Welcome to great wide world of RPG insanity. After doing enough RPGs and after writing enough fanfictions. I cam to realize I use the same writing style for both purposes, so! Rather than writing this one alone, I'd like to offer up half all creative processes and insanity to my RP partner: Morriganna (FF) or better known as mmori (Tumblr). I hope you all enjoy the first editted version, in hopes of making it seamless to you the reader's eye.

Brazil... Chris was in Brazil.

In China, 2013, Captain Christopher Redfield had taken Piers' hand in the underwater basement facility, and pulled him from the depths. Infected and riddled with torn muscle; broken, shattered bones, and horrifically mutated body. Piers had made the choice then and there as his captain struggled for the access to the escape pods, staring at the destruction of his own person, that he would sooner die a man, than become the monsters he had always hunted. Peeling the B.S.A.A. patch from his own arm, wrestling and tearing it from the uniform, he allowed Chris the brief moment's respite before thrusting it into his hand. They were in a stands still, a moment, if watched enough times, would have seemed forever despite it lasting only a heart beat, shoving against his captain's human body with that hideous mutation. If Chris hadn't been the man he was, it may have played out. It may have been that Piers would have died down there, but instead, the young sniper, mutilated and diseased, was yanked full strength inside the pod with him, the doors closing behind them and carrying both of them to safety. To this day he rued the old warhorse's decision to bring him from his watery tomb back into the world. So much time had passed since then, that seemed like only seconds in the blink of an eye, Piers' only good eye...

Here in the end of the year... so many things had passed, but it was insane if that same man who saved him all those months ago without consent, ruining all hopes of a valiant end, thought Piers was going to let Chris make this decision for him. No. He'd nodded his head and given consent to Chris. Promised he didn't mind that the Captain was leaving on another mission, without him. He couldn't go on missions, not like this, a mangled version of what he had once been. Not without the sign off of H.Q., or without being debriefed in full. And of course overriding it all being the fact that the men of the B.S.A.A. would never allow a man taken over by the C-Virus, to compromise a mission, or rejoin his unit. According to the brass, Piers Nivans was no longer a soldier. They weren't happy when Chris had taken him from them, before they'd had a chance to snatch him up like a kid in a candy store for their researchers to collaborate over. An agent with the mutated C-Virus? Something they could possibly create an anti-virus with? No, he hadn't want to be some experiment, he knew Chris was right when it came to what was in store for him if he'd turned himself in, but he was a damned B.O.W., the things he fought to destroy his entire life, and in all honesty it was more than a bit disturbing. It was mentally taxing knowing that he could never leave this place, knowing he could never again be in field, knowing that if he was any kind of man he'd turn himself in and let his country do what it needed with the rest of him to try and find some way to be human again..., human again or at least some help to the world by letting them turn him into a petri dish for a cure. A cure or death. But this? This was purgatory.

The electricity that jumped and danced over and through his flesh, nipping at his finger tips whenever his heart rate jumped. The seizures that came whenever the virus threatened to spread, taking control of his eyes with a white blanketing blindness. The inability to use his right eye was hand in hand with that, a silver shining orb all that was left, without pupil or its remnant hazel color, just a huge saucer like a dead fish. All those things were just another reminder that he was now just the same kind of monster he'd always fought to defend his Captain from and now what? Those things were all disregarding the obvious. His arm. It reverted and grew a fleshy overskin, much like his older arm, and for those it was like a camouflage for fish, but whenever it hurt too badly it reared its head, reminding both him and his captain, he had no place here. And all that excluding the vicious helix of mutation that had lodged deep within his throat, undefinable in nature except that he felt it always there, tightening and clenching in his neck like an impending darkness. Chris had to hide him like some damn criminal, like an exotic pet that you can't legally own, or a viper you have o keep locked in a box away from the world it desperately wished to be a part of. He was a beta fish..., put him with the other fish, and he would kill them all.

