bioresilient

[bioresilient]

chris, be nice. did brad take our helicopter and abandon us to battle absurd puzzles and unfathomable horrors because he heard a dog bark? yes. but he came back. had he stress-eaten all the rations we packed? also yes. but he picked up the pizza we paid for with our zero income on his way home from work at the job that screwed all of us over, so there's that.

[bioresilient]

jill help the front desk girl asked me out

chris it's 2023 just tell her you're gay

[bioresilient]

#NUJIANDIE:  ind.  writing  blog  for  ADA WONG  of  capcom’s  BIOHAZARD  /  RESIDENT  EVIL  series.  low-activity,  private  and  selective.  written  by  lock

[bioresilient]

omniterror​:

HE’S   BEEN   LEFT   ALONE   WITH   HER   while   claire   and   her   brother   went   to   pick   up   some   food.   he   wasn’t   much   for   family   or   friend   gatherings,   especially   these   days,   but   it   had   been   so   long   since,   and,   of   course,   with   claire’s   eager   persistence,   that   he   gave   in   and   agreed.   he’s   only   heard   about   her   from   nearly   everyone   on   the   planet,   seen   a   few   tid-bits   of   news   on   the   TV,   but   never   had   the   chance   to   be   face   to   face   with   the   one   and   only,   jill   valentine.   his   whole   hands,   fingers   tapping   to   the   rhythm   of   One   Headlight   along   his   thighs,   feel   [      .   .   .   ]   clammy.   he’s   a   little   nervous,   even   if   his   face   left   nary   a   hint   of   it.

❝               so,   uh.   .   .   .   how   long   until   they   let   you   off   the   leash?   completely,   i   mean.      ❞

       Her sigh is one of tolerant exasperation directed at those who hold the other end of that leash, edged in the humor the setting behooves ( and which might be needed to allay uneasiness exposed by the thigh-tapping ) and vision of herself as an dog barking on the end of its lead, desperate to be set free to attack, evokes. Is she a small, yappy terrier or something larger and more intimidating? 

          “‘Soon’ seems to be the only word in anyone’s vocabulary. By then, I’ll have so many papercuts I won’t be able to hold a gun.” One hand unwraps from the body of her beer, extended to brandish the thin, superficial slices bisecting her fingers, inflicted by the dangerous administrative work she’s been relegated to between tests, province of boredom-induced headaches as well. “I bet you get as much paperwork as we do.”

[bioresilient]

biovaliant​:

SEVERAL  THINGS  HIT  CLAIRE  AT  ONCE.

or  rather,     they  hit  her  one  after  the  other  with  no  reprieve,     no  moment  to  ponder  one  before  the  next  stacks  on  top  of  it  like  poorly  positioned  tetris  blocks.     each  boils  down  to  one  thing :     they’ve  wasted  so  much  precious  time  meant  to  put  them  ahead  of  a   POTENTIAL  THREAT   to  this  town  investigating  fucking  halloween  props  in  what  has  revealed  itself  to  be     [    quite  obviously,     in  hindsight    ]     the  leftovers  of  a  low-budget  attraction.

“     you’ve  gotta  be  kidding  me,     ”          she  says  on  a  groaning,     exasperated  exhale.     that  jill  is  here  to  help  soak  up  some  of  the  humiliation  eases  her  personal  embarrassment,     but  the  blow  to  her  dignity  still  rattles  loosely  at  her  patience.     it’s  not  their  fault  that  two  anti-bioterrorism  agents  were  fooled  by  their  little  display,     but  claire  finds  herself  cursing  the  ones  behind  it  anyway.          “     you  still  think  i  would’ve  made  a  good  detective?     ”          only  a  hint  of  derisiveness  laces  each  word  at  their  expense.

chris,     inéz,     and  the  rest  of  their  shared  terrasave  and  bsaa  buddies  are  gonna  get  a  real  kick  out  of  this  one,     that’s  for  sure.     with  less  caution  than  she  had  before,     claire  steps  through  the  brush  and  squeezes  through  the  trees  back  out  onto  the  little  footpath  they’d  been  following  prior  to  their  detour.

“     lead  the  way,     agent  valentine,     ”          her  tease  comes  with  a  slow  sweep  of  her  hands  down  the  trail  while  she  stands  to  the  side.     claire’s  not  at  all  incapable  of  heading  their  little  excursion  herself,     but  she  knows  her  wife  prefers  to  play  pointman  when  it’s  just  the  two  of  them  and   SHE’S  JUST  FINE  WITH  THAT.

         “Good thing we didn’t call for backup.” She can see it now, TerraSave and the B.S.A.A. abandoning their own carefully planned trajectories through the site to converge on their location, heavy boots stamping through the forest and guns drawn in anticipation of the bioterror threat they have been searching for, for what had amounted to a few dilapidated holiday decorations, a stage that hadn’t been dismantled after use and which she reconstructs now, no space on their persons to carry the remains with them. The wasted time would have been one thing, the humiliation another, which they still may not avoid. Jill’s response is a quiet exhale buoying a resigned smile more grimace in aspect, any humor to be found in the situation diminished by chagrin unalloyed by how warranted the investigation had been. 

          Finger raised to her headset depresses the tiny button to relay her voice, “Disregard our last. Alpha team proceeding on route. Over.” With any luck, the other teams would be too engrossed in their own tasks to press, their prior alert disregarded without comment with the negation ------

          “What about the axe?”

          Attentiveness that should reassure, indicative of the vigilance of their teammates, damns. Pale blue eyes close as if bracing for the reaction to come, “Just a Halloween prop, Stevens.”

          Hope flickers in the silence that follows, though she’s certain at least one other duo are snickering at them. The crackle of the radio as another activates their microphone shatters that meagre hope with mischievous taunt. “Isn’t your wife there holding your hand, Valentine? You need us to come over there?”

         “We’re fine. Radio if you find anything.” Lighthearted her tone may be, but just enough hard authority is injected into it to censure further comment and direct attention back to the threat at hand. Without a doubt, the teasing would continue when they reconvened, the story making its way through the ranks of both organizations, crippling reputations forged by fire fiercer than many of their colleagues have encountered, unless they discover something legitimate to overshadow the lapse. If not… “How do you feel about the Cayman Islands?”

         The question is posed as Jill returns them to their trail, partner in their folly permitted the levity denied others, “I hope you’re going to delete those photos.”

