seeing this painting.” He points to a picture of a man and woman lying on a blanket, next to a picnic basket. It would have been sweet if there weren't guts splattered all over it now.

Carlos notices Chris’s disheveled expression and adds; “But we’re almost there, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure.” That doesn’t help much, but Chris grunts in affirmation anyway, spinning on his heel. 

“I hate this place.” He mumbles under his breath. Mansions sucked. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to create a giant house for a maximum of two snooty people with a bunch of hallways leading fucking nowhere, Chris was going to pummel that person.

This was all so unnecessary and he was certain Mr. Weiss didn’t even know this hall existed. He sighs. “So, a cult member, huh?” Striking up conversation with Carlos seems like it’s going to be the only thing that keeps him from blasting off his own head in this fucking hallway.

Besides, he never got to talk about what happened to Carlos in that room anyway. Maybe there was some valuable information he was keeping. Carlos tenses at Chris’s words, clearing his throat with a cough.

“It wasn’t a cult member,” He starts, making Chris’s brow furrow. 

“What do you mean by that? Who was it then?” He stops, forcing Carlos to do the same. The other man is avoiding eye contact, unlike him. He shrugs weakly. 

“Remember your mission three years ago?” The color drains from Chris’s face. It wasn’t like Carlos to bring that up, so that must mean…no. It can’t be. He’s probably just going to say something about Salazar or maybe even Mendez. 

“What about it?” Chris starts coolly, pursing his lips. 

“The cult leader…Osmund Saddler, he died, right?” Carlos finally looks up, dead set on Chris’s eyes. There’s no joke, no hint of mischievous intent, just fear. Chris shifts his gun, exhaling. 

“Yeah, I, uh, Leon killed him. Why?” 

“You’re sure he’s dead?”

“Yeah, Carlos, why wouldn’t he be?” Chris chuckles dryly, shaking his head. “Can we keep going now?” He pinches his brow, forcing his memories of that day to fade into the back of his mind. Carlos was kidding him, he was joking, he had to be.

“Chris,” Carlos steps forward, grabbing Chris’s arm with surprising force. He breathes slowly and heavily, tightening his grip. “He’s not dead.” The words hit Chris like a semi, making him stumble back. What? What did he mean Saddler wasn’t dead? Chris had been there, he had watched the castle explode, nobody could have made it out alive. 

“You’re, you’re joking, right? You gotta be joking, Carlos.” He forces a laugh, waiting for Carlos’s serious facade to break, waiting for the bravado to seep back into his expression. But it doesn’t.

He isn’t lying.

Chris’s breath catches in his throat, his mind spins, causing him to lose his footing. He catches himself on the nearest wall, breathing hard. Get up, soldier. His mind reprimands him. You’ve still got a mission. He inhales, exhaling slowly and looking back at Carlos, who has now let go of his arm. “So he was the one who captured you?” Chis asks, receiving a nod from the other man. 

“He was going to infect me with the plaga and turn me into one of his lap dogs.” Carlos snarled, clutching his weapon tighter. “If he hadn’t run away with his tail between his legs, I would’ve shot him.” 

“But it was him? You’re sure?” 

“He told me his name, Chris.” Carlos’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, but, yeah, it was him.” Dammit. Chris bites his lip. Claire can’t know about this. That’s his first thought. If she figures out that Leon’s act of heroism was for nothing, she might lose it for good. She might never speak to him again. He brings a fist to his mouth, resting it there. 

“He wanted to infect you? How does he even know who you are?” Carlos shrugs at the question. 

“He used to trade with Umbrella…said that they gave him all the information he wanted on me. It was scary man, I mean, he knew everything about me.” He shudders. “And then he was talking about converting all of us, I mean, you, mean, Jill, and Claire. He knew we were coming, Chris.”

A tremor runs through Chris’s body at the revelation. That meant this was a trap. They had walked right into a fucking trap and didn’t even know it. He grits his teeth. 

“What else did he say?”

“Well, when he was talking about converting us, he was acting like he already did it, and was successful. He was saying his eyes were opened once he learned of ‘our value’.” He puts up weak quotations. “Whatever that means.” Carlos finished, throwing his hands up in defeat. 

“Weird.” Chris stares at the floor, unsure of what to say. If Saddler was alive, and he wanted to convert them into his cult, anything could happen. He needed to get to Claire, now more than ever. “Saddler must have jammed our comms.” He whispered, eyes widening.

“What?” Carlos leaned forward. Chris looked up, eyes wide. 

“He’s trying to separate us.” 

Carlos

Jill was in trouble. He knew it. She was in trouble, and he had to find her, he had to make sure she was okay. Because that’s what she would have done for him, though, she would have probably been a bit faster at it.

Carlos ruminates on this as he and Chris tore through the hallways of the Monin Manoir, hoping and praying they weren’t too late. 

“Get down!” Carlos shouts at Chris, and the older man immediately ducks, just in time at that. A ganado was charging toward them with a, was that a chainsaw? The weapon whirled menacingly, finding its place in the wall instead of Chris’s neck.

Carlos takes a couple of shots at the chain-saw wielding ganado, this serves to stagger it but doesn’t do much else. The ganado waves the saw around, knocking Carlos in the side of the head with the butt of the weapon.

He tumbles to the ground, rolling out of the way before the saw comes crashing down on him. “Chris?! A little help here!” Carlos yells, though it's agonizing to do so. The injury on his neck from the first ganado is still fresh, but his motto had been ignoring it and pretending it wasn’t there. That would make it feel better. Out of sight, out of mind, right? 

“I’m coming, just…just give me one second!” Chris grunts, throwing a ganado off of himself and aiming his gun, splattering the parasites insides on the wallpaper. He then shoots a well placed bullet in the chain-saw man’s shoulder, forcing him to stumble. This gives Carlos the chance to get him in the head, delivering the final blow. 

“Thanks, man.” Carlos says as Chris pulls him up. Chris grunts a response, glaring at the now-dead ganado. 

“Let’s get out of here,” The captain cracks his neck. “Hopefully the girls figured it out already and are on their way home.” 

“If they figured it out, they would probably come looking for us.” Carlos pointed out. “They’re not ones to run and hide, y’know?” He smirks and Chris begrudgingly agrees.

Carlos knows Chris is just trying to settle his own nerves, but someone had to think realistically at the moment, and that someone was unfortunately going to be Carlos. Jill and Claire were either kidnapped or about to be, not necessarily something he or Chris would want to hear, but it was the truth.

The only sliver of hope they actually had was the fact that they might beat Saddler to them, but that was a pretty big might. He picked up a switchblade off a ganado’s body and stuffed it in his pocket, earning a disgusted look from Chris. “What?” Carlos put his hands up in defense. “It’s not like he’s gonna be using it anytime soon. You blew his head off!” He motions to the headless body and Chris rolls his eyes.

“You don’t need a pocket knife right now, we have plenty of supplies at the safehouse.” He trudges past Carlos, gun at the ready. The man follows behind him, defending himself. 

“First of all, you don’t know that. This bad boy could be the key between a life and death situation and who knows when we’ll be back at the safehouse?” He explained, flicking the knife and then pocketing it again. “I’m just being safe.”

“Just keep walking.” Chris grunted. “Please tell me we’re almost out of this hall.”

“Hey, I think we are.” Carlos jogs forward, stuffing his gun into his pants. “Look!” He points, and sure enough, there are people still partying and drinking like nothing was happening on the other side of the mansion. Chris mutters a hallelujah, running a hand over his head. He slides his gun out of view as well, and tries his comms again. 

“Dammit,” Groaning, he turns to Carlos. “Guess they’re jammed for good, it wasn’t just the hallway, it’s the entire damn mansion.” 

“Of course it is.” Carlos sighed. “Maybe we should split up, we’ll cover more ground that way.” He offered. Now that they were out of the hall, he was getting antsy. Jill could be getting kidnapped right now, while they were here planning. 

“No,” Chris shook his head. “Saddler’s trying to split us up, remember? We stick together.” He said firmly. Carlos dipped his head, as if contemplating this. Chris would want to find Claire first, and then Jill would be left alone. She could be taken. Finally he nodded.

“Okay, fine. But we check the upstairs first. Okay?” Now it was Chris’s turn to become contemplative. He sighed. 

“Fine. Let’s go.” 

They make their way through the crowd of people, smiling and nodding, overall trying to act normal. After a couple of heads turned, Carlos studied himself, then Chris’s face. Fuck. The guy had splatters of blood all over his face, and paired with his scowl, he looked like a murderer.

And to be fair, he was, technically, if you counted killing parasites and zombies as murder. In Carlos’s book, it was kind of more a deed for the better of society, though. Especially when killing the parasites. Gross. 

“Hey, Chris, you got a little something-something,” Carlos motioned around his face and Chris raised a brow. 

“What?” 

“There’s something on your face.” Carlos tried again, eyes darting about the room, hoping nobody was following them.

“Like food? I had hors d'oeuvres when I was coming down to get you.” Chris, wiped his cheek, pulling back.

“No,” Carlos’s tone rose. “More like blood, guts, all of the above.” 

“Oh,” Chris’s expression became panicked and he brought up his jacket, wiping his face vigorously, it didn’t really work, mostly because there was already blood on his outfit that Carlos was surprised he didn’t notice earlier. Another head turned as they walked past. 

“Chris, you might have to ditch the suit.” Carlos eyes a woman who’s staring at them, mouth agape. “Sooner rather than later would be preferred.” Chris’s nose wrinkled. 

“You’d rather me walk around naked?”

“No, of course not, but maybe you could steal an outfit off a dead ganado or something. We could knock out a security guard, or-” Chris cuts Carlos off before he can finish. He breezes past him and toward the stairs. 

“We’ll be in and out in no time, so it doesn’t matter.” Carlos rolled his eyes at the man’s brashness, no wonder he wasn’t a secret agent. He sucked at it. 

“Okay then,” He followed him up the flight of stairs. “So where’s this room she was in?” Peeking through cracks in doors and glancing down long halls, Carlos turned to Chris. “And who’s to say she’s still in there?” The older man shrugged at that, grunting as he opened the door to the main bedroom. 

“Wait out here, I’ll check.” He disappears inside, leaving Carlos frowning. He would much prefer he go in and check for Jill, but of course it had to be Chris. He taps his foot impatiently. “She in there?” No answer. “Chris?” He turns around, pushing the door open.

This was taking too long. They needed to get a move on.

Chris is standing in the opening of the room, arms dropped to his side. Carlos’s eyes widen as he steps inside. The room was in shambles. Curtains were ripped from walls, vases were smashed to tiny pieces and scattered about the hardwood flooring, the sheets of the bed had been stripped and covered in blood. “Oh fuck.” Carlos bites his lip, surveying the area. He slowly pulls his gun out, nodding for Chris to do the same. 

“This, this is where I left her.” Chris starts, shaking himself out of his daze. “And that’s,” He points to a set out double doors that are strewn open like a body went flying through them. “That’s the computer room.” They make their way to the room, guns wary to shoot. There’s nothing in there. It’s abandoned, looking similar to the bedroom.

A glowing computer is left smashed on the floor next to a pile of wood that had probably been a chair. Carlos kneels down beside the computer, moving the mouse to try and get it to work. When it doesn’t give, he exhales, standing back up. 

“Well, she’s obviously not in here.” He hisses, kicking the desk beside him. “Fuck!” Tearing a hand through his sweaty hair, he feels his breath coming out in short, hot puffs. She’s not here. She’s gone, taken. He wasn’t fast enough, if only he hadn’t been so fucking slow. 

“We still have other rooms to check, she couldn’t have gone far.” Chris grabs Carlos’s arm, pulling his eyes away from the ground. “She’s not dead yet.” 

“Look at this!” Carlos ripped away, spreading his arms about the place. “What do you think happened here, Chris?! Huh?!” He swept his hand over the table, kicking up a swarm of papers that fell to the ground. Chris clenched his jaw, letting the man lash out. He remained silent as Carlos turned over the desk and smashed in the computer with his boot. “Dammit, Chris!” He then turns to the older man, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You should have never left her side!”

“I had to rescue your ass.” Chris replied calmly. “Don’t forget that.”

“Well you should have left me!” Carlos retorts, yelling in Chris’s face. His throat is screaming at him, burning like hell, but he doesn’t stop. He chokes, feeling the blood coming up his throat, but he forces it back down. What was Chris thinking? How could he leave Jill in immediate danger like that?

“I wasn’t going to leave you, Carlos. That wouldn’t have made any sense.” The captain reasons, still managing to stay calm. He steps forward, hands up. “Now if we just-” He pauses. Carlos furrows his brow at the man’s silence, but then follows his gaze. There’s a shoe print, a bloody shoe print. A heel. It drags outside of the computer room and into the bedroom. It stops at the foot of the bed, where there’s ample blood leakage. “She was hurt,” Chris says below a whisper, kneeling down and inspecting the bed sheets. There’s ripped pieces torn off in a haste.

“What is it?” Crouching beside him, Carlos follows his eyes. “Knife wound.” He utters, catching a glint out of the corner of his eye. He reaches to grab the object and inspects it. “Combat knife. Four and a half inches, so, boot knife.” He turns it over, cringing at the amount of blood that’s covering it. Jill’s blood. He shivers. “The black mask.” 

“He’s here?” Chris looks over Carlos’s shoulder.

“Well he was.” The younger tosses the knife onto the bed, spinning around. “Any more shoe prints?” Chris nods grimly. 

“They lead out to the hall.” 

The men make their way out the door, following the prints. They get more staggered as they go on, making Carlos wonder what type of struggle this was, and if Jill got out alive. Don’t think about that. Not right now. She’s fine, she has to be fine. After all, it was Jill they were talking about, she was invincible. The prints finally end at a door with no light coming from it. Chris and Carlos exchange wary glances. 

“I hate opening doors to dark rooms.” Chris admits, hand reaching for his gun.

“Cause you never know if a zombie’s gonna pop out.” Carlos finished, knowing what the man meant. Going through a zombie apocalypse, multiple times, it would do something to you and your paranoia. For Carlos, he felt like he was never truly safe, never truly secure.

It felt like the Nemesis was constantly watching him.

Chris took initiative, pushing open the door with a loud creak. Because none of the lights were on, they couldn’t see anything. That was until Chris felt for the switch, showcasing what was in the room.

Carlos gasped, kneeling down.

It was Jill.

She was lying on the floor, blood dripping ever-so-slowly from a makeshift bandage that must have been from the bedsheets in the other room. Her brows were knitted and sweat beaded across her forehead. 

“Jill!” He patted her cheek, attempting to garner some sort of response. “Jill, please, please don’t be dead.” He fumbled around, feeling her pulse and relaxing slightly when it appeared. Okay, good, she wasn’t dead, it was just a knife wound. 

“We need to rewrap that.” Chris eyed the wound and then started searching the room for something to stop the bleeding. When he found nothing, he said; “I’m gonna try and find something in the other room. Try and see if you can wake her up.”

“I'm trying,” Carlos stressed through his clenched jaw, shaking Jill’s shoulder. “C’mon, Jill. Wake up.” He shook harder. “C’mon!” She wasn’t moving. She was barely breathing. He bit down hard on his lip. “Jill!” Finally, Jill’s eyes fluttered slowly, closing, then opening again. Carlos’s heart soared and he pulled her up, letting her rest her back on the foot of the bed. She groaned. 

“Carlos?” Her voice sounded tired, yet worried at the same time. “What happened to your neck?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.” He brushed her off, inspecting her knife wound. “What happened to you? Chris and I were looking everywhere, and we thought, we thought you got kidnapped.” Jill’s eyes went down to her injury and she swore. 

“Dammit, I need to,” She pushed herself up, but fell back down. “I need to rewrap this.” She tried again, but Carlos pulled her down. 

“Don’t worry about it. Chris is looking for something.” He lets go of her arm. “Just relax, Valentine.” Giving her a warm smile, he starts undoing her work on her leg. “We’ve got this.” 

“I can handle myself, Carlos.” Jill retorts, but he can hear the weariness in her voice, and the gratefulness. He’s known her long enough to not push it right now though. “We have to…we have to get out of here.” She winces once Carlos gets to a tender spot. “Where’s Claire?” Right. Claire. Carlos shrugs his shoulders. 

“We came for you first, but I think she’s in the car.” Jill’s eyes widen at his words, and she tries to stand again, grunting. Carlos reaches for her, but she slaps his hand away. The wound spurts blood, momentarily weakening her. She forces herself back up. “Jill, you need to sit down. You’ll lose too much blood if you walk around like that.” He eyed the laceration, cringing. “It’s pretty deep.” 

“I need to find Claire.” Jill won’t even look at him as she hobbles toward the door. Carlos shoots up, blocking her way. Jill gives him a death glare as she leans heavily against the wall. “Out of my way, Oliveira.” She hisses. 

“Jill, we’ll find Claire, but we need to-”

“I said out of my way, dammit!” She shouts, shoving him. It doesn’t do anything, he doesn’t even stumble. He just stares at her, eyes full of worry. “Carlos, move!”

“I can’t, you know that.” He says.

“I have to find Claire!” She crumples, blood gushing from her leg. “You don’t get it!” 

“I get enough, and I can’t let you leave like this. You’re just gonna get yourself hurt.” 

“I can handle myself!” She tries to push him again to no avail. “I promised Chris!” She falls, almost crashing to the floor, but Carlos catches her. He slowly sets her back at her spot at the foot of the bed. “I promised him.” Weakness seeps into her voice.

“I think he’ll understand that you can’t find Claire right now. I mean, he agreed that we would find you first.” Carlos hates his attempt at comfort, and he’s pretty sure it's not working. If Jill promised something, she would stop at nothing to make sure she did good on it.

