Disclaimer: We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

Warning: Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship (later), Mpreg (later)

Italics – Emphasized words/Thoughts/Flashbacks/Onomatopoeia(s)

Bold – B.O.W.'s screech/HQ's command over the com.

A/N: Apologies beforehand, because it may not be some people's cup of tea, but a few OCs have been added to this story. We felt a really good plotline would not survive with just three characters— and PWP was WAY out of the question! We hope you'll find it interesting none-the-less. Cheers.

UPDATED [05-03-13]: This chapter has been REVISED with added information. We hope that those of you who've already read it will do so again, because we guarantee you'll achieve a better understanding of the story… that, and it flows a lot nicer!

More and more I find myself wondering if it's all worth fighting for... For a future without fear...

Yeah, it's worth it.

Or so I thought…

…

14.7162° N, 90.6185° W, Guatemala, Coordinates

June 24, 2010, 18:22 p.m.

The scorching sun drifted idly behind the stifling jungle's many trees nestled within the torture of Central American heat as intense footsteps plodded and pulled through stagnant pools of muck breeding mosquitoes. A man in a pallid biohazard ensemble stalking from beyond cluttered shrubs in tardiness, only to stop briefly to lead his teal protection gloves around overgrown canopies dangling in path, removing with an easy tug. And access was soon cleared, allowing patent gaze to village houses, strewn about like old-timers playing cards at a casino.

Blotched earth encompassing the man's devoured imprint, boots encased by a disposable and muddied cover as fleeing light reflected off the round, glassiest eyes of his mask; stare holding the sullen acuities of residents before glancing down at his thumb, which trailed around the dial of a media player; shuffling a playlist in a demoralizing manner.

Click. And chosen operatic pop slowly seeped from a hidden earphone to which he gave a so-so nod, prior to pressing forward— casually replacing his composition entertainer with a handgun, tightly fixing a silencer's tip and the inhabitants of the rustic town didn't even notice him until the first shot was fired— followed by two more and three people fell; shrill screams varying a mixture of aged to adolescence, integrated with hushed gasps as the man approached the middle of the settlement— more like danced; a slide to the left here, tilt of the head there.

Eyes were in awe, unlike times when the populace had had their rations ravaged by neighboring districts and militia groups, pilfering nationals of their courage to leave their homes; but this operate caught all attention and erased intimidation; status one against many. And a few leading warriors impulsively thought this male didn't stand up to the guise of 'dangerous,' so it began with a single, brave dweller, who charged with his native spear in hand—

But there wasn't even a hurried motion, nor flinch from the presumptuous and intended prey, and instead a leg was humorously lifted; bullet firing from beneath, piercing the incoming civilian's thigh and weight staggered balance before being round kicked aside. And put off by the flesh-wound, the local resident hit ground hard in a grovel, a second villager immediately dashing from a well-known blind spot, hoping to succeed in a surprise assault—

However, an inadequate glance gave the biohazardous agent plenty of time to position his firearm for another blast; flung over his shoulder, head cocked and trigger pulled.

Bulls-eye.

And with elegant steps the man spun to his music, flicking up dirt from clumped soil before revealing a vial in the process— skipping the dead member to sit on the previously wounded one; lowly-saturated, dark cyan hands slipping into a small pouch attached to his thigh to withdraw a needle, stuck into the tube's cap; dark purplish, pink liquid entering the syringe.

"Now." He stared curiously at the bubbling concoction spilling from the tip, before adjusting the trapped air with a flick, "Time to put you to the test." and scooting generous weight from the offended person below, he re-hammered his boney rear down in a firmer relax. "Ailing folk gather 'round! I've come to auction a cure."

But contrary silence applauded skepticism as the upset population peered aimlessly from the haven of their quarters; a mother holding her baby closer to suffocate its cries as she glanced with spacious, beige sockets to the rest of her family.

"OK, then." And impatient arms were cast abroad as the man leaned to stare at his victim below with a sigh; song now on mute. "Looks like it's just you and me—"

"Pa... Papa!" However, a scrawny boy covered in rash hobbled from a nearby alley, triggering desperate hands from cracked windows as they tried to prevent the sightless rush; a foolish son trying to inherit his father's job of protection, which resulted in a genial,

"On second thought… He's a better candidate." And a pleased grunt escaped the man's lips amid a rise from the floundering parent, flipping the syringe once before offhandedly jamming it into the passing youngster's neck. "Make Daddy proud, eh?" His sneering shush was complimented by a profound thud and the injured father crawled to be by his child's side; meaningless gestures searching for disclosure of what was just administered.

