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Rare Side Effects May Include the Following:	By : maiafay376 Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 39551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or characters therein. I do not profit from this story. Original characters and plaga hierarchy are mine.

Chapter List
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--Chapter 2: Halos and Maidens--
Leon's headache throbbed in time to his footfalls, the drill to his skull loud and obnoxious by the time they reached the end of the hall. The Ganado had better stay out of his way. His head might explode if he shot anything. The knife wound Ada had given him back in the cave stung from the sweat and dirt, and the muscle beneath wouldn't stop twitching.
“Leon?” Ashley's voice rang down the hall, not as a sweet bell, but as a crashing cymbal. He was right next to her for God's sake! Why wasn't she whispering? For one moment he had the intense urge to wring her neck. They weren't home-free yet; Saddler had his rotting lackey's searching every corner, every room for her. She was the key to everything the Los Illuminados had planned for the United States, the world. They wouldn't let her just walk away; she was too important.

“Or Mr. Scott, you can just give us the girl because you're not worth a penny, I'm afraid.”
His lip curled when Salazar's voice grated in his mind. Not worth a penny, huh? Well, grandpa midget wasn't worth much either. Nothing left of him but a puddle of gore for Saddler to sift through and label in jars. Served the little freak right for what he'd done; for what he'd planned to do. Even thinking about it pissed him off. His hands tightened into fists, and the drill burrowed deeper. The lights above hummed and brightened. He squinted at one bulb hidden inside a cracked metal casing. Despite the dirt, it radiated cold and blue, the halo throbbing like his headache. Was this their secret plan? Replace the bulbs with super lights? Burn his retinas until he went blind?
“Leon, what's wrong? You haven't said a word since we left the laser room.”
It wasn't the way he reacted that scared him, it was his emotion behind it. The boiling frustration that rose from nowhere and everywhere at once. He whirled and spoke before he was even aware of the movement, or his words. “Damn it! Didn't I say to stay quiet? They'll hear you!” And never mind that his voice bounced down the corridor louder than a dropped glass on concrete - he had told her to stay silent. How hard was it to follow a simple instruction?
“Geez, sorry.” She took a step back, her brow furrowing and hurt clouding her eyes. “What's with you?”
“I'm exhausted from trying to keep us alive. Just because we're Plaga-free doesn't mean we can't be infected again - that you can't be infected again. Use some common sense, kid; Saddler's pets are still roaming these halls. I'd rather not run into another IT if I can help it. When I say to shut up, it's for a reason.”
“You can't talk to me like that!” She glared at him, twin spots of red high on her cheeks.
“What, princess? Are you gonna cry? Whine? Bitc-” He stopped and stared at her. What the hell? Did she just...glow? He squinted and looked again. No, nothing but Ashley with her hands on her hips, her hair sticking out in a frizzy loop from one side of her headband, and her face as red as a freshly smacked baby's ass. If it weren't for the cresting wave of rage inside, threatening to spill into something physical, he might have laughed. He might have told her he was just kidding and that he hadn't meant what he'd said. He might have blamed the last twelve hours of no rest for his shitty mood, for his weak moment. He might have said or done a lot of things, but then, a jar full of chaos fell off the shelf and shattered inside him.
It was subtle, but the glow was there. A gold and blue mist rising from her arms, her head, her entire body. The breath whooshed out of his lungs in a loud gasp. Through the mist, Ashley went from angry to bewildered, to frightened. She opened her mouth to speak and that moment stretched on forever.
Time seemed to slow, then twist, fold in on itself. The drill in his head hit stone, and pain spiked from his temple to the back of his neck. The floor rushed to meet him. He caught himself before he gave it a big kiss, and thank God he had. Concrete stained by thousands of Ganado shoes wouldn't have tasted so hot. Just the thought made him want to puke more than the headache.
“Leon!”
Funny, he could hear her, but her voice came from behind a cloud of buzzing insect wings. He was back in that chair again, unable to move, unable to speak. Words were bouncing pins inside his skull and each one made certain to hit with the sharp end up. Something slithered inside him, inside his head. An undulation, a sly worm inching along the ground. Slide and arch. Panic speared his stomach with a lance of ice. No, no, the laser hadn't killed it. It had escaped; it had crawled into his brain.