So no, he agreed it was okay for Captain Redfield to go on yet another mission without him, but he had never agreed to stay imprisoned within the quiet haunting solitude of the house Chris called home, and Piers knew as prison. Swallowing back his pride, the younger man clenched his fist and stared down reaffirming at the fingers that shot pulses through his body at every heightened heart beat, white and blue tinted shocks jumping over his knuckles and walked through the doors. It was the right thing to do. Chris' feelings aside, his own feelings aside, this was what had to be done. He would die with honor until he died and he would not sit back and become another failed soldier. Fighting the urge to turn tail and run, the call of cowardice in his ear canals, the ace carded the fingers of his good hand through his hair at long last and stepped up to the desk... He'd done the B.S.A.A. one better than turning himself in, he'd borrowed Chris' pickup truck and driven the miles to H.Q.'s very own Quarantine facility outside Bethesda Naval Base. It would be better off this way. It would be better for Chris, to no longer have to concern himself with Piers' affairs or health, his chronic seizures, and gave him leave to get on with his life, instead of beating himself up about this shamble of a man being all that was left of his once robust partner. Yes he was still young, and made rash choices, and still physically strong thanks to the mutation in his blood; but Chris didn't need him around getting himself in deeper with H.Q. brass, because he wanted to take care of his sick puppy and make sure the world didn't touch him. It was too late for that. Apart from that, if they had the cure to this, if he didn't have to keep ruining Chris' life, if he could have any shred of reassurance of returning to Alpha Team. This was worth it.

Chris was in Brazil…in some remote jungle region where the South American branch of the B.S.A.A. found out about virus brokers who were selling different viral samples to terrorists in the area, hoping to incite some panic. Black market sons of bitches, always knew how to make Chris' life Hell. Chris knew H.Q. sent him here to deal with them so he would be away from Piers, using the look behind door number two technique to see if the veteran combat junkie would accept another one liner to get him out of the country. It was no secret that H.Q. wanted their hands on Piers; who wouldn't at this point, with their outbreaks of plagues diminishing populations of major cities to mere percentages of what they had once been. They wanted to experiment, find cures, analyze antibodies, but more importantly, experiment. There were other reason that Chris also felt that H.Q. would be hunting for reasons to get their hands on his partner the major one; find a way to replicate the mutated C-Virus to others 'for the benefit of the world'…a likely excuse from H.Q.. Yes he was the best man for the job, this job anyway. He was always the best man for the job, because Chris Redfield was a fucking powerhouse, and even on his own was capable of clearing out Kijuju, and China, with a single team mate by his side. If they had to pick a man for the job, it was going to be Chris, 9-0-9 in hand. Sons of bitches didn't have to make many excuses to get rid of him, farming him out to other branches to take care of their messes. Still he wasn't too eager to be here that was certain. Brazil wasn't just balmy, it was humid as Hell, and he had more important things to worry about. Things that included keeping his higher ups from trying to stick their fingers in the damn cookie jar.

Before leaving, Chris was adamant about Piers staying at home and waiting for him to return from his mission. He knew it would take no more than two weeks to get it done, three at tops if things got messy and by now it had already been three days, intel received and probing out the first fun bit of hunting down his marks. He made contact with a spy for the B.S.A.A., some anonymous cohort and informed on the details of where the next virus deal would go down, down to the exact coordinates to the degree. H.Q. gave him orders to collect any live virus samples and arrest any dealers that he hadn't taken out in the process. As far as Chris was consider black market traders weren't high on the list of bring in an question. They were generally sellers who didn't know the buyers or suppliers. The middle man to put it for short. The deal would take place in twelve days, exactly two days short of two weeks, which meant his estimate to Piers about returning in two weeks was promptly accurate. This gave him time to work the area. Use a scope, spot for buildings with possible overlookers, places where his security would have to be tight. With enough players in the game it might get hairy, but Chris wasn't one for backing down from a challenge. He was the master of covert operation by now, a few angry hostiles were the least of his worries. Give them chainsaws and bags over their heads, and he might flinch, but these people were petty small time crooks. H.Q.'s secretaries could have done this with their ball point pens.

While Chris was on the way to the location of the virus deal, winding the roads on a 4x4 that handled the bumps like smooth silk, he began to think about his last night with Piers before he left. He'd been so violently unhappy, the misgivings filling the air as he spent another night convincing Piers that this was all for the best. That there would be a time he would get H.Q. to return him to the field, but they would just have to be patient. As though Chris Redfield was a patient man. He was as antsy about the sniper ace returning to the field as he was leaving him alone for two weeks. There was no middle ground there, only another long list of reasons their jobs sucked. He'd calmed him down the only way that a man like Chris knew how. He was a man of action. The sex was rough and fast. Painful due to Piers complete lack of control over himself, his very skin shocking Chris repeatedly, threatening seizures on the fringes. The shocks were not enough to hurt badly, a normal person perhaps, but pain was the butter on Chris' bread, he ate it for breakfast. They caused a mixture of pleasure and pain. A mix that never made Chris uncomfortable in the throws of passion, giving Piers the ultimate reminder that he was a man in charge and the one captain. Quell that desire that built up inside them both when idle for too long. Piers was calm about sex, never was ever one for fully throwing himself into it, and in fact refused Chris most the time on any of his advances, but neither ignored that they shared feelings for each other. Still while they were together, throwing each other around like warring titans, what Piers did do was kiss at Chris' neck, his one moment of sweetness which transfigured while Chris had picked their heated pace, and bit it hard. Bit hard enough for it to bleed, his moist tongue licking the blood that pooled there. He didn't t think anything of it at the time due to the orgasmic high he was on, but it did come to mind now since the area has been bothering him a bit, rubbing his neck with the palm of his hand, and enjoying the relieved pain from the pressure he transferred through the tough. Chris was also feeling a bit 'off' since then, but that thought went on the backburner as nothing as he arrived at his destination. It was time to get to work. The sooner he took care of this, the sooner he could go back to Piers.