Nevertheless, ignoring ongoing circumstances around, the accomplished agent pulled out a walky-talky along with his departure towards the outskirts. "It's Civil. Project-C is now in effect, over—" though an abrupt, raspy yowl blared from the boy's widened throat; arms wildly flailing and body convulsing as blood streamed from socket corners.

And there was a disenchanted tsk and low, "Shit…" before, "What was that?" Attention heedlessly directed elsewhere with a somber wave, "No, tell him it didn't work… Time to commence plan B: send in the 'Quiet One.'" before his limb dropped with the communicator, observation pinched to the spreading twilight as he heavily exhaled, soon reaching his hand out to catch detached mist. "…Just what we need."

Furthermore, there wasn't even a moment's pause before a sudden squall deformed surrounding trees as a black helicopter zoomed over the seemingly-vacant village; men cloaked in uniforms sliding down descending ropes; carcasses of the fallen four trampled like drunks in the aftermath of a party, raging winds hazing background ambiance, to the point that Civil had to practically scream,

"The kid!" with an informative gesture and repeat himself a few times before operatives understood and upon conception, the father was mercilessly dragged apart from his son; brains beaten in by the bunt of a soldier's gun and left to gape in death at his offspring's mutation: alarmed wails escaping from observing villagers, who were quickly rounded like cattle for slaughter.

Here sat a town no one would miss, buried within the nightfall horrors of its once radiant evening; raindrops and bodies now plummeting in unison; although the water came in more abundance than flesh, rattled and buried in the safety of its situated grounds. Sacred no longer, only exhibiting the similaristic chaos of excited flies drawn to freshly exhausted excrement; intrusive actions bringing terror to those who managed to flee freely, branding their memories with panic and confusion as they disappeared into the dark woods like mice in a cornfield.

Many soldiers pursued on instinct, however, Civil's demanding cry of, "No! Leave them! They're not worth it!" halted the hunt as he grabbed shoulder to shoulder, reimbursing antics at the hinterland against the cascade crashing down. "We need to seal this area before—"

GUWAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAROOOOOO!

And gazes were altered when noting layers split in reconstruction as a burlap encasement consumed the boy's form, ending with a wet blurp as steam rose from a heated shell now hardened, and Civil— alongside his men— could only gawk in ponderance before flinching at movement inside and wasting no time, a combatant promptly ordered to light two flares in a swift and hissing X, signaling the circling helo to fall lower. A huge wire fence dangling from the underside of the airborne vehicle, which was disconnected in a loud clang and assembled ground level by soaked and stained hands, rapidly raised and dragged around the adjacent houses; links heaved together with a thunderous click, hallmarking the vicinity on lock-down.

…

June 25, 2010, 6:15 a.m.

Thin streaks of rays broke through the bleak, grumbling blanket above, aqueous crashes scraping against the side of our RHIB as we rode buoyantly towards the shoreline; beach not visibly consisting of pearly white sands, but of uncouth rocks and sharp shells.

"… tea…m. Wha…is your…ur…rent…statu…s..?"

And jolting from a hard rut of sea in my seat, I placed a vigilant finger to my ear, tilting my head to try an angle at which I could block the harsh air hammering my drums. "Chris here." Jill was benched beside me, her focus transmitted over the waving waters extended across the horizon for miles. "We're just pullin' up to the coast now."

Chh… Chhhh…Chhhhhhh….

Ha. Communication shouldn't be an issue this far inland, so maybe range was being stressed because of limited cell towers in the area, and seeing as there was nothing else I could do from my position, tolerantly fiddled with the device; rubbing it like gnat bite to try and clear the signal, "HQ— HQ, do you copy?" only to be met by a less pronounced hissing hiatus before a low,

"Y…Yes. We read you… loud… and clear, Chris." pulled back from noise.

"Great…" Now that that's established, "What can you tell us about the mission?" and I snapped fingers at Jill for focus, who leaned closer as I pulled out my PDA; images and documents updated via stream, flashing on screen as I swiped to browse.

"We received a report earlier in the week, speculating suspicious activity within this general region of Guatemala, and according to our 'source'— it may involve the… infamous… Tricell—"

And there was a sudden pop of static, to which I twitched to. "…Y-Yeah." The mention of that company only added to my unnerved coordination, but I fought to keep my mind straight, and correcting my hunched posture helped more than I thought, "Remember somethin' about that in the debriefing online…" and I chafed at the scattered spray stinging my eyes, prior to comforting my elbows on my knees. "So basically, we're here because of some nonsensical hearsay… After all, the organization was destroyed— we were there."