“What's the matter? What's wrong?”
Her hand descended on his shoulder and he flinched. Too close. The buzzing became louder; the wings of wasps now. She pressed against him. Her mist trailed around his body, teasing with soft licks and the scent of vanilla and apples. How could a person smell that way? It wasn't normal. What he was feeling wasn't normal; what he was seeing wasn't normal. He shut his eyes, squeezed them tight. There, better, but not enough. He had to concentrate on breathing. Just breathe, just breathe. It was going to be okay. He just needed a moment, needed to clear his head, make it stop hurting.
Smells daunted him. The earthy scent of wet concrete, the dirt in the cracks of the walls, the sour tang of peeling paint, the burning wires of the lights overhead, the coarse fiber in Ashley's skirt, the cotton of her underwear, tinged with sweat and--
He cried out and curled into a ball, his head on the floor, his hands around his stomach. Someone had poured burning embers onto his lap. Need surged, wild, consuming. He hardened, his body responding in a way that frightened him. His flesh embraced the pain, the surging sensations. It felt wrong. Manipulative. The slinking feeling was back; it was moving again. He couldn't deny it: the Plaga was still alive. But how? The lasers should have -
Something gurgled nearby.
His eyes popped open. All aches ceased like a candle snuffed out. His body quivered and his ears strained to hear the sound again. His awareness stretched beyond him, beyond Ashley who tugged on his arm and pleaded for him to answer her. It swooped down the hall, to the left, and then down a short ways, through the shadows and past blood-stained walls until it located the source.
Leon could see them in the dark: a Regenerator with its red eyes rolling like loose marbles and drool splattering its chest, making the mottled skin there glisten in the faint light. The other, an Iron Maiden, stayed hidden in shadow, but its breath strained from its throat in a series of rasps that mimicked wheezing laughter. A sound he knew well, and hated.
The Maiden raised its head and sniffed the air. It began to move. Ah, hell.
“Ashley, Ashley we have to go, we should leave, gotta leave right now.” The words came in a meaningless slur and he tried again. “It's coming down the hall, an Iron Maiden. We have to get going, I don't have enough ammo to kill it, I know I don't.”
“A Maiden? How do you know? Where is it?” She fluttered beside him, hands in her sweater, at her sides, fisting her skirt. The mist rose from her and contorted in different directions. He watched it, the threat fading from his mind, his eyes following the patterns as they darted about. The heat gathered again. He reached out, his fingers almost grazing the wisps of light --
Ashley swatted his hand. “Leon! What the hell? Will you tell me what's going on with you?
“I don't know, I don't think it's dead.” He resisted the urge to sniff his hand where her fingers had brushed. That would scare her; hell, it scared him. “There's something wrong, Ashley, something's in my head. I think it's in my head.”
“The Plaga? The Plaga's in your head?”
“Yeah, I can feel it. Moving around, slithering in there -”
“But we killed it!”
“No, no I don't think we did.”
“Yes we did! The lasers killed it, the computer said it was -”
“The lasers didn't do shit!” He slammed his fist to the concrete and then stared at it. So did Ashley. His hand was an island amidst the cracks that zigzagged almost two feet from impact. No blood. No broken bones. Ashley's mouth dropped and her eyes grew round. He smelled her again, the moist valley between her thighs, the sour scent of sweat mingled with the musk of sex.
“Get away from me,” he said.
She looked him, her eyes growing rounder. An owl with messy blond hair. “Leon--”
“I said, get away from me! Get away from me now!”
She flinched and lifted her hands from his shoulder, holding them up in a surrender gesture. The mist around her coalesced. Blue and gold; gold and blue twisting, gliding, shifting, and he really wanted to touch it. Just once. Sink his face into that energy and inhale it. Vanilla and apples, the scent came from there, from that glow -
Kiss her then, kiss her, taste it for yourself.
That sounded like a good idea, and maybe that would help his pounding skull, the ache between his–
“Leon, your eyes!”
He blinked. Her words made no sense at all. Blue and gold; gold and blue. The colors spun faster. She was agitated, scared. Why? Everything seemed foggy. Dreamlike. Where were they again? The hall? There was danger coming, right? Something coming down the hall they should run from.
