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Games + Degeneration universe. No movies. Sorry it's been so long, guys! Here's my attempt at a re-launch. Hope it looks better now than it did two years ago! :)

Nights in Africa can grow surprisingly frigid, it was becoming abundantly clear. The light of the moon could be glimpsed through the clouds only slightly, to the dismay of two silhouettes pacing slowly alongside a decimated landmark- Mount Kijuju. These two were members of the American non-profit organization TerraSave, which had sent aid to Kijuju and its surrounding region following several recent incidents of bio-terror.

"Why are we even looking? What's so damn important we gotta dig it right back up again?"

"Those people were infected. We need to learn as much as we can, don't we?."

They and their teammates had been assigned to sift through the ash in an attempt to recover the bodies of any victims of the incident. Which, in truth, was an honest endeavor. The information most keenly pursued by the BSAA, however and unbeknownst to the mission's executors, was the fate of Albert Wesker.

"Whatever caused all this shit is better off staying buried."

"Orders are orders."

"Yeah, yeah…"

A few moments of silence followed as the pair shuffled onward. Little was expected of the search effort; everyone was certain that nothing, not even a biologically enhanced human, could survive at the intense temperatures the volcano had achieved. As far as anyone who knew the details were concerned, Wesker had departed from this world in a lake of fire. And if there was such a thing as God, his immortal soul would be plunged into another. Be it wishful or realistic thinking, the fact remained that the survival of anything in the chaos of three weeks prior was doubtful, at best.

"So how's that girlfriend of yours? Tell your wife, yet?"

"Oh, don't start with that 'holier than thou' crap. I'm not in the mood today." Consumed by their idle chatter, they didn't notice the pile of rocks they'd just passed had been quivering.

Several pieces of rubble tumbled aside, and a single, bloody hand rose from the earth. The dry clinking of igneous in the breezy silence of the dark was enough to draw their attention, "What was that? You kick somethin'?" One man's flashlight fell onto a scene neither men could fully comprehend.

Albert Wesker slowly pulled himself away from his entombment in what was once molten lava. His flesh was blackened in places, and completely burnt away in others, revealing muscles and even bone. Blood did not seep from his wounds, but instead a substance much akin to oil. It wrapped around his flesh tactically, giving some semblance of intelligence within the design of this broken, feral creature.

As he came to a stance, the red glint of his eyes flicked to the men before him. He sized them up, determining the threat they posed. TerraSave. Radios. There was potential for disaster in their ability to communicate. He'd have to fix that.

A sudden and intense pain assaulted his abdomen; it didn't take him long to realize he was in the late phases of starvation. Though the parasite within him had restored his body and some of his strength, he was in desperate need of food.

Food…

As the word entered his mind, a disturbing impulse overwhelmed him.

He, Albert Wesker, was not currently in control of his body. He had the acute sensation that the things he was witnessing were happening to someone else. He felt distant; somewhat disconnected from himself.

A growl came that belonged to him but he did not command it. It was a curious thing- an out-of-body experience? Was what he was seeing, hearing, even real? Something which he knew did not belong to him, a long, snake-like appendage formed from the oily tendrils covering his forearm reached out and gripped one man by the throat.

He gagged grotesquely and fought desperately to free himself from the choking hold until a dull crack came from his neck and he fell limp. "Oh, God..." the other said in disbelief. He was sure he was drunk again. Maybe just passed out after playing cards wit the guys. Yeah, sure. He'd wake up screaming with everyone looking at him like he was crazy and life would go on.

Wesker's attention was on him now. It didn't take much- a quick strike through the skull, cracking it open like a walnut -and the man was down, not even able to realize he'd died.

The grey matter of the second man's brain struck him as extremely alluring and, all the while assuring himself that this was not truly him, he observed with morbid fascination as he devoured every consumable inch of both bodies.

What day is it? briefly occurred to him. Where is this?

He retreated from the carcasses, only vaguely aware he was naked and cold. He sucked in a breath and steadied his rampaging head. He underwent an odd sensation... as though he was only now able to settle into his body. Whatever had possessed him had receded and with this realization he flexed one hand, watched the sickly black veins protrude from his skin, rolled onto all fours with a violent convulsion, and promptly vomited.

The seizure wracked him for seconds, minutes, he couldn't tell. When it was finally over he curled in a fetal manner briefly, catching his breath and calming his rapid heartbeat. It took him far too long for his liking to recover.