[bioresilient]

biomend​:

𝙹𝙸𝙻𝙻'𝚂  𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴  𝙸𝚂  𝚄𝙽𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳, astounding  both  scientists  and  conspirators  alike.  she's  endured  the  inconceivable  without  so  much  as  a  whimper,  all  the  while  holding  onto  an  exhausted  smile.  selfless,  even  in  a  state  of  complete  turmoil,  defiantly  leaning  forward  in  a  creaky  hospital  bed  that's  seen  better  days.  is  this  the  way  to  treat  a  beloved  friend  who's  returned  from  an  unspeakable  nightmare?  forced  into  an  unfamiliar  room  with  blinding  fluorescent  lights,  the  stark  white  walls  entirely  𝙱𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙵𝚃  of  photographs,  and  sickly  sweet  smells  of  unappetizing  food  remain  stagnant  in  the  air.  it's  a  stench  that  will  never  leave,  much  like  the  torment  that's  stuck  to  them  forever,  only  to  expire  with  their  last  dying  breaths.

rebecca  peers  over  the  mattress  with  a  reluctant  nod,  carefully  reaching  out  to  snag  the  chosen  film,  eyeing  the  synopsis  and  cover  art  on  the  back  with  a  light  simper.  there's  a  little  girl  walking  next  to  the  assassin  with  an  too  familiar  haircut.  ❝  she  reminds  me  a  bit  of  you.  i've  not  seen  this  movie  since    ⎯  ❞before  she  moved  to  raccoon  city,  when  she  was  only  fourteen  and  in  between  studies,  sitting  idly  in  the  lavish  living  room  to  pass  the  time,  catching  a  glimpse  of  pop  culture  in  𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽,  eyes  wide,  unable  to  pry  themselves  from  the  screen.  alone  to  her  thoughts,  and  able  to  breathe  easy  without  her  father's  domineering  shadow  taking  hold  of  everything  in  his  path.  instead  it  was  léon,  the  hired  hitman  with  a  gruff  voice  bellowing  out  iconic  lines  well  deserving  of  an  oscar.  ❝  it's  been  a  while…❞  the  keep  case  is  still  wrapped  in  a  fine  layer  of  plastic.  unopened,  as  if  it  were  waiting  on  someone  in  particular.  that  someone  is  right  in  front  of  her,  calling  the  shots  as  usual,  and  she  doesn't  mind  one  bit.  in  fact,  she  welcomes  it  with  a  soft  giggle  and  reminder  of  her  own.

❝  nous  pouvons  regarder  en  français  si  vous  le  souhaitez!  ❞  she  grins,  slicing  the  plastic  with  her  pocket  knife  then  clicking  open  the  case.  ❝  i  am  fluent  in  seven  languages,  you  know.  ❞  the  dvd  pops  out,  pristine  and  without  a  scratch  on  the  surface,  shimmering  like  digital  diamonds  beneath  the  lights  before  disappearing  into  the  side  of  the  television,  menu  and  theme  popping  up  on  the  display  in  an  instant,  dripping  with  𝚅𝙸𝙱𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚃  nostalgia.  the  chair  next  to  jill's  bed  squeaks  as  rebecca's  tiny  frame  slinks  into  the  middle,  knees  propped  up  to  her  chest.  she  hits  play  on  the  remote,  candy  wrapper  rustling  incessantly  in  her  pocket  before  it's  ripped  open  and  consumed  in  two  starved  bites.

❝  oh!  this  is  my  favorite  part.  ❞  the  characters  lie  belly  down  on  a  roof,  while  mathilda  stares  down  the  scope  of  a  rifle,  looking  for  a  viable  target  from  a  quarter  mile  away.  she  finds  a  jogger,  finger  hovering  over  the  trigger,  and  takes  a  deep  breath.  the  bullets  are  only  blood  red  paintballs,  but  she  hits  the  target  nonetheless,  boldly  asking  for  “real  bullets”  next  time.  is  léon  the  professional,  or  is  it  mathilda,  so  eager  to  𝙺𝙸𝙻𝙻  without  a  second  thought?

eyelids  grow  heavier  by  each  passing  minute,  the  movie  turning  into  splashes  of  color,  blurred  by  fluttering  lashes  that  soon  close.  she's  only  resting  her  eyes,  as  she'd  say  if  she  were  woken  up,  hopelessly  drifting  off  into  a  deep  slumber.  she's  been  neck  deep  in  research,  trauma  patients,  and  the  enlivened  restlessness  that  comes  with  the  news  that  your  “dead  in  absentia”  friend  is  actually  alive,  but  far  from  well.  ❝  found  her…  safe.  ❞  she  murmurs  in  her  sleep,  chocolate  stained  lips  curled  into  the  faintest  smile.  finally,  a  chapter  is  closed  paving  way  for  fresh  ink  on  blank  pages,  which  by  all  means  should  be  filled  with  a  story  of  a  more  jovial  nature, but unfortunately  for  them,  what  should  be,  and  what  will  be are  two  vastly  𝙳𝙸𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃  scenarios.  one  lives  solely  in  their  imagination,  and  the  other  clawing  it’s'  way  into  their  waking  world,  tearing  their  dreams  limb  by  limb,  until  there's  nothing  left  that  resembles  anything  vaguely  human.  only  a  hollow  shell,  picking  up  where  they  left  off,  into  the  dark  shadows  of  another  diabolical  labyrinth.

         “I might have taken some inspiration.” There’s no sheepishness in the confession, not a hint of embarrassment in admission of the subconscious genesis of a hairstyle spawned so many years ago and worn with such pride, just a small, sentimental smile ------ lacerated immediately by a precipitous pang of perturbation, realization that her hair is so different now. Snared only briefly in peripheral reflection a mere handful of times, physical reactions not her own unmoved by the revelation, she knows the brown that had been hers to have been leeched from it, replaced by a foreign, lackluster blonde more wrong for the familiar ponytail it had been encased it, and the skintight bodysuit it had hung over. Superficial changes when weighed against all else, but an affront, a violation nonetheless, a physical denotation of the less visible disruptions to Jill Valentine.

          A blink, and the crack in her demeanor is filled, though imperfectly, with copper rather than gold, smile reforming more forced in aspect than it had been a moment prior, flickering at the reminder. “Seven is a lot of keep track of,” she claims in her own defense, eschewing thought that French may be a new, missed addition to the repertoire, and resultant attempts to recall if she had heard it from her friend before, “C'est du français alors.”

          She’s docile with a drop of excited anticipation mixed with lingering guilt as Rebecca loads the tape and makes herself comfortable, gratitude for the compassion behind the snacks impelling her to pick from among the selection ------ a pack of Reeces, one cup nibbled haltingly, the sweetness of the peanut butter and chocolate too intense against her tongue and teeth to devour with any more rapidity.  If the corruption of yet another element of her life galls, its diminished by her disinterest in the treat.

         Just as the cover of the DVD had, the images that blaze across the modest screen tug at her ------ the soundtrack, the faces and voices of the leading duo ( mercifully indistinguishable from her memory in their native language ), the scenes and situations… all recall less aberrant times. Viewings with her father, then alone, and more recently with Claire. Memory only exaggerates the peccancy of watching the film now, in a hospital bed, Rebecca scrunched into a chair beside her, Kijuju gone to hell, so many dead in the worst of ways, and Uroboros uncontained. The pictures blur as she watches, reminiscent stirring surpassed by culpability unforgettable, her friend’s alleged favourite part crystalising for just long enough to feign enjoyment ------ and for the familial bond between Léon and Mathilda to clench a vice around her chest, her own father’s absence from here, from the lips of anyone, a stinging wound.