Now, he didn’t know what she and Chris had talked about, but it had to do with Claire and Jill was certain she was going to fulfill it. 

 “Hey, is she awake?” Chris entered the room with  a roll of gauze. “I found this in one of the drawers in the main bedroom.” He kneels down beside Carlos and Jill, assessing the damage to her leg.

Carlos moves out of the way, letting Chris wrap Jill’s leg. The woman won’t even look the captain in the eye. Her gaze drifts to the floor as she bites her lip. “You want to tell us how you got this?” Chris asks, finishing wrapping Jill’s leg. 

“I got attacked, what does it look like?” She huffs, uncrumpling one of her fists and showing the men what she was holding. It was a usb plug, there was blood covering it, but that didn’t matter. She got the information. “Everything…everything’s on here, but when I turned to leave,”

“You were attacked by the black mask.” Carlos finishes and Jill nods her head grimly. 

“He was so…fast, so strong.” She winces, shifting her weight. “His movements were familiar, but that didn’t matter. It was like he knew what I was going to do and he countered it perfectly.” Chris and Carlos exchanged worried glances.

If this guy knew Jill’s fighting technique, he must have been studying her somehow. And if he was studying her then he was definitely studying the rest of them. Carlos felt a shiver run through him. 

“Then he let you go? Why?” Chris ponders. That doesn’t make any-” His words are cut off by Jill’s eyes widening. She shouts. 

“Get out of the way!” Simultaneously, they all move, right before a knife slashes through Chris. Carlos scrambles up, pulling his gun out. The man before them, it’s the black mask. He’s huffing greatly, clutching a knife and staring daggers into his eyes. Carlos holds the gun at him, taking a step back. 

“If you move, I’ll shoot.” The black mask obviously didn’t seem to care about that threat as he lunged forward, knocking the gun to the floor and pinning Carlos to the ground. He slashed the knife, but Carlos dodged, headbutting him in retort. The man fell, clutching his head, but swung rapidly, hoping to get in a cut.

Chris jumped in the fight, shooting at the man, but he was too quick, it was like he was dodging bullets. Carlos had never seen anything like it. He pulled out the switchblade he had pocketed before and charged at the black mask, ducking behind him and slashing downward.

The man moved out of the way, slamming the hilt of his blade into Carlos’s forehead. “Shit!” Carlos tripped, shaking his head. Dizzy spots started to form, but he didn’t have to focus on that. The masked man slashed at him again, this time getting a good cut on his shoulder.

Carlos hissed in pain, knife falling from his grasp. He knocks the guy with his elbow.

When he stumbled enough, Chris moved to shoot again, but he missed. Their assailant charged at Chris, swiftly knocking the gun from his hand, out of his reach. It slides just feet away from Jill. Her eyes widen and she pushes herself forward.

The black mask threw a fist, Chris caught it, twisting it and throwing him down. The man recovered, hitting Chris with a right jab, stunning him. Soon Chris was back up, punching and dodging with the man in a deadly dance. 

“Why won’t you stay down?!” Chris grunts, throwing another punch. The man dodges it, drop-kicking Chris. He falls to the ground with a crash. “Fuck!”

“Chris!” Jill calls out to him, sending the gun across the floor and to him. He catches it, aims, and shoots. He’s too late.  The black mask evaded the shot, Carlos didn’t know how, and he smashes a boot down on Chris’s chest.

Chris squirms beneath him, taking a hold of his ankle and throwing him into a wall. Paintings crash to the ground. Carlos takes this opportunity to jump back into the fight, swinging his knife at the masked man. He dodges it, getting back up and running toward Chris, throwing him onto the bed.

The base cracks and splits in two as Chris scrambles to get out of the entanglement of sheets. While the man is distracted with Chris, Carlos grabs the Beretta off the ground and starts shooting. The man ducks, does he have some sort of sixth sense?

He runs up to Carlos, tackles him low, and sends him falling to the ground. Chris jumps into the fray, pulling the attacker off of Carlos. The masked man whips around to see Chris smirking at him, egging him on. 

“Let’s dance.” He throws a lead hook, clocking the black mask in the jaw, but he recovers quickly and repeats the movement. Chris dodges that and swings upward with an uppercut that serves to stun the man.

He falls back and the captain takes that moment to bring up a knife, Carlos’s switchblade, and stab it into the man’s shoulder. He doesn’t even scream, but he does flinch, obviously confused by the pain that must be emanating from his shoulder. He looks down at it, then slowly looks up. 

“Let’s go!” Carlos grabs Jill and hoists her up on his back. This is gonna hurt. He braces himself, eying the window over the pool. Chris looks at him, then looks at what he’s looking at. His eyes widened. 

“Nuh-uh, no way.” He backs up, but the black mask is already recovering. It was their only shot at escaping. Muttering curses under his breath, he grabs his beretta and chucks it at the window. It instantly gives way and glass shatters all over the ground. 

“Hold on tight.” Carlos says to Jill and she nods her head, gripping her hands around his shoulders. Chris is already way ahead of them, leaping out the window. Carlos looks back one last time.

Then they jump.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5

…

He let them get away, let them jump.

Why?

They’re gone now. He thinks.

Because he let them leave.

He wasn’t supposed to, no, he was supposed to catch them.

He was supposed to bring them back.

He didn’t bring them back.

He let them get away, let them jump.

Why?

This is the second time he let her get away. Why? He glances down. There’s a knife in your shoulder, get it out. He grabs the hilt, twists it. It squelches and spits out blood that drips down his arm. He then yanks it out and tosses it to the floor. Pain. Hot, stinging pain. You weren’t supposed to do that. Right? Shaking his head, he hits it lightly. What was he doing, again? 

“Agent, boss wants you back at base.” His comms rang into his ears like a dozen hornets. He winced. Back at base. His mind repeated. Back at base. Red hair. Red hair? He pauses, lost in a maze of thoughts. Back at base. The original thought continues, so he picks up the discarded gun on the ground, curly-hair’s gun.

It will do for now. Red. Red…blood? On the ground. There’s red blood. It’s tangy, coppery, red hair? Someone has red hair. Who has red hair? He notices an unwinded roll of gauze on the floor and inspects it. Someone’s hurt. He picks up the gauze, staring at it in a daze before throwing it down on the ground.

You’re hurt.

Right.

Hurt.

Back to base.

He had to go back to base and he was hurt. It hurt. He looked back at his shoulder, blood was now sliding down his arm like a miniature river. The laceration itself throbbed intensely, stinging every time he tried to move it. Touching a hand to it, he reeled back.

Pain. It was painful. Go outside. Go back to base. The voice in the back of his mind ordered, snapping his thoughts back into place. He slipped the gun into his leg holster and left the room. The brown haired girl looked familiar. His thoughts wandered. Why did you let her escape? She wasn’t red hair. Then there were the men. Two men. One of them had a gun, a specific gun. He threw it out the window, right? Why did the man throw it out the window? 

“Look alive, soldier.” A security guard snickered as he walked past. Who was the other man? That doesn’t matter. Back to base. He clutched his arm. It hurt. Red blood dripped onto the ground. Red blood. Red hair. Red hair. Red jacket. Raccoon. He stopped. Raccoon. The word floated in his mind, just out of his reach. Then three letters swirled around his head. RPD. What did that mean? 

“RPD,” He muttered, voice rough from disuse. He cleared his throat. “RPD.” 

“Agent,” A voice caused him to turn around. It was Saddler, though he had a nasty bruise over his right eye. The wind whipped at his hair. He was outside? He looked around the courtyard where he was standing.

There was a helicopter pad in front of him with a chopper sitting there ready for takeoff. He turned back to Saddler, catching a mysterious glint in his eye. The masked man stiffened, wincing at some unseen presence. “What were you saying just now?” Saddler questions, leering closer. He can almost smell his hot, rotting breath. 

“RPD.” The agent whispers. 

“RPD,” Saddler echoes, touching a bony hand to his chin. “Walk with me, agent.” They walk. Saddler leads him through a maze of hedges, roses peeking out ever so often. Red roses. Red blood. Red hair. Red jacket. Red…“Does the word have any significance to you?” Saddler slides his hand across the hedges, then turns his head for a physical response from the masked man.

He shakes his head, slowly, hesitantly. Does it? “You seem unsure.” Saddler stops, turning around. “Are you unsure?” The agent nods, making the cult leader sigh. “Ah, and was there anything that brought that word to your attention? A name? A voice?” He presses, folding his hands. The agent furrows his brow, as if pondering what he meant. A name? A voice? Red.

“Red,” He utters shakily. Saddler purses his lips in a thin line. 

“Your thoughts have become convoluted, I’m afraid.” He shakes his head, almost disappointedly. “And when our thoughts become convoluted…” Saddler plucks a budding rose from a hedge, eying it. “we tend to fall off.” A crow caws in a nearby tree, flapping its wings and taking flight. The masked agent’s eyes follow it until it is but a black inkspot in the night sky. He speaks.

“Fall…off?”

“Yes, yes, very good.” Saddler nods. “We don’t want that, now do we?” The agent doesn’t know how to respond, so he nods his head. This serves to please Saddler, as he grins. “These ‘memories’ that plague you, they are a product of mankind, a device to try and throw you off.”

He starts. “There is no RPD, no red, just a jumbled mess of mindless thoughts running through you.” Bringing his gaze to the agent, he locks eyes. “You know that, correct?” The agent nods. “That’s why we have our sessions, yes? To free your mind of such trivial thoughts.”

Trivial thoughts.

Red.

Trivial thoughts.

The agent winced, the pain in his shoulder starting to burn again. Saddler must have noticed it, because he says; “Does it hurt?” The masked man nods tentatively. “Hm, humans. So weak, so…pathetic.” He presses a finger into the wound, pushing around blood-covered muscle and skin.

The agent tensed, hands balling into fists in a way to stave the pain. It was white-hot, searing through his arm, replacing the dull pain he had been feeling just moments before. He clenched his jaw.

Red blood.

Red.

No.

Trivial thoughts.

“Speaking of sessions,” Saddler searches the masked man’s eyes. “I think we’re in due time for one, hmm?” He turns around. “Come now, we’ll have our lovely doctor fix you right back up.” The masked man trails behind him, gripping his shoulder in pain. Back to base. His thoughts remind him, it seems to be the only thing he can think of at the moment. Back to base. When they get to the chopper, its blades start spinning, cutting through the air and sending waves through the grass below them.

Saddler gets in and is followed by the masked man. “You know where we’re going.” Saddler speaks and the pilot nods his head. He takes off, and they leave the mansion in the dust. The masked man watches as it gets smaller and smaller, soon it’s only a speck of dust on the ground. Though he tries to ignore it, his mind keeps screaming at him. Red. Red. Red. 

Jill

The impact of the water slams into her, knocking her out cold. She can’t feel anything, she can’t hear anything, she can only hope that Carlos is there, because if he isn’t…she doesn’t want to think about that. Her body is being dragged by something, Carlos? Chris? And where’s Claire again?

She can feel herself being pulled out of the water and onto the ground, at least, that’s what she thinks. Then there’s someone shaking her? Why? Cold hands touch her face, grab her arms, shove her body.

A voice is calling her name, it’s panicked, why is it panicked? She’s okay, she’s okay just floating away and…it’s Carlos. Carlos’s voice. His soft, sweet voice. He’s always there for her, and she doesn’t need to ask for it. He always has her back, even when she yells at him, that’s what she likes about him. He’s reliable, funny, and attractive, and…she’s sleeping. She’s not awake.

“Jill!” Jill’s eyes snap open. She rolls over, heaving and coughing up water. Carlos is looking over her, worry in his eyes. He’s soaking wet, shaking her like crazy and breathing heavily. When he sees her awake, tension dissipates from his shoulders, but not by much. “Jill, thank God.” He hugs her, actually hugs here, and she doesn’t mind it. She grasps him back. 

“Carlos,” She gasps, catching her breath. “What…” Her words trail off and she sits up fully, taking in her surroundings. They’re in some type of backyard with a driveway that must lead to the front. There’s a pool in the middle of it with goddess statues spitting water into it.

There’s a broken window right above the pool, it’s only about eight feet above it, with glass and blood permeating the waters. Right. They jumped out the window and into the pool. Memories washed back over Jill like a tidal wave. There had been a fight between Chris, Carlos, and the black mask. Wait, where was Chris? She whipped her head around, not bothering to wipe the hair stuck to her face. 

“Chris is getting the car.” Carlos seemed to be able to read her thoughts. He leaned back on the grass. She looks at him. He’s been through one hell of a night, by the looks of it. His hair is all matted and there’s blood and cuts splattered all over his once pristine suit, not to mention the bruise that circled around his neck.

Jill didn’t want to imagine how she looked. She took a gamble, glancing down at her thigh. Blood was running down it, mixing with water. Thankfully, Chris had tied the gauze tight enough that it didn’t slip off when they hit the water, but it didn’t matter because it was already bleeding through. She was going to need stitches. 

“Where’s…Claire?” She struggles not to cough up more water, how much did she take in? Carlos tenses at her words, gaze drifting to the ground. He picks off a piece of grass and tosses it. 

“Gone.” He utters. “We, we think she got taken by Weiss.”

“What?” All earlier disorientation and grogginess left her body immediately. Claire was taken. How? How could she let this happen? And Weiss? What did he have to do with this? 

“Osmund Saddler is alive, and we think he was working with Weiss all along under the guise of Oliver Sabin.” Carlos informed her, still avoiding eye contact. Jill could feel the blood drain from her skin. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. She was supposed to protect Claire, she was supposed to put her first no matter what. She was supposed to be there for her, and she failed. A sharp pain ripped its way through Jill’s skull. 

“Agh,” She clutched her temples, massaging them and squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Jill?” Carlos jumped up. “You good?” He rushed to her side, moving about her, unsure of what to do. She waved a hand at him, still closing her eyes. 

“I’m, I’m fine,” She speaks in between short breaths. “Just a…headache.” When the stabbing subsided, she opened her eyes tentatively, blinking a couple of times. It must have been a reaction from the fall. She shook it off. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Carlos questioned, still giving her that worried look. When was he not worrying about her? She would say she hated it, but that would be a complete and utter lie.

“Yeah,” She gives him a weak smile. “I’m fine.” Carlos doesn’t look like he believes her, but he doesn’t push it. He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the sound of a horn. Chris has pulled up in the Bugatti. He rolls down the windows, motioning the two toward him.

Carlos stands up first, helping Jill up as she slings her arm around his shoulder to steady herself. They walk-hobble to the car and practically collapse in the back seat. Jill glances at Chris as he drives away. His expression is stoic, and his jaw clenched. He doesn’t speak, not a single word. She can only assume he didn’t take the news of Claire being missing very well. 

The drive back to the safe house is silent. They’re each off in their own world, ruminating on their mistakes, thinking about Claire, beating themselves up, that seems to be the biggest emotion wafting through the car. To think they went into this mission with such high hopes, at least Jill did.

She thought it would be something easy, something exciting, but it turned out to be anything but that. It was a trap, a convoluted fucking trap made by Osmund Saddler himself for who knows what. She shivers at the thought of him.

He’s alive, which means Leon didn’t succeed in killing him, which meant he died for nothing. That must have hit Chris like a bag of cement. The guy must feel awful. Jill sighs, looking out the window.

She can’t push away the sinking feeling in her gut, no matter how much she tries. It’s so bad, it overcomes the dull ache of her thigh. That’s a plus. Sarcasm itches its way into her mind. Chris pulls the car to the side of the road, right out front of their quaint safehouse.

He gets out and slams his door so hard, Jill swears the mirror cracks. Carlos gets out and helps her to the door of the house, which Chris has graciously left swung open. When they entered the house, they found Chris standing in disbelief in the living room. Now what? Was all Jill could think.

And she was right to.

Sitting on the couch and flipping nonchalantly through a magazine was Ada Wong. Her left arm was tied in a sling, but otherwise, she looked just as usual. She glanced up, like they were interrupting her. 

“Chris, Jill, Carlos, nice seeing you here.” She smirks, standing up. 

“What do you want, Wong?” Chris’s voice is low and dark. He doesn’t sound like he’s in the mood for Ada’s games, but to be fair, he never is. Ada moves past him, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. She opens it and takes a tentative sip. 

“C’mon Ada, we don’t have time for this.” Carlos enters the conversation, the weariness evident in his voice. Ada eyes him and takes another sip. 

“Your orders are to go back to America, correct?” This makes Jill furrow her brows. What? Why would they leave if Claire was still here? She glances to Carlos for an explanation, but sees his jaw is set. Chris’s eyes have a type of fury in them that only proves Ada’s point. So the BSAA just wanted them to leave Claire? Jill wished she could say she was surprised. 

“Your point is?” The captain steps forward, crossing his arms. To anybody but Ada, he would look intimidating. 

“My point,” Ada finds her way back to the couch. “Is that you and I want the same thing, or similar things I should say?” 

“You want to find Claire?” Jill raises an incredulous eyebrow. “You really think we’re gonna believe that?”

“I said we wanted similar things, not the same.” Ada retorts, sliding a file on the table. Chris walks over, picks it up, and studies it.

“You’re looking for Saddler.” He mumbles. Ada nods her head. 

“And you’re looking for Claire.”

“Just get to the point, Ada.” Carlos moves to help Jill sit down in the blue armchair. “What do you want us to do for you?” Ada quirks an amused brow at him, one that stirs a pang of jealousy in Jill that she tries to shrug off. Ada’s not even interested in Carlos, she knows that, but still. 

“Always straight to the point, Carlos. I like that about you.” Ada smiles and looks down at her bad arm. “Thanks to our little assassin friend, I’m out of commission.” She says this through gritted teeth, obviously annoyed by this. “But I need to take down Saddler, bring him back to my employers.”