Divide and conquer. Wasn't that always the way of it? The Captain would be fine. He felt like shit about the other night, telling Chris that everything would be fine and he would see him as soon as he returned from Brazil. Perhaps he even would be, but it was time to stop worrying about all of that and give himself over to what was good and right. He had had every intention of leaving the very second Chris told him he was flying to Brazil. H.Q. intentionally liked sending Chris to problem areas, even though the man had made multiple requests time and time again not to be sent out of the country anymore. He was over forty and they had plenty of things to do here in the States without sending the captain away every other week to some undisclosed or remote areas in the far corners of the world. It was punishment for his blatant disrespect to the higher ups, disregarding them for a bunch of dusty old men in chairs. Still, he'd known from the moment he'd said those fateful words, he was going to wind up here. The slinky little nurse on his arm was leading him down another set of winding hall ways and being as nice as she possibly could be considering his once immaculate skin was now scarred with dark lines under his eye and down across his cheek, including the silver eye that could have been considered to look more like a dead fish's than his own eagle sharp hazels. Not to mention every minute more he spent inside this place without actually seeing a doctor made his blood pressure jack up and shock her like strong currants of static. She was muttering on in some vernacular he hardly wanted to comprehend, thinking on how he had deceived his partner for the eighth time today. He hadn't meant to do it intentionally, but lying with him, next to him, he couldn't tell him what his real intentions were, just lay there utterly spent in huge muscled arms. He couldn't help but let every part of his person being completely magnetized to Chris. At the time he was dying inside. He wanted to claim Chris, make the point that the captain belonged to him, that even after he had turned himself over there would be something of himself left to him. Even if it was Chris who was his Captain and in charge of their relationship. He'd damn near electrified his partner. The older man had that effect on him, always made his pulse race, which in turn made him surge with fangs of electricity, not nearly as damaging as his own teeth had been gnawing into Chris' shoulder.

It hadn't even take a grand total of thirty minutes of being sat down before they'd started in on Piers, but now it was getting daunting. He'd been there two days now, all of which were sporadic, frantic tests and work ups made as quickly and quietly as possible. Led from one room to another, like a sheep to slaughter, only they wanted to poke him with a stick first. The first two days were, everything under the sun days. Confirmations of confirmations about platelets and virus titers, and a physical examine while he answered one thousand questions on his medical health. Was he allergic to anything, how long could he run, did he have a history of any disease or mental illness they should be made aware of. He was working on mile three when they broke out the heavy guns and started asking him the more penetrating questions. Did he like how the virus felt? Could he feel it inside him? How did he conceal the mutation? Was his arm the only mutation? Did captain Redfield know he was still infect? That was on day three. Days four and five were lab days again. Tox screens, mission histories, skin samples from five different parts of his body, marrow samples. That had all been painful, but Piers could take pain. Today was day seven. A full week of being the lab's prized possession and he was informed by a man who had come by from H.Q. that he was in the best hands available, rambling on about the leaps and bounds of progress they could make if he signed off on their procedures they intended to consider. They'd been asking since day one for him to sign his legal proxy over to the B.S.A.A. so they could make his legal and medical decisions. It was the one reservation that Piers had about all the things they had asked him, signing off on experimentation. The representative was still at it, talking about how they couldn't properly consider options for a cure without first examining the possible outcomes or experimenting on the mutation itself because they were unaware of its nature. More legal jargon bullshit, but... it was also true. "Hand me the papers." That had been yesterday.