In addition, I passed a brief glance to Jill— noting she was already honed in on my tone, casting a defiant stare before I winked at her, directing features to relax. She probably thought I was going to be a jerk, like previous temperament in past situations when authorities put their demanding feet on me, but I was only joshing.

"Just sayin'." And hopefully with my chipper tone HQ understood intentions; which he did— or at least let on like he did— by deciding to play nice with a jovial chuckle of,

"Senseless as it may seem… it's our job to make sure it remains as such… Just rumors."

And as much as I hated being lectured, knew he was right. "Copy that." The B.S.A.A. couldn't afford another incident like Kijuju; one that ended with countless casualties. So many people… taxed as guinea pigs and used in a war they didn't sign up for.

"As you know, it took us a while to decipher the badly burnt documents and data chips retrieved from the base Irving destroyed at the oil fields, but it appears the CEO of Tricell's African Division, Excella Gionne, was a little too flexible with her export-import contacts throughout years rising in rank…And information was secretly passed through the black market to competitors after her death, as well as Albert Wesker's, so proceed with caution. Over—"

"…and out." However, most of my focus was still caught on the tail-end of HQ's last few words. The first being my ex-captain's name— sworn enemy of the Bioterrorism Alliance— and the second…

I'd always wondered what he meant about 'just getting started,' but maybe it was solely said because he was too disillusioned at the time about ongoing circumstances to accept defeat, and chose to rile our close-victory with misleading intentions…

Could this be Wesker's ghost getting revenge?

Six months, huh? And I found myself unconsciously groping the still-tender scar on my chest, well hidden beneath my protective gear, but not psyche, Has it really been that long? and I didn't have to be empathic to know my own mind, body and soul was consumed by bitter commemoration; more than likely displayed pitiably on my brow.

"Now, Sheva, shoot him!"

"I can't without hitting you!"

"Then— " I could clearly remember my fingers robustly gripping at the slimy, wriggling tentacles— the ones shielding Wesker's weak point… Damn, it was so hard to manage even a few pulls, but once I had a firm gasp couldn't help but try and mentally shut out my former captain's disputes— his growls sounding more and more like a distressed bear as he frantically tried to shake me off. "—shoot through me!"

But after a mustered peek in Sheva's direction, could instantaneously notice her uncertainty; visible in hesitant actions as she ignored my suggestion and unsheathed her machete— congregating courage to approach before thrusting the drawn dagger into Wesker's upper body— so hard and concentrated, that the blade pierced my chest as well. Although I didn't have time to react…

"CHRIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSS!"

That scream… Haunting to run-of-the-mill nightmares, inducing echoing chills throughout my skin, seemingly shattering all envisions gathered during each desperate escape.

Guess I was cursed…

"Chris?"

And by the time I slowly recalled mindset to reality, Jill's worried eyes were already prying for response, and I tried best for her to accept my strained, spur-of-the-moment grin before clearing my throat with a dry, "I'm alright." standing subsequently to notice the boat was already beached on brittle sand, and made to propel myself over the hard edge of the dinghy. Boots sinking into the squelchy grime as the ocean's spit soaked the rims of my pants while I turned to offer my hand, which was taken without protest.

Excluding Jill and myself, there were five other members accompanying us on this mission: Joel, Saunders, Mark, Roger and Fawn… and to be honest it felt weird— seeing as it was my first time in years with a real team again, unlike my time in Africa; Sheva and I the only ones left to proceed alone— no time to regroup after the entire squad was downed by that damned B.O.W.; compliments of that scumbag Irving.

Good riddance to 'im…

As well as Jill's descend, and I concurrently directed a nod to Joel, perched behind the steering wheel and he passed my motion to Saunders, who threw the anchor into liquid depth; silver steel engulfed hungrily, disappearing without a trace.

"Alright, let's gear up." And with no one technically labeled 'in charge,' I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling; after all, I was reaching the point in my career to be considered a veteran. Had to get rehearsal in there somehow— to set the stage for my future promotion… Not that I thought I'd be endorsed anytime soon…

However, Mark was already one step ahead of me— transiting a box pertaining provisions to Roger, who had dismounted from the opposite side of the raft— and I gripped his shoulder palpably with an accepting,

"Good work."