“And?” Carlos quirks a brow. Ada shoots him a glare.

“And I know where his base is. Which is most definitely where he’s taking your sister.” She points to Chris. “So, I give you the coordinates, you give me Saddler. Deal?” She tilts her head expectantly. Chris, Jill, and Carlos exchange glances. Making deals with Ada meant you were screwing yourself over, but they didn’t have any leads and she did. 

“You’re not gonna screw us over?” Jill folds her arms, glaring at Ada. The spy chuckles, as if that’s an insane deduction for the other to make. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Claire

Claire didn’t remember landing, it all kind of went by in a blur. She must have been knocked out or drugged, because once she woke up, she was lying in a dingy cell that reeked of rot and death.

Glancing down, she noticed her right wrist was shackled to a chain that made its way to the wall. Great. Her left wrist had a band over it, one that was glowing green. There was a dull ache underneath it, so she tried to move it to find the source. When she did, she felt a sharp pain go through the top of her wrist. Shrieking, she pulled back and noticed a trickle of blood that started to form under the band.

Oh fuck.

It was inside of her skin. This was just getting better and better.She pushed herself up against the wall, bones aching and cracking. Her shoulder burned with intensity, did she get in a fight? Her mind swam, making her feel sick. Squinting her eyes, she studied her cage.

The cell she was in was one of many lined up against the wall. The others were empty, save for a couple of bones. Swinging lights hung over the cobblestone pathway that led to a wooden door with a heavy lock on it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a dirty looking operating table with a cart next to it. There’s an array of medical tools on it that look like they haven’t been washed in years. Sitting above the table was a bright fluorescent medical light, the type Claire expected to see at a dentist's office, not Wesker's evil base.

She choked back bile, forcing herself to look away from it. If she was experimented on, she didn't know what she would do. A lurching sound echoed throughout the room, serving to make Claire flinch. The heavy door opened up, revealing a doctor, face obscured by a mask. He stepped into the room, walking over to the operating table and setting something down on it. Once he was done, he turned to Claire, striding to her cell. She scooted back as far as she could, glaring at the man. 

“You’re awake.” His voice was raspy and oily. Claire shuddered.

“No shit, Sherlock.” The doctor didn’t react to her comment. He crouched down, scrutinizing her every breath, making her feel naked. She pulled back. “You seen enough?” 

“Give me your arm.” The doctor commanded. Claire scrunched her nose, clutching her wrist. 

“No.” She spat. The doctor sighed.

“Resistance is futile, Ms. Redfield.” He pulled out a small device, waving it in front of her face. There was a single red button in the middle of it, but nothing else. Her brows furrowed. The doctor pressed the button and immediately Claire felt a shockwave of electricity surge through her body, frying her senses.

She screamed out and bit down on her tongue, crumpling to the ground as all of her willpower was sucked out of her like a vacuum. Once she regained some strength, she pushed herself up, spitting blood at the doctor. It landed on his pristine coat and he glanced down slowly. 

“Fuck you,” Claire wiped her mouth. The doctor shook his head at her.

“I apologize,” The apology didn’t seem directed at her. It was like there was someone else in the room he was talking to. “I’m not used to working with such impervious subjects.” He drawls. “Or, might I say, it’s been a while since I have.” Claire wrinkled her nose. What did he mean by that? She leaned her head against the wall, taking in a breath. 

“Go away.” It sounded stupid to say, but what was she supposed to do? Let the guy poke and prod her to his heart’s content? The doctor’s eyes squinted, was he smiling? She couldn’t tell.

“I’ve missed this,” He chuckled. “I’ve missed this fight, this resistance to treatment.” Claire gave him a disgusted look. 

“What are you going to do to me?” The shake in her voice betrays her fear. Damn it. But he probably already knows she’s scared, he can probably smell it. She shivers. 

“Oh, Ms. Redfield, I just hope to make you a more complicit servant to our lord.” The doctor explains casually. Claire raises an eyebrow at his wording. 

“Your…lord?” She questions and the doctor nods vigorously. “Who’s your lord?” This catches him off guard. He quirks an eyebrow as if to say ‘how dare you not know who kidnapped you’. Well, Wesker kidnapped her, but she had a sinking feeling that wasn’t who this guy was talking about. 

“Our lord is the King of the Las Plagas.” The doctor smirks. “Osmund Saddler.”
Chris

Making a deal with Ada wasn’t something Chris ever thought he would do. He had seen way too many times before on how she double-crossed countless colleagues and allies. In Ada Wong’s book, nobody was important and everyone was expendable.

Plus, it didn’t help that Leon hadn’t trusted her, and seeing her always brought up memories of the agent. Whether Chris liked it or not. It reminded him of the Spain mission. Leon’s last mission. He tightened his fists around his seat, squeezing the leather. It didn’t matter though, the memories started flooding back. Chris could see on Leon’s face that he was less than happy to see Ada when she arrived, but he wouldn’t say much about why.

Now, Chris wasn’t the one to pry, but he would have had to be an idiot not to notice the obvious tension between the pair. He had remembered thinking Claire’s gonna love this at the time. Jokes aside, there was definitely something there, something that neither Leon nor Ada was going to talk about anytime soon. So, Chris didn’t push it. But now, sitting across from Ada on a private jet, well, he needed to know.

Besides, it would keep his mind off of Claire, at least for the moment. He grunts, shifting in his seat. 

“So, what was it you had against Leon?” He says, glaring at the woman. Her eyes widen momentarily, there’s a flicker of amusement. She then folds her legs and crosses her arms.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Redfield.” Ada says his last name in some sort of mocking manner, though Chris can’t pinpoint why. He furrows his brows. 

“I would, that’s why I asked.” This makes Ada stiffen, though she brushes it off by rolling her shoulders. Her eyes search the plane, studying everyone in an attempt not to look at Chris. Jill is sleeping, her head resting on Carlos’s shoulder.

Her leg had been stitched up, but still was a grisly sight to look at. Her brows were knitted and her arms folded, like she knew she was never truly safe. Carlos was sleeping too, leaning against the window, but his hand rested on his gun. Chris chuckled to himself. It was like they all silently agreed to make sure Ada knew they didn’t trust her. When the spy’s eyes fell back on Chris, they softened, surprisingly. 

“We had our arguments, he made mistakes, and so did I. End of story.” She shifts her bad arm into a more comfortable position. Her eyes flick up to Chris, she sighs and then turns to the window. “I don’t know why any of this matters anyway because-” She stopped herself, exhaling. “What did the BSAA have you doing in France anyway?” She shifts the conversation, unsubtly at best, but Chris guesses she doesn’t really care about that. She just wants to get away from the topic of Leon. 

“What are you doing in France?” He retorts. Chris doesn’t know much about Ada, but he does know giving her more information means giving her more power. And right now, keeping her in the semi-dark was the most power he had. Ada rolls her eyes. 

“I was tracking Saddler,” She explains lazily. “I have unfinished business with him. Or, I guess my employers do.” 

“Why?”
“That’s none of your business, captain.” Ada’s lips quirk slightly and her eyes narrow. “I think you know I’m doing the world a favor by bringing him to justice.” Chris doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s right. After everything Saddler had done, death seemed much more suitable than bringing him in, but he needed to pay for his crimes the right way.  

“I still don’t see what you gain from that. I mean, what did he ever do to you?” Chris questions, making Ada tilt her head. She contemplates this, opening her mouth to speak but then closing it again. She sighs. 

“I’m not required to state my business with you, and it’s not about what I want. I’m just doing my job.” 

“It’s because of Leon isn’t it?” The plane goes silent. The only sound that can be heard is the turbulent winds outside at the subtle hum of air conditioning. Ada purses her lips in a thin line, not speaking a word. It almost makes Chris feel bad. He knew there was some type of relational drama between the two of them, but her reaction made it seem that much deeper. What truly happened between them? “Cut the shit, Ada. I’m willing to bet there’s nobody employing you right now, and this is a personal mission.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Correct?”

“Agent Kennedy, he died thinking he killed Saddler.” Ada starts, gazing out the window. “I’m just here to finish the job.” Her tone grows dark and grave. She turns her attention back to Chris, seemingly staring daggers into his eyes. 

“I thought you didn’t care about anyone.” Chris lets out a dry laugh. “What’s so special about Leon?” 

“I don’t care about him.” Ada leans forward, speaking through clenched teeth. “And there’s nothing ‘special’ about him, okay? I’m going after Saddler because my employers sent me.” 

“Bullshit.” Chris shakes his head, leaning back. He crosses his arms. Gotcha. He thinks to himself. Of course Ada liked Leon, why else would she have continually helped him in Raccoon and Spain? It all made sense now. Or maybe she just feels like she owes him? He furrowed his brow. That could very well be the truth too. But the way she reacted…Chris didn’t know what to think. Ada bit the inside of her cheek. 

“I don’t know what your problem is, Redfield. But you don’t know me, so don’t pretend like you do.” She repositions in her chair, pulling out her phone. Chris slumps. Ada was a mystery that he knew, but there was something about how she responded to the topic of Leon. Yes, he was a difficult subject for everyone, but Chris never suspected he would be for Ada.

Was there more to the two of them under the surface? And if so, did Claire know? He frowned.

Everything seemed to lead back to Leon, to Chris and his mistake. Was this some sort of divine interference to make sure he knew he fucked up? Because if it was, it was working. Jill and Carlos were hurt, Saddler was back from the dead, Claire was kidnapped, and now he was being forced to work with Ada. How much worse could it get? What was going to happen next? Would Wesker’s body be reanimated to torment Chris? He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to get himself comfortable for the rest of the flight.

This was going to be a long hour. 

…

The helicopter landed on the helipad with a soft thud. The blades slowed their spin and Saddler shoved the door open. He stepped out and the masked man followed. About twelve cult members greeted them, eager to hear what Saddler had to say about the mission, but he brushed them off with words such as “In due time, child” and “All will be revealed to you once you open your eyes”

The agent had been with him long enough to know that meant he didn’t want to talk about it, or embarrass himself by saying they didn’t complete the mission. But he didn’t say anything, thanks to the incessant ringing in his mind.

Red. Red. Red.

His boots pounded on the ground. Red. A cult member walked past him. Red necklace. Pillars made of ancient rock stood on either side of the door. Red rock. He glanced back at his shoulder. Red blood. It wasn’t until someone tapped his shoulder that he realized where he was. He was in a room reminiscent of a horror movie lab, with jars of body parts stacked high on one side of him and tools and drugs piled on shelves to his left. There was a single chair in the middle of the room with a fluorescent light shining down on it. 

“Agent, respond.” A finger snapped in his face, bringing him out of his daze. He looked down. It was a cult member in a nurse’s uniform. She was holding a little baggy with a red cross insignia on it. “There you are.” She smiled once she met his gaze. “Thought I lost you for a second.” The nurse chuckles to herself and leads him over to the chair. She pulls a stool next to him and opens the bag, pulling out sutures.

She starts disinfecting and stitching the wound. The masked man doesn’t even feel it, he’s too caught up in…what was it again? Red. RPD. Girl. Jacket. Motorcycle. His mind reminds him. The words play on a loop in his brain, ringing in his ears like toll bells. Finally, the nurse huffs in approval, nodding her head. “Dr. Wilson will be with you soon.” With that, she scurries out of the room, leaving the agent alone to his thoughts.

His wild thoughts.

Red. He hits his forehead. Girl. Jacket. Motorcycle. RPD. Red. He hits a bit harder. The door creaked open. His head shot up. A man walked in the room, clipboard in hand. He was older, with a full gray head of hair and dark-rimmed glasses. There’s a charismatic smile on his face as he strides closer to the agent. He’s wearing a lab coat, but otherwise doesn’t look very important. He circles the chair the agent sits on, making his hair stand on edge. Red. His mind screams. 

“Hello, agent. How are we doing today?” The doctor smirks, coming back around to face the agent. “Saddler tells me you’ve been plagued by bad thoughts, is that true?” He finds the stool, resting down on it. The agent’s gaze drops to the ground, unsure of what to say. He mumbles.

“Red.”

“Ah,” The doctor taps his chin thoughtfully. He tilts his head to the side, inspecting the agent’s face. “I think we’ve talked about this color before, haven’t we?” He waits for the agent to nod his head before continuing. “But I seem to recall red being a problem for us, yes?”

He stands up, making his way to the shelf lined with medical tools. His hand wavers around until he gives a slight “aha” and picks something up. It’s a syringe. Wilson grabs a vial of red liquid, swishing it around before plunging the needle into the lid and extracting the drug.

The agent’s body freezes. Red. This is red. This is what it is. He can feel his shoulders tense with each step Wilson takes toward him. “Do you remember what red feels like, agent?” The doctor questions, amusement in his eyes.

The agent closes his eyes and furrows his brows, trying to find something to anchor on. A feeling, a sight, a…woman. With red hair and…“Now’s not the time to let your mind wander.” A cold hand grasps his shoulder, pushing in on his stitches.

The agent groans, his eyes snapping open. The doctor pulls down the turtleneck of his shirt, revealing purplish spots around dried injection sites. Then, the needle plunged into his skin, surging through his body. It was hot, fiery, burning through his veins and making him scream. “Now, now, agent, focus, remember. Red hurts, doesn’t it? It feels bad.” Wilson wildly searches the agent’s eyes, holding onto his shoulders and stabilizing him.

Finally, the burning subsides and the agent slumps, head lolling to the side. Wilson smiles. “Look what red did to you,” He pouts in mock-sympathy. “Is that really something you want in your mind at all times?” The man sets down the syringe on the small cart next to him. The agent’s mind flickers with memories that soon melt into a puddle of red. His mind feels like a mush of soup being stirred in a boiling pot. He can feel the drip of blood sliding down his neck.

The room is spinning before him. Red…hurts. Red. Red what? Red needle. Red liquid. Red pain. “Now,” Wilson starts. “What do you see?” The agent opens his mouth, voice rough. 

“Red…hair.” 

“No, no,” Wilson tuts, shaking his head. “You know better than this.” He rips open a new needle, fitting it onto the chamber. Pulling out more liquid from the vial, he speaks. “Red is bad,” He jams the needle into the agent, making him flinch. “Red is evil,” He presses the bar, injecting every last drop into the agent’s body.

He tenses, spasming as the fire runs through him again. He can feel his heart pulsing in his ears and his hands twitching in a plea to be set free from this scalding pain. Red is bad. “Now, if you want to stop this, you’ll need to do something for me.”

Wilson says, setting down the needle. “Because then the pain will go away.” He sighs, giving the agent a disappointed look. Red was hurting him, so why…no.

Red was evil. “I thought we were past this, agent. I really did. I thought we wouldn’t have to have these sessions anymore.” Wilson scolds, looking down at the agent. Past this. Past this. The agent’s mind whirled and Wilson’s image distorted until he was but a faceless voice in the midst of the chaos. His body felt weak, it ached but he could do nothing about it. His eyes fluttered shut. He dimly registered the doctor hovering above him, but did nothing.

Wilson lightly slapped his face.  “Now, now, agent. Stay with me. We have something important to discuss.” The agent opened his eyes tentatively, but started drifting again. “Agent,” Wilson grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look in his eyes.

The agent’s gaze was sluggish, unfocused, but Wilson’s voice rang clear as a bell. “I have a group of targets landing in Spain in a couple of hours, okay? I need you to bring them to me.” Targets. His mind latched onto the word. Find the targets. 

“Secretary Wilson.” A voice entered the chamber making the man spin on his heels, a practiced smile plastered on his face. 

“Ah, Lord Saddler, how nice of you to drop by!” He clapped his hands together, ushering the man in. The agent’s eyes flickered at the name. Saddler. Lord Saddler. His mind echoed Wilson’s words as the cult leader entered the room.“And please, call me doctor. No need for my American formalities.” Wilson chuckled but Saddler did not. The doctor gulped, pulling at his shirt collar. He was obviously not comfortable with the leader being here. Saddler made his way to the chair the agent was sitting in, circling it with his arms behind his back. He stopped at the front, picking up the vial of red liquid.

“I trust your methods have been working in maintaining control.” He inspected it before setting it back down and facing Wilson. The doctor nodded furiously.

“Yes, of course. You see, before my days as Secretary of Defense, I dabbled in pharmaceutical and psychological sciences.” Wilson seemed quite proud of this statement. He adjusted his tie. “But what brings you down here at the moment?” Saddler didn’t respond to this. He continued to stare at the agent, tilting his head. 

“Where are you, agent?” Saddler pursed his lips. The agent’s mouth cracked open to respond. At first, he only coughed. Then, he spoke. 

“Here.”

“No.” The cult leader shook his head. “Where is your mind?” He leaned forward, practically breathing on the agent. Mind? Where is your mind? The agent’s brows furrowed, trying to make sense of the request. Where? 

“Trying…to remember.” His voice felt rough and his jaw fell slack. Remember what? Wilson chuckled a nervous chuckle, stepping in Saddler’s sight. 

“Such a troublesome memory our agent has, yes?” He clears his throat. “Always clinging to the wrong things.” He picks up the needle. “That’s what this is for.” 

“Hm,” Saddler nods. “You believe we have not lost our enlightened child to the…crevices of his mind?” His brow raises, scrutinizing Wilson’s every breath. 

“If you’re asking about the effects, they’re minimal, really.” The doctor strides over to a filing cabinet, pulling out a slew of papers bunched together by a single paperclip.

He flips through the before stopping at one, pulling it out of the stack. “I take account after each injection and there doesn’t seem to be any anomalies regarding his training and response. I mean, his combat ability hasn’t been affected at all, it’s quite incredible. Really.”

