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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
- 2
- 3
- 4
---Chapter 3: Forbidden Fruit---
The prey is near, why hesitate?
Maybe the thirty or so ganado between him and his “prey”. Fighting them would waste time—might give Ashley a chance to escape. He had pursued her into a laboratory, a wide room filled with discarded medical equipment and the remains of los plagas experiments. She hid inside an observation suite, a bulky tier that hung over the main area of the lab. A long window, cracked and dirty, stretched along the top half. Metal stairs descended from both sides of the suite, clogged with ganado shoving and snarling at each other. Their excitement made him smile. Quite a dilemma they had.
Ashley had barricaded the doors with something, and that something had the cows swearing in Spanish and throwing their bodies against the steel. Already two had broken their collarbones, and as he watched, one male fell to the stained floor, the parasite erupting with an indignant squeal from his broken neck. Moronic creatures.

Yes, they are nothing, motes of dust, empty of reason and thought. They will not hinder us.
The large overturned cabinet Leon knelt behind smelled like piss and rubbing alcohol. Yellow-stained towels spilled from one side and various surgical tools glittered under the dim lights. The cracked bulb above him had flickered its last weeks ago, and its neighbors seemed close behind. Bodies lay across the floor and on gurneys, some whole, some with limbs missing, all strewn about like broken dolls dropped from high above. Some retained their blood-spattered gowns, but most wore nothing.
The old version of himself, the one that had arrived in Pueblo with every intention of rescuing the maiden and going home a hero, would have been revolted at the loss of life. From the expressions on their faces, the yawning mouths and bulging eyes, these people had died in agony. Under the guidance of the Plaga, the creature who made his body ache with a hunger he didn't quite understand, he dismissed the violence and horror with a shrug. The Sovereign enjoyed making a mess and causing pain. Why should he muse upon it?
At the thought of Saddler, the Plaga coiled in his mind. Sovereign. Trees who envy their leaves, we ride upon the wind and they hate us for it.
The smell and the flies fought for his attention: one a steady drone in the background that distracted, and the other crawled up his nose and made the hairs there shrink in fear. He could smell her over that, a puff of sweet breeze amidst sewage.

Go to the female, I grow impatient.
He hesitated, then crept forward. He avoided the glass on the floor from the broken overheads, but not all. Some pieces crunched and popped under his shoes. The ganado kept beating the door, zealous birds pecking and pecking until they poked through. No one noticed him.
No matter how stealthy he tried to be, he would still have to climb on top of the ganado or shove past them to reach his goal. He searched the room for other alternatives. Despite the Plaga's reassurance, he'd rather not deal with the Sovereign's bloodthirsty flock.
Stop, let them sense you.
He obeyed, but his old instincts rose from the murky waters the plaga had submerged them. He had the sudden urge to grab his gun and start shooting. The plaga slithered in his mind and the rebellious impulse dissolved. His body tensed and his gaze locked on the mass of bodies struggling against the observation doors. The Plaga cooed encouragement. Wolves without teeth, snakes without poison, fear them not.
It didn't take long for the ganado to notice him. One male in an ugly black beret did a double-take and ceased jostling the others. This had a rippling effect over the crowd. One by one, they all turned to stare in his direction. Silence replaced the garbled Spanish. The whir of flies became deafening.
“You're in my way,” he said. The ganado looked at one another, then at him, their eyes wide and their auras twitching in confusion.
Perfection awes them, sharpen your tongue.
“I said, move!”
It took a moment to realize he spoke in Spanish. Fluent Spanish. The Plaga's influence faltered and the veil shrouding his mind thinned. He'd never studied the language, not even in high school. And the hurried google search of common phrases he had done before the mission didn't count. What was he doing? The room at the top had Ashley inside it, probably hiding under the desk or huddling in the corner. Terrified because he had chased her like a crazy—
He gasped and fell to his knees, the hunger a burning rope of thorns around his groin. To express its irritation, the Plaga burrowed deeper into his brain and jarred every nerve it passed. His limbs twitched; spasms bent his spine. He curled into a fetal position and thrashed in agony until the parasite seemed satisfied he had been punished enough.
Get up. Not words, but sensations of fury motivated him to his feet. The ganado shifted in a restless wave and watched him. They murmured among themselves when he raised his head to the observation suite. The color of his eyes must be the reason, but no time to worry about it now. The greedy thing in his head didn't give a shit anyway. “Get...out...of...my...fucking...way.” Each word rattled in his throat like broken glass. He expected to taste blood in his mouth.