Today it seemed every doctor in the facility were already fighting over him outside that door; a matter of who got dibs on which experiment came first. Their voices were muffled to a dull roar outside his room. He felt like he was at auction, but so far as prizes went, his was like a circus. Throw a basketball till you hit the under sized hoop and pay out more than you have to give. His body was resisting every little notion they were throwing at each other, hearing incredulous scoffs and sneers over who's test sounded more unreasonable and it made his skin shiver and electric pulse between his fingers, perched sedentary and antsy under the scrutiny of lime lights. It wasn't until the doctor from the day before of running tests on his physical condition, joined him in the room that he was starting to feel the part of a fly under the microscope. She was tying off a band around his bicep to his right arm, avoiding the lines of white static charge that jumped with his pulse before tying off a rather large knot. "You've got to stop worrying Mr. Nivans... you are allowing your heart rate to raise... it makes me job very difficult." She was a prep doctor, or at least that's what it seemed like. The one that was there for all the tests to take the samples to the labs, and extract important vitals from his monitors. He shocked her three times the first day. She'd learned the tactic to avoiding it since he'd been relatively calm all that day. More like the feeling when you have a charge and then touch the room of your car getting out and it leaves you shaking your hand a few times to rid yourself of the sting. She smelled like lavender. It was nice. Though he wasn't keen on the syringes that were beside her on the prep tray. "Don't worry, just getting prepared. We're going to try something a little different today, Mr. Nivans. Very exciting. Just have to make sure that you aren't going to shock the other doctors while they're trying to work. Alright? So please try to relax. This should stop the shocks for a few hours... something we've used before in cancer patients and the like."

Her yammering didn't bother him, the tinkling of her badge on her chest a nice distraction from the tapping of her nail on the first syringe getting their air bubbles to the top. This wasn't his ideal, but stopping the shocks.., he could live with that most definitely. They'd taken enough fluids from him in the last 72 hours that this was becoming almost bearable. Waiting for a vein, the girl flicked his forearm, watching the dance of electric follow her touches after every other flick before lining up the needle over the darkening vein, circulation suffering from the rubber tourniquet. Stabbing into his flesh, Piers sucked in a breath quickly, hearing the voices in the other room die down, everything smooth until her thumb touched he syringe's plunger. His entire body surged in rejection to what she was doing, a jolt of lightning sourcing off his arm and up through her fingers, dropping her like a fly who'd hit the electric lamp. Oh please don't be dead... Piers gasped reaching out and ripping the needle from his arm, hoping to check the woman on the ground who's breathing only got more and more shallow as he dropped off the examine table, searching fro a pulse. "Some one! Get in here!" Hell the place was full of doctors wasn't it? She wasn't going to die, not from that little spark. He'd done worse to Chris the other night, she should be fine right? As the doors opened, every eye was on him. No, every damn eye was locked on that stupid arm, the way it shifted under his own skin, pulsing and darkening from his racing pulse as he searched the young woman for a heart beat. They were just fucking standing there watching him struggle to pump life back into her chest. His arm throbbed painful under the scrutiny, swallowing his fear when finally someone came round the side, resuming where he'd left off and immediately finding her vitals. They were mumbling talking, but Piers couldn't hear them passed the rush of blood to his head, in his ears, making his body heat and fever while that thing threatened to show them what a real monster he was, the muscle pulsing and causing him to wince.

After that it was full work ups. Every single test imaginable and repeated original tests. More; running, breathing, blood, urine analysis, bone samples, skin biopsies. Tip of the iceberg. Chris' voice resounded in his head for hours, days, as he watched a lanky older fellow examining his scalpel. The girl was alright, she had a minor cardiac trauma thanks to his overloaded senses and the C-Virus orchestrating his stay here. 'They'll turn you into a monster, Piers. They wouldn't ever let you go. Do not go there.' Biting his pouted lip, his eyes scrunched closed briefly. Trying more than ever to relax, so this man wouldn't wind up with the same fate. He was old enough not to survive a cardiac trauma. "Aren't you going to... I don't know give me something before that?" He was eying the scalpel warily. He'd been informed that today they would be examining the tissue of his mutated arm, the foreskin and mutated flesh. The first time they'd even suggested getting involved with it. But there was talk about getting more 'aggressive' with his 'treatment' now, and that meant more aggressive tests as well. He wasn't even sure what sampling his flesh really meant. He'd already had biopsies done, wasn't that enough. Not biopsies of his mutated flesh, but... why couldn't they at least talk to him. His other doctor had talked to him. The labcoat was just staring at his right arm like it was a chicken breast he wanted to fillet, and he was starting to feel extreme anxiety gripping into his fingers. "A local?" Considering the tests he thought he'd been a good patient. Up until now, they'd been running him with tests non-stop for almost twenty-four hours. It may have been longer honestly, but they had no clocks in the room they had him in and they had decided for his own good that it was better he didn't know what day it was. They'd been normal tests, ones he'd had to do before joining up. But what the hell, why was that guy staring at him like that? "Something to kill the pain?"