Taste her, take what you need.
The words resonated in his head, cajoling, sweet; they nudged him into motion and ushered him forward, toward the solace who recoiled from him and said in her highest Ashley Shrill voice, “Stay away from me!”
That knocked him back into reality. What was he doing? What had made those thoughts in his head? They weren't his feelings, no, they belonged to someone–something–else. He swayed on his feet. The lights hurt his eyes again and his headache was back. His groin throbbed. He felt swollen there, heavy. “I don't understand what's happening,” he said. “I can't control this, I'm seeing things. I see– ”
Leon heard the danger he had forgotten, what he had been trying to get them away from. A rasping and shuffling noise came around the corner, no more than a few feet from where Ashely cringed against the wall. Cringed from him, her bodyguard. There was no time for voices in his head or weird hungers. He had a mission, he had to protect her.
“Ashley, get away from the wall! Over here, now!” He hoped the command in his voice would override her fear. She met his eyes and seemed to search for something. Why wasn't she moving? Couldn't she see it lumbering toward her? The hall wasn't that dark. “Ashley, a Maiden! Get behind me!”
That got her going. She took one look to her left, shrieked, then scrambled toward him. By then he was already moving forward, unsheathing his knife and pivoting into an attack stance. He never grabbed the Killer7 nestled in his side holder; something told him the blade was the way to go. Strange choice, considering the bony protrusions dotting the creature's slug-gray body. With the spikes, its reach was at least three feet, maybe more; and this not including the adorable arm hug it enjoyed giving its playmates. So four feet, maybe five, spikes numbering at least forty to fifty. He didn't know how he knew the approximate number. He just did.
Drool slopped thick and yellowish from teeth far too big for its face. He could see its parasites without an infrared scope, the small leech-like creatures emanated a weak glow of sour green that mixed with the pus-colored mist of the Maiden itself. Just watching it bob around the creature turned his stomach.

Spoiled life, not worth tasting, not worth a penny, I'm afraid. He shook his head to shut that inner voice up, the voice not his -- and yet -- was his. He'd worry about it later. The later the better.
He darted a glance behind him. Ashley cowered against the wall with her hands buried in the folds of her plaid skirt. The material bunched around her knees, revealing the hint of upper thigh. A tremor ran through him, but he kept control. The mist around her whirled in tight circles and her face was pale as she chewed her lower lip. She looked so young; too young to be hunted like this, to be someone's prize, or something's chew toy. He nodded with reassurance he didn't quite feel and tried to smile. She wouldn't meet his gaze.

“Leon, your eyes!”
He swallowed. Kill the threat; sort the rest after.
The Maiden ambled forward and sniffed; every time it did this, its serrated cleft palate quivered and more drool oozed free. Whatever ugly stick Saddler used to make this thing must have been a doozy. Not even mommy could love that face. Was it trying to smell him? The mist around it looped in one direction only to change course and dart the other way. The feelings he gleaned from it were confusion, uncertainty, wariness. Yeah, he could relate.
Leon stood motionless; sweat made the knife slick in his hands and he gripped it tighter. Every breath he took came slow and deep. He held his body taut. The pain had vanished at the Maiden's appearance, even the distracting pulse of his loins. Good thing; fighting fully aroused might wreck the equipment. There was no room for error. Impaled in the wrong place and he was dead; impaled in the right place and he was dead. Best he avoid impalement, period.
It stopped in the center of the hall. What was the matter now? He wanted to yell at it, make it hurry up and attack. More saliva spattered to the ground as it lifted its face. Smelling again. Joy. Did he smell funky or something? Was it his aftershave?
Senses us.
He stiffened and let out a sharp breath. The knife shook. The Maiden cocked its head at him and let out a cry that made him think of cats growling and ornery babies.
Beneath us, wasted thing, tainted flesh, serves no purpose. Kill.
The alien thoughts caressed his own like oiled fingers and it took every ounce of self control not to plunge the knife into his head. Bad enough he could feel the Plaga in there, worming its way through his brain, but now it was invading his thoughts? Speaking to him? He'd liked it better when it was under his ribs making him cough blood.

Sunder its flesh, feed on the other, merge then as one.