        Does he know I’m alive? Would Claire have told him? Is he still in prison?

      Vision of her father alone in his cell, believing her dead, tighten her stomach and throat tighten next, exciting the monitor into slightly shriller beeping. A surreptitious glance meant to bear an inquiry more casual than she feels, finds her only potential source of information sleeping, chin creased against her knee and glasses sliding down her nose, mumbling to herself. Rebecca always was adept at falling asleep. If the affection that may have blossomed with that recognition doesn’t quite materialize, lost to despondency, Jill doesn’t move to wake her, either, her gaze returning listlessly to the television, resigned to waiting out her or Claire with the dagger thrust through her heart twisting with every breath.

[bioresilient]

biosurvive​:

Even the alluding to the banning of cruise vacations has him mentally shuddering. His memories of the events aboard the Zenobia weren’t nearly as horrific as what Jill had to endure before he and the unmentionable traitorous ass showed up. He could sympathize however, between the crushing weight of the ocean there and the the horrific memories of China’s underwater facility the idea of dry land was far more comforting than being on a ship that isn’t easily escapable. A beach was fine, somewhere warm like she said, with white sand and water so clear where he could see the bottom. He needed to see the bottom.  “ Paperwork at the office makes me sleepy. This just makes me relaxed and weren’t you the one that told me I needed to relax? ”

He chews at his food with a look of concentration, eyebrows furrowed, gaze staring blankly at the papers scattered on the coffee table. Scenery was important, for a group of people who spent their lives traveling to places with horrific atmospheres, whether it be to stop such tragedies or provide relief to those in most need somewhere postcard pretty seemed like a dream. Hiking did sound nice, fresh air, salty sea air from the ocean, perhaps even a museum or two provided it was an interesting area. “ There are a few places in the Caribbean, could visit the pirate museums, you did once dress as one. Place has the food, beaches and other activities that Claire seems to want too. ” Truthfully Chris didn’t much mind the destination just as long as they had one. Getting away seemed all the more important as years went by and trauma and events just piled up like a game of Jenga. No amount of work issued therapy could quite heal the shit that they see as much as time with one another in a place that didn’t look like horrific bioweapons were ready to crawl out of the woodwork.

His gaze falls on the paper on the Bahamas, licking some pizza sauce from his thumb, he reaches out to snatch the paper, passing it over to Jill just over the curious snouts of sniffing canines. “ Might as well not mess with the classics. Been hearing people dote on and on about the Bahamas since I was a kid. Lady down the street in New York once went, the tan she came back with was pretty insane. Mom seemed especially interested in visiting back then. ” A lopsided smile forms at the memory that he eventually hides behind another sip of beer. Looking back on the moment was far more humorous than anything, his redheaded mother would have never gotten a tan like Miss Polito had. 

“ Think that’s the place with the pigs you can swim with. ” He notes the sausage they both had been happily scarfing down, an ironic moment that he hoped Jill wouldn’t comment on. “ Plenty of islands we can visit during our stay… rent some quads. ” He felt like a kid, the little jolt of adrenaline that piqued at the mention of driving on some beautiful beach on an all terrain vehicle transformed him back to his early twenties. Discussing doing such crazy shit with an equally young Jill on a sofa that wasn’t unlike the one they both were perched on now. It meant a lot, they were older, much older, but the old saying that some things never changed was a comfort to someone who felt his age in his bones despite how fit his job and discipline made him stay. 

“ At any rate if we go there it’ll finally let Claire get the chance to never shut up about her tropical vacation to the annoying rich people at her TerraSave events. Turn the tables on them for once. Give them a taste of their own medicine. ” A bit tasteless perhaps, but he was confident that his sister had far more class than the CEO’s and C-list celebrities that attended the TerraSave galas for superficial reasons. Whenever he was dragged to the black tie events he always had to listen to some politician’s wife go on about how she once saw a sea turtle while she unashamedly grasped at his arms. Class or no class he almost thrived at the idea of being as obnoxious at the next event Claire made him attend, though with his luck that would probably just get him stuck in some conversation about timeshares or tanning oil, conversations that completely distracted away from the message of TerraSave.

“ You have my vote, I’ll leave the final decision in you and Claire’s hands. ” He breathes out with relief, shoulders relaxing as he melted into the sofa, his plate of pizza comfortably resting on his chest. His team at work wouldn’t even dare see their Captain in such a slouched posture, which made the position all the more satisfying. “ You know… a piña colada and barbecue chicken does sound fantastic. Oh and lobster, we have to have some damn good seafood if we’re going some where tropical. ”

          “You’ll have Claire at quads.” The comment’s borne on a soft chuckle, inspired by conjured vision of the eager twinkle that would surface in her wife’s large blue eyes, which materializes already at the prospect of spending a day tinkering with a new part, at a car show, or trackside, and which would undoubtedly ignite in anticipation of tearing over dunes in sea salty air. Already, Jill can hear her proclaiming the need for one of her own, her insistence on the possibility of fitting it within their already crowded garage, of lugging one to the coast to race through the sand at home. If Jill finds appeal in the proposal herself, eroding her declaration for a more relaxing style of vacation, it is the pleasure the redhead might derive from the experience which allocates points in favour of the Bahamas.

          The proffered printout is taken in fingers wiped clean of pizza grease on the leg of her pants ( shouldn’t have left the napkins in the kitchen ), her half-eaten slice abandoned to inspect the details as Chris goes on. Tease aside, the research comprising them is more compelling than B.S.A.A. paperwork, and flipping through the neatly-stapled pages only reveals more to entice. Fluffy white clouds over white sand and gently-lapping turquoise water the clarity of which reveals the reefs and sea life below, the harmlessness of small sharks evinced by the tanned, slender bodies that wade amongst them and ------ bafflingly ------ the hairy but happy-looking pigs Chris had mentioned. Tall trees, sheer cliff faces, and trickling waterfalls alongside walking tracks ticks the hiking box; promise of world-class dining experiences the food category; and cabanas limned in the orange glow of sunset connote the luxury of leisure she had proposed.

          “I think your mom had the right idea. It looks great. We’ll have to request leave soon if we want to avoid rainy season and get those insane tans,” she notes of that minutiae, though that is less of an issue than the next, tempered by the excitement that blossoms in reflection of her partner’s, “And we might not be able to avoid the tourists. You going to be okay with that?”

          The pages reconstituted and returned to the coffee table, that side mentally designated the ‘definitely maybe’ pile, freeing her hands for another few mouthfuls of pizza and crust and the next of the Caribbean options. Any of them would make an exotic anecdote for Claire to flaunt for the lofty TerraSave donors, and Jill has never been one to acquiesce to the first solution. She sheefs through the volcanos of St. Lucia, deposited in ‘probably not’ pile along with other scenic but somewhat less adventurous, diving-focused islands and archipelagos, only Barbados and Aruba making it higher. On the other side of North America, Bora Bora, Tahiti, and Hawaii also make it to the preferred pile between bites of pepperoni, destinations elevated by the activities documented within, though none offer sufficient competition against the quads. “We’ll see what Claire thinks, but the Bahamas has my vote, too.”

