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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Author's Note: So, for quite a while now I've been wanting to do a KI/RE fic. I'm kind of surprised there hasn't been any attempt to cross these two franchises over on here tbh, just because they are somewhat similar. I mean, granted, one is a fighting game and the other is a survival horror shooter, but from a thematic standpoint, there is common ground. Both are based around sci-fi/horror and deal with corporate espionage and corruption, although in KI's case it's a little more extreme. Because this is a crossover, keep in mind that some elements will be slightly different to fit in with KI's side, although rest assured it will still be pretty grounded. This story may or may not be connected to another story that I had worked on called "Zahn Und Klaue", if not draw elements from it in order to tell this particular tale, but awareness of what went on in either that story or the game itself and/or its sequels is not necessary. Because this is a crossover, the events of RE0 onward don't quite happen, including the Mansion Incident. However, a mansion incident will occur, just not the kind you will be expecting, plus some creatures and characters will be popping up every now and then in unexpected ways. All I ask is that you give this story a chance - if you spot any errors and/or have criticisms, please don't refrain from voicing them, and I will gladly adjust my story so that it's better, as long as the criticism itself is reasonable and that you don't flame. Saying "dis sux" or "this is shit" is not constructive criticism. If this story is not for you, then I completely understand.

*Also want to give a shout-out to Iago407 on the ultra-combo forums for making this suggestion here with regards to smells - thank you so much for pointing that out, dude! :)

Hope you enjoy the story, everyone! :)

Prologue: Claire

Raccoon City, Colorado, 2018

"ULTRAAAAA COMMMMBBBOOOOOOOO!"

Nineteen-year-old Claire Redfield grinned as the iconic cries of T.J. Combo and Chris Sutherland fused together and blared out from the speakers.

Seated on the couch in the den and dressed comfortably in a loose black t-shirt with red shorts, her blue eyes were glued to the television screen as she ate from a bowl of popcorn on her lap, watching a rerun of the Killer Instinct tournament. Brushing absentmindedly a strand of hair behind her left ear, she remained focused, even as she tied up the rest of her long auburn hair in a ponytail.

"SUPREME VICTORY!" Chris Sutherland rumbled.

"Jesus, Claire, could you lower the volume please?!" Her brother Chris called from the bedroom. "I can practically hear it all the way from in here!"

"Okay, okay!" Claire sighed as she grabbed the remote control and adjusted the sound, the commentators' voices dropping slightly.

Chris emerged from a doorway to the left in his grey S.T.A.R.S. uniform, his green vest unzipped, fixing up his short brown spiked-up crewcut hair with gel.

"Don't you have studying to do?" He asked, eying her.

Claire shrugged. "Just taking a break."

"Well remember to go back to work," Chris reminded as he finished up with his hair.

She rolled her eyes.

"I will, Dad," she replied sarcastically, looking back to the TV screen before pausing, sniffing the air. "What's that smell?" Claire then turned her head, sniffing again. "Are you wearing cologne?"

She watched as Chris shook his head wearily, not answering.

"Ooh la la, and aftershave?! If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're trying to impress your, ahem, partner," Claire teased, wagging her eyebrows. "What's her name? Jill?"

She watched as he frowned. "Yes, and that's all we are, Claire - partners."

"Uh huh," Claire deadpanned, unconvinced. "From the googly eyes she makes, she doesn't seem to think so." She then started to bat her eyelashes and look all doe-eyed at her brother, speaking in exaggeratedly high octaves, "'Ohh Chris! Can you help me open this locker? Ohh, you are soooo big and strong! TEEHEEHEEHEE!'"

Chris rolled his eyes. "That was NOT how it happened, nor did Jill sound like that!"

"She was practically panting like a dog!"

"Considering Wesker had us out for a mile-long jog, I'm not surprised." Chris then gestured to the TV. "You're watching that show again?"

"Of course!" Claire winked as she turned back to the screen. "You know I love it!"

He raised a brow. "You do realize that it is all fake, right?"

Claire gave a mock gasp. "No! Say it isn't so! You mean to tell me that the werewolf and dinosaur are all fake?!" She then sighed dramatically, putting a hand on her forehead. "Ohh, how can I go on? How will I ever cope?"

"You'll manage," Chris replied, zipping up his vest. "I'm afraid I've got to go, kiddo."

"Aww," Claire pouted, looking up at him with huge sad puppy eyes. "Do you have to?"

He shrugged. "Afraid so," the older sibling said. "I have to earn a paycheck, after all."