He hands the paper to Saddler, who scans it before giving it back. “The only thing I will note is the obvious, ah, toll this conditioning has taken on his brain. There is a definite loss of some functions, obviously critical thinking skills are at a low, but it’s nothing that will affect our cause. In short, I don’t see any sort of ‘breakthrough’ from him in the near future.” Wilson rambles on, but the cult leader pays no mind to him. He exhales. 

“Look at him, Wilson.” Saddler instructs and the doctor turns his gaze to the agent. His eyes are shut now and his breathing shallow. “A broken toy taken into the arms of the enlightened, wound up to fight and obey with no conscience.” The cult leader steps forward, brushing a cold hand over the agent’s hair. “Beautiful.” He whispers.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Wilson puts the papers back in the file cabinet, slamming it shut. “But you did most of the heavy-lifting in shaping our soldier.” He opens a drawer and pulls out a cotton ball and some bandages, making his way back to the agent. He started carefully dabbing the blood leakage and then starting bandaging his neck.

“Have you given him his next mission?” Saddler floated around the room, stopping ever so often to gaze at something or pick up and inspect another thing. 

“Yes.” Wilson nodded, finishing up his bandaging. “Debriefing will be in an hour.” 

“Good.” Saddler smiled, an evil, twisted, smile. “Let the games begin.”

Chapter Text

Carlos

They landed in the middle of fucking nowhere. At least that’s what Carlos gathered as he stepped out of the plane.

Clouds bore over them and a slight wind stirred their hair. Standing in front of them was a large, worn gate in front of them with rusty locks that looked like they hadn’t been used in years.

Behind it sprawled a village, with various wooden buildings and wells and worn dirt paths.

Flora and bushes grew untamed, snaking around the wooden poles and covering them in greenery. The air about them had a stale, dusty smell that made Carlos cover his nose and turn to Jill. 

“It smells here.” He cringed. Jill gave a huff of acknowledgement, still wincing at the pain emanating from her leg. Right. Carlos glanced over, watching her mumble under her breath as she hobbled down the steps. She looked like she was trying to cover up the pain, to no avail.

It reminded Carlos of his own injury and he brushed his fingers against his neck. It was still hard to swallow, and his voice had sounded better, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Still sore. He grimaced, pulling away. “You need any help?” He reached out a hand, but Jill slapped it aside. 

“I’m fine.” She brushed past him, moving next to Chris. Damn, that stung. “Hey, we’ll find her.” She places her hand on Chris’s shoulder in a moment of reassurance. The captain gives her a weary smile, not looking like he totally believed her, but he was trying. Carlos walked over to them. 

“We ready to take down a cult leader?” He joked, earning him a glare from Chris. He frowned and made a mental note to not make any more jokes. Chris wasn’t exactly taking being back in Spain very well. His shoulders were tense and his grip on his gun was tight to say the least.

“You kids have fun.” Ada waved from the top of the plane’s steps, a smirk on her face. “I would drop you off closer to the remains of the castle where their base is, but security’s too tight.” 

“What about the castle? Salazar’s Castle?” Chris asked. 

Ada smirked. “Destroyed, left for rubble. Apparently other locals of nearby towns excavated it to ward off the evil spirits that came from it.”

Chris gave a dry chuckle. “So to ward off Salazar’s dead carcass?” 

“Guess so. Well anyway, have fun and don’t die.” Ada entered the plane, and Chris grumbled something in response,  Jill flipping her off while Carlos maintained a slight nod.

Why do I gotta be the only one with manners? He shook his head, moving toward the gate and grabbing it.

It shuddered and cracked but gave way fairly easily. Carlos turned around and shrugged at the other two before stepping into the dilapidated village. 

It was a lot bigger than he expected. And that was saying something.

The houses were tall and stacked upon each other like building blocks with triangle shaped roofs. Windows were smashed and doors kicked open, but otherwise, they were kind of cool to look at. In the center of the village, there was a cobblestone well with a brass bell hanging over it.

There were chickens pecking at the dust on the ground around Carlos as he surveyed the quaint village. Pig and cow troughs were off to the side, away from the houses. Upon closer inspection, they were filled with bones and the smell of death. Carlos wrinkled his nose, stepping away.

When was the last time someone was here? Was it Chris and Leon?

He looked at the captain. His face was a mix of reminiscing and sadness, though his furrowed brow tried to say otherwise. He was kneeling on the ground by the well, inspecting something he had picked up.

Jill was cautiously peeking her head into a house, gun drawn. She shouldn’t have come, Carlos thought selfishly. He knew she would want to be here and not sit with Ada on the plane, but she was injured. She could barely walk without wincing in pain or stumbling.

How was she going to fare in a fight?

But he didn’t bring it up to her, he knew she would have his head if he even suggested she stay back. Chris probably thought the same, because he was quiet about it as well, giving Jill side glances filled with worry every once in a while. 

“What’d you find?” Carlos kneels down beside the captain. Chris shrugs, wiping away a smudge of dust on something that looks like a medallion. He inspects it closer, squinting his eyes and then shrugging, handing it to Carlos. The medallion is the size of a quarter, but it has an intricate carving of a falcon on it, spreading its wings wide. “Huh,” He flips it over to find the same image on the back. “What do you think it is?”

“Probably their currency or something.” Chris pushes himself up, rolling his neck. “Let’s get a move on.” Carlos agrees and pockets the medallion, just in case. “Jill, c’mon!” Chris shouted and the woman replied.

“Coming.” She appeared out of one of the houses, something in hand. “Found something we might want to look at.” She said as she caught up to the men, handing Chris what looked to be a map. Thank god. Carlos knew that Chris had been here before, so he probably knew the lay of the land pretty well, but it had been three years.

It was making him kind of nervous knowing they were going off Chris’s three year memory. He leaned over. The map was dusty and ripped, but readable. Carlos squinted. 

“It’s just a map of the village.” Chris sighed, folding it up and stuffing it in his pocket. “Kind of useless.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Carlos glanced at Jill and then back at Chris. “Jill and I haven’t been here before, so maybe we should take the map.” He put his hand out, motioning for the captain to give him the map. Chris groaned and pulled it out of his pocket, dropping it heavily into Carlos’s palm. 

“I know where we’re going.” Chris mumbled, trudging ahead of both of them. Carlos glanced at Jill. She shrugged, obviously just as confused as he was by the man’s attitude. She rolls her eyes and follows Chris with Carlos trailing behind her. 

There was nothing in the village. It was empty, ransacked. It was almost as if someone got here before them and hid any evidence that led to Saddler. Of course. 

“There’s nothing here.” Carlos groaned, rubbing the back of his neck and sitting down on one of the many chairs in the house they had regrouped in. Chris was staring out the window, hand hovering over his gun. His eyes shifted back and forth, narrowing at any movement.

Jill was standing across from him, leaning against the door and studying the map. She sighed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. 

“Thanks for letting us know, Carlos.” She remarked, folding the paper and stuffing it in her pocket. “But…I agree.” Falling into the seat across from Carlos, she massaged her temples. He nodded his head and messed with his hair.

Maybe Ada had tricked them. Maybe she had sent them on a wild goose chase. I mean, it was plausible, it was Ada.

Both of them turned to Chris, who still remained silent. Jill shifted. “Chris.” She called the man but it fell on deaf ears. The captain stood rigid, lost in his mind. Carlos furrowed his brows. 

“Chris, man, you there?” He stood up and made his way to the man, patting him on the back. Chris tensed slightly, shaking his head. 

“Uh, yeah, right. There’s nothing here.” He turned around, blinking slowly, like he had just woken from a dream. “Let’s get going, though.” Surveying the group, his eyes landed on Jill. “If we’re all ready.” Carlos followed his gaze. Jill was looking worse for wear with pale skin and sweat beading at the side of her forehead.

She had been walking slower, stopping to take breaths, which is why they were stopping in the first place. Though Chris hid it under the guise of ‘regrouping’. Jill’s eyes narrowed as she turned from Chris to Carlos. Huffing, she pulled herself up from the chair. 

“I’m fine.” She brushed past the men and out the door. Damn, someone’s angry. Carlos thought, shrugging and following the woman out. The sun was setting above them, turning the sky a dark gray. 

“It’s getting cloudy.” Carlos mumbles, matching his pace with Jill. She nods her head, eyes drifting to Chris. He was ahead of them by a couple of feet, marching forward, boots thumping on the ground. There’s worry in Jill’s expression, worry for him. Carlos hates to admit it, but that stings.

She’s never been like that for him, only Chris. It was like Carlos was the third wheel in their unofficial relationship. He sighs. “He’s gonna be okay, Jill. It’s just a lot for him…being back here.” Jill purses her lips, drawing her eyes to Carlos.

“I know.” She says, biting her lip. “I just…Claire being gone is my-” She can’t even finish her sentence. Carlos jumps in. 

“It’s not your fault.” His voice is firm. If anything, it was his. He was Claire’s partner for the mission, he should have never left her alone. And coupled with the fact that his mistake was making Jill feel like it was hers, it didn’t sit right with him.

She shouldn’t have to carry that burden, it’s his. “You couldn’t have done anything about it. I mean, we didn’t know that Saddler and Weiss were planning to kidnap us anyway.” He reasoned and Jill nodded reluctantly. Her brows furrowed.

“Why would someone like Weiss work with Saddler anyway? I mean, what does he get out of it?” She wondered aloud. Carlos dipped his head. 

“Probably a lot of money.” 

“But he’s already rich.”

“Rich people are greedy by default. Nothing changes that, trust me.” Jill snorted at that, showing her agreement. It was only moments after their conversation that light sprinkles of rain started from overhead. Carlos glanced up at the sky, shielding his face from the droplets. Great. He groaned internally, stopping in his tracks. “Chris.” The captain turned to his name. 

“What?” 

“Uh, it’s raining.” Carlos pointed out, dryness lacing his tone. “Maybe we should, I don’t know, take cover for the night.” Chris rolled his eyes and turned back around. 

“We need to find Claire, it’s just a little water.” 

“Some of us have injuries that could be worsened by a cold.” Carlos jogs up to Chris, blocking him from walking any further. The captain rolls his neck and tilts his head. 

“You’ll be fine.”

“Not me,” Carlos’s voice drops to a low whisper. “Jill’s getting worse.” He and Chris both eye the woman. She’s standing impatiently, watching the sky. Her shoulders are saggy and now her under eyes hold dark circles. “If it starts pouring and we’re in the middle of nowhere, she could get sick.” He searches Chris’s eyes for some semblance of reason. They can’t afford to lose Jill, he knows the captain knows it, albeit deep down. Chris’s expression softens.

“Fine.” He sighs, glancing around. “There’s a shed on the other side of this forest. It should do until the rain passes.” Carlos nods, thankful he could talk some sense into the man.

It only takes a couple of minutes before the rain starts pouring. It’s coming down in pellets, soaking anything and everything it touches, turning the ground into a mushy mud pit.

“Ugh,” Carlos groaned as he pulled his boot out of another sinking puddle. “Please tell me we’re almost there, Chris.” His voice was picked up by the howling wind, blowing it away. 

“What?!” Chris shouted from afar, the rain almost covering him from sight. 

“I said, are we almost there?!” He shouts, cringing at the stinging sensation climbing up his throat. He turns to see if Jill is still following. She’s right behind him, stumbling against the combined pressure of the wind and rain. She leans her hand against a tree, wiping her hair from her face. “Chris?!” Carlos’s voice betrays a bit more worry than he liked.

The captain doesn’t hear him, still trudging forward. “Fuck.” He whispers, turning around and making his way to Jill. “Are you okay?” Carlos puts his hand on her shoulder, but she shirks him off. 

“I’m…I’m fine, just catching my breath.” Jill won’t make eye contact. Something’s off, her leg? Carlos glances down and notices a dark red splotch blooming in stark contrast to her gray jeans. 

“Jill…” He meets her eyes with a heavy-hearted stare. Why didn’t she say anything? Did she think he couldn’t handle it? That it was too much for him? He curses under his breath, running a hand through his wet mop of hair. “Why-”

“I’m fine.” Jill pushes herself up from the tree, almost falling over. Carlos catches her, holding her shoulders steady. 

“No, you’re not.” He shakes his head, stopping any more resistance from her. “When did it start bleeding again?” 

“I…I don’t know, maybe an hour ago.” 

“Dammit, Jill! Why didn’t you tell me?!” His jaw clenched, bunching under his soaked skin. 

“Because it’s not your problem!” She winces, tilting slightly. “I can handle myself!”

“Well, obviously that’s not true! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” He motions to her body and she grimaces. She knows it’s true, but she has to be so damn stubborn. Of course, she does, she wouldn’t be Jill if she wasn’t.

“Don’t lecture me, Oliveira!” Jill retorts, shoving him back. “I’m not the mission! Claire’s the mission, okay?! You should be worried about her, not me!” She jabs herself in the chest and screams over the wind. Carlos’s brows furrow and he takes a step toward her. They’re inches apart. 

“I can’t not worry about you, Jill! Especially when you go around acting like your fucking invincible because you’re not!” He blows out hot breaths. “I care about you, okay?!” Carlos yells, shrugging his shoulders and waving his hands.”I fucking care about you!” He stops, dropping his hands in defeat.

Jill’s eyes widened. Rain pours over her, making her hair stick to her cheeks. Her eyes are focused on Carlos in some confused way like she doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

Why doesn’t she get it?

She gazes into him and breathes so slowly it looks like she’s frozen in time. Her lips part and her shoulders droop. 

“You…Carlos, you can’t,” Jill’s head drops, swaying. “Don’t say that.” She whispers, voice cracking. 

“Jill,” He starts, but she stops him. She clears her throat, looking back up. 

“We can’t do this. We can’t.” She bites her cheek. Even through the rain, Carlos can see the glistening tears pricking her eyes. A flash of lightning illuminates her features, making his heartbreak. Her face is almost disappointed, in him. He lets out a shuddery breath. “Getting attached, it, it’s never a good idea.” Her voice breaks. “Not in our line of work.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Carlos takes a tentative step forward. “You think I haven’t tried to shove my feelings down in the deepest pits of my heart? You think I don’t know that?” He repeats, searching her eyes for something, anything. 

“Carlos,” Jill grabs his hand, squeezing it. “We’ve done this before.”

“No,” He shakes his head, but she puts her palm against his cheek, bringing him back. 

“I can’t…if we’re worried about each other, it compromises the mission. We can’t…I can’t afford to put you first.” Her hand feels smooth against his skin and he wants nothing more than to lean into her, to love her. But he can’t. There’s a wall between them, it’s invisible, but it’s there. 

“I can’t not put you first.” Carlos breathed out. 

“Then you’re going to get us both killed.” Jill’s words were harsh, they cut through him like a knife. He bit into the side of his cheek, tasting the familiar, coppery taste of blood. Carlos sighed, pulling away from her.

She was right, how could he be so stupid? How could he let his emotions cloud him like that? That wasn’t the Carlos he knew. He was supposed to be suave and flirty with no real depth, he wasn’t supposed to fall for Jill.

He chided himself for even thinking she would reciprocate, especially after one failed attempt. This wasn’t the mercenary trained to kill whoever, whenever with no attachments.

What happened to him? 

“Okay then.” Carlos cleared his throat, ignoring the stinging tears that were starting to form in his eyes. He turned away from her. “Okay.” Jill didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

That would be too much.

Carlos bit his lip, Jill was still hurt, and Chris was still gone. He had a mission, dammit. “We still have to-” Before he could finish his sentence, a voice rang out through the storm. 

“Carlos! Jill! Where are you?!” Flashlights flashed through the storm, illuminating the dark figures that were approaching them. Carlos’s arm instinctively went over Jill, and he stepped in front of her, squinting to try and see who it was calling their names.

It was too hard to tell, paired with the wind and rain. The lights came closer, finally revealing who it was.

It was Chris.

Chris and five other masked figures behind him. Carlos’s brows furrowed. They were wearing tactical gear and carrying guns. Who were they?
“Chris?” Carlos stepped forward, hand hovering over his holster. “What are…who are they?” He nodded his head toward the men tailing Chris and the captain swiveled around. 

“Oh, right. Guys, meet the Alpha squad.” Chris stepped aside, allowing the men to come forward. Jill and Carlos exchanged worried glances. 

“The Alpha squad?” Jill comes out from behind Carlos, but immediately crumples under the weight of her bad leg. She cries out in pain, falling to the ground. 

“Jill!” Carlos and Chris yell in unison, each coming to her aid. Carlos gets there first, holding her in his arms. She’s out cold, slick skin pale as a sheet. Her brows are furrowed, even in unconsciousness. 

“It’s her leg.” Chris’s voice is hard. His jaw clenches as he inspects her wound. “Shit.” He mutters, concern taking over his eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Carlos retorts, glancing down. The blood stain has spread now, covering much of her pant leg. How could he stand here confessing his love to her while she was in this much pain? 

“We should take her back to base.” One of the Alpha squad members speaks up. He has a thick Spanish accent and is holding a standard M24 sniper. 

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, standing up. “You’ll carry her?” Carlos nods his head at this, lifting up Jill, favoring her bad leg. He positions her so her head rests on his chest. Hopefully, she’s not too uncomfortable. The Alpha squad leads the way through the forest, revealing an unassuming shed in a clearing, next to a lake.

It’s dilapidated, but it will get them out of the rain. The eight of them file into the tiny shed, each setting their things down and then sitting down themselves.

The shed was filled with boxes stacked high off to the side, surrounded by cobwebs. The dirt flooring below them was covered in muddy boot prints and the smell of gunpowder was fresh.The squad member with the sniper removes his helmet and the others follow suit. They’re all around the same age, save for one that looks pretty young, and they're all pretty standard military guys.