[bioresilient]

biosnipe​:

“Yeah, I mean. It’s sort of hard to forget about with…you know—” he motions to his missing arm. “I’m happy it’s gone though. Grateful, even. It was—” Piers had thought the last few moments in the underwater facility would be sharp in his memory forever. Jammed there, constantly replaying on a loop. But the truth was that most of it was a blur, a mix of Chris trying to convince him he’d be okay, pain, and then running on the instinct to protect. “—it was pretty terrible to look at. Hurt like a bitch too. I mean, it might still hurt like a bitch, but unlike you, I have a steady stream of morphine right now.” He smirks, or tries to, finding that if sort of acts normal, everyone around him will to.

“I think the worst part of it is knowing that I’m benched from the field for god knows how long. Work is at least distracting, resting gives you nothing to do but think. Not to mention that I don’t trust another LT with Chris, as ridiculous as that sounds. He’s a grown man, he can take care of himself, but we had a system, a good balance. I can read his face and know what he’s going to do instantly. Like that,” he snaps his fingers. “I also have no issue with standing up to him and outright calling him out. I can almost guarantee no one else is going to do anything but yes him to death.” Or maybe Piers hopes that the case, that he’s not replaceable.

“I just hope I’m not going to get honorably discharged or completely stripped of being an active agent. Guess I should probably focus on that shoe dropping versus everything else.”

          Lips twitch with suppression of a grimace the reminder provokes ------ Pier’s condition isn’t as inevitably temporary as bracers, regardless of what use feats of engineering may return to him in the future ------ recast into another condoling look, less smile than slight spread of her mouth and incline of her head connoting concession to his point. Then again……

           “You might be surprised what you can get used to. There was no such thing as zombies and bioterrorism on the scale we deal with in the old days.” The old days. Boy, she’s getting old. “But we adapt. I bet you’re a lot more resilient than you think you are. You wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise, morphine or not.” None of them would have. But whether the possibility of handling knowledge of the C-Virus in his system and the damage its searing passage had wrought is something Piers wants to or can hear at the moment, Jill can’t say. Coping always seems unfathomable in the immediate aftermath, its achievement only recognized in hindsight, upon realization that one is still going, that what had once seemed insurmountable or unforgettable has become mundane. Attention must necessarily be taken from it first, though, which the lieutenant’s hospital stay would hardly abide, and which his fixation on the impact on Chris may not avail either.

          “Chris will be okay. I was worried the first time we were split up, too, but he’s an excellent soldier and a capable captain. Some people are more compatible than others, and more time together can make predicting what people will do a lot easier, but yes men don’t often get promoted to LT in our line of work.” She’d allow that an otherwise outspoken soldier could be muzzled by Chris’ reputation, but she’d hope that would be fleeting ------ and that he won’t be sent out again without ample time to recover ( more than they had given him prior to China ), regardless.

[bioresilient]

          quick post to say that I may be MIA over the next few weeks while I visit my family for Christmas and move into my new home

[bioresilient]

biomend​:

❝    they're  fine  ⎯  we're  all  in  quarantine  until  further  notice.  you  know,  it's  funny  you  should  ask.  ❞ 𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝙱𝙴𝙶𝙸𝙽𝚂,  𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙵𝚄𝙻  𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙴  𝚂𝙽𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙶  out  the  heavy  gloom  from  before,  eyes  glinting  with  a  speckle  of  light  hearted  mischief,  a  slight  smirk  curling  into  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  ❝    because  sheva  wanted  to  know  the  same  exact  thing.  looks  like  she  packs  quite  the  punch,  huh?  ❞  knuckles  gently  brush  a  bruised  cheek,  purposefully  not  accounting  for  the  jagged  wound  on  jill's  chest,  bandaged  with  splotches  of  currant  occasionally  seeping  through  from  her  restless  state.  it's  looking  like  a  morbid  rorschach  test,  and  all  she  can  manage  to  make  out  is  the  faint  imprint  of  a  𝚂𝙺𝚄𝙻𝙻  every  single  time.  seems  contentment  is  only  a  fool's  illusion  marked  by  rings  of  anguish,  limbs  growing  crooked,  uneven,  stiff  to  the  will  of  the  unprecedented  weather.  there's  nothing  serene  about  their  lives,  though  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  each  time  one  of  them  narrowly  escapes  the  odds  stacked  against  them.  they  are  an  unlikely  statistic,  gambling  with  death  itself,  taunting  it,  and  silently  yearning  for  its'  comforting  embrace.  an  eternal  slumber  sounds  more  peaceful  than  frightening  these  days,  producing  a  sense  of  finality  to  a  world  wrought  with  endless  turmoil.  no  more  nightmares,  no  more  screaming,  just  the  sweet  taste  of  nothingness.

kijuju  is  no  more  than  a  pile  of  rubble  by  now,  billowing  out  in  plumes  of  ashen  smoke,  any  sign  of  life  obliterated  beyond  recognition.  reduced  to  flaky  particles  in  the  wind,  aimlessly  searching  for  a  final  resting  place  to  land.  emergency  borders  stretch  out  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see,  towering  to  the  skies,  while  dozens  of  soldiers  remain  perched  at  every  checkpoint,  hoping  beyond  hope  that  no  monster  will  crawl  out  of  the  fire  and  break  through  the  concrete  barrier,  spreading  infection  along  the  way.  possibly  𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳𝚆𝙸𝙳𝙴.  how  much  life  will  evil  consume  before  it's  bitten  off  more  than  it  can  chew?  disintegrating  in  rapacious  lava,  tail  to  slithering  head  devoured  by  its'  own  driveling  jaws.  what  an  ironically  rich  ending  for  a  man  who  wanted  the  entire  universe  in  the  palm  of  his  gloved  hand.  touch  aversion  creating  a  cold,  cruel  and  miserably  oppressive  atmosphere.

  ‘ greed  begets  greed. ’

❝  i  brought  some  movies  to  bide  the  time.  ❞  seven  to  be  exact,  all  meticulously  strewn  across  the  foot  of  the  hospital  bed.  from  action  packed  hits  like  mission  impossible  to  the  bourne  identity,  and  a  romantic  comedy  that  sticks  out  like  a  sore  thumb  amidst  the  group.  rebecca's  favorite,  love  actually.  ❝  i'm  hoping  you'll  finally  stop  putting  off  this  one.  it's  a  classic,  and  i'm  not  sure  if…  ❞  the  stimuli,  possible  triggers  from  overdone  explosions  and  outlandish  stunts…  it  could  push  her  friend  well  over  the  edge,  into  𝚅𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙳  flashbacks,  and  memories  she  could  stand  to  stay  away  from  for  a  little  while.  until  she's  gotten  comfortable,  and  most  importantly,  settled  in  back  home.  ❝  let's  just  say  boring  is  good  for  right  now,  but  ultimately,  it's  your  choice.  ❞  arms  crossed  firmly  around  her  chest,  she  cants  her  head  in  the  direction  of  a  familiar  aroma.  coffee.  rich,  decadent  liquid  practically  serenading  her  nose  from  down  the  hall,  lulling  rebecca  to  her  feet  with  a  light  sigh.  caffeine  beckons.