Minutes are days...I hunger.
A strangled moan burst past his lips and he shuddered. The Plaga surrounded him on all sides, a puppeteer with plenty of string. No matter how many he broke, he couldn't escape it.
On the fringe of his vision, the ganado exchanged knowing looks at one another and nodded. They came single-file down the steps with the grace and formality of a funeral march—a far cry from the ill-mannered crowd they had been. Once they reached the bottom, they gathered to sides of the stairwell and awaited his approach as sycophants would a prince. That alone would have scared him into retreat, but the Plaga would have none of it.
Go, take her, the pain will end when you do.
He started forward, surprised he could even walk. Their stillness unnerved him. He never had seen them so quiet, so composed. The Plaga squirmed, a sensation he felt all the way down to his tailbone. He grasped the railing of the stairs—and then the ganado wearing the beret tried to touch him.
This action ignited rage in the others. They yanked Beret back, their hands claws around his arm and in his hair. They shoved him to the side, their faces a collective mask of disgust and their green auras quivering in anger. The ganado's black beret slipped to the floor with a muffled clop.
“Está prohibido!” one ganado said, his voice more of a hiss than words. He glared at Beret with one good eye, the other dangled from its socket and stuck to his cheek. Leon looked away, his stomach fluttering in disgust. Beret shrank back and lowered his head.
Satisfied their rebuke had the intended effect, the others turned in a ripple of swiveling heads and upturned faces; a dreamy motion that seemed both forlorn and reverent. A few of them sighed, a wheeze of air that sounded like a dying man's last breath. Their eyes found him again, the weight of their gaze a heavy blanket he wanted to shrug off.
He forced his attention to the suite. There promised safety from not only from ganado worship, but the female—

Ashley, her name is Ashley.
—would give him what he needed, what the Plaga needed. Maybe then it would leave him in peace.

Yes, host. Satisfy me and suffer my influence no more.
Liar liar, pants on fire. But he couldn't deny what it promised. He couldn't fight it or reason with it; he couldn't bribe it into leaving him and going into someone else. Male or not, the overwhelming urge to fuck something—anything—made the ganado around him look pretty damn good. Too bad they didn't have enough of what the Plaga wanted—