Only when he was lucid enough to situate himself, did he notice he was numb from the chill. His eyes darted around suspiciously, and he spotted a glow in the distance; lights from a BSAA camp nearby. It was those lights which returned him to his senses; he suddenly remembered the events of the weeks prior to his imprisonment in the earth. He recalled his 'death', and the name responsible for it all.

His lip up-turned in a snarl as the image of his adversary appeared in his mind.

"Chris…"

Two years later…

Claire dropped her backpack on Chris' couch. She looked in dread at her massive workload; three term papers due by Monday in English, History, and World Politics. Was there anything worse?

She dismissed the myriad of circumstances which occurred to her in response to her rhetoric and looked around the living room. The only light in the entire apartment was peeking through the blinds from outside. Claire switched a table lamp on and pulled her history textbook out of her bag.

"Okay," she said to herself, settling cross-legged on the couch, "three key mistakes Hitler made toward the end of World War II…"

She bit the end of her pen; all of the words in her book seemed to blend together.

"Oh… I'm not up for this!" she moaned, falling backward. She was barely aware of the sound of feet tapping up wooden steps outside. When Chris opened the door and saw his sister on his couch, he smiled.

"Getting a lot of work done?" He asked, stepping inside and shutting the door.

"I wish. I'm pretty sure my professors think I have no life outside the classroom," she said bitterly.

"Well, I hate to rub it in, but you kind of don't…" he said sheepishly. It was true; she was a full-time student. She spent all of her time off campus either studying or doing homework. She rarely slept anymore, and Chris was constantly worrying about her. "Oh, and I saw you pull in. You hit the parking bumper."

"I know... An all-nighter is a good way to screw with your depth-perception." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You know, Claire, getting your degree by next summer is a nice goal and all, but maybe you should think about lightening your class-load next quarter. Maybe even take a break," Chris suggested. He walked past her and into the kitchen, pulling out a can of soda and pouring it into a glass.

Claire only snorted, "Please; I'd planned to have my degree already. It's not my fault it's taken so long; fate just doesn't want me to graduate 'till I'm forty."

"You seem to be doing okay," her brother replied. He handed her the glass.

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't try sneaking me sleeping pills." Claire held the glass over her head and raised an eyebrow.

He heaved a resigned sigh, "You need rest, Claire."

"I need to graduate. I'll get all of the sleep in the world once I have a degree under my belt."

"That isn't good for you, you know."

"I know. I'll get some sleep after I get some research done, 'kay? Speaking of which, do you think you could help me out with my homework?"

He grabbed a can for himself and shut the fridge, "I can try. Let's see what you've got." He took a seat and peered at her book.

"World War II? Alright; what do you have to do?"

"I have to explain three mistakes Hitler made near the end of the war."

"That's easy; he was a bad guy, he was a hypocrite, and he pissed off the Russians."

"That's brilliant, Chris. Now if I could just stretch that into fourteen pages I'll be good to go," she remarked. Her brother stared at her.

"Fourteen? You weren't kidding."

Claire nodded, "That's child's play compared to my English final, and I've got three more projects here, all due Monday."

"You know, if you hadn't decided to take on five classes this quarter, you'd probably be okay."

"So I'm trying to get ahead; what's wrong with that? Besides, one of those is once-a-week and two are online. Are you going to help, or is your plan just to patronize me?"

"Relax; let me see that book." Chris snatched it out of her lap and started reading. Claire watched patiently until he set it down.

"Well?" she asked expectantly. Chris gave her a dumb look.

"I have no idea what the hell I just read. Who wrote this; Stephen King?"

He shut the book and stood, watching his sister's head drop in exasperation.

"What would I ever do without you?" she said, stealing her book back and reaching for her notepad, "Maybe Jill can help me later."

Chris, who had just started toward the bathroom, stopped and turned. "How do you know Jill's coming today?" he asked. He wasn't even sure of that.

"Oh, come on; you mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"She's into you! All those excuses she makes for coming over? She's just hoping at some point that you'll buck up and kiss her."

"What?"

"You heard me," Claire replied, not looking up from her work.

"You're crazy."

"Whatever you say…" she said in a quiet singsong. Chris shook his head and continued into the bathroom.

Claire quickly looked up, "And Stephen King isn't boring!" she added indignantly.