❝  i'll  give  you  a  few  more  minutes  to  figure  it  out.  i'll  be  right  back,  gonna  grab  us  some  snacks!  ❞  it's  a  promise  she'd  never  break,  seen  in  a  stare  that  holds  a  great  deal  of  longing  before  disappearing  out  of  frame.  it's  only  a  moment,  as  both  feet  pick  up  speed,  squeaking  dangerously  across  lacquer  tiles,  abruptly  skidding  to  a  halt  to  push  a  few  crumpled  dollars  into  a  vending  machine  with  one  hand,  and  pour  a  piping  hot  cup  of  joe  in  the  other.  she  fills  each  pocket  with  chocolate  bars,  potato  chips,  and  a  bottle  of  soda  to  wash  it  all  down,  carefully  turning  on  her  heel  to  𝚁𝚄𝚂𝙷  back  into  the  room,  pitifully  out  of  breath.

❝  phew!  i  need  to  work  on  my  cardio. ❞  she  clumsily  closes  the  distance  between  herself  and  the  bed,  tossing  a  collection  of  candy  like  an  excited  trick  or  treater  flying  on  the  𝙷𝙸𝙶𝙷  of  their  sugar  rush.  ❝  i  got  everything  i  could…  don't  tell  anyone  i'm  giving  you  snacks.  technically,  you're  NPO,  but  i  think  you  deserve  to  be  spoiled  a  little,  even  if  it's  only  “vending  machine  gourmet”  ⎯   thought  you  might  want  a  taste  of  something  familiar.  ❞  the  almond  joy  is  snagged,  tucked  away  for  later.  ❝  so…  which  movie  are  we  watching  tonight?  ❞

  ' please  say  love  actually,  please  choose  something  short  and  sweet. ’

          Tenacious is the label Jill would attach to Rebecca, a trait exemplified in a pursuit for justice that had been no less dogged than the rest of theirs in spite of her age, in her resolve to continue her studies and wield her knowledge against her original benefactors, and in everything she has done to stymie bioterrorism since. Any doubt over the survival of that virtue over the last three years is banished by the bedside manner she displays ------ the repeated rebuffing of Jill venture for information, the smooth and patient redirection of conversation from the violence she had perpetrated on the people just outside her room and beyond back inwards, to a punch she had hardly felt and a bruise just one of many, and her determination to spawn an atmosphere more jovial than might manifest otherwise. Jill can meet her only partway, appreciation for the abilities of another BSAA agent ( another? is she one of them still? ), however impressive, insufficient to mollify concern that the woman in question and her partner are not as fine as they are proclaimed to be. How could they be, after what she had put them through, and the fiery confrontation Wesker had?

          “She’s almost a match for Chris.” The humor her friends finds in the question coaxes forth only a wan smile and quiet exhale, deflated further by the abrupt realization that she now knows the strength behind those arms away from the training paddles.

          It’s in the ache of her abdomen as she leans compliantly forward to view Rebecca’s offerings, slowness of the movement attributed not only to the strain it imbues but to reticence to indulge in entertainment. Whether it be the incomprehensibility of watching a movie while Kijuju smolders or her disuse to choice, the offerings arrayed at Jill’s feet stir not a shred of interest. The glossy covers, the orange and red of explosions and silhouetted action poses of protagonists, strikingly reft by a orderly arrangement of the less rugged, lovestruck visages of Christmas rom-com luminaries, have all the appeal of phonebooks. She feigns consideration for her friend’s benefit only, silently doubting that any of them will be engaging enough to hold her attention, let alone distressing in the way Rebecca implies. She’ll just pick Love Actually, she thinks, to make at least one of them happy, her apathy singling out none of the others as a worthwhile alternative. The prospect of snacks is no more attractive ------ particularly if it will hinder the tests needed to find anything that might indemnify her ------ but she lets Rebecca go without protest.

         The cases are stacked in her hands with Love Actually shuffled to the top as soon as she’s alone, permitting Jill to collapse back into the pillows with a groan part pained and part resigned, volume measured to avert any interest it may otherwise stir in anyone who may lurk outside. On the end of limp wrists, she nurses the DVDs in her lap, head angled one way then the other in a search for something more captivating to lay her eyes on. She finds nothing in the direction of the door, and nothing on the other side either, her vitals the only relic left to her, and those lean to the left of neutral ----- more repellant than engrossing ------ until her gaze drifts inevitably back to the films and the synopses printed on their backs. The rom-com apparently tells the tale of not just one but multiple romances, revelation that beckons another groan to her tongue and propels her towards the solace of the others.

          The tattoo Rebecca’s running feet beat out down the corridor and the patter of candy bars upon her blanket and legs beneath herald her friend’s breathless return, a smirk tweaking the corner of Jill’s mouth at the enthusiasm her haste connotes, her prior detachment slightly thawed by the warm redolence of nostalgia discovered in the movie she presents, Jean Reno face-up on the cover, awash in red. “Hugh Grant and Liam Neesson can wait a bit longer. This is a classic. It’s better in French, but we can watch it in English.”

[bioresilient]

antiibow​:

——————–  ❁ ❜❛  DIDN’T THEN, WON’T NOW — because there isn’t any reason for you to say you’re sorry. none of what happened was your fault … i’d rather you let me know if there is anything i can do to help .❜

          Briefest of smiles flashes across her features, bemused resignation to the inevitability of Sheva’s repudiation, “You could tell me about the situation in Kijuju. Is there anything more the BSAA could do?”

[bioresilient]

biomend​:

𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴  𝙾𝙵  𝚂𝙰𝙻𝚃  𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚂  𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙴,pooling  in  her  mouth  unprompted  when  their  pinkies  entwine  like  ribbon  elegantly  wrapped  around  a  gift.  she  lets  out  a  shaking  breath  she  didn’t  realize  she  was  holding  in,  forcing  a  half  smile  through  gritted  teeth,  swallowing  back  the  tears  that  will  inevitably  flow  the  second  she  leaves  the  room,  but  for  now  she  has  to  hold  it  together.  even  if  she’s  beginning  to  tear  at  the  seams,  every  fiber  of  emotional  vigor  snapping  individually  beneath  the  weight  of  verisimilitude.  that  familiar  self  deprecating  humor  is  what  𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺𝚂  the  barrier  of  restraint  inside  of  her,  pulling  jill  forth  into  a  quick  embrace.