"Of course not, it would hinder the process."

"What process exactly?"

Hinder the process? Shifting on the plastic topped gurney, he tipped his weight away from the doctor, discomfort etching on his watched the man looking at him so adamantly unconcerned, like a mouse being eyed by a cat. his whiskers made him hard to understand, and Piers was starting to be reminded of a grandfathered version of Hitler, judging by the accent that muddle his speech patterns. "We are looking to identify what maintains the camouflage of your outer layer of skin a whole." Just the pattering of his heart in his chest was making sparks jump between his fingertips, and by observing the white haired old crone it was exactly what he was hoping for. Piers unhappiness and controlled features shifting to insecurity made the doctor peel his upper lip over his teeth, and short 'tsk' noise issuing through a hiss of spittle and enamel. "Sit back now. I'm going to make a few incisions, three or four, to gauge where the mutation has extended to beneath your shoulder, and then we'll start from there."

"It's electrified all over, if you slice into me I won't be able to stop that from happening..., that won't prove anything."

"Young man, if you won't hold still, I'll have you restrained." The doctor didn't wait for a response, two fingers raised for the camera to see and then a room full of people, their foreign hands clinging and grasping to him, holding him down, yanking his limbs out straight ignoring his protests. Huge straps people saw in the movies for looney bins choking his ankles, straps on the legs, wrists, yanking him until he was splayed out for everyone to see, licks of sparks trailing down his arm and into his fingers, dancing across his other skin while Piers couldn't help the tenor cry that issued from the pulse of electric trampling through his system with an untold force, trying to control the virus threatening mutation, and destruction. "LET ME GO!" The sparks flew out and instantly there was people talking, observing, note pads being scribbled on as they all lined up on his right side, awaiting the risen scalpel.

Chris stationed himself accordingly at the location where the black market deal would transpire. A week of observations and longer had earned him all the information he needed on the location, and his contact had been vastly forthcoming about those that would be brokering the deal with the terrorists: Jessica Sherawat. When Chris heard her name, he felt incredible amounts of anger and hatred build in his chest. That bitch betrayed everyone for Tricell and had damned near killed him more than once. He knew when she escaped that he wasn't done with her story, that someday their paths would meet again but he hadn't realized he be so fortunate to be the one that was going to bring her in. He wanted to snap her neck for what she did to him, but he'd settle for 'interrogation' and a swift dismemberment from the company. Chris waited patiently for the last two hours for the scum to arrive. Always arrive ahead of schedule, make certain nothing went askew, or deviated from the plan. A good thing too because more often than not these kinds of scheduled drops meant trouble and a quick change of destination or time. Black market terrorists were a finicky bunch, you could never be certain of what they were willing to do in a pinch. Jessica and two other unnamed suspected terrorists arrived in different vehicles. A black hummer (how very original), and the other in an unmarked red, S.U.V.. Both left their vehicles running in case they needed to make a quick getaway, drivers poised in their seats ready to go on the drop of a hat. Keeping to the plan, Chris kept his distance, assault rifle trained on the area while he marked each face, knowingly searching for Jessica. Part of his deal with the government was that he would have her in custody, but only so long as they had evidence of the transaction that occurred. Meaning the virus had to change hands. Watching them move confidently toward the center of the clearing both flashed their given briefcases, their only leverage for existence, and they began to discuss the terms; viruses and the cost for each vial.

He could hear them perfectly from where he was located, receivers set up and recording from their location to provide him with the perfect evidence of Jessica's treachery. If he took the time to notice, he would have known though that there was no way he should have been able to hear them with the roar of the engines in the area, or the distance he was from the scene. But then adrenaline did amazing things to the human body, and Chris was prepared for everything. After watching the exchange Chris had all he needed, moving in from his location and tapping his com device. "This is Redfield. Hostiles in my sights, keep a medical team on stand by... They're gonna need it." He decided to go for the direct approach. Never was one for covert operations, even if they claimed he was good at it. For forty years old he was moving like a twenty year old, his body and skill giving him a clean run from location to location until he came up behind the closest security outfit. Unnecessary to bring them in, they new shit. Slinking up from behind, Chris' rough palms snapped to each side of the latino's head, snapping his neck effortlessly. His partner cried out the alarm. Going for the grab of the machine gun round his neck, to shoot at Chris. Punching in his head so hard that his skull was carved into his brain, he died instantly. Snorting while he flicked the guts off his hand with disdain. Four shots, double taps, one in the first driver, another in the second, doors hanging wide open where the recipient of the virus was scrambling inside his S.U.V. ducking down from the gun fire. Two more shots, the engine sputtered and blew out. Finally, it was Jessica who was left quaking in her Prada heels and sputtering out a cover as quick as she could manifest one, Chris' heavy boots carrying him through the mess, with his arm covered with blood from hand to elbow.