The Maiden let out another eerie cry and lurched sideways. It sniffed so hard that its mouth closed with a snap and saliva droplets pelted him in the face. Disgusted as he was, he didn't have time to wipe it away. The Maiden leaped.
Instinct snarled to life. The knife swung in an wide arc. One of the arms groping for him met the blade and split in half. Fluid, blood, then regrowth, the tentacles flailing at him even as they repaired the Maiden's flesh. He needed to hit the Plagas, but it was too close. He jerked back; the knife cut again and this time it cleaved the creature's torso. The spikes should have pierced him, but they never came. Why?
Senses us. Kill.
Leon growled as that thought echoed inside his skull, and he dodged another arm-swipe from his opponent. The gun was looking pretty good right now, limited bullets or not. He reached for the holster with one hand and with the other, aimed the knife at the bobbing green mist upon the Maiden's chest. Its Plagas had to go, or this fight would become one-sided, fast. The blade glinted as it whistled through the air. It never made contact. Mid-swing, the Maiden flopped its body to the floor and launched itself in his direction.
Ashley screamed his name; the knife went skittering and his head hit the concrete. The Maiden strained against him, but did not impale him. Maybe its spikes were broken. Gray specks spun before his eyes, cleared the next instant, and then his vision expanded. Every pore on the Maiden's skin, every wrinkle, every oozing crack revealed itself in precise detail. Yum, what more could he ask for? Slobber dripped onto his neck, and one inch closer it could bite his nose off. He should be dead; a pin cushion. Why wasn't it using its spikes?
Leon bucked and the Maiden used its weight as an anchor. It smelled like blood and dirt filled with grubs and worms. He gagged and pushed at it. It refused to budge. One eye studied him, its pupil twitching amidst a sea of red. Then it dipped its head low, turned its face to the side and licked him from throat to cheek.
He punched it.
The Maiden reeled; strings of slobber flew, but it righted itself and opened its mouth wide. He punched it again, and this time aimed between its yellow teeth, straight for the upper palate. His hand hit mush, went through, and his fist wound up stuck in the Maiden's nasal cavity. Oh...yuck.
It yowled and thrashed as he pulled his fist back. For one moment - the longest one of his life - he thought those teeth would clamp shut and bye bye hand, bye bye fingers. Lucky for him, the Maiden whipped its head back and his hand slipped free, goo-covered, but whole.
The Maiden rolled to the side. He rolled to the other. Once he regained his footing he yanked the Killer7 free from the holster and began firing as soon as the Maiden righted itself. One green glow splattered, then another and another. The Maiden bloated and reached for him, arms extending. He dropped to his knees as the arms passed above, the breeze from the motion ruffling his hair. He shot again. Another glow extinguished. It shrieked and he shot out its leg. Five bullets, one left. On the floor, the Maiden wove snake-like toward him, tentacles sprouting from its missing limb. The last verdant glow flickered on its spine. He didn't even need the sight to line the final shot.
Its body ballooned, and the Maiden screamed in agony right before it burst. He dodged most of it, but blood and gristle pelted him anyway. Even Ashley cried out a horrified “Ew!” and swiped at her arms as if bees were attacking. The gun slipped from his fingers. It was empty now. Leon dropped his eyes to the floor.
Not much remained of his enemy; its legs twitched, the nerves still trying to communicate signals to the flesh: move, run, kill, hurry. But it was too late. Its mist lingered a moment and then dissipated like vapor. What did he feel? Elation? Satisfaction? What feelings were his and what feelings belonged to...it?
Matters not, threat is eliminated, feed.
He flinched and staggered forward. Like a flipped switch, the ache, the throbbing, the heaviness roared though him. His knees threatened to buckle, but somehow, he remained standing. Heat flared in his loins, and then spread throughout his body until his temples dripped with sweat and his cheeks felt scalded. He closed his eyes. The scent of blood filled the air, the scent of rank meat. But there was something else, something sweeter beneath, something that smelled like, apples. His body pulsed with his heartbeat; his breath came in spurts and his hands wandered over his hips. What was that saying again? Idle hands are the devil's--
The groan he made echoed down the hall. He collapsed to the floor.
“Leon?”