❝  you’re  so  stubborn.  ❞   a  hoarse  whisper  slips  past  rose  pink  lips,  and  she  loosens  her  grip  around  sturdy  shoulders,  but  doesn’t  let  go  just  yet.  lithe  fingers  dance  alongside  the  coarse  surface  of  her  friend’s  hospital  gown,  frowning  in  response.  she’s  in  need  of  something  softer  to  cling  against  battered  flesh,  a  shirt  that  smells  like  home,  and  a  blanket  that’s  less  faded  and  worn  out.  rebecca  will  do  anything  to  bring  even  the  tiniest  𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚂𝙴𝙻  of  comfort  in  this  cold  and  sterile  room.  anything  to  lessen  the  blinding  light  that  flickers  wildly  above  them,  and  to  provide  some  sense  of  ease  she’s  been  painfully  lacking  for  so  long  now.

❝  and  i’ve  missed  you.  we’ve  all  missed  you  so  -  ❞  the  knot  in  her  throat  stays  lodged  like  a  splinter,  burrowing  deeper  the  longer  she  tries  to  resist  the  urge  to  collapse.  ❝  so  much…❞  emotions  ebb  and  flow,  verklempt  in  the  turbulent  waters  of  anguish.  hypotheticals  only  make  matters  worse,  crushing  from  the  inside  out,  bursting  through  the  𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙳  windows  of  the  soul.  if  only  they  had  been  more  thorough  in  their  search,  stepped  on  the  curtails  of  wesker’s  iniquitous  cloak  before  it  was  too  late…

‘  why  couldn’t  we  save  her  from  all  of  this?  we  should  have  tried  harder…it  wasn’t  enough  -  it’ll  never  be  enough.  i’m  so  sorry.  ’

❝  claire  should  be  here  soon.  ❞  a  gentle  peck  is  placed  on  the  top  of  jill’s  head,  emerald  eyes  welling  with  the  𝚄𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽  tide  of  melancholy.  ❝  but  i’m  not  leaving  your  side  until  she’s  here.  so  you  can  rest  your  eyes  in  the  meantime.  in  fact,  i  encourage  you  to  do  so.  ❞

          “I missed you, too.” The return’s only a fraction more composed than the cracked confession that precedes it, Jill’s low murmur just as sincere. She has not the strength in her arms to grip and squeeze Rebecca as she does her, but her arms encircle the medic’s slender frame nonetheless, relishing in the warm comfort of the familiar chest-to-chest embrace, and the love it connotes. Her longing for her friends had not been what she imagines theirs to have been, not a pining for their presence in the mundane, everyday life she had not had, like she had sometimes ached for her father or the other STARS, and the playful and wise words they might have offered, the enjoyment they may have taken in some of her exploits. But she had yearned even so, for rescue and for their strength.

          Boulder twin to the one that strangles Rebecca’s voice from her ( less dislodgment unleash something else ) ascends up Jill’s own throat, a lump started in her clavicle that binds more and more sediment to it as it rises, deterring further speech. The choked earnestness of her friend’s sentiment contributes a not insignificant parcel, but if it’s genesis is thought of the people of Kijuju, terrorized and damned within the quarantine zone, their minds and bodies no longer their own, it’s the character that Rebecca gives her that lies at the boulder’s core. She’s stubborn. The affection in the accusation is one thing, the dismay it reveals her zeal to have afflicted another, but to be ascribed even a fraction of a personality is so startling as to momentarily blanch all other thought from her mind. The revelation is not a splash of icy water in the face, but a warm bath she sinks into, easing aches previously unrecognized.

          She is someone. She has a temperament other than that demanded of her. She is not merely a marionette echoing another’s desires, a toy to be given whatever part the game requires.

          It shouldn’t be a shock ------ of course she is a person, what else would she be? ------ and that only compounds her astonishment, lancing through her chest a shard of mourning for herself that joins those for everyone else. The first of many to come, if she would only let them catch.

          But she was stubborn, and she is stubborn, still.

          “I’m alright. I think I’ve slept enough for now,” she asserts, a modicum of humor seeping into her voice this time, fun poked at all the rest she has had already, regardless of how imperative that rest had been. The fuzziness of her head suggests that seizing more would be as easy as closing her eyes and allowing herself to sink into it, but Jill is unwilling to concede to it yet. The BSAA and Kijuju are not the least of her concerns, others too offering diversion from her own plight, cauterizing a wound millimeters from opening with more guilt, “Have you seen Chris and Sheva? Are they alright?” Did I hurt them badly? Did Wesker?

[bioresilient]

⮞ FOR : @biosurvive           ⮞ HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! ♥

“What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you?”

[bioresilient]

biomend​:

𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝚂𝙴𝙴𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙶𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂  𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶  much  too  fast,  sparking  panic  and  discombobulation  from  a  mind  that’s  been  𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙳  and  directed  by  a  demented  machiavelli  for  three  years.  she  wonders  if  the  strings  are  completely  severed,  or  if  there’s  still  pull  from  the  fiery  depths  of  hell  which  wesker  promised  to  see  them  in  as  he  bled  out  on  a  cold  laboratory  floor.  if  only  that  had  been  the  end  of  him,  with  his  wretched  face  slowly  fading  into  the  threads  of  time.  even  now,  she’s  unsure  of  his  fate,  when  it  should  be  certain.  no  one  𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  make  it  out  of  a  volcano  alive,  and  yet…

                                   ‘  a  roach  can  live  through  an  atomic  bomb…’

his  legacy  will  never  die,  bringing  with  it  a  boundless  cycle  of  copy  cats  bearing  the  same  tired  message.  humanity  as  a  whole  must  be  𝚆𝙸𝙿𝙴𝙳  𝙾𝚄𝚃  at  all  costs,  leaving  nothing  but  a  colossal  pile  of  bodies  in  their  piteous  wake.  it’s  a  shame  such  brilliant  minds  are  so  perilously  twisted,  like  an  animal  caught  in  barbed  wire.  doomed  from  the  start.

❝  jill…  ❞  thin  brows  furrow  upward,  alarmed  by  the  monitor’s  sudden  bump  in  movement  as  vital  signs  trip  unrestrainedly  across  the  screen.  ❝  it’s  going  to… ❞  it’s  not  ever  going  to  be  okay,  𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶  about  this  is  okay.  ❝  i  need  you  to  trust  me.  you  trust  me,  right?  i’m  telling  you  everything  i  know,  the  𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝚁𝙴  village  and  surrounding  area  has  been  quarantined.  the  BSAA  is  going  to  tie  up  every  loose  end  there  is. ❞  it  doesn’t  feel  like  enough,  despite  the  fact  they  turned  over  every  stone  in  search  of  her,  nothing  will  undo  the  irreparable  damage  inflicted  upon  their  friend,  claire’s  wife,  rebecca’s  sister  in  arms.  a  lifetime  of  disturbing  actions  will  𝙷𝙰𝚄𝙽𝚃  jill,  all  thanks  to  one  man’s  deranged  idea  of  retribution.