“My name is Carl, Carl Alfonso.” The man sticks out his hand. Carlos takes it tentatively, careful not to move Jill too much. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t work. “Carlos Oliveira.”

“Carlos Oliveira?” The young one perks up. “The war criminal?” Okay, Carlos didn’t like this guy already. Bringing up war crimes and such was a low blow, especially directed towards someone you first met. Carlos grimaced. 

“Yep,” He popped the p. “That’s me.” 

“Piers, next time, try not to come for the man’s honor, hm?” A bald man patted the younger on the back before turning to Carlos. “I’m DeChant, here filling in for Walker. He’s on vacation. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He nodded and Carlos did the same. 

“And I’m Macauley, uh, Finn. That’s my first name.” A man wearing a beanie waved. “And this here is-”

“Ben Airheart.” The man next to Finn said, but he was engrossed in his phone. “Glad to be working side by side with a known criminal.” That statement earned him a hard look from Chris. 

“Airheart.” The captain warned. 

“What? It was a joke, Chris.” Airheart shrugged him off, a goofy grin on his face. Carlos cringed. So, were these guys BSAA? And how come he had never heard of them before? What was their tie to Chris? These questions circled in his mind, not giving him a moment’s rest.

This mission was becoming more confusing by the second.

He glanced down at Jill, she was the only person who he felt hadn’t changed in the past ten minutes. That was comforting. Her breaths were deep and peaceful, thankfully she was getting some respite from his pain, but she still had to be treated. 

“I’ve got some gauze if you want to rip the pant leg.” DeChant seemed to have followed his gaze as he was now standing above Carlos with a roll of gauze and a switchblade. 

“Thanks,” Carlos takes it from him and gets to work. After they finish dressing the wound, Carlos turns his attention to Chris. “So how do you know these guys? They BSAA?” The captain takes a swig from a water jug and wipes his beard, nodding his head. 

“Used to be team captain, but that was back in-”

“O6.” Finn smiles. “Those were the good days.” The other members nod in agreement, save for DeChant. 

“And you’re from?” Carlos nods a head at him. 

“BSAA SOU. Located in West Africa.” DeChant explained. “Met Chris there a while back, then came to America, and the rest is history.”

“Okay.” Carlos sighed. “Then what are you guys doing here?” 

“What do you think?” Airheart questioned, eyes finally flicking up from his screen. “We’re here to take down the old culty guy. BSAA sent us after you guys went rogue.” This made Carlos whip around to gauge Chris’s expression. The man nodded solemnly, so he hadn’t known about this either. At least there was that. But if they were here then…

“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna take you guys in for defying orders.” DeChant seemed to be able to read Carlos’s mind. That was mildly uncomfortable. “We’ll just tell the higher-ups we didn’t run into you. After all, Chris is our friend, and we’ll probably need all the help we can get to find this cult place anyway.” This served to ease Carlos’s nerves a little, but not much. “But you sure as hell pissed off Wilson.” DeChant chuckles. 

“You mean the Secretary of Defense?” Chris’s interest was piqued by the mention of the man. Puzzlement came over Carlos’s face too. Usually, the BSAA wasn’t giving out all their mission information to random government people. So it seemed weird that Wilson was even involved. “What’s he know about this?” Chris was met with shrugs from all the Alpha squad members. 

“All we know is that he was overseeing it, something to do with TRICELL,” Alfonso explained between mouthfuls of unpleasant-smelling rations. 

“Did no one tell you?” Piers questioned, a confused frown on his face. Both men shook their heads.

“Weird.” The captain murmured. 

“Yeah, weird is right.” Carlos agreed, stroking his chin. He looked back down at Jill. She was shifting, her head nodding back and forth, a testament to the pain she was enduring right now. He wanted so badly to be able to do something, to alleviate it, but he couldn’t. The howl of the wind broke his train of thought, making his head shoot up. 

“What? Scared of a little wind?” Airheart snickered, earning him a jab from Macauley. Carlos glared at the man, turning his gaze back to Jill. Her eyes were fluttering open now and she groaned. 

“...Carlos?” Her voice was raspy from disuse and she tried to sit up. That didn’t work and she fell back down with a huff, clearing her throat. “Where? Chris?” She blinked slowly. 

“Yeah, it’s me, and Chris is here too.” His heart soared at her awakening. She was okay, she was going to be okay. Relief washed over him like a river. Chris knelt beside them, punching Jill lightly in the shoulder. 

“Thought we lost you.” A faint smile plays on his lips, unmasking his usual stoicism. Jill gave him a weak grin. 

“I’m glad I got to take a nice nap.” She croaks and then turns her attention back to Carlos. “Where are we?”
“Shed.” He motions around. “And apparently with the BSAA’s Alpha Squad.” He nodded ahead to the team members, who each gave her a wave or a nod. “They’re looking for Saddler too.” Jill’s brows furrowed in confusion at his words, which he understood completely. Why would the BSAA send another team after knowing they were already going after Saddler?

“Oh,” Jill sighed, closing her eyes and letting herself fall deeper into the crook of Carlos’s arm. She was definitely not feeling better, he knew that much. Healthy Jill wouldn’t be caught dead leaning into Carlos like this, especially in front of other people. That worried him. The sound of lightning crashing nearby jolted Jill up again. “Damn.” She rubbed the back of her head. “The storms are really coming down.”

“You can say that again.” Carlos agreed, glancing out the dinky window that sat above and to his right. The rain was pouring down with no signs of stopping, masking the sights of Spain from sight. He sighed. 

“Maybe we should go out, in the rain, I mean.” Macaulay offered, stretching his arms. Carlos wished he could agree, but with Jill like this, it was too dangerous. He’d rather be sitting restless than putting her in danger. He shook his head. 

“Jill can’t walk in the storm.” At her name, the woman’s head shot up, ready for a retort. But it never came. She huffed, falling back down. Lightning struck again, putting all of them on edge. Chris grimaced. 

“Wind’s picking up.” 

“We might be looking at a tornado.” DeChant nodded grimly, lips pursed in a thin line. That wasn’t good. Carlos knew that for sure. The dinky shed around them was barely holding up with the rain, it wouldn’t be able to stand fifty-mile winds. He furrowed his brows. 

“Where’s your plane?” He questioned, but Airheart shook his head. 

“You think we’re gonna fly that thing in a tornado? Tell me you’ve never flown before without telling me you’ve never flown before.” The pilot chuckles, using a toothpick and cleaning out his teeth. Carlos glared at him. 

“I was going to suggest we hunker down there since it’s way more sturdy than this shed.” He explained himself. Jill’s eyebrows rose in a tentative agreement, and Chris and DeChant exchanged glances. The rest of the team remained silent. 

“It’s about a mile from here,” DeChant started.  A mile? Carlos glanced down at Jill, who looked less than thrilled about how far it was but she wasn’t about to complain about it anytime soon. “But I think we can make it.” The alpha squad member nodded a head at Jill. “If you need any of us to carry you-“

“I’ll be fine.” Jill grimaced, pulling herself up and steadying herself on a crate. Carlos put his hand up to help her when she wavered but pulled back remembering the sting of her rejection. 

“She doesn’t want your help, Carlos. She’s made that pretty clear.” He chided himself, brushing off his helping hand as if he were messing with his hair. He stood up. “We should probably get going, then. Storm’s not waiting for us.” There seemed to be an air of hesitant agreement around his words, but no one wanted to be the first to open the door.

Alfonso shifted his weapon, Piers stared at the ground, Macauley and Airheart ate silently, DeChant glanced out the window, Jill bit her lip, and even Chris looked tense with his steely gaze and hardened jaw.

Finally, the captain sighed. 

“What are we waiting for?” 

Claire

Claire leaned her head against the back of the cell, taking in a deep breath. The air around her felt suffocating, and the humidity of the area didn’t help with that. She could feel the sweat trickling down her forehead and dripping onto the warm concrete floor.

There had been two more visits since she got here, each by different doctors asking her questions she wouldn’t answer. And she never would, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing anything about her.

Then there was the bombshell of Saddler being alive. That had hit her like a semi, she wished she could deny it, but she couldn’t.

S addler and Wesker. She mused. This mission was becoming nightmare fuel. What was going to happen next? 

“Ugh,” She thumped the back of her head against the wall, this was all too much. The least they could do would be letting her out to walk a bit, or giving her a change of clothes so she could get out of this stupid dress. Her mind wandered for what felt like the fifth time that day.

What if Chris wasn’t coming? What if he didn’t realize she was missing? What if he didn’t care? That thought stung the most, because why should he care?

She had been nothing but mean and distant to him and for three years at that. There was no reason for him to come and save her, right?

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to think of that right now. “He’s coming.” She vocalized, hoping it would make her believe it more. It didn’t work. The itch in the back of her mind was too strong, overpowering any sense of hope.

“Upset, Ms. Redfield?” A sly, snake-like voice slithered into the room, a touch of pure malice hidden beneath feigned innocence. It could only be Wesker. Claire groaned internally, puffing herself up as if that was going to do anything. She glared at him. He smiled, pacing around the room, hands behind his back. 

“Go away, Wesker.” Claire spat, not giving him the dignity of a glance. The man chuckled a dark, evil chuckle. 

“You hurt me, Claire. I thought we were closer than that.” He smirked.

“What are you doing working with Saddler?” She might as well get to the point, to what she wanted to hear. Wesker seemed taken aback by her sudden question, but he composed himself. 

“So you’ve been told,” His jaw tightens noticeably. “Let’s just say, I owe him.” 

“What does that mean?” Claire quirked a confused brow, crossing her arms. Wesker owed someone? That was a new one. “You owe him?” She scoffed, giving him an amused look. 

“You don’t believe me?” Wesker tilted a head, mirroring her expression. “Or you don’t want to.” He spoke, hand hovering over the set of medical tools lying on a tin table. Claire could feel herself shiver. The man picked up what looked to be a syringe, idly examining it with a detached fascination.

There were remnants of a red liquid sloshing in it. He exhaled. “Do you know what this is, Claire?” Questioning her, he nodded a head to the needle. Claire’s nose scrunched, and she backed away into the wall, her initial bravado wavering. 

“A needle?” She gulped, eyes never leaving the tool. Wesker raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as if contemplating what Claire was saying. 

“You are correct.” He confirmed. “But it’s the contents inside that truly matter.” A chill ran through Claire at his words, but she furrowed her brows in an attempt to look unafraid. 

He’s not gonna do anything to you. She told herself, trying to calm her frayed nerves. “What’s in it?” She ventured, taking deep breaths and allowing her heartbeat to remain at a steady pace. Wesker paced over to the cell door and squatted down, becoming face-to-face with Claire. He pointed the syringe at her. 

“Have you ever heard of the term Pavlovian Conditioning? Or perhaps classical conditioning?” Tilting a head, Wesker’s eyes bored into Claire, making her want to shrink back. She eyed the syringe, then looked back at him. 

“What?” Her throat felt dry as a desert. 

“I thought so.” Wesker stood, moving to place the syringe back down. He clasped his hands. “Ivan Pavlov believed that he could take an unconditioned dog that salivates at the sight of food and make it salivate on command, pairing it with a conditioned stimulus, of course.” Pausing, Wesker took in a deep breath. “Fascinating, really.”

A grin slipped up his face. Claire bit her lip, feeling the sweat drip from her forehead and onto her silken dress. What was he getting out of describing this to her? Did he think he could do something like that? 

“That sounds sick.” She hissed, wiping her forehead. 

“Ah,” Wesker shook his head. “Of course, you would say that.” He covered a chuckle, putting his hand over his mouth. “But don’t worry, I don’t plan on subjecting you to Pavlov’s conditioning. Your mind is too…intact for such things.”  

“Then why are you telling me this?” She grits her teeth. 

“I’m only trying to have a conversation with you, Claire. Do you always have to assume the worst?” Wesker holds his hands up in innocence, but the evil smile is still on his face. Claire tightens her knuckles, turning them white. 

“With you, yeah, kinda.” She spits, making the man laugh. 

“Oh Claire, you remind me of him.” He turns from her, obscuring his expression. Claire furrows her brows. Him? Who was he talking about? “It was honestly disappointing seeing the way they ravaged his mind.” He hangs his head low. “He barely even put up a fight.”
“Who are you talking about?” Claire’s voice shook. Did she even want to know? What if it was someone she knew? Would she be able to handle it?

She cleared her throat, trying to stop the tremors wracking her body. 

“Oh?” Wesker turned on his heel. “You don’t know?” His hand went into his pocket and he fumbled around for a dramatically long time, before picking out something small and shiny. Claire squinted, trying to gauge what it was. Wesker tossed it to her and it clattered on the cobblestone, falling into her cell.

She picked it up, inspecting it.

It was a ring. Her eyes widened and her whole body went numb. It was like all the sweat that clung to her evaporated into thin air, leaving her shivering. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands started shaking.

No. No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be what she thought it was. That would mean…no. It wasn’t his. He was dead. He was dead, right? That was three years ago, she would have known if he would have survived. Three years. Her lip quivered.

Him.

The ring fell to the ground with an earth-shattering clink.

It was his.

It was Leon’s ring.

“He’s alive.” 

Chris

The wind howled and blew around Chris’s face, making it hard for him to see much of anything. He clutched his weapon to his chest, pushing forward. They just had to get to the plane, then they’d be safe. He almost turned around to see how Jill was holding up, but if he did, he might get blown away. The only direction he could seem to go was straight. 

“Are we almost there?!” Carlos’s voice was carried by the wind, reaching Chris’s ears. 

“Just about!” DeChant called back. He was leading the group, about a couple of feet ahead of Chris. How he could hear Carlos was beyond him. “We’re only five minutes out.” Chris pushed forward, rain pelting his face in cold shards.

The wind howled and whipped around them, stirring his jacket and his short buzz cut hair. Chris was glad for his short hair, not only did it suit him, but it saved him from having a dangerous mop flying into his eyes at this particular moment. He knew that was what Jill and Carlos were struggling with right now. 

“This way!” DeChant tapped Chris’ shoulder, leading him to the left. With the constant roar of the wind, he couldn’t hear his companions footsteps behind him, which sent a spark of anxiety through his spine. But he knew the BSAA members, Carlos, and Jill were capable of staying together in a storm.

They’ve been through worse. Suddenly, Chris felt his foot loose traction and slip into some unknown divot, causing him to yelp. DeChant’s strong arms clasped around his wrist, pulling him up. 

“I got you, brother! Hold on!” 

Chris struggled to grasp his brother’s wrist back, only for his other foot to slide in the mud. It was at this point that he realized he was suspended over something, something that didn’t have a floor that his feet could reach.

Panic started to seep into his mind as Chris awkwardly clasped his other hand around DeChant’s, who was now holding his full weight. He could feel DeChant’s feet slide and silently cursed all his extra gym days. But that didn’t last long, because DeChant started pulling, and miraculously, Chris started rising.

He was about to thank DeChant for spending those extra hours doing pull ups when he heard a thump, and his friend’s stability decreased. He was sliding in the mud, and Chris was now lowering at an alarming rate.

DeChant’s fingers grasped for traction on his wet skin, but failed. Chris fell down, and for a split second he thought he saw DeChant plummet with him. 

It was confirmed when his yell of surprise and despair was met with another, and both men sank to the depths of whatever hole they had come across. It didn’t take as long as Chris thought it would have to reach some sort of ground, but the impact sure did hurt his ass.

DeChant landing on him didn’t help things either. Rain still splattered on their heads, but the two were now in utter darkness. DeChant groaned, and made to move his weight off of Chris, who sighed in relief. He slowly pushed himself up into a seated position, his bones aching in the process. 

“What the fuck just happened?” He stated blandly. 

“You tell me, captain.” DeChant drawled, shuffling around. “You’re the one who slipped.”

“You're the one who dropped me.”

“Actually, someone ran into me and I lost my balance.”

“So, you slipped too?”

“Shut up.” DeChant said, just as Alfonso’s tell tale Spanish accent rang through the air. 

“Are you guys okay?”

“We’re good. Just stuck.” Chris said, now taking in the slick mud walls of the hole they had tumbled down. There were no hand holds or helpful rocks to pull oneself up, and the hole was too deep for anyone to reach out to rescue one. They were in deep shit. 

Up ahead, thunder crashed in the sky, followed by a spark of lightning, reminding Chris of their other problems. Jill, Carlos and the rest of the Alpha Squad were still in the danger zone. The wind howled fiercely above them, but Chris didn’t feel the biting cold on his skin anymore, just the remnants.

But Alfonso and the rest of the Alpha squad, now peering over them with worried expressions, visibly shivered.

“Guys! Get out of here, go to the plane. Wait the storm out, then come back for us!” DeChant shouted. 

Chris nodded in affirmation. “Yeah! Get out of here, and get some help for Jill!” He knew that stating her condition would give the group more of a reason to leave them behind, but he was still worried about her all the same. The strong, confident, stubborn women draped in Carlos’ shoulders like a rag doll was a scary sight.

Jill was a fighter and she was not one to give up, especially when other people’s lives were on the line. Especially people she cared about. 

Claire’s image flashed across his mind, but Chris forced it down before it could overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to slip into another hard memory when his friends were in danger. He needed to have his head about him. That would save Claire, something that he desperately needed to do for himself. For her. For Leon. 

Chris pulled his head from his thoughts to see DeChant glaring at Alfonso and gesturing for them to leave. “We’ll be fine down here! You need to get help for Jill, she's your priority right now!” 

Alfonso huffed, obviously not liking their situation. “Fine!” He called. “But take this!” Something spiraled downward, and Chris caught it, but not without a bruised thumb. He palmed the flashlight in his right hand. “Thanks! Now get out of here!”

With a cocky thumbs up from the Spaniard, a salute from Piers, a nod from Airheart, and a frown from Macauley, the Alpha Squad departed. 

