This is my first ever fan fiction. I didn't really intend for it to come out as long as it is, but I really wanted to explore every aspect and implication of what was done to Jill Valentine in Resident Evil 5, so it just kinda came out that way. I will be grateful to anyone who chooses to post a review. I have tried as much as possible to work within the established fiction of Resident Evil 5 and not to deviate or change any of the plot details or side information provided by the files and documents in the game; if anyone catches a mistake or oversight on my part I'll try to fix it.

Please be aware that this entire story is pretty much one big Resident Evil 5 spoiler.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy "No Cage Worse."

Prologue: Locked In

My name is Jill Valentine and this is my journal. Unfortunately, I have nothing to write with or to write on, and even if I did it wouldn't matter; my hands no longer do anything but the bidding of others. What I do have, for the time being, is perfect recall. Anything I experience, any sight, sound, smell, I can remember as though playing back a movie, and the same goes for my thoughts. I've tested this; I can actually "write" in my head, and "read back" what I've written no matter how much time has passed, as accurately as if it were written on a page. And so, this will have to do, although it is locked in my head and I am unable to speak unless expressly authorized to do so, and then only to say that which will help achieve my mission. I don't know if anyone will ever read this, but I feel a duty to record my experiences as accurately as possible, in the hope that one day others will know what I've seen and what I've done. It might save lives. If there are even lives to be saved.

I remember reading once about a rare medical condition called "locked in syndrome." It's usually caused by brain injury: head trauma or stroke. A patient afflicted with this horrible neurological disorder is completely paralyzed, beyond quadriplegia, although mentally the victim is in complete possession of her faculties. Usually, the only action the patient can voluntarily take is to blink her eyes, and that's if she's lucky. Can you imagine being trapped inside a useless body, unable to do anything at all except keep your eyeballs moist? I can. I guess the good news for me is that I'm not paralyzed - in fact my body is more capable than it's ever been. The bad news is that I have no control over anything it does: all I do is follow orders from others, no matter how repugnant, how horrific, how unforgivable the task.

The irony is that I have never felt more alive. My body is capable of feats of strength, acrobatics and endurance that the most hardened warrior could only dream of. My mind can calculate tactical possibilities that would elude the most skilled ninja. My senses can detect things beyond the range of normal human experience. I am ordered to crush a man's throat with my bare hands. I hear the breath trying to escape his closed airways; the pressure and volume of the sound tells me how close he is to suffocation. I feel the popping in his neck, knowing from pure tactile sensation the type and amount of destruction I've caused, which tells me how long he has to live. I smell the shifting aromas of his fear, from sour milk to vinegar the closer he is to death. And finally, I see the exact moment life leaves his eyes. All of it, every second, recorded in my memory with permanent clarity, never to be expunged or dulled with time. I do this because my greatest enemy tells me to, and I see no means of escape. My orders are clear and unambiguous: assist my master in the extermination of the human race as we know it. And I always, always obey my orders.