Their energy is offal to me, tainted lifeforce, feed on a proper wellspring.
He heard her crying inside the room, a muffled sniffle and choked sob that reminded him of Sherry so much he almost gained control and fled. The Plaga bristled and jerked the strings. It seeped into his thoughts like poison, whispering, coaxing, bringing out the worst in him.
Outside the door, he stood there hating himself, but eager to appease the ache. The ganado had wrestled the metal frame open a few inches, but the gray cabinet Ashley had shoved against it still barred the way. Through the narrow opening he saw a desk and a couple of broken chairs guarding the other exit. The tendrils of Ashley's aura teased the edge of his vision, but Ashley herself remained out of sight. He inhaled. The scent of apples beckoned from somewhere to his left.
His old self slipped away and the Plaga came forward, taking its place as the proverbial devil on his shoulder. He chuckled. Silly girl cornered herself good this time. Hadn't she learned anything from their venture through the castle and the island? Keep moving, don't stop, think ahead, remain aware of your surroundings. That's how you survive.
His hands clenched the side of the door. His fingers dug into the metal. Blood seeped around his nails, but he didn't feel pain. Pressure built in his arms, a hot itching force tingled in his fingertips. His breath hitched, his arms tensed, his body shifted to the side.
Then he shoved.
The cabinet toppled over, glass shattered. Ashley screamed. Her body flashed by in a blur of orange and plaid. Another solid hit with his shoulder and the door snapped off its hinges. It fell to its side with a raspy protest. The Sovereign had said something about intoxicating power hadn't he? The melodramatic cliché held some truth, at least. His entire body hummed with raw energy, but he needed more—the Plaga needed more.
He ducked a clipboard Ashley pitched at his head, and sidestepped a cup of broken pencils. Her aura flared in all directions before wrapping around her body so tight he could barely see the outline. She hesitated, then attempted to run past him. He shafted to the right, and then to the left when she tried the other way. Her lip trembled, her eyes sparkled with tears. Her gaze darted to the window. He watched the hope fade from her face as soon as the realization hit. They both knew the drop would cripple her if it didn't kill her. And if she survived, the ganado waited.
Leon stood silent and said nothing. That alone seem to frighten her. She pressed herself into the corner, a kitten all fur and teeth. He took a step toward her, excitement surging through him.
“Please go away!” Her voice trembled high and thin. “You're not Leon. Let him come back! I want him back!”
Come back? “Don't worry, baby girl,” he said. “I'm right here. I won't hurt you—promise, cross my heart.” She sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Her aura wisped away to nothing. His old self pressed against his awareness. This is wrong, what was he doing?
The Plaga intervened. Stop toying with the female, feed.
Leon crossed the room in three, quick strides. He grasped her shoulders and yanked her to her feet. He expected—even anticipated—a flurry of punches and kicks, but she sagged in his arms, dead weight. He peered down at her. Her tears had stopped flowing, but she had the eyes of a battle-weary soldier. “Better you than them,” she said and sighed. “I'm tired.”
He hesitated long enough for his old self to whisper how crazy he was in his ear—then threw her against the wall. Everything afterward came in bursts of flurried motion.
He covered her with his body and his hardness throbbed between them. The sensation rocked a groan from his lips. His fingers slipped under her skirt, the cotton underwear she wore, soft and pliable in his hands. In one hard yank, he tore them off. She gasped, clutched his shoulders. The hunger went from a snarl to a howl. His palms cupped her ass, lifted her until her legs strangled his waist. All he wanted was the silk of her skin, the scent of her, the light of her aura invading him. She trembled, a captured bird in his hands. “Leon don't—“
He slid her skirt over her legs and fumbled for the clasp. His hips wouldn't stop moving, not even when he tugged her skirt free and tossed it to the floor. Her sweater and bra joined it soon after. Ashley panted in his ear, her hands now around his neck and her legs squeezed him closer. It became a struggle to breathe, to think. The Plaga seemed to spread in his mind, expanding itself with every buck of his hips. The desire to taste her overwhelmed all sense of morality. Wrong or right, he couldn't deny the instinct any longer.
He didn't just kiss her. When his lips crushed hers—cutting off her breath and her cry of alarm—he devoured her. Ashley ceased to exist. Flesh writhed beneath him; energy keened with pleasure. A soul opened to his mind, a pool full of light and wonder. He dove into it without hesitation. Her essence, a perfume that invaded him even as he conquered it, sang with colors he could smell and sound he could see. Somewhere beyond his awareness, his body jerked with a powerful orgasm. Ashley twitched under his weight, a feeble movement that might have been a last attempt to free herself. It didn't matter; she belonged to him.
Swathes of blue and gold converged around him, through him. He saw images in the mist, whispers that beckoned him closer.

Keep your distance, you will regret...
Another wave of sensation shocked the Plaga into silence. Not that he would have heeded the warning anyway. This new world enthralled him, to not explore it would be a waste.
The mist cleared, a window glimmered in the distance. Golden light spilled forth and a woman's voice sang faint and sweet.
This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine—
Laughter, a girl's delight at something he couldn't see. Curious, he touched the window pane. The singing became clearer, but he still couldn't detect the source. Lights blinked in the distance, fireflies of red and gold and blue. A shudder ran through him and another wave of pleasure blurred the mirage. He had to get closer before this—whatever this was—ended.