Chris shoved the light into DeChant’s palm, rubbing his sore thumb. DeChant only spared a chuckle and clicked on the flashlight,  illuminating the dark cavern. It was mostly dirt and roots above their head, but Chris was surprised to see that two tunnels sprouted off to the left and right, and the ceiling was high enough that they could both stand comfortably. 

“What is this, some kind of human rat nest?” Chris moved a little further into the tunnel, getting away from the constant rain.

DeChant followed, soaked to the bone. He waved the flashlight each which way, inspecting the area around them. “It might be.” He stalked further down the right tunnel, boots thudding softly against the dirt. Chris found himself unconsciously following, taking in the wonder of underground tunnels.

He’d never really thought about it when taking subways that technically those were underground tunnels, and they had to have started out like this. A hole of dirt submerged in the crust of the earth.

Were these passages meant for some sort of unfinished transportation?

Thinking back, Chris remembered that this particular village in Spain was not technologically advanced in the slightest. The most common occupation (other than being enslaved to Saddler) that he had defined was some sort of farming.

The villagers fought with farming tools, and the most advanced things they bore were chainsaws. Chris had come to the conclusion that the reason for their stunted growth with society was Saddler’s need for control over the villagers, and not a revolution. 

He remembered some sewers and dirt basements in the surrounding cluster of villages, but none were as extensive as this. Maybe this is where they harbored all their weapons, or traveled quickly from one place to the next. Maybe-

“Huh, would ya look at that.” DeChant said, bringing Chris out of his thoughts. The flashlight was pointed on one of the many stone pillars rising to meet the earthy ceiling, and it seemed that many of them extended further into the tunnel. 

“Do you think this is some kind of mine?” DeChant asked, shining the light further down the cavern. 

“Would make sense,” Chris replied. “They did harvest that amber with the Plaga in it from the earth.” He didn’t know how he didn’t come to that conclusion sooner. 

DeChant made an affirmative hum and continued his trek down the path, when Chris was hit with what they were doing. “Hey, don’t we gotta wait for the others at the entrance to this place?”

DeChant turned to face him, a sheepish grin on his face. “Oh yeah. It’s just kinda cool to explore. Besides, who knows when the storm is gonna blow over? I don’t wanna sit and listen to the rain anyway.”

Chris nodded, he was just as curious as his friend, though he wouldn’t admit it.  “Fair point. But we could get lost down here.” 

“Relax, I won’t venture too far, captain.” DeChant said with a grin. “I just want to see what’s at the end of these pillars.”

“Probably more pillars.” Chris grunted, but he followed the squad member all the same. 

They continued forward in silence, and Chris unwillingly slipped into his thoughts. His mind spiraled with thoughts of his last trip to Spain. The mission had been to save the president’s daughter, but instead it became stopping a cult leader who infected people in order to control them.

It was like some kind of fucked up version of zombies, which brought up memories of thing like the Spencer Mansion. He hated it, but Chris realized that Leon probably had it worse. He did survive an entire city full of zombies. 

And he  could see the effect it had on Leon, as they brushed through the many Ganados.

He watched his friend’s gray eyes steel and lips draw tight as their attacker who was previously down with a bullet to the head rose back to life. Of course, Leon never let many emotions pass his face, but after knowing him for so long, the captain could tell when he was perturbed. 

Chris usually had an unreadable expression, but when Leon proceeded to cough up blood and pass out cold after their battle with the sea monster, he couldn’t keep the flicker of surprise from creasing his eyebrows. When the agent finally awoke three hours later, arms lined with black veins, Chris’ dropped jaw and creased brow was enough to make Leon chuckle. 

“What happened?” He had asked, pushing himself into a half sitting position.

Chris could barely contain his worry as he pointed out the black veins and informed his friend that he took a three hour nap. In Leon fashion, the agent’s face only communicated a mild impression “I think you may be infected.” Chris started, offering a hand to Leon. 

“Yeah, but I’m fine.” He said, promptly ignoring the help. “The priority is still Baby Eagle.” 

“Chris? Chris!”  A dark hand waved in front of his face, partnered with DeChant’s worried expression. “You good brother?”

Chris let out a sour breath. “I’m good, yeah. Just… thinking.” 

DeChant nodded, understanding in his eyes, but he knew better than to press, to the captain’s relief. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” He shone the light down the path, which slightly bore right. The beam bounced around gray stone crevices.

Chris was about to dismiss this as another pillar, but it almost blocked the way forward, and was about as wide as a small shed.

The captain stepped forward and rounded the strange object that guarded the path, and was surprised to find that it was indeed a small shed, complete with a small window and a wooden sliding door.

 Instantly military mode overtook both soldiers, and they pressed their bodies against the stone, flanking the door and drawing their weapons. DeChant, on the side where the sliding door could be pulled open, gave a nod to Chris, who returned it.

He reached for the door, carefully wrapping fingers around the wooden frame. He then yanked it back, and Chris pointed his gun into the blackness coupled with his booming voice. “Show yourselves!!” 

The soldiers were met with a wall sparsely filled with hoes, pitchfork, and shovels. A quick shine of the flashlight deemed the dwelling empty, and with that, DeChant stepped forward, but Chris held out a hand. “Wait. Look.” He pointed at the dirt floor, which was stirred and riddled with bootprints. He squatted down, scrutinizing the ground. 

“Look’s recent.” He said as DeChant shifted the loose rock between his fingertips. 

“Definitely.”

Chris hefted himself upwards, scanning the immediate area. “I don’t think we’re the only ones down here.” 

“Shit.” DeChant repositioned his gun. “Should we head back to the extraction point?”

Questions began to fill Chris’ head, and the need for answers growing.He peered around the shed and was surprised to find another identical one. The dirt path then went further along, but a small flicker of orange light was all he needed to determine life in the tunnels. 

“Something’s going on here.” Chris said as DeChant came to stand near him and draw the same conclusions. 

“People are living down here?”

“Something like that.” Chris replied, shuffling down the road with no qualms from his partner. 

“Why would people be down here?” DeChant followed the captain’s slow pace. “Are they hiding from something?”

“Probably Saddler. I would if he infected my whole home town.”
“But Saddler’s not dominating this town anymore! His base is higher in the mountains anyway. And why not just move to a different town?” DeChant questioned. “You’d think after three years someone would get the news that Saddler is dead.”

“Was,” Chris spat, cocking his gun. “Maybe they know something we don’t.” 

With that, the two silently traversed forward, ears listening for every foreign rustle and eyes searching for any unusual sights. Chris could feel the loose dirt under his combat boots, and every slight shuffle forward was softened by the ground. He was also aware of the coolness that stuck to the back of his neck, but it was better than being pelted by rain. 

The soldiers reached the orange light, only to find that it is some sort of torch snugly set into the wall. 

“Hope whoever’s down here is friendly.” DeChant mumbled. They came to a corner sliding left, and they both slowed and pressed against the dirt wall. Chris took the lead, peering down the corner with icy eyes. What he saw sent a shock of recognition through him. 

Stone and wooden buildings overtook an expansive tunnel that reached far above their heads. Pillars stood at intervals along the flattened dirt pat, bearing torches. The smell of fire and some sort of manure lingered in the air.

Many cows were fenced in near the middle of the small village, chewing slowly on hay. But what made the hair on Chris’ neck stand up the most was the amount of people there. Many Spaniards traversed the well worn path, tended to the livestock, and toiled at the churned up planting grounds spread across the region. 

But there was something else that was off, more off than the underground village and the farming and the people. No one talked to each other. The only sound that filled the air was the flickering of the torch flames, the shunk - clunk of shovels, and occasional mooing from cows. It sent all too familiar goosebumps up Chris’ arms. 

“So there IS a village down here.” DeChant whispered. “Huh. Do you think these guys are friendly?”

Chris sighed. He wanted to give these poor people the benefit of the doubt. Hell, they live underground, probably oblivious to the ways of the world. But it was the way they walked, the way they jerked their shovels from the ground, the way their expressions remained impassive.

It was the lack of voices, the absence of happy children and joyous laughter. Even sad mumbling and terrified crying would be better.

But these people were like stone, mindlessly going about their duties. 

“Let’s be cautious.” Chris holstered his Beretta, but his hand wavered over it as DeChant did the same. 

“What’s the plan here? Are we gonna get to know the locals?” DeChant asked. 

Chris grunted. “I think it's our best move. The fact that there is an entire town down here brings up some questions that need answers.”

“Agreed.” DeChant pushed past Chris, taking the lead. “They might need a friendlier face to talk to, if you know what I mean.”

Chris just rolled his eyes, secretly glad that his friend was taking the lead. They came up to the closest person they could find, a woman with graying hair bent tending to her plants. Her back was to them, and she donned a dirty dress with a faded red shawl. The attire was all too familiar to Chris, and he hung back as DeChant made their presence known. 

“Excuse me, ma’am.” He said with a clearing of his throat. The woman’s back arched in response, but she stayed crouched next to her crop, not turning to face the men. 

“Uh, we were wondering what’s going on down here.” DeChant continued, not comfortable with the strange answer he was given.  He squatted, coming down to the woman’s level. “Are you trying to avoid something? Are you… hiding from someone?” At that, the woman turned to face them, and DeChant blanched. Her eyes were rimmed a sickly red and her iris was the color of blood. 

“ Forestaros,” she whispered, and Chris’ blood ran cold. He had heard that word shouted at his back many times. 

“ !Forestaros!” She yelled, and a commotion began behind them. Villagers' heads swiveled towards their position, the once stone facades now astray with anger. Those who already had tools in hand stalked toward them dangerously, while others grabbed spare sticks and shovels.

Dust kicked up beneath them as they pounded towards them, cries rising from among the growing horde. 

“ !Forestaros! !Forestaros!”

“!Muérete!”

“!Conseguirlos! !Conseguirlos!”

“Ah, shit!” DeChant cursed, drawing his gun and taking out the nearest Ganado. 

Chris grit his teeth and hefted his Beretta, and slammed the butt into the woman’s screaming head. “Fucking Saddler!”

And so a battle broke out. Once the woman went down many enraged villagers started jabbing at them with sharp farm tools. Chris and DeChant put distance between their enemies, constantly putting bullets into upcoming Ganados. Chris’ least favorite part was when the hit Ganados began to stir, and then rise with crooked heads and a deeper vengeance.

More than enough had become enslaved to this, and now DeChant and Chris were caught between firing rounds and dodging crooked Ganados’ knives. Chris darted right as the Ganado chased him, and then lured the man in by standing still for a split second.

When the Ganado charged, Chris step sided him and completed a nice sweep kick, knocking the man to the floor. He then brought out his knife and made the death blow.

Surprisingly, more villagers flew out of the nearby houses, each donning something sharp or blunt. Chris danced around the village, fending off the angry Spaniards. He got too close to a female Ganado wielding a club, and she forcefully swung at his head and he ducked just in time, and used the force of her momentum to kick her to the ground and place a bullet in her head.

Suddenly arms grabbed Chris’ neck and yanked him backwards, making him sway on his feet. He elbowed the man in the stomach, but the Ganado held firm, spittle flying from his open mouth as he yelled obscenities into Chris’ ear.

The smell of alcohol and manure came off of the attacker’s breath, and Chris forced his lunch to stay down as he dug his elbow into the Ganados side, causing the chokehold to loosen.

Then he used the moment of panic from the Ganador to rip free from his grip and send a punch straight to his jaw and the Ganado crumpled to the ground and had no time to react as Chris shot him. Then the Ganado began to shake violently, and Chris, knowing what was coming, brought out his knife and stuck it deep into his jugular with a squelch. 

Chris whirled around and fired a round into a pitchfork wielding Ganado, and then pivoted as another villager attempted to skewer his head with a shovel. He kicked the attacker in the back and then shot him, then he went over to the seizing pitchfork Ganado and ended his suffering. Breathing heavily, Chris was dismayed to see more villagers stalking towards him with angry red eyes. He searched the crowd for DeChant, and found him in a tussle with two angry men by the cow pen. 

Deciding to help his friend, Chris quickly fired at a woman holding a hoe with murder in her eyes. She fell to the ground with a scream but was replaced with a scrappy male who lunged at him with a kitchen knife. He parried the blade with his gun, and then ducked as a slash aimed for his throat, slamming the butt of his gun into the Ganado’s knee. The man let out a strangled cry, and Chris wasted no time in ending the guttural scream that ripped from his lungs. 

After taking down a few more villagers, Chris saw a clear path to DeChant, who was steadily holding his own against many villagers shouting in angry Spanish. As his feet began to guide him forward, a deafening boom echoed through the cavern. This also drew DeChant and the villager’s expressions, who looked around with wide eyes.

Then it sounded again, this time louder and seemingly closer. A random Ganado woman began to laugh, showing rows of crooked yellow teeth. Soon other villagers joined in, and the air was filled with their loud and strained joy.

It was not the kind of laughter or joy Chris was hoping for, it sounded purely evil, like a hyena discovering its prey. 

“Tontos,” The woman said. “Estás atrapado.” 

An explosion of wood and stone came from a house close to the center of the town, dangerous splinters darting every which way. A form rose from the wreckage, too tall to be natural. It was pale, with large meaty muscles cut out of black tattered close.

He had a long beard, thick and black that matched with a growing unibrow. His eyes were red, and malice showed through them. But that wasn’t the most disturbing part. 

Where the man’s torso should have been was gone, instead an exposed spinal cord and ribs stuck out, grimy and bloody. Out from his back two large pincers rose, snapping impatiently. He grinned, revealing blackened teeth, and Chris’ grip on his Beretta became iron.

“Mendez.”

DeChant was staring at the creature before him with a shocked expression, and didn’t notice a Ganado come at him with a pitchfork in time. He swiveled, but the tip grazed his shoulder, and Chris could hear his cry of pain. 

“DeChant! I’m coming!” Chris raced into the thick of it, more than ready to put his old demons to death in the most gruesome way possible.

For Leon. 

Carlos 

Falling into a hole was not exactly Carlos’s idea of a good time. Especially when Jill landed on top of him. It was safe to say she effectively knocked the air out of him for a couple of minutes. 

“Are you okay?” Jill sat up, rubbing her head and wiping the mud covering her face. Carlos gave her a weak thumbs up before falling back onto the ground. His mind was spinning, maybe he had a concussion, no, he wasn’t that weak. Was he? “Carlos?” Jill’s voice rang in his ears. How long had she been calling his name?

“Yeah?” He croaked. 

“I said, do you have a flashlight?” 

Carlos groaned, sitting up and rummaging around his body until he felt the cold steel of his flashlight. “Yeah, here.” He handed it to the woman, who flicked it on, illuminating the cave they had fallen into. It was almost reminiscent of a miners cave, with sturdy beams holding up the dirt covered stone above them.

There were dark tunnels leading in every which way, but otherwise, not much else.

He glanced up at Jill. Miraculously, she was looking much better, like her injury had just washed away. Weird. He thought, but decided all that mattered was that she was feeling better.

Pulling himself up, he leaned against the wall, shaking the dizziness from his head. Jill was already ahead of him, making her way toward one of the tunnels, flashlight leading the way. “Hey, wait up.” Carlos jogged to reach her, grabbing her wrist. She whipped around, confusion on her face that quickly settled into realization. 

“Oh,” She mumbled. 

“Oh what?” Carlos dropped her wrist. “Were you just gonna leave me back there?” 

“No,” There was a hesitancy in Jill’s voice, one that made Carlos furrow his brow. She sounded confused. “I guess I thought you were behind me.” She finished, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, not all of us had someone to catch our fall if you know what I mean.” He jokes, masking the worry in his face. She doesn’t need to know he’s worried, that will just make her mad. Jill smiled weakly, then turned around. Someone’s not in a talkative mood. Carlos thought to himself.

Then again, why would she be after what happened above ground? She had just rejected him and now they were stuck alone together underground, it was probably super awkward for her.

Not for him though, at least that’s what he told himself anyway.

He shook his head and decided to try not to think about it. Carlos focused on following Jill, since she was so adamant about moving ahead.

They made their way through the labyrinth, turning or stopping whenever Jill deemed so. Carlos could feel his muscles becoming weaker and his legs started to feel like jelly, but Jill didn’t need to know that. He was probably just hungry.

When was the last time he ate? Maybe on the plane? He couldn’t remember.

Everything had happened so fast, from the mission, to Claire’s kidnapping, and now to this. They couldn’t catch a break. After another couple of minutes, Carlos stopped. “Hey, Jill? Can we take a break? I’m getting a little tired, and my head-” Before he could finish his sentence, he leaned over and vomited on the ground, causing Jill to spin around, horrified.

Okay, maybe he did get that concussion.

“Carlos!” She sounded like she was scolding him, which was funny to him. He wiped his mouth, spitting out the remnants of his vomit. 

“Sorry,” He grinned at her and she glared at him. 

“We have to keep going if we want to get out of here.” Jill turned back around and kept walking. 

Damn. Carlos raised an eyebrow. Jill wasn’t usually this bad, something he said must have set her off. It was either that or she was purely annoyed by his presence, which was also plausible. So, he followed her. As they walked, Carlos’s dizzy bouts became more frequent, making him stop more.

Jill didn’t take any time to stop with him anymore, so she kept getting further away. One particular grueling headache made him pause and stare at Jill. Her figure was wobbling before his eyesight, getting farther out of his line of vision.

There was something on her. He squinted. Something black?

Y ou really need to get your head checked. He shook his head, forcing himself to move forward, one step in front of the other. His boots thumped on the loose dirt. Why was Jill being so quiet? His hand caught his weight against the walls that were covered  with thick tree roots.

