Still Alive
(part I)

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"You have changed.
I have changed
just like you..."

- Lisa Miskovsky – Still Alive

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As the African sky began to lighten with signs of dawn, the bright, white-yellow sun peeking over the horizon and spilling beams of brightness across the uneven landscape and vast stretches of unrippled ocean, the engines of the stolen prototype of the 2018 Next Generation Bomber revved to life, raising the aircraft with little effort and guided it towards the steaming summit of the inactive volcano that had, moments ago, been alive with combat. Timing was imperative, and only when the monitors stretched across the cockpit dashboard failed to read signs of surrounding bodies did the bomber approach the crash sight of Tricell's Tupolev Tu-160 and its supply of the Uroboros virus.

The bomber circled the volcano like an eagle preparing to attack a rat scurrying across the earth and swept in close enough for the underside of the craft to glow white-hot and cool, burnt, back at the lab. Within the hanger, half a dozen men suited up in heat-resistant, hazmat suits and looped steel hooks and tethered rope through latches on the wall. When ready, they approached the open hanger and glanced out, mentally calculating the best method of descent. They held in their hands vacuum sealed hazardous waste cases and collections of medical equipment – glass tubes, syringes, unused needles, beakers and petri dishes.

A woman, middle-aged with a tight bun of blonde hair and brown eyes – that shone almost gold in the heated volcano light – wearing a white lab coat and black heels, grasped a bar above the open doorway and shouted over the whirling engines, blasting wind and roar of the volcano. With her free hand, she pointed at each suited man in turn, bestowing him with a specific job, then backed away as they leaped from the bomber, hovered a moment in mid-air, and touched down on the heated, black basalt. The woman in the hanger watched, almost fearfully, as half of the men rummaged through broken boxes, twisted metal and a large, elliptical tank labelled, Uroboros. The other three opened large cases and began constructing a bizarre device that appeared straight out of a science fiction novel with the speed and precision of a mechanic changing tires during a Nascar race. At the end of the device, they twisted on a type of hook and lowered it into the bubbling lava.

Twenty nail-biting minutes later, the suited men each raised a thumb and were reeled back into the hanger. The three explorers offered full cases of the virus in glass tubes, each labelled accordingly and locked tightly in the chance of violent flight. The woman nodded – the samples were small and, unless they were careful, would not last long. But they had no choice; it would do – and motioned towards highly secure containment units in which to deposit the samples until they'd returned to the lab.

Finally, she turned to the three men crouched over the heap of a creature they'd dragged from the lava. It was slightly greater than six feet in length, comprised of fleshy black tentacles, large, jagged sheets of shrapnel and had, she presumed, once been human. It was difficult to tell the identity of the creature, for the lava had severely charred most of the flesh and melted strips of leather into the sinewy muscle. The head was mutilated, by apparent explosive force and gratuitous degrees of heat, from both the lava and the explosion, leaving a fractured cranium, singed brain matter and dry tufts of blond hair around skinless patches of facial tissue and a dislodged jaw missing several teeth.

With a slight pop of her knees, the women knelt. The stench of burnt flesh, melted steel and leather would have made most people gag and vomit, but she was a scientist and had smelled her share of nauseous odours as she'd dissected the dead, skinned the living and watched animals rot in their cages from the inside out.

When he'd cooled enough to touch without burning her palm, the woman stroked his smooth head and traced her finger down the exposed bone of his once chiseled cheek. Her dark gaze softened and her voice became tender. "Oh Albert..." she cooed. "You naughty little child..."

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to be continued...

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Disclaimer: All Resident Evil characters are property of Capcom and their individual creators.

Notes: Finally, another multi-chapter story! I know...I should probably finish my Devil May Cry story first (ironically, another Capcom game) but I know where I want to go...just not how to get there. So it might be a while before I update it again, sadly.

Classes are finished for the holidays so expect more fics. 16FangsofWrath has been extremely patient with me and I promise I'll have her fic up soon! I had a Eureka moment so I should have something concocted soon, along with more chapters of this fic and some Assassin's Creed ones, since I recently completed the latest game in the franchise.