…

Meanwhile,

as Chris and the others bustled efficiently with their delegate shifts, Fawn— the rookie— decided to follow his own schedule, wandering pointlessly into the nearest nest of jungle; young eyes eagerly investigating new surroundings— but not before stopping to observe a blue Morpho butterfly breaking out its cocoon. Seemingly fascinating to watch as composure was regained after its struggle for release, but once the distracting insect had vanished from view, Fawn curiously began examining the array of exotic underbrush around. Starting with mossy rocks, a bush covered in exhilarating flowers, a human figure, succulent fruits dangling from a— his glance doubled back.

"H-Hey," And a muster was barely managed through an arid choke as he raised his firearm; fingers nervously fine-tuning the trigger with a clearer, "Hey, you!"

But the person rocked back and forth— fro and to, as if trying to regain balance; memorable features obscured by the warped arms of branches; defending from scrutiny as well as stillness.

And intimidated by no response, Fawn readjusted location on the handgrip of his poised weapon, and quickly worked around assembling his practiced Spanish accent with a, "Habla ingles?" But without warning the menacing silhouette extended a limb, which stretched like elastic and grabbed distant woods; slipping from sight in a blur and chilling cackle.

…

There was a shrill cry— followed by rabid gunfire— as Jill and I turned simultaneously with the others, hesitantly prepping our weapons from the unorthodox disturbance; heavy and fumbling antics drawing from greenery overwhelming the coastline's border.

And my first thought on the approaching target was that it was just a white-tailed deer— and in a sense, guess I was right— when seeing Fawn's pale face emerge; stumbling aimlessly over his own feet before his rear was presented to us in a turn, gun pointed at the unknown beyond the shrubs, and I quickly lowered my arm, pulling others' alongside me as well. "Stand down!"

What the hell was that kid thinking— pulling a stunt like that? But slowly found myself wondering why he was so spooked.

However, my forward steps to investigate were stalled, concentration attracted to the haunting skies hovering; the last beam of light lingeringly swallowed by ominous veils of black, leaving shadows to tint our terrain, and I couldn't quell a persistent nag in my gut that something was off about this mission…

I mean, Why… after all these months of stayin' below radar… What could possibly be out here that's worth compromising the groundwork of formerly burned ideology?But its times like these that a soldier should never reflect on ordeals already set in motion, and my attention was redrawn by Jill's inquiry of,

"What happened?"

And a response didn't come quick, or clean from the visibly troubled greenhorn, "T-T-There was s-s-something t-t-there…" uncertainty leeching strength from confidence. "i-i-in the jungle…" But a hand was placed on Fawn's trembling shoulder; paternal assurance seeping through compassionate pores as it was given a small shake.

"Sure it wasn't a skunk, kid?"

However, Roger scoffed sardonically, fixing the pockets on his gear with a hot lug. "Skunks don't live in the tropics, Mark."

"Could have been imported." And Saunders felt the need to flash an impish smirk to Joel; mulling over—what he thought— was a clever retort.

But Jill and I were the only ones not laughing. Poor guy. Kinda reminded me of myself when I initially joined S.T.A.R.S... First mission. New team. Everyone's on edge… But this level of alarm—

"N-No!" Fawn's eyes were wide, amped on adrenaline and darting to every movement perceived, before sponging at his puffy lids with sandy palms, dazzling his freckles with glassy specs of filth amid the plop to his knees. "I-It was human— I mean, it looked human… but then its arms—"

And I immediately roused the sleeping com. in my ear; tendency animated a little more than I liked from present circumstances, but someone had to hold firm among the rising anxiety, "HQ, any chance you can use the satellite to survey the area? I got a feelin' we're not the only ones here to confirm the authenticity of that Intel…"

However, a rumble of rapidly heated air answered first, before a, "Sorry, Chris. Satellites are down… due to the…ongoing storm— we're blind out here… I'm afraid you guys are…on your— own from this… point o—"

And extra misfortune was added to our already ruptured news as a crack of lighting whitened the overcast ambiance; a sickening howl reverberating within the droning echo, ringing throughout the intense atmosphere overhead as trees became naked; flocks of birds taking startled flight, leaving us to roost in silence on the deserted shore alone…

What the hell? …I hope that was just thunder.

Translation(s):

Habla inglés – Spanish: "(You) speak English?"

**REMINDER** This chapter has been REVISED, and if don't you see "UPDATED [XX-XX-XX]" at the top of the following five chapters, then we're still modifying them… (Hopefully this revision doesn't twist too many things out of whack for new readers!)