She circled around him, her hands stiff and doll-like at her sides. Blood stained her orange tank sweater in large blotches, her legs and hair also. But those things didn't matter; what mattered was that mist. That blue and golden energy...It should be his; it should fill him, not her. She didn't deserve it; he needed it more.
No, those weren't his thoughts! It was the Plaga. Somehow he had to keep it from taking him over. Why had he taken all those pills? He should have saved a few, maybe, maybe they would have--
“Leon, I think we should go back to the laser room, okay?” Ashley bit her lip, and he almost took her right there. He grappled for control and managed to win once more. It was probably the last time. The sensations were becoming unbearable. He peered at her through the fringe of his bangs and took a shaking breath.
“The lasers won't help. They weren't designed to kill brain plagas.” So hard to talk without sounding like an idiot. “I mean, they can't handle what's in my head. I don't think what's happening is normal.” That was an understatement. His skin felt too small for his body. Whoever made the zipper on his pants deserved a raise.
“You don't know that. We could look in the desks, find notes, find something that will help this.”
“Ashley, nothing short of a lobotomy will help me. I got one round of ammunition for the Killer7, take it from my back pocket. Don't touch nothing else. The gun...the gun is over there--”
“No! I'm not taking your gun.”
“Yes, you will. Take, take the gun off the floor and take the round from my pocket. I'll walk you through...the loading. Keep the hammer semi-cocked and - and when you shoot--”
“I'm not taking your damn gun!” She shook her head and tears filled her eyes. Her hand shook as she wiped a stray that slipped free. “You're supposed to protect me! We can go to the lab--”
“We're not going to the lab! We're not doing anything! I'm staying here, on the floor, until I can get control of myself!”
“Then let me go to the lab.” Her earnest expression made him cringe. “We did it in the castle, remember? We split up and I got all that stuff for you. It'll be okay. I can look for the notes and you can wait for me--”
“Take the fucking gun!”
“No!”
He was shaking himself by this point, every part that was rational, human, understood her frustration, her fear. But the stowaway in his mind saw her rising emotions as something to exploit. It would be so easy to throw her up against the wall, lift her skirt, press himself between her legs and--
“What's wrong with my eyes?” He stammered the question in the effort to distract himself. “You said something about my eyes earlier. What did you mean?”
She stared at the floor. Her cheeks looked redder than his felt. “Nothing, it was just the light.”
Her mist twisted into a column of color that flared bright gold. The Plaga inside him whispered. He smiled. “Liar.”
“I'm not lying, it was nothing.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
She sniffled and backed away. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“Stop it! Let's go to the lab, to the laser room, we'll find something--”
“Fuck the lab, fuck the laser room,” he said and stood. The Plaga purred within his mind, and his body responded. Ashley bit her lip again and took another step back.
“I tried to give you my gun, Ashley,” he said, his voice soft and low. “I wanted to give you something to use.”
“Use?” she said and bumped into the wall.
“Against me.”
She stopped, her lip trembling until she caught it with her teeth. “I wouldn't shoot you no matter what you did.”
“No, of course not. Princesses don't shoot do they? They run. Are you going to run, Ashley?”
Her hand groped the side of the wall. She shook her head, her breathing quick and thready. Her mist spun in all directions. His groin tightened. The Plaga shivered inside him, the feeling like silk to bare skin. “Because I think you're going to run, and if you're going to run, I'm going to run. And when I catch you, I'm going to hurt you.”
She gasped, and her tears that had been gathering spilled down her dirty cheeks. Her mist stopped straying from her body and now hovered close. A shield to keep away the monsters. Too bad that shield wouldn't save her. He took a step forward.
“So, princess, what do you say to a thirty-second head start?”
With a panicked cry, her hands pushed off the wall and she fled into the darkness. He stood there for several moments and listened as her footfalls became distant; he watched the flicker of her life force - her aura as the Plaga had called it - grow fainter and fainter the further she ran.
Thirty seconds passed.
He sighed and cracked his neck. Energy flowed into his arms, his legs. The strength felt good, felt pure, felt right. But this gift came with a price. A pretty blond price wearing a skirt and orange sweater, and at the moment, had a decent lead.
Time to catch up.
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