"Chris, what a wonderful surprise!" Jessica stammered, backing away from those brutish movements. "I can't believe they sent you in on this assignment, a happy coincidence! I've been trying to work my way into this ring for months, the government thought someone was peddling the C-Virus out here and I thought who better than to make them show there heads!?"

She continued readily as she slowly dropped her nail polish clad slim fingered hand for her handgun. Chris looking at Jessica as if she was insane simply leaned forward at the waist, eyes narrowing, "Save it, luckily for you, I am here to arrest you, instead of giving you what you deserve." He began to move towards Jessica when she hoisted her revolver, firing her gun at him. Chris was able to barely dodge it but after fighting in every continent he'd learned a woman with a shaky hand wasn't ever able to raise it faster than he was able to dodge it; and he tackled her to the ground. The ground came to meet her so hard and fast the ripple effect of several bones breaking in her flimsy ribcage and curvy limbs. At least one arm was broken and two ribs, she was sputtering blood up on his face. Internal bleeding. He wasn't sorry. He'd goaded her into doing it, he knew she'd fire and once she had it was all his game from there. No one could say it was anything but self defense, but he was surprised her form was so weak in his arms that she'd broken to tiny pieces. Fragile little thing, human life. Jessica knew she was going to die, due to her injuries or from a bullet wound to the head, so she took a look at Chris for the last time, with spite on her tongue, readied and armed to thrash his core with her revolations of horror about him. As though he'd never heard that before. Every 'bad guy' he brought down made the same accusations that Chris' world would come tumbling down, and all his 'naive' illusions of grandeur would shrivel before his eyes into a pile of spam. He met her stare, prepared to shut her up with a fist to her teeth when she met his stare, eyes melting to saucers and screaming like a five year old child in the face of their greatest nightmare. Jessica coughed up crimson blood, bubbling from her throat, filling her words with a gargled whine, managing out only a last word, one that would probably haunt him from Raccoon until he died. "…Wesk…er…" Chris did not understand what happened and how Jessica could have died like that, from shock? But her eyes rolled into her skull and and mouth agape, smeared with blood and rouge. He shook his head, grabbed the samples that weren't broken. Finger brushed his temple, hitting the com link. "We're gonna need a clean up crew down here..."

...

Chris returned to the B.S.A.A. North American Headquarters early the next morning 0400. With the virus samples turned in and secured by the chain of command, he had nothing left to do other than give his full report to the brass. They were listening through his recon with steepled fingers, nodding their aged old faces and regarding his explanation of the terrorists deaths as each one being easily accountable. As he gave his report, he didn' fail to take notice that they were all looking at him oddly and a couple of them even smirked at him as he made quick work of the nature of the drop known to them, and Tricell's involvement in the matter. He did not understand why a couple of the higher-ups were smirking at him, they had as much on the line as he did if with this kind of botched intel. They needed to know more about it, and as soon as he was finished he wasn't expecting smiles, but perhaps a reasoning behind why they all seemed so content to sit their like a bag of old bones collecting dust. As he gave the ending of his report and handed over the paperwork that followed, he couldn't help but empty the silence in the room with his own inquisition. "Is there something the matter director? Tricell's involvement..., meaning they were there at all, it could have a lot more implications than just a botched up viral trade off. They had a lot of ties in the government."

"We'll deal with the next step of the job Captain. We have received your report and applaud you. Job well done. The B.S.A.A. is lucky to have an agent as skilled as yourself to send on these kinds of missions. We appreciate your discretion on the matter. There's been a few incidents which require further information before we can act further on the mater, but until then we accept your hard work Captain." Chris gave an uncomfortable slow nod, putting out his hand and clasping it with the chairman, who had a shake like a paper doll. Turning on his heel, and near exiting the room, he headed for the door with one foot out when he heard himself being addressed again. "We appreciate your cooperation in the other matter as well Captain. It is time that we got all this mess out of the way." Brows furrowed, a quick snap of the head and Chris was back within the room, spotting the sly little smile on the raisin's old face, looking up rather matter-of-fact in Chris' regard. "About Agent Nivans?" Nothing registered, just further narrowing of mahagony eyes that threatened death if someone didn't attest to what that man was talking about in the thirty seconds. "We're just pleased is all captain, that you finally convinced Agent Nivans to turn himself in for examination and full debriefing. We'd started to loose out patience on the matter until he showed up rather unexpectedly at our door step. Your doing I imagine? We can now do the research that we need to do in regards to the C-Virus strain Agent Nivans has. Our gratitude Captain Redfield." There it was again, that sly grin, spiteful and wicked, testing Chris to see if his fury was cut loose. They wanted him to break, wanted to give them a reason to suspend him.