"Welllll, there is a way around it," Claire said, gesturing to the TV screen as it showed the logo for the Killer Instinct tournament, the KI symbol hard and metallic with sharp, stylized edges.

Chris frowned. "Forget it, kiddo."

"Oh come on, Chris, it would be totally fun! We could come up with our own stage names and costumes-"

"Claire, we talked about this," he cut her off tiredly. "For the last time, I am not going onto some stupid TV program and fight some dork in a rubber suit."

Claire then opened her mouth.

"And you're not participating, either!" Chris added, cutting her off again.

Claire frowned. "Oh come on! This is the Killer Instinct tournament we're talking about! If we win we can get whatever we want! Think of it, Chris - with my brains and your brawn, we can win the big bucks and not have to worry about the next paycheck for the rest of our lives! Plus," she added with a teasing smile and a singsong voice, "Jill will be even more into yooooou. Good looks can only get you so far, lover boy, but good looks plus a buttload of money? She'll be humping your leg and practically be BEGGING to have your babies!"

Chris scowled. "Gross."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah I do, and the answer is still no."

Claire folded hers together, pouting. "You seriously suck."

Chris chuckled. "I love you too, Claire."

She stuck her tongue out at him, causing the elder sibling to roll his eyes just as the phone rang on the table beside the couch. Picking it up, he answered.

"Hello?" Chris then gave it to Claire. "It's for you. It's Rebecca."

Taking the phone, Claire held it to her ear as she munched popcorn. "Hello?"

"Hey Claire!" Rebecca greeted from the other end.

"Hey Rebecca! How are things?"

"Oh, they're good."

'I bet,' Claire thought somewhat bitterly as she took a drink of pop. Even though they had been friends since they were children, in some ways she was envious of the younger girl; not only was Rebecca working on a PH.D. in Medicine at age 18 with a lineup of offers from various pharmaceutical companies including Ultratech, but she also had a really cute boyfriend, one Leon S. Kennedy, who they both had met in university and was studying to be a police officer.

"Out of curiosity," Rebecca started, "have you heard about the new Sabrewulf plushies?"

Claire perked up. "There are plushies?"

"Yeah! You have to check them out!"

Pulling her laptop from her backpack at the foot of the couch, Claire opened it up and searched on Google, her eyes widening in delight at the blue werewolf stuffed toy.

"AWWWWWWW! IT'S SO CUUUUUUTE!" she squealed, lifting her head to Chris. "Chris I just found my new Christmas present!"

Chris raised a brow. "Don't you already have one?"

"No I don't. I have the deluxe action figure and the Happy Meal figure."

"Ah." Chris then checked his watch. "Shit, I'm gonna be late for work. I have to go, Claire. Remember, go back to studying."

"I will!"

He suddenly paused. "Oh yeah! I nearly forgot to give you these."

Reaching into his pockets, he pulled out some tickets, causing Claire's eyes to widen. "...Are those-?"

"They are," Chris nodded as he handed them to her. "Three tickets for the Killer Instinct tournament, evening show for tomorrow at six-thirty."

Letting a girlish shriek, Claire flew off the couch, catching him off-guard as he was pulled into a bearhug. It was a miracle that she didn't spill the popcorn or drop the phone.

"Chris this is AMAZING!" She said happily, crushing him in her grip. "How did you do it?!"

He grunted. "Barry knows a guy that works as a security guard at the arena, and because of him he's able to get tickets," Chris quickly gasped as he struggled to breathe, his face turning blue. "Claire you're crushing me!"

Claire hesitated, pulling away. "Oops, sorry." Her features softened. "Did I mention that you are the best big brother?"

Chris scoffed, rubbing his sore ribs. "I'm your only brother, dumbass."

Claire rolled her eyes. "I know!" She then looked at him seriously with a warm smile. "Still, thank you."

"Don't mention it, kiddo." Chris said, winking as he ruffled his sister's hair. "That said, I'm afraid I won't be able to join you for the show."

"Aw. How come?" Claire whined.

Chris shrugged. "Hey, it can't be helped. Captain Wesker is having us run the nightshift for tomorrow."

"Can't you get him to assign somebody else?"

He exhaled. "Afraid not. Sorry, Claire, but I'm afraid you'll have to go without me. Maybe see if Rebecca and Leon would like to go with you."

Claire nodded. "Okay," she replied. "Take care, Chris."

He winked. "You too, Claire. Catch ya later."

As he departed, Claire heard a voice from the phone, "Claire? Claire?! Claire what's going on?"

"Oh, sorry, Rebecca!" She apologized