Let it end now, go no closer.
He ignored the Plaga's warning. His hands pressed harder against the glass, and with a puff of warm, fragrant air, went through without resistance. The smoke dissipated. He stood inside a living room. Candles burned low upon the large oak bookshelf and on the table beside a red loveseat. Three stockings hung on brass hooks from the fireplace mantle. White fur trimmed the tops of red and green felt, and names etched in gold glitter shined from the center. The letters blurred when he looked at them.
Under a soft green blanket, a little girl snuggled in the lap of her mother. Both had the same delicate face and big round eyes. A Christmas tree twinkled in the corner, the source of the fireflies in the mist.
“Hide it under a bush, oh no, I'm going to let it shine...” The mother cupped her daughter's thumb with her palm and the girl giggled. He knew the child's name, it lingered like something sweet on the tip of his tongue. Ashley. She was Ashley.
They didn't notice him, a silent observer to their intimate moment. The girl began to sing along. Their voices rose together, weaving an invisible tapestry of love and comfort. Tears sprang in his eyes. There seemed something fleeting about this, a dusting of sadness that dulled the glow of the candles and chilled the warmth of the fire burning in the hearth.

“Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine—”
“Mommy died five days later. Daddy said something broke inside her head.”
A sharp glance to his left and he found the little girl standing beside him. The other version of her rocked in her mother's lap, singing. The one next to him peered up, her face drawn and eyes haunted. Old eyes. He couldn't breathe. Somewhere in the distance, his bod writhed with pleasure, but here, he trembled in fear.
“Come see the merry-go-round.” She held her small hand out to him, glitter from the stockings sparkled on her fingers. He knew she had made those stockings that afternoon, the tiny frayed edges of felt still clung to her nightgown. When he didn't answer, her hand wrapped around his, her skin cool and burning at the same time. He gasped. Images flooded his mind, his eyes.
Ashley laughs as she waves to her mother from a pink saddle on a painted white horse. She loves the color pink, every shade of it. She loves apples and Barbies and horses like any normal little girl. She watches Bugs Bunny with her dad and helps Porky Pig sound out the words. She wakes up early for Sunday school every week. Memorizing bible verses is fun, but the prizes are what she really loves.
They go up to their cabin by Lake Michigan every summer, that's when Daddy says the weather is tolerable, and the water isn't so ice cold. Mommy likes to have picnics and brings a bottle of wine for her and daddy to share. They let her sip a little one time, but her tongue got all tingly and she spat it out. Daddy laughed and told her good girl.
Mommy bakes pumpkin pies in the autumn, Daddy rakes the leaves real high so Ashley can jump into them. Apple orchards are her favorite place to play, the hay in her hair, the sweet donut in her hand, and sugar on her face. That Halloween, the one before the end of her world, they carve pumpkins like Bugs Bunny characters and eat candy corn. Mommy sings to her every night before bed. This little light is mine is her favorite song. She never tires of it.
December arrives and the stockings hang glittering over the fire. Daddy buys a new tree and they decorate it pink and white. Mommy tells her stories about Baby Jesus, Saint Nick and old Mr. Scrooge. Ashley can't wait for her presents, she even has a calender to count the days in chocolate.
Then a week after Christmas, Mommy dies.
Daddy doesn't speak for days and Ashley can't stop crying. Her world becomes dark and empty. No more songs, no more light to brighten her way through life. She stumbles over holes she can't see and never seems to regain her balance again.
Daddy isn't there, Daddy hardly comes home anymore. Politics and Republicans and Campaigning are his comfort. Nannies come to take care of her—some nice, some not. She doesn't care anymore, doesn't go to church, doesn't watch Bugs Bunny, and doesn't visit the apple orchard. Landscapers rake the autumn leaves into small neat piles. Picnics on Lake Michigan are faded memories.
It's time to put away childish things, time for first kisses with boys she'll never love, time for etiquette, time for good grades and scholarships and being a role model for other little girls. Have to be a proper young lady, have to set an example because Daddy won the Race, he's the President now. Strange how he can govern an entire country, but he can never meet her eyes.
You looks like her, he says. I can't bear it.
The most intense orgasm hit him then, jerked his body and his mind from the parade of Ashley's memories. He groaned into her mouth, but didn't pull away. Tears slipped down his cheeks. He clung to her, wrapped himself around her until he couldn't crush her any closer. Still energy left, the core of her, the golden swirl of her soul—
“Leon.” In his mind, in that misty space of dreams and thought, young Ashley tugged on his hand. Startled, he looked down. He could see right through her, a ghost dressed in a pink nightgown and bunny slippers. The glowing aura around her flickered and disappeared.
She blinked her wide eyes at him. He noticed the dark circles beneath, the haggard lines around her mouth. “Leon,” she said. “I'm dying.”
He snatched his hand from hers and backed away. She followed, her lips trembling and her hands reaching for him. “You said you would protect me, remember? You said you would take me home. I want to go home.”
He had said that when he first found her. He remembered the terror in her face when she shrank from him, the pleading in her voice. She thought he had come to kill her. What was he doing now?
The Plaga growled somewhere in the distance. Feed, host, we need sustenance, need to complete—
“I'm cold, Leon.” Young Ashley hugged herself. She looked so small. “I'm scared, I can't feel me anymore.“