Chris was in shock at what was said to him hatred boiling deep down into his veins as he felt betrayal coil in his gut and plastered the table with his fist, the entire hing jumping up and splinting at the force of it. He could not believe what he was just told by H.Q. Those sons of bitches, those goddamn bastards knew full well what they were doing, trying to goad him into hitting one of them for answers. "WHERE?!" Piers was taken from him? Piers left him? He was confused, furious at the news, laughing eyes watching his outrage like a comical show.

"Agent Nivans went to quarantine on his own, he wasn't forced Captain," General Stephens answered.

"That can't be true, I refuse to believe it! Piers isn't some experiment, he's one of your best agents. You know full well what they'll do to him in there!" Chris bellowed, his roar filling the room, shoving a finger in the general's face that could have been used to choke the life out of the man. "I want Piers returned to me right now! I have given EVERYTHING to the B.S.A.A., EVERYTHING! AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?! I asked you to do one thing for me director, one thing! How many years of faithful service? I've lost myself in this job and do everything at your beckon, and all I asked, all I asked was you leave Piers out of it. He's a Goddamn hero!" Chris went right up to the Generals with his demands and was screaming at them, feeling their breath on his face while he accused and demanded. He was so into the action that he failed to notice other soldiers coming up behind him. "He saved his entire country and you're going to cage him up... like..., like some animal! He thinks he's doing good for you people, we both know that's wrong. Those monsters in research are going to destroy him! Give him BACK!"

"Captain Redfield, if you do not stop with this, you will be suspended!" General Stephens shouted, cutting off his snarl. Chris refused to move from his spot and the soldiers behind him closed in, threatening to restrain him, but seeing those threatening tensed biceps that flexed with rage as he cupped the general's collar, they thought better. Quickly it was weapons at the ready, dangling a man who weighed 280 pounds by his throat before three needles pierced his back, confusing knitting his brows, dropping the general on his feet, yanking out one of the needles, staring at it. The Generals in charge knew that Chris would react this way and were prepared accordingly. They knew Chris would never willingly release Piers. "He's signed a release waver. Men, take Captain Redfield to his home and surround it. I don't want him going anywhere, its time you took a vacation captain," commanded General Stephens, "Time you let us do what we do best, and you took a rest from that stressful job of yours." Chris roared as his vision blurred, both fists slamming and crushing the table of wood beneath his large fists, beating it down until he was trembling to say upright. "Thanks... for your cooperation."

'Stop, stop, please stop...'

Piers closed his eyes tighter, the man hovering over him rubbing his wrinkly fingers with his bushy mustache, winding it into a ribbon before he was done, fluffing back out once it was released. He was observing the restraints and the progress Piers had made in prying himself free of the examination table. Unlike more than half of the viruses that Umbrella had created, apart from his arm that healed itself, it did more damage to his person than help. They'd been watching him trying to escape his bonds for hours since the last time they'd tightened them. The C-Virus didn't make him physically stronger. Only when he allowed himself to drop all his pride and let that arm become what it really was. Which to their surprise took much more antagonizing than they had ever imagined. He was still holding it back, gritting his teeth and turning his face away so he wouldn't have to see that pinched face watching him like a lab rat, while the restraint across his thighs were tightened to the point of pressure building in his head, a migraine three days old roaring in his head. Please, please stop. This wouldn't show them anything new after the fourth time of doing it... why did they have to continue on this way? Why couldn't he have listened to Chris... why couldn't he have turn back time. These people kept changing in and out, one doctor that hadn't seen it that wanted to be involved in the process so they wanted to exhibit him to each new pair of eyes. The scalpel changed hands, from muttonchops mayhem, to his new observer, sharing the exploratory nature over a few notes. "Start on the left... it will give you a better basis for the control perimeters. You will observe, that the subjects left arm is not at all affected by the healing factor that appears to be active over it's right." Subject? It? Piers stomach turned, hearing some mumbling about the regenerative properties of his mutation. "Now I will of course leave you to make your own examination of the subject, Dr. Wheeler. I do not wish to inhibit your own powers over science, so please, do not let me hold you back form your research." Foot falls of scratchy little cloth booties over the doctor's sneakers brought him out of the room, leaving Piers alone with his newest torturer...