He blinked slowly, forcing his eyes to stay open. The oppressive, humid air around him clawed at his throat, making it harder to breathe. Sweat trickled down his brow and his hair stuck to the side of his face.

Did Jill really hate him that much?

Carlos’s gait wavered, but he caught himself against the wall. You’re fine, Carlos. Telling himself that seemed to be the only thing that was making him keep moving. That and the lingering idea that something was wrong with Jill. If you had a concussion, you probably would have thrown up.

Wait. Didn’t he already throw up? Was that why his throat was burning?

No, your throat is burning cause you almost got choked out by a ganado. He told himself. How long ago was that? He furrowed his brow, blinking again. Doesn’t matter. Just follow Jill. Carlos glanced back up. Jill was about twenty steps ahead of him and it didn’t look like she’d be stopping anytime soon.

Was her skin always that pale? He shrugged to himself, pushing himself off the wall and continuing to walk. 

Jill finally stopped in a rectangular shaped clearing with a stone slab serving as their floor. Torches were lit on two pillars that led straight, while the other torches leading left and right were snuffed. Carlos took that as a sign to go straight. 

“I think…” He cleared his throat. “We should go straight.” Jill didn’t say anything. She traced her fingers along the wall, inspecting it with curiosity. “You giving me the silent treatment now?” Carlos came off a bit more cold than he wanted to, but his pent up frustration at Jill repeatedly leaving him behind was starting to boil over.

The woman didn’t say anything. “Seriously, Jill…what’s your problem?” He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his forehead and cursing his stupid headache.

When he opened his eyes, Jill was standing before him, gun to his head. His blood ran cold. “Jill?” He could feel his breath hitch in his throat, and he swallowed. Jill’s eyes were devoid of anything human, and black veins snaked across her face and arms. Her lips were pursed in a tight line, like she was trying to stop herself from something.

The gun shook with a tremor that ran from her hands. “Jill, what are you-” Carlos stopped himself. She was infected.

How?

He racked his brain, trying to find something to explain it, but nothing came. That was until he glanced down. Jill’s pant leg was blooming with black liquid, right where she had been stabbed by the masked man.

Fuck. The knife.

Carlos put his hands up, taking a shaky step back. “Jill, can we talk about this?” Was she going to fight him? He couldn’t fight her, he knew it. The thought of hurting her was sickening in itself. But he couldn’t let her kill him, could he? If that were the case, there would be no way to get her back. 

“I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Oliveria.” Jill speaks in a low, menacing tone. Her voice sounded nothing like her own. Saddler. Carlso grimaced, tightening his knuckles until they turned white. The fact that the cult leader was using Jill made him want to throw up, or kill the guy, either would do. 

“Saddler.” Carlos spoke through gritted teeth, hand slowly reaching for his gun. “ Long time no see. You still trying to get me to join your cult?” He winced as a shot of pain went through his head, momentarily making him falter. 

“Aw, what’s the matter, Carlos?” Jill’s face morphed into a sadistic smile. Carlos steeled himself, opting not to look at her. He couldn’t. In his mind, he knew it was Saddler, but it was Jill’s voice and her face, mocking him. He swallowed, hard. “Did you take a fall?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Hmm,” Jill kept the gun trained on him and started pacing around him, sizing him up. It made him stiffen, dropping his hand from his weapon. “I was just about to tell you to lower the weapon.” Jill’s eyes narrowed as she reached her hand out. “Give me the gun.” Carlos glared at her, but reluctantly relinquished the weapon. She took it and put it in her holster. 

“Jill, you’ve got to listen to me, if you’re even in there,” Carlos started, attempting to reason with her. He had never encountered the Las Plagas parasite, so he didn’t know how much control it exerted over its host, or if it was too late. He prayed it wasn’t the latter. Jill laughed, a grating sound on Carlos’s ears. 

“Ms. Valentine is gone for the moment.” Shit. That didn’t sound good. He glanced around the room, he couldn’t stall forever and it wasn’t like anyone was coming for him. 

“How do I get her back?” Carlos challenged. Jill seemed to ponder this for a moment, tilting her head to the side. 

“If you come with me without a fight, I’ll give you one final goodbye, but if you fight-”

“I’ll never see her again.” Carlos finished, gritting his teeth. Jill smiled. 

“You catch on quick.” She motioned for him to start walking and he did. 

“Jill,”

“Shut up.” Jill barked, pressing the gun into his back. He grimaced, blinking away another headache that was starting to form. How did Leon get the plaga out of himself again? 

This is what you get for not listening to Chris. He chided himself, remembering the man recounting the 2004 mission to him, but he didn’t listen.

He hadn’t cared and now he was reaping the consequences. Carlos tripped over his feet, falling to his knees, kicking up dust. “Fuck.” He breathed, pushing down another round of bile. His body trembled with a weakness that disgusted him and he dug his nails into the dirt.

“Do you need help?” Jill mocked, slamming her boot into his back and knocking him fully to the ground. Carlos grunts, tasting the earth in his mouth. “Pathetic.” Jill kneels down, her boot still planted on his back. She brushes his hair from his face, forcing him to look in her eyes.

The veins around her pale skin are protruding grotesquely, making his breath catch in his throat. This wasn’t Jill. This wasn’t Jill. “You know, maybe I should just kill you now, get it over with.” Jill offered, placing the barrel of her weapon on Carlos’s forehead.

The cold gun was a stark contrast to the sweat dripping down his face, and he took in a deep breath. She wasn’t going to kill him. Saddler wanted him to join the cult, right? Or maybe he changed his mind. “It’s not like I need you.” Jill continued. “Right?”

She waited for a moment, but when it became apparent Carlos wasn’t going to respond, she spoke again. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I had her kill you?” She taunted, twisting the barrel harshly, pushing it into his skin. Carlos winced, biting his tongue. 

“What are you waiting for, Saddler?” He hissed. “Just do it.” 

“Aw, no fight left in you? Upsetting, really.” Jill sounded disappointed, but it's not like he cared. He wasn’t going to hurt her, so if that meant he would die, then so be it. She was too far gone, there was no recognition in her eyes. Chris would find her, and he would save her. He would know what to do, unlike Carlos.

“Do it!” Carlos screamed, throat raw. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand hearing her voice twisted like this. Watching her act like this, it was a nightmare, a knife twisting in his gut and spilling his insides. 

“Carlos?” The gun’s pressure on his forehead subsided slightly. He opened his eyes. Jill was staring at him, eyes wide in horror. Her lip was trembling. She stood up, backing away and tripping onto the ground.  The gun clattered to the floor. “Carlos…I’m, I’m sorry.” Tears pricked her fearful eyes. 

“Jill,” Carlos groaned, pushing himself up. “It’s okay…it’s okay.” She needed to know it was okay, that he was okay, even if it wasn’t true. Lethargy took over his voice and he slumped against the nearest wall. She broke free. It was over. He heard Jill shift and move up, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He was too tired.  

“Foolish girl.” Jill’s voice became twisted again and Carlos’s eyes snapped open. She was standing before him, holding the gun again. Dammit. He tried to stand, but to no avail. He crashed back down, heaving slow and heavy breaths. 

“Jill…” He breathed, but she wasn’t having it. 

“Obviously you have become an obstacle in Ms. Valentine’s loyalty.” Jill spoke through gritted teeth, annoyance in her tone. “But I will make sure to bring you back once I have asserted my dominance over her. Since we’re so close it won’t be such a bother dragging your body out of this maze.” 

Bring me back? The words stuck in Carlos’s mind.

What did Saddler mean by that?

How could he bring him back?

He blew out a breath, dropping his head. His entire body felt like it was full of lead, even still, there was a burning flicker inside of him. Jill wasn’t fully gone. She had taken back control. He cleared his throat. “I know you’re in there Jill and I know you’re fighting,”

He paused, coughing up dust and letting harsh breaths wrack his body. “And I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

A weak smile cracks at his lips, something that took all of his energy to do. “Cause then we would’ve killed Nemesis for nothing.”

Carlos held his breath, feeling the sweat slide down his forehead and down his neck. The gun wavered. Jill’s expression shifted into terrifying confusion and remembrance. But it was gone as soon as it came, replaced by Saddler’s parasitic control.

She slammed her fist into the side of her head, creating a thumping sound that reverberated throughout the tunnels. 

“Don’t!” Jill screamed, more at herself than anyone. She narrowed her eyes, training the weapon on him, but it kept shifting away and to the wall. Her grip tightened, shaking with tremors that could create earthquakes. She bit down on her lip, drawing blood. “...Carlos.” She croaked before the gun turned, straight to her head. The safety clicked off. Tears streamed down her face. Her words choked him. 

“Jill,” He warned, pleading with his body to move, to get up. “Jill, don’t do it!” He yelled, scrambling to force himself up, to push past the lethargy and weakness that had settled in his bones.

No.

This couldn’t happen.

Jill couldn’t die. He couldn’t let her die.

Jill opened her trembling mouth and uttered three words.

Three words that Carlos had always wanted her to say, but now, now they were the last words he wanted to hear. 

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

Carlos

It all happened in a blur. An unreal, nightmarish blur of a situation he wished he never got himself into in the first place. Jill had the gun to her head, she was going to shoot herself. For him. No. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She loved him, he had seen the flicker in her eyes, the humanity before the parasite took over again. Or maybe it was a lie, a sick trick Saddler was playing on Carlos to mess with his mind.

The metallic taste of blood swirled in his mouth and slid down his burning throat, making him cough. He could see Jill, her finger tightening around the cold trigger of the weapon, the tears sliding down her sweaty and dirty face. It all went by in slow motion. His breathing slowed, pounding in his ear like a forgotten gong as he forced his body up. Every inch of him burned, ached with a fiery pain that contorted his face into a mask of agony. But he pushed it aside, she needed him and Carlos would be damned if he let her pull that trigger. The world needed Jill Valentine, he needed Jill Valentine. 

“Jill!” The growl tore up his throat as blood mixed with spit flew out onto the ground. With one final push, Carlos threw himself at her, catching her off guard and knocking the gun from her hand. It clattered to the floor a couple of feet away from the pair. Jill’s eyes went wide in shock and she stared up at Carlos. He was on top of her, holding her hands down and breathing heavily. Droplets of his blood fell from his lip and onto the woman’s cheek. “Sorry, sorry.” Carlos huffed, messily wiping his mouth. “You can’t…you can’t do that.” 

“Carlos,” Jill breathed, tears beginning to brim again. There was a hint of confusion in her eyes, like she didn’t know why he just stopped her from pulling the trigger. “I have to-” Jill’s voice was cut off by her groaning, brows knitting in pain. “He’s…” Her breaths came out in short puffs, and Carlos knew there was a war going on inside her mind. A painful, intrusive war. His grip on her wrists loosened and he pulled himself up. Jill could fight it, she was strong, resilient. “He’s still inside me.” Jill managed to get out in a breathy tone. She cleared her throat, peeling her once steely gray eyes open. They fluttered around, dazed, before landing on Carlos. “You…you have to kill…me.” 

“Jill, no.” Immediately, Carlos shook his head. What she was asking of him, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill Jill. They would find a way, there had to be a way to fix her. Wasn’t there a cure? Ashley had gotten infected before and she was fine. They would find a cure, right, it was going to be okay. “We’re gonna find a cure, and, and, don’t worry about it, Jill. I got it-” Carlos paused, biting his lip and mumbling something under his breath. His headache was moving around his brain, prodding it with iron hot pokers. He exhaled. They just had to get out of the maze. Saddler had said they were close to the exit, they just had to find it.“I got this.”

“No,” Jill’s eyes shut again and her breath hitched for too long. “I…can’t hold him off forever. You have to…have to get away.” She paused, a shaky hand moving up and brushing Carlos’s cheek. “You’re…hurt.” Her hand thumped back onto the ground. 

“Jill, stop.” He grabbed her limp palm. “I’m fine.” Jill was out of it, she had to be. Since when was she worried about him like this? Did that mean…? No, she was just delirious. He bit his lip. “You’ve gotta fight it until we get out of here.” Carlos stood up, steadying himself against the wall.

He then leaned down and pulled Jill’s limp body and slung her around his shoulder. “We’ll find Chris. He’ll know what to do.” It was a stupid idea, Carlos knew that. He also knew that, logically, he wasn’t going to get far with Jill wrapped around him like this and maybe trying to kill him if Saddler took control again. Hell, he could barely walk himself. Illogically though, that was a different story. He grunted, taking a shaky step forward. Jill didn’t protest much, her body slumped against his. She was going to snap at any moment. The more weak she naturally became, the more she let her guard down, the easier it was for Saddler to get in. Carlos had figured out that much. He lightly shook Jill around. “Stay awake, stay with me.” 

“You have to…leave me.” Jill responded shakily. 

“You and I both know I won’t do that.” Nobody said anything after that. The silence was only punctuated by Carlos’s ragged breaths and Jill’s moans of pain. Carlos focused on the path ahead, it was dark, intimidating, especially when he knew a ganado could pop out at any moment. Or Jill could turn on him. Don’t think like that. Carlos told himself, attempting to shake the lingering thought away. He gave a glance to the discarded gun, now a couple hundred of feet behind them. Should he leave it? Jill’s not gonna hurt you. He wanted to believe that, wanted to believe it with all his heart. But was that true? He turned to Jill. She was half-shuffling, trying her best to hold her weight up, but it was obvious Carlos was doing most of the work. Her brows were furrowed in deep concentration and her lips moved in a slight mutter. How much longer would she be able to hold off Saddler? And what would happen if she couldn’t? Carlos tore his gaze away from the gun. He wasn’t going to use that. 

“...Carlos,” Jill mumbled. 

“Yeah, ‘m right here.” He responded, stopping to lean his head against the warm tunnel walls. They had to keep going, but his head, dammit. Get a grip. He pushed himself off, hobbling deeper into the maze. They were close, he could feel it. So close to the exit, to finding Chris, to something. He would take anything over this cave. “How’re you holding up?” Carlos shifted his head so he could see Jill better. Her skin was slick and pale as a sheet. The telltale parasitic veins bloomed around her cheeks giving her a corpse-like look. She breathed out, head bobbing slowly. Was that good? What did she mean by that? Was she going to turn? Carlos’s breath hitched. Please, anything but that. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t fight her if it came down to it.

Jill groaned again, feet dragging on the ground and kicking up dust. Carlos momentarily stumbled with the extra weight being thrown on him, but he hefted Jill up. “You gotta warn me when you do stuff like that.” He joked, only earning a dry chuckle from himself. Swallowing, he gazed at the woman leaning against him. She wasn’t looking too good. Her skin was like polished marble with spilt black ink leaking on the floors. A horrifying sight that seemed to burn itself into Carlos’s mind, not giving him a moment of reprise. Dammit. He looked ahead into the dark abyss of the tunnel. There wasn’t any light at the end. Funny. He grunted, forcing himself to breathe. They weren’t going to die here. A drip echoed throughout the tunnels, seemingly getting louder the further in they traversed. It pierced his skull, making it hard to think about anything else. 

“Carlos,” Jill moaned. It seemed to be the only thing she could say at the moment. But anything was better than silence. 

“Still here.” He smiled a weak smile at her. 

“Leave…me,” Jill shuddered as a cough wracked her body. “Find...find Chris.” 

“I’m not leaving you, Jill.” Carlos shook his head. “We’re gonna get you out of here and find the cure, remember?” He waited for a response, but Jill didn’t say anything. She coughed again, a tremor running through her. 

“Get off me!” In a sudden burst of energy, Jill pushed Carlos off her and into the wall. He cried out, smacking his head on the hard rock and slumping to the ground. His vision swam as he tried to get a grip on his breathing. Jill was a wobbling figure, huffing and hunched over in front of him. He squinted, blinking hard and rubbing his head. 

“Jill?” He croaked, a cold dread settling in his stomach. “Jill?” She didn’t say anything. Another cough took over her body and she expelled black goo onto the ground. 

“Get away from me, Carlos!” She growled, a low, inhumane growl. Her eyes, a sickly yellow, followed their way up his body and froze. She snapped them shut, groaning and thumping the side of her head. Black liquid dripped from her chapped lips onto the ground and her whole body trembled. 

“No,” Carlos whispered, the word falling out of his mouth carrying all the weight in the world. Not this. Not again. “Jill, please, please no.” He forced his body up, back leaning heavily on the wall. Jill’s eyes had reopened and she was now staring him down with that same predatory glare from before. The one that sent shivers down his spine. 

“Oh, Carlos, so naive.” A voice, Jill’s yet distorted, dripped with malicious glee. Jill stalked towards him, every step sounding throughout the cave. Carlos stiffened, his facial features hardening the closer she got. 

This isn’t Jill. He had to remind himself. This is Saddler. 

“You really thought you were going to get away, hmm?” Jill laughed. “I love the optimism.” 

“What do you want, Saddler?” Carlos felt the hilt of his knife pressed against his body. Would this come down to a fight? 

“What do I want?” Jill paused, tapping her chin in a mock-confusion. “What have I been telling you this entire time, Mr. Oliveira? Or have you not been paying attention?” 

“I’m not playing games with you.” Carlos steeled himself, tightening his fists. Saddler was toying with him, he was enjoying it too. 

“Carlos,” Jill pouted her lip as she stepped toward him. They were face to face and her breath was hot against his face. Her expression was contorted into something animalistic, a look only Saddler could produce. Carlos dropped his head, unable to look at her like this. Jill brought her fingers under his chin, tentatively pulling his head up and forcing him to look in her eyes. “I want you.” 

“Don’t touch me.” He slapped her hand away. Jill giggled, running her hand inches away from his chest. Carlos instinctively flinched back. 

“Why not? I thought you liked her.” The woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“I said I wasn’t playing any games with you.” 