Keep her close, we can be one. Do not cease, do not—
“NO!” He threw himself away, knocking aside chairs and putting as much space between he and Ashley as he could. Many hands steadied him, kept him from falling—
Ganado had entered the observation theater sometime after he kissed Ashley. They surrounded him now, all blank faces and red eyes. He recoiled, pressed himself against the wall. He had no idea how long they had been there, how long they had stood and watched as he took her life away.
He tore his eyes from them and found Ashley crumpled on the floor, naked. He didn't remember taking off her clothes. Her skin appeared translucent, a mimic of the ghostly little girl in his vision. A delicate webbing of blue veins shown under the thinnest areas. Her aura wisped over her skin, a pale glimmer of gold.
“Ashley?” His voice trembled like a scared little boy. He stumbled and shrugged away the hands that tried to keep him from the floor. Oh, now they wanted to touch him, now it wasn't forbidden.
He began a hesitant grope back to her on his hands and knees, realizing along the way the button and zipper on his pants hung wide open. He didn't want to think about what that meant. Her chest rose and fell in a wheezy exhale, but the rattle in her throat made him crawl faster.
When he reached her, his thigh muscles suddenly twitched and fluttered. Sensations of warm pleasure gathered in his groin. The throb began anew. The Plaga stirred in his mind with an angry twist.

Complete what you began, host, I need more—
“You need jack shit! Shut the hell up!” He slammed his fist into the floor, breaking the tile and sending it scattering across the room. “You made me hurt her! I'd promised to protect her! If she's dead, I failed my mission. And if I failed, then there's no point—no point to any of this!”
We must feed, we must merge, the female is our—
“No!” He gestured to the circle of masks around him. “Why can't I feed on them?” The ganado shuffled away from him, their vacant stares carrying the barest hint of alarm. They understood something had gone wrong; they knew the person who ordered them aside had vanished.

I would sooner devour a rotting carcass.
“This is my body, my mind. If you want energy so damn bad I'm taking it from them.”