❝  as  for  your  blood…  your  stem  cells  are  going  to  be  used  as  the  base  for  my  vaccine,  and  dozens  of  vaccines  in  the  future. ❞  she  whispers,  eyes  scanning  the  doorway  for  any  nosy  visitors  that  shouldn’t  be  eavesdropping,  and  much  to  her  delighted  surprise,  not  a  soul  can  be  found  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  it’s  ONLY  them.  ❝  turns  out  you’re  the  𝙺𝙴𝚈  to  total  t-virus  immunity.  you’re   the  cure.  you’re  going  to  save  𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.  ❞  she  extends  her  pinky  to  meet  the  other  woman’s  with  tear-filled  eyes.  swallowing  back  the  knot  lodged  in  her  throat,  her  lips  forcefully  curl  into  a  quivering  smile.

 ‘ gah,  seems  every  𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙷  of  her  is  bruised…  her  eyes…  she’s  seen  𝚃𝙾𝙾  much…  ‘

❝   i   𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚈  swear.  ❞

          Pale blue eyes embedded in sable craters the lightness of her skin make stark flick only cursorily to the machine beside her, Jill following Rebecca’s gaze only so that she can eschew the flashing notifications and accompanying beeps emanating from it as inconsequential, her own condition infinitesimal in comparison to the worldwide catastrophe only narrowly averted ------ a threat that could be revived at any moment if the wrong people get their hands on Uroboros, if the BSAA aren’t thorough enough, if just one of the infected escape their quarantine and the wrong file is overlooked at harmless minutia. Her friend’s faith in the effectiveness of the measures she described grates rather than reassures, Jill convinced that it will not be enough, that there are not enough soldiers to guard the area, that the walls won’t be sufficiently high or secure to contain the infected inside. It would only take one…

          But if the words offer no comfort, Rebecca’s demeanor, the glassiness of her eyes, the stuttering for the right thing to say, the strain in her voice, the conspiratorial whisper in which she speaks of what her blood might offer ------ disavowed as quickly as her vitals, an artifice too good to be true, simultaneously renounced as not enough despite the fact that she has asked for it ------ and the fragile digit held out to her in desperate childish promise, snag. Another vice joins the one clamped around her chest, squeezing her heart.

          There is the rest of what she has inflicted. It had been there in Chris’ eyes as she was ordered to kill him, and after. It had been there in the bone crushing hug she had received from Claire, and the awkward, careful squeeze Barry had given to her shoulder. Horror. Pity. Heartache. Relief. Years of torment she had not felt for more than six months. Rebecca, too, is an effigy of it, overlaying the angst tensing in her limbs with guilt.

          Jill’s shoulders slump, the tight coil of her limbs, as if readying her to spring from her bed to help at any moment, loosening as she lifts her arm against the weariness pressing it down to curl her finger around Rebecca’s, “I trust you.” It’s more surrender than affirmation, submission to the fact that she will get no more than the medic gives her now, that there is nothing for her to do other than lay down ------ until she’s able to beg the same from Chris. Remorse surges again in the same instant the thought flashes, rebellious, through her mind, drowning it. Hasn’t she put them through enough?

         “I guess I’ve never been very good at letting other people take the reigns.” A forced attempt at self-deprecating humor and apologetic explanation for her agitation in one which makes not even the barest of impressions upon her countenance. But what else is there to say?

[bioresilient]

biosurvive​:

Scratches behind ears of eager canines who fought for his attention between their now muted sounds ( should they dare break the orders of Jill’s one word command ) Chris was all too happy to oblige in petting the sweet beasts who no doubt smelled the familiar cat on his clothing. “ Why would I do that when I relish in the fact that when I visit I become the center of attention? ” He teases, accepting the beer with a thankful lopsided smile. In any other place he would have been more on edge, more respectful. The Burton’s family home, Rebecca’s place, some guy’s flat where he hooked up, he would have done everything that a guest in another’s home would. Not here, Claire and Jill’s was a place of chaos, where two blustering storms had met and become one unit and somehow and marvelously worked. The chaos reminded him of a much younger Claire and despite how raw some memories felt he could relish in the good ones, that mixed well with the nights he spent at Jill’s original apartment in Raccoon. Messy, though less barky, he spent many of nights on that sofa that had become almost conformed to his body. At any rate Claire and Jill were his family, he didn’t have to act like some well put together man or Captain when just lounging about, enjoying food, discussing expensive trips.

He hadn’t even checked his texts, having muted the group chat months ago when one night he allowed both women to sign him up for some horrific dating site and he had been bombarded  with pictures of eligible guys and some pictures of guys they did not approve of. Lesson learned, keep his dating life private and the pair of nosy noses out of it. The pad of his thumb gently circles the neck of the beer bottle until he finally cracks it open, thankful that it wasn’t hard liquor. He’d given that up years ago, and after a rough journey had nearly given up alcohol all together besides the occasional social call. Between that and the unsmoked pack of cigarettes hidden in the glove compartment of his Jeep he was doing far better than he had, a well adjusted man almost didn’t come off as the sort that could have been suspended earlier if he had truly punched one of the brass out.

“ Knowing our luck it isn’t even the meat industry killing the damn place it’s some horrific lab. ” He jokes again, unlocking his phone and idly scanning some of the long list of demands Claire had sent. “ Eyebrows high on his face when cobalt blue gaze roll over towards Jill. “ I hope she knows that both of us have had our fill of volcanoes. I can only speak for myself, but Hawaii better all be fun in the sun, I’m not getting anywhere close to the lava. ” A jesting moment for sure, it was already a big leap for him to want to be in the ocean at all, easier than anticipated as tropical beaches had a stark difference to the dark and cold stormy seas around China. “ Well you already know my vices. Nice rooms with comfortable beds and amazing food. Oh and plenty of places to take pictures so I can send a few to Barry just to annoy him. It’ll be worth the phone call from Kathy about how I’m planting seeds of tropical vacations in his head and he won’t shut up about it. “

He finally takes a swig of the beer before finally loading a plate up with a few slices of the pizza he had admittedly grown to tolerate. Perhaps it was because Toronto wasn’t too far from New York, though he was still adamant that the taste and texture just wasn’t there. “ What are your demands? Whatever place has the best souvenirs in the shade of blue? ”

         She’s not the pizza snob Chris and Claire are, will eat anything edible without complaint and had consumed more than her fair share of grease-covered junk to keep up with the Alpha boys back in Raccoon City ------ hotdogs loaded with bacon and fries and onion rings, burgers more beef than bun, wings doused in sauce hot enough to make her eyes water, and a sizable enough quantity of deep-fried donuts to have killed her by now when nothing else has ------ and so Jill wastes no time loading up her own plate with the thick slices of pie the Redfields had deemed close enough to New York style to tolerate. A hunk of sausage dislodged into the crease of the box is tossed to Aly, still sitting obediently at her feet, her head tipped up to gaze at her with big, imploring eyes, the tongue licking her chops clarifying exactly what it is she waits for ( as if there had ever been any doubt ). A finger to her lips cautions the Pyrenees against revealing the favouritism to her brother, who trails after Chris all the way to the sofa to beg for the same, Ziggy waddling behind him as she is wont to do.