“Hmm,” Jill flicked at one of Carlos’s stray hairs. “Shame.” She tutted, shaking her head. Carlos scowled, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying anything he would regret. Besides, he couldn’t let Saddler get to him. He wasn’t going to win this. 

“What’s so special about me?” He tried, crossing his arms. “I mean, why do you ‘want’ me.” Carlos put up sarcastic air quotes. Jill’s eyebrows raised, almost like she was surprised by his question. She spoke. 

“You know of my cause, so I assume you realize I’m just trying to grow my reach.” 

“Bullshit.” Carlos spat. Saddler was a cult leader, yes. He was also definitely trying to grow his reach, but he had put so much effort into cornering Carlos. It couldn’t be for nothing, could it? Why else would he be dead set on having him, and Jill? It didn’t make sense any other way. “There’s something important, something you’re not telling me.” He glared at the woman as she smiled. 

“You’re smart, no wonder Ms. Valentine took a liking to a criminal like yourself.” Fuck. That last part stung. Carlos wasn’t one to dwell on the past, but when it was as messy as his, it was hard not to. Don’t fall for it. He steeled himself against Saddler’s attempts at silencing him. 

“So what is it? What’s so important?” 

“Oh, Carlos. I wish we could chat, I really do, but,” Jill brought her gaze down, staring at Carlos’s boots for a beat. She pursed her lips, exhaling. “I really don’t have time for this.” In one quick movement, Jill has unsheathed a hidden knife and slashed it up towards Carlos’s face. Surprise crossed his expression, but he had to move fast. He dodged in the knick of time, stumbling back against the wall and ducking out of another knife hack. 

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, blocking the hilt of Jill’s knife. His head throbbed with pain and his vision swam momentarily. He contemplated reaching for his own, but…no. Risking hurting Jill was too big of a risk, even in this circumstance. There had to be some other way. Before he could think of something else, Jill lunged at him, forcing him to grab her wrist and twist. She shrieked out, falling back and clutching it while the knife clattered to the ground. Both of their eyes fell to the weapon and they pounced. Jill kicked up dust in Carlos’s face.

He sputtered, stumbling back and wiping his face. When he regained his sight, he saw Jill grab the knife, so he boot-kicked her into the wall.  Jill recovered quickly, too quickly. She was like a beast, throwing herself at Carlos with brutal force, hoping to land a blow. It was unpredictable. Carlos dodged a left jab from Jill and swept her off her feet. She got back up. Shit, she was bleeding. He winced at the sight of her pulling herself up and wiping the trickle of red from her lip. That was her opening. Jill growled, slamming herself into Carlos with an inhuman force. They tumbled into the wall, the jagged, rocky terrain serving to be a painful landing for him.

The sound of his head colliding with the wall was bone-shaking, echoing throughout the chambers of the labyrinth. His hand immediately went to the back of his neck, where he found a gash oozing with hot blood. Fuck. Jill took his moment of weakness to pummel him in the jaw. Then, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and threw him to the ground, ripping the knife from his hand. Carlos’s body tumbled to the floor, knocking the air out of him. He groaned, favoring his burning neck, trying Carlos could feel the pounding headache starting to form in his skull as his brain swished back and forth in a sick dance. His vision faded in and out as clouds surrounded the world around him, making it hard to focus on the woman in front of him. He blinked. There was a knife. Jill was above him. But it wasn’t Jill, it wasn’t her warm gray eyes, or her confident smile. It was something else entirely. He groaned, mind shifting from her. His eyes caught a glimpse of something shiny. Right, there was a knife. The knife was…moving? “Shit!” Carlos snapped to his senses, rolling away right before the knife came down on him. It stabbed into the dirt and Jill screamed with a rage he had never heard before. Carlos pushed himself onto his hands on knees, breathing hard. His ears rang almost as loud as his pulse, making him shake his head slowly. This wasn’t good. 

“Look at you,” Jill growled, shoving her boot into his ribs, knocking him back over. Carlos grunted, clutching his side. “So pathetic, so pitiful, so…human.” She watched him get back up, only to push him into the wall. “See. This, this is your problem.” Jill waved the knife around, pointing it at Carlos. “You humans have so much potential, but your bodies, they’re so weak, so breakable.” She knelt down, shaking her head. Carlos grimaced as she got closer to him. This twisted version of Jill, he couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t the badass Supercop he met in Raccoon City all those years ago. This was a puppet, dancing on Saddler’s strings and tormenting Carlos’s mind. He groaned, letting his head drop, ignoring the burning sensation that shot up his spine as he did so. There wasn’t any point in conversing with Saddler. “Oh?” Jill reached out, brushing her fingers against the back of the man’s neck, pulling away and inspecting the blood that now coated them. Carlos didn’t even flinch, he just sat there, body overtaken by lethargy. “How unfortunate.” Jill wiped the blood on her pant leg, standing up. “Don’t worry, the doctor will get you all fixed up.” That was the last thing Carlos heard. The last thing that went through his mind before darkness consumed him.

Back in America 

Sherry Birkin sighed, stuffing the last of her sweaty clothes in her worn out blue gym bag. She pulled out her phone and plopped down onto the hard benches of the locker room. The smell of sweat and lavender deodorant permeated the air, but to her, it was practically invisible since she had spent so much time at the gym in the past couple of months. Her screen lit up, greeting her with a background of her, Claire, and Leon three years ago. She and Claire were smiling on either side of Leon, wrapping him in a giant hug. He was trying not to grin, but it was obvious it hadn’t worked. They were standing on a pier, fairy lights hanging above them as they overlooked the water. The night of her eighteenth birthday, it seemed like forever ago. Her eyes lingered on the photo for a moment, but she forced herself to look away, opting to open her messaging app.

“Nothing important.” Sherry mumbled to herself, flipping through the last texts she sent. There were a couple of threads with Claire detailing how the older woman was being sent on a mission in Europe, but otherwise, nothing. Claire had been distant recently, well, for the past three years. Sherry made a constant effort to reach out to the woman who saved her life that fateful night in 1998, but it seemed Claire wanted nothing to do with her anymore. She pursed her lips, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Should she say something, ask how she’s doing? The last text seemed to inflate before her eyes. 

Have fun in Europe! She had sent, but the depressing read November 23rd at 10:43 a.m. served as a reminder that Claire wasn’t the same person she used to be. She types out a message, deletes it and starts over. 

“No,” She mumbles, biting her nail. “That doesn’t sound right.” Sherry types out another message that soon follows its predecessor in being deleted. Just as she’s about to write another conversation starter, her phone screen goes blank, being replaced by a ringing tone. A number flashes on the screen. It’s the DSO main office. Her heart leaps and she scrambles to answer the call. She had sent in her application six months ago, hoping to become a special agent like Leon and actually make a difference in the world. But after months of waiting, it had seemed less and less likely she was going to get a call back, but now, it was finally happening. At least, hopefully. She crossed her fingers and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?” 

“Hello. Is this Sherry Birkin?” A female voice, shrill, answered her and Sherry could hear her clacking loudly on a computer in the background. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah. This is her.” She straightened herself, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like the lady could see her. 

“Good, good.” The woman said. “We’ve reviewed your application for the special forces unit of the DSO and were wondering if you were still interested?” 

“Still interested?” Sherry echoed, barely able to contain the excitement in her voice. She pumped a silent fist in the air, clearing her throat. “Yeah! I mean, yeah of course I am. If you’re still accepting, that is.” She held her breath, hanging on the woman’s silence. What was she going to say? Was she finally going to be a DSO agent? The woman’s voice came to life again. 

“Yes, we are still open for applicants. Like I said, we reviewed your application and Secretary Wilson wants to schedule a private appointment with you. When are you free next?” Secretary Wilson. The Secretary of Defense wanted to talk to her? And privately at that? Sherry jumped up, grabbing her bag and weaving her way out of the locker room. 

“I’m, I’m free today, if you can do that! Actually, I’m only about a block from the agency, so I can do whatever works best!” She rested the phone between her ear and shoulder, fumbling in her bag for her car keys. Clicking the button, she waited for the telltale chirp of her steel gray volkswagen beetle. Once she spotted it, she hopped into the car, tossing her back into the back and starting the engine. 

“Let’s see,” The woman typed furiously, nails making clicking sounds on her keyboard. “Ah, Mr. Wilson landed at 12:30 today, so, does 3:45 work for you, Ms. Birkin? Unless, of course, this job doesn’t matter to you” Her question made Sherry glance down at her watch as she backed up. 3:34. She could get there in time, she had to get there in time. It would be a missed opportunity if she didn’t and she’d never forgive herself. L.A. traffic wasn’t that bad in the afternoon, right? A car horn blared, sending a jolt through her and knocking the phone from her hands. It fell into the crack of the seat. 

“Shit.” Sherry cursed under her breath, grabbing it and putting it back to her ear. She turned and gave a harsh glare to the Bentley that had honked at her. “Uh, yeah I can do 3:45.” The wheel spun and she exited the gym parking lot onto the busy street. Her eyes shifted to the rearview mirror. Another car was barreling down the road with no signs of stopping. “3:45 sounds great.” She grunted, flashing her blinker and changing lanes. 

“Okay then, Mr. Wilson will see you then.” 

“Thank you!” Sherry exclaimed, speeding ahead as the light turned green. 

“Mhm,” The woman voiced. “Okay now, buh-bye.” The line went dead. Sherry tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and narrowed her eyes, focusing on the road. She was going to see Secretary Wilson, in real life. Apparently, what he was doing for the government, BSAA, DSO, and TerraSave combined was helping America rebuild after the countless barrages of attacks from Umbrella. He was a national hero. Giddiness bubbled up inside Sherry and she couldn’t help but squeal at the thought. She was so caught up in the notion, that she almost missed her turn. 

“Shit!” She yanked the wheel left and pressed down on the brake. The tires screeched, the scent of burnt rubber following the noise. A car behind her honked, but she paid no mind to it. She pulled into a parking spot right in front of the looming gray building that was the DSO agency. Hundreds of other cars lined the rows of spots. Important looking  people walked in and out of the revolving doors, carrying things from paperwork to cups of coffee. Sherry shut off the ignition and pulled her keys out, setting them in her lap. “Okay, Sherry.” She took in a deep breath, her initial excitement waring into anxiety. “You got this.” She stuffed her phone and keys in her pocket and stepped out into the warm California sun. Shielding her eyes, she made her way up the front steps and into the building. 

The DSO agency was a large building with a plethora of floors. Stairs that led up the floors overlooked the grand main lobby that had plush leather sofas and potted plants placed meticulously around it. There was an elevator to the side of her, one next to a waterfall that was definitely a bit overkill, at least to Sherry. There was a black granite front desk that looked like it stretched a mile with three women sitting at it. One on the left, one on the right, and the last in the middle. They were all typing away, lost in their own worlds. Sherry decided the one in the middle looked the nicest. 

“Um, hi, I’m Sherry Birkin and-” She was cut off by the woman raising a perfectly manicured finger at her. She caught her voice and cleared her throat, mumbling an apology.

“DSO agency, how may I help you?” The woman was wearing a black headset, one Sherry didn’t notice before since it blended in with her hair so well. “No, sorry, I’ll send you to office three, is that okay? Okay, bye.” She flicked her eyes up to Sherry, turning her attention to her. “Sorry, what were you saying?” Her tone was clipped.

“Oh, uh, I’m Sherry Birkin and I have an appointment with Secretary Wilson-” She glanced down at her watch that read 3:47. “-uh, now.” She looked back up. 

“Thirty-second floor, third door to your left.” The woman’s gaze went back to her screen. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” 

“Uh, thanks.” Sherry gave her an awkward smile before turning in the direction of the elevator. She pressed the up button and waited, rolling on her feet and surveying the area. There were security guards seemingly everywhere, with emotionless faces and black suits. It was a bit intimidating, she wouldn’t lie. The elevator door dinged, opening and she got inside, pressing the button with a faded 32 on it. The machine hummed and lurched before ascending. Sherry pressed her hands against the glass, taking the entire place in. It was so small now that she was so high up, but the sheer size of the place was still astounding to her. She glanced at her watch again. It was now 3:50. What if he cancels the appointment, or leaves? Sherry gripped her wrist and bit her lower lip. Hopefully that wasn’t the case. 

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. She practically sprinted out of it, passing by an array of similar looking doors. 

“Third door to my right?” She wondered aloud, slowing down to a speed walk after getting an ungracious look from a passerby. “No, to my left.” She turned left and walked down three doors. There was a golden plaque with a dark black engraving in the door that read Wilson. This was it. This was the moment she was waiting for. She would finally be able to do something, to make a difference. Like Claire, like Leon. Sherry exhaled, shaking her hands a bit before knocking.

“Come in.” An older man’s voice sounded and Sherry pushed the door open. 

Saying the office was extravagant was down playing it. On either side of her were pristinely polished shelves lined with books and historical artifacts that looked like they’d never been touched. Two marble lion statues were on either side of the door, Sherry almost bumped into one of them on her way in. Wilson’s desk sat in the middle of the room and behind it was a large window that stretched the entire back wall. He could see all of Los Angeles from his spot in the agency. The smell of pine lingered throughout the room, reminding Sherry of a mountainous forest.

Secretary Wilson was a balding man with dark-rimmed square glasses and a spotless gray suit. He sat at his desk, papers in hand. When he noticed Sherry, his eyes softened. 

“Ms. Birkin, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Wilson stood, leaning over the desk to shake hands with her. His hands felt wrinkly and dry, like he washed them a lot. Sherry put on a nervous smile. 

Don’t embarrass yourself. She warned before speaking. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Secretary.” 

“Oh please, call me Wilson. Everybody does.” Wilson shook away her formalities and motioned for her to sit. Sherry perched on the edge of a plush velvet chair that sat in front of Wilson’s desk. It felt like she was sitting in a principal’s office. 

“So, uh, why did you want to talk to me? Personally, I mean.” She intertwined her fingers, fidgeting with them in her lap. Wilson smiled, leaning back in his chair. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Ms. Birkin.” He started. “From your upbringing in Raccoon City, to your rescue by Ms. Redfield and Mr. Kennedy in ‘98.” The man paused, eyes becoming sympathetic. He reached a hand over the desk, making Sherry shift uncomfortably. “I'm sorry for your loss, by the way. Leon’s death, it was a shock to the entirety of the DSO. Though I didn’t know him personally, I know he was a dedicated agent and a good man. In fact, he was a hero.” He shook his head. Sherry gulped, shrugging her shoulders. Leon…that was a long time ago, even still, it stung. She could feel her heart clench and a lump rise in her throat. Wilson’s words of sympathy transported her back to the funeral, when anybody and everybody said that very thing to her. Saying they were sorry as if they could have done anything. “And I know he was like a father to you.” The older man finished, leaning back again. Sherry put on a weak smile, ignoring the tremble in her hands. 

“It’s okay, that was a long time ago.” She bit her lip, blowing out a breath. Wilson frowned. 

“Yes, yes it was.” He pursed his lips, tapping a finger to his chin. “Three years sure did fly past. And so many years since Raccoon City, how long has it been? Almost ten years?” Wilson motioned to Sherry. “You’ve become a remarkable young woman.” 

“Oh,” Sherry tucked a strand of her cropped hair behind her ear, feigning to do something with her hands. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Wilson clapped his hands together. “Now, I wanted to talk with you about something important, which is why I brought you up here, as I’m sure you know.” 

“Yeah,” Sherry stiffened, shaking away memories of Leon. 

“You were top of your class at the police academy.” Wilson opened a file, adjusting his glasses. “But was subsequently cut from the team, because?” He looked up, locking eyes with Sherry. She glanced to the side, clasping and unclasping her hands. 

“Uh, my family name isn’t exactly the most upstanding in the eyes of the law.” She explained, a surge of annoyance echoing in her voice. It was true. She had gone through vigorous hours of studying and training to become an officer, wanting to follow in Leon’s footsteps. But once she got there, they cut her because of her undeniable connection to Umbrella, and her parents’ less-than-squeaky-clean public records. 

“Hmm,” Wilson studied his papers, then Sherry. He exhaled, tossing the file onto the table. “Well, that’s unfair, really.” 

“What?” Sherry perked at his words. Usually, at this point in the conversation she was told there was ‘needed to keep their image clean’ and ‘they were sorry, but she wasn’t the candidate they were looking for’. But here Wilson was agreeing with her. It was like a breath of fresh air. Her shoulders relaxed slightly. 

“I think they should judge you based on your merit rather than your parents’ past actions.” Wilson spoke as if it were an obvious statement, making Sherry nod her head. “Which is why I’ve chosen you to be a part of my own special forces team.” What? Her mouth dropped. He wanted her to be a part of his special team? Her? She almost jumped out of her seat right then and there. 

This is it. This is your big break. She told herself. You’ll finally make them proud. Wilson must have taken notice of her awestruck silence, because he spoke again. 

“So, what do you say, Ms. Birkin? Help me create a better future for America or go back to endlessly applying to police forces that don’t want you.” He shakes his shoulders. “I think I know which one I would pick.” 

“Yes!” Sherry nods vigorously. “Of course I want to join your team.” She cleared her throat, composing herself. “I mean, when do I start?” 

“Whenever you want.” Wilson threw his hands up. “Just give me a call when you think you’re ready.” He slid a card across the desk and Sherry took it. There was a number scrawled on it, so she tucked it in her jacket pocket. It felt like it weighed a ton. She was one call away from becoming a national hero. Like Leon. The thought made a warm, bubbly feeling rise in her chest. 

“Thank you, sir. Really.” She stood, shaking hands with the man. Her body felt so light, like she could run a marathon. “I can’t wait to get started.” She smiled, turning away. Wilson smiled, leading her to the door. 

“I know, Ms. Birkin. I know.”