Fool, alcohol to slake thirst, sand to appease hunger—take them, then, see if they satisfy!
He crouched, ready to spring. Ashley moaned and the Plaga moved in response. No, he wouldn't give in this time. He had cut the strings. He controlled this thirst. It didn't matter what the Plaga said, he would rather devour his enemy than take from the innocent.
“Sorry boys,” he said through clenched teeth. “Mr. Plaga ain't driving anymore.”
The first ganado he grabbed, whether by fate or coincidence, was Bereta. He threw the ganado against the wall and pinned him with his body. The other didn't struggle, didn't move to defend himself, not even when Leon slammed his mouth over his.
For a moment, bliss. The feel of the ganado stiffening beneath him, the coolness of the other's skin easing his fever. He burrowed into those swathes of green and yellow. Memories flashed in the mists, but vanished before he could get close. Flickers of thought skirted the edge of his awareness, echoes of sound teased his ears. Energy suffused him but he felt nothing. Frustrated, he dove deeper, swam further. The soul, where was it? It had to be here, somewhere. Then he saw it, a tiny spark of yellow-white light nestled within the nest of moss-colored smoke. He gathered it in his arms and inhaled—
Then spat it back out.
He sputtered and released his victim. The ganado sank to the floor, dazed. Leon wiped his mouth and tried not to gag. Disgusting. How could something so bright taste like shit?
Yes, I know nothing, heed me not, stubborn one.
“Oh fuck you.” Leon yanked Bereta to his feet and tried again. Same result. Raw sewage would taste better than this. An angry cry burst from lips. The ganado went limp in his arms and his eyes rolled back. He tried again. His fingers tightened in the ganado's hair as if bringing him closer would yield better results. But like the first time and the time after, no life force, no energy. Nothing but poison and fumes.
He snapped the ganado's neck in one infuriated motion and tossed him to the floor. He tore his knife from its sheath. The others were already moving by then, making their escape through the doors and down the stairs. Self-preservation had broke whatever the spell the Plaga had cast earlier. Too late. They weren't fast enough.
He killed them all.
The last ganado fell without a sound, blood spilling from his slit throat and pooling around his head. Leon waited for the parasite to emerge, but the ganado's skull remained intact. The vile swirl of the creature's aura wisped to nothing. All done. All dead. His hands trembled, the blood dripped from the knife in a steady rhythm. The song of flies rose. They would be busy for a while.
“Leon?” Ashley's quiet voice warbled from the stairs.
He closed his eyes. The relief made his knees weak. She lived, she was okay. The room seemed smaller then. His throat went tight, it became hard to breathe. He couldn't look at her because there was blood on his face. He felt it drying there, on his hands, on the knife, on his clothes. His comfort to her came in silence and the dead ganado on the floor. He had kept her safe from them, from himself.
“Leon look at me.”
Leon, I'm dying...
He turned, and with some difficulty, met her eyes. Her gaze locked with his. Tears and weariness, but the blame he'd expected—even wanted—was absent. He drew a shaky breath and dropped his head. He wiped the knife on his pants before slipping it back in its sheath.
“Did you kill them for me?”
“Yes.”
She shifted on the stairs and he braved another peek at her. She had put her clothes back on, but her skirt hung lopsided on her hips and her sweater faced the wrong way. Her bare toes folded over the lip of the step, her boots dangled from her hand. He waited for the Plaga to demand he feed, but the leech in his head kept quiet for once.
“I don't understand what happened,” Ashley said. “I woke up...and I was naked. Did we...did we—”
“I don't know.” Shame flooded him and he turned away from her. “I can't remember much, Ashley. I'm trying to sort it out. I'm...I'm so sorry. I—”
“I saw you there. In my living room. You watched my mother—“ She sniffled. “I have that song in my head now. She keeps singing it.” Her voice thickened with tears. “I miss her, Leon.”
He stood frozen as she cried. What a bastard he was. He should go over there, put his arm around her, provide some semblance of comfort. He had peered into her mind, her memories, violated her most private thoughts. What right did he have?
Keep your distance, you will regret...
If he had entered Ashley's memories, had she viewed his? He glared at the ganado on the floor, not seeing it, but pondering that thought of Ashley witnessing the most personal moments of his life. His childhood, Raccoon, South America, even the events when he arrived in Pueblo could have flashed before her eyes.
He chewed on his lower lip, then stopped. That habit didn't belong to him. Young Ashley shimmered before his eyes a moment, her face sad. Come see the merry-go-round. Picnics in the summer, swimming, sand castles, mommy and daddy laughing on the blanket and sipping wine—
The blood under the ganado's head oozed around his boots. He moved back, his stomach rolling. Ashley's memories wandered inside his skull like lost children.

There is another alternative to the female. The plaga's voice in his mind came as a polite, almost haughty nudge. He paused, grateful for the distraction. Ashley buried her head in her hands.
Go on.
The Sovereign idles somewhere near, his energy an ocean to sup. You wish for his demise, yes?

Yes, but didn't you say to keep away from him?
Yield to my influence, host, the Sovereign will fall.
No, I won't compromise myself again. If you let me do the talking, we have a deal.
Silence, then it flexed inside his head. Damn, he hated that.