          Much as she might like to, much as she might wish the calamities of their lives not detract from the fun they’d like to immerse themselves in when off the job, she has to agree about the volcano. A moment imagining herself peering down into its depth, the whirring blades of a helicopter holding her aloft above the yawning and sizzling crater, conjures visions better left undisturbed ------ Chris fighting for his life far below, imperiled by noxious, bubbling lava and Wesker both, herself blasted by the heat radiating from it but helpless to intervene. “I’m with you there,” she concedes, lips popping around a smear of oil sucked from her thumb, “No cruises and no volcanos.”

          Stack of research thrust under one arm, beer in that hand and plate in the other, she steers towards the couch, crashing blithely into the cushions with her meal as soon as the rest has been set on the coffee table. There’s a perfectly good dining set at their backs, proffering a counter further out of the dogs’ reach than their laps, but the manifold lounges adorning manifold living rooms over the years of their friendship have always been their place, spurring any and all alternatives. She spears Chris with a look for the tease, but if his facetious preoccupation with her affinity for the colour blue ------ as if she’s some crazy spinster collecting anything and everything penguin-related ------ manifested in near-constant digs, is tiresome, affection eclipses irritation on her countenance.

          “Somewhere warm,” she suggests, thought on the topic for the last few weeks rending the question an easy one to answer, once her first bite of pizza has been swallowed, “With more relaxation than adventure this time. A pool or beach to read next to, maybe some volleyball or water polo to work off all the food. A few hikes somewhere scenic. Not so touristy we have to fight our way anywhere.” Or which might trigger Chris’ own anxieties.

          “Let’s see what you have.” Plate hazardously balanced on one knee and fingers wiped off on her pants, Jill leans forward to spread the pages of Chris’ investigation across the coffee table, into a disarray which leaves every destination visible. “You really went all out,” she whistles, low and appreciative, even as her eyes flick to his profile in her periphery, squinted just slightly with the sly tease of her own she wields, “If only you put this much effort into your paperwork. What’s your pick?” 

[bioresilient]

biomend​:

​𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴’𝚂  𝙰  𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃  𝙸𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙼𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻  𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶,  lying  in  a  narrow  bed  that  appears  to  be  more  torturous  than  comfortable.  as  if  jill  were  on  𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈,  hidden  only  by  the  thin  curtains  rebecca  has  drawn  around  them.  privacy  is  the  medicine  the  doctor  has  ordered,  and  the  rest  will  come  later,  when  she’s  willing.  when  she’s  able  to  grasp  the  surreal  nature  of  it  all.  only  then  will  more  medical  personnel  be  allowed  inside. she  chewed  out  a  dozen  for  invading  personal  space.  she’ll  fire  the  next  if  they  feel  so  emboldened.

jill  valentine  is  not  a  spectacle  to  be  𝙶𝙰𝚆𝙺𝙴𝙳  at  with  prodding  eyes and faint whispers, or  even  a  miracle  to be placed on  a  pedestal,  but  a  human  being  who  so  desperately  needs  a  moment  to  𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴.

rebecca’s  brain  stutters  like  a  camera  with  film  stuck  in  the  mid  roll,  skipping  violently  from  one  memory  to  the  next,  unable  to  move  𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳  in  time.  she  can  still  smell  the  salty  air  from  that  dreadful  night  when  they  searched  the  perimeters  for  any  sign  of  life,  for  a  semblance  of  closure.  all  they  managed  to  recover  was  a  single  blue  tattered  hat  with  blood  smeared  on  the  visor.  that  hat  would  mock  them  in  the  months  and  years  to  come,  gradually  fading  in  vibrance  over  time.  she  remembers  the  𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚈  grave,  the  chrysanthemums,  and  the  list  of  martyrs  with  jill’s  name  included. ‘dead  in  absentia’.  an  unresolved  mystery  that  almost  ran  𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙳  if  it  weren’t  for  their  persistence.  the  infamous  conspirators  once  again  joined  forces,  determined  to  uncover  the  truth,  knowing  in  their  hearts  their  dear  friend  was  alive,  but  far  from  well.

‘  we  don’t  even  know  the  half  of  it…  i  can’t  even  begin  to  imagine  what  she’s  been  through. ‘

❝ i  know  that  he’s  dead,  and  that  you’re  here  now. ❞  she  replies,  taking  a  seat  in  the  chair  next to  jill’s  bed.  careful  not  to  get  too  close.  she  doesn’t  want  to  overwhelm.  ❝  and  i  trust  that  the  bsaa  has  everything  covered…  all  that  matters  now  is  that  you’re  safe,  and  you’ll  be  home  before  you  know  it.  i  promise.  ❞​​

          It isn’t what she asked. Even with faculties diminished by inertia deeper than the bruises and cuts and scars upon her body, Jill can recognize the deflection, the placating attempt to direct her attention here, to the bed away from the him Rebecca does not name, to her own rescue and the home her mind shies instinctively from the notion of ------ too evocative of a normality inordinately discordant with the inconceivability of the last three years. Her head shakes in repudiation of it, small, halting turns back and forth as if to avoid the exertion a more definitive motion would produce. If her irritation with the answer is tempered by apperception of the good intentions underlying it, the tightness in her chest, the tension that permeates every limb, cannot be redirected or distracted, its source not so easily attributed as someone else’s responsibility.

           Wesker might be out of the picture ( might be, for that is another fragment of reality that lodges in her throat, unable to be swallowed in spite of the fastidiousness of his defeat; mutation and rocket launchers and churning volcano ), his machinations for worldwide infection and extermination aborted by Chris and Sheva, but the Majini are still there, and the research on Uroboros somewhere, too. It’s not over, and the sneering condescension which purrs through her mind now, asserts the BSAA incompetent to stop it, that Jill Valentine will stop them if they try…

          Conviction to prove him wrong, to prove her own fortitude, writhes within her alongside festering anxiety. All those people dead already, some at her own hands. The calamity that will overwhelm Africa if the BSAA don’t contain it…

          “They have to put down the Majini before they infect others,” she insists, “The parasite matures so fast that once a person is infested, they can’t be saved. They’ll kill and infect anyone they can get their hands on. And if Uroboros is unleashed...”

          She can do nothing from her bed ------ probably wouldn’t be permitted a gun even if she could hold and aim one ------ and that incapacitation grates, motivating Jill towards anything else she may be able to offer.

         “Have you checked my blood work? There could be something in there that could help. You can take more.”

[bioresilient]

I decided then and there: The ashes of Raccoon City would be Umbrella’s ashes too. I would end them once and for all.