His left arm felt the sliver of medical instruments, another in a long list of horizontal cuts that were all starting to seep blood and plasma, forcing quiet his groan of pain. He wouldn't give them that. "I will need you to... explain to me, the extents of the pain. It will help with the research." The scientist made another cut, two inches, with hardly any depth. He had a ladder of them growing up his left bicep. "Come now, on a scale of one to ten, how was that? They informed you... you would be... cooperative."

"Go to Hell..."

He didn't allow himself fear, feeling womanly hands leave his triceps that they coddled to, shifting with a humph to the other side of his body. "You are already going there young man. Monsters and mutants receive the lowest circle just for themselves... So how about you do some good for the humanity your filthy existence mars and just shut up." The blade insertion didn't hurt until the second incision, making his skin to ribbons from shoulder to elbow. His arm was shaking under the pressure behind his eyes and the urge to rip free and destroy the whole place. He could hear the virus whispering and urging to speak to him, licking the fringes of his sanity with their fury and harbinger references to the doom he was cause on this place. Go ahead, you could break free, take this whole place down with you. Go back to Chris. Your poor captain, you left him for this. You lied. You'll break, and when you do... when you do there will be blood to pay. Good Lord it was all he wanted. Be back with Chris, be back in his taut muscled arms, straining around him and catching him in an impossible embrace. He would do anything to feel those rough demanding kisses that stole all his attention. But he couldn't do that. Couldn't go back, not like this. Not a complete mock of the man he'd once been. He'd endure this a thousand times over if it meant Chris' freedom from having to 'babysit him' or a shot at a cure. The knife slicing into his skin sent a shudder through his body, his hands shaking in fists as it drew in a line downward until it met the junction where his forearm met bicep, dark blood seeping from every cut, while forceps pried back the layers of ruined flesh. "You have another layer of skin under this hmmm? Darker?" Oh fuck, please just stop... "Look at those healing antibodies work... already trying to reform all that camouflage skin. Beautiful... in just a few seconds. Oh and look at all that lovely electricity. You can concentrate it can you? Gorgeous. The mutation that Captain Redfield disclosed when he was debriefed, he claimed your arm was something out of a nightmare. Hiding something are we? Because this masterpiece is a work of art. Look at how fast the cells regenerate... and all the way to ribs... fascinating. How about a better look at that arm... shall we?"

Eyes fluttered as Piers' arm involuntarily twitched, jolts of electricity absorbing into it and around it as each cut caused another arch to sprout off that mauled appendage. He was grimacing between battered lips, gnawing on them subconsciously. "He's got healing properties in the arm, that it keeps re-healing the flesh that seems to... protect it in a manner." She was talking into a Dictaphone, making sure all her notes were properly taken. "Each incision is precisely two inches and length and heals completely after only twenty seconds when left to its own devices. Perhaps a deeper wound will... yield the same results." The scientist known as Wheeler buried her scalpel deeper into the throbbing muscle of dark tissue, so foreign in comparison to that olive hue that comprised the rest of his body. "And too much damage to it and that thing lets off a violent charge... enough voltage to kill a healthy man." There was some griping before the woman came up beside him, eyes finally flickering open when she stood over his head, canting her head as he regarded her with accusing hazel and moonstone silver. "Make sure to test the frequency and strength of each charge let off the subject's body. I want to know what kind of watts we are talking about. Gauge them properly." Her lips moved in a line as though she was shot up with Botox, but snickered when she noted his eyes centering on her with a glower. "Settle down Agent Nivans... Remember you came in willingly. And if you cause too much trouble we'll charge you with that scientist's death, so be a good boy." His scoff didn't go unrecognized before she stopped, lowering a hand over Piers' face, tracing the scars that underlined his eye. "I was given leave to test all areas of your body..." The woman smirked as Piers lurched against his restraints, one holding down his head and chest, both arms strapped several times down, as he watched the silver near his face. "What's wrong soldier... it should heal again shouldn't it?"

Piers Nivans and OC scientist nut jobs; Wheeler and Whisker face, are all me! As well as paragraphing, scene edits, and formatting!

Chris Redfield and the OC generals and directors are courtesy of mmori! As well as all spelling and grammatical editing, thank you ma'am!

Hope you will review and let us know what you think about Chapter 1 of The Twisted Truth.