Defiance brings chaos, if the Sovereign discovers our true nature, death will not grant escape.
Fine, whatever. Just don't try anything—
“It's talking to you, isn't it?” Ashley wiped her tears away and studied him with curiosity. “What's it saying?”
“Nothing important,” he said. “Are you strong enough to walk? We need to get topside and figure a way off this rock. If I can figure out how the Sover—Saddler's hijacking my signal, we can call for help. Running around here wasting bullets isn't doing squat.”
“But you killed all the ganado with your knife.”
“I know that!” He winced at his tone and tried again. “I know, okay? I'd rather save the bullets for something worth...shooting. The ganado really aren't an issue anymore.”
“Because they think you're one of them, right?”
Perceptive little girl. He inhaled and released his breath slow. “It's complicated and I'll wonder about it later. We need to concentrate on getting—”
“I keep seeing your memories,” she said. Her eyes softened and her aura lapped her skin in faint ripples. The door looked pretty good right now; maybe if he started toward it she would shut up. “It felt like walking through a dream, everything all misty and hard to see. You crashed your dirt bike when you were twelve, almost broke your neck. Your dad was so mad...and scared. Grounded you for months. Your first kiss was with a redhead named Sarah, she said she would punch you if you didn't kiss her good. Your sister used to make up stories about the woods behind your house. Buried treasure and secret places you would try to find on your own. You and her would go hunting monsters with sticks and plastic swords. You hate her husband now, he doesn't treat her—“
“Ashley. No.”
“But I saw everything! I saw you in that city, in Raccoon. Zombies and those licker creatures all over the place! And that Asian woman, Ada, she betrayed—“
“Stop it! I know what you saw—I lived it, remember? We'll have our share time later when I don't have to worry about Saddler and his cronies carrying you off.”
She bunched her skirt up in her fist, her bared thigh drawing his gaze. He bit his lip to keep his thoughts and body calm. This lip biting thing better not be permanent. “You promise?”
“Yes, cross my heart—" He stopped, let out a restrained sigh. "I mean, we need to leave, we can't risk more ganado discovering us.”
She stared at him for so long he had trouble holding her gaze. He had no intention of discussing what happened between them. He didn't have the luxury of feeling sorry for himself. Push it away, tuck it down deep.
His mission would end once he got Ashley to safety. After that, his fate depended on whether the doctors could remove the Plaga from his brain. If they couldn't, then what? Would they kill him, study him? Dissect him? His imagination began dredging images of his organs in neatly labeled jars. Perhaps he should consider killing himself before things got that far.
This mission had seemed doomed from the start. Even before the police car had driven off the cliff and his escorts murdered, there had been a nagging doubt in the back of his mind, a sliver of unease he couldn't pin down. Rescue the girl, bring her home, be the hero, what could go wrong? His instincts had told him to beware, and he ignored them.
Fate, the Plaga said. A length of thread woven, the knot upon its end cannot be undone.
Shut up.
“Let me get my boots on.” Ashley said. The smell of death lingered like moldering meat. The ganado on the floor accused him with sightless eyes. He shifted his feet and waited as Ashley composed herself and righted her clothing. Her aura looked brighter to him, or maybe his wishful thinking made it seem so. Hard to believe she had been lying on the floor near death fifteen minutes ago. Guilt gnawed on his patience.
“You ready yet?”
“Ready.” She came down the stairs, slowing her pace as she reached the bottom step. She hesitated, her aura flared in fear.
“Look, just stay close, but not too close, okay? I have control of it for now. I'm—“ He paused. “I won't let it overwhelm me again. Promise.”
Ashley gave him a half-hearted smile, but her aura shrank from him. Not the reaction he'd hoped for, but it was better than nothing. He should be thankful she even agreed to let him help her. If their roles had been reversed, he wouldn't have been so trusting.
The female is fond of you, host.

Didn't I say to shut up?
Outside the lab door, he searched for the fumes of ganado auras, and listened for movement. Satisfied no one waited outside, he opened it. The earthy scent of rock and dirt chased away the smell of decay. He breathed deep, relishing the fresh air. His body throbbed in hunger, but he bore it for the time being.
The list in his mind revised itself: eat Saddler, save the girl, save the world, and somehow save himself. And here he thought Raccoon City had been the worst of experience of his life.
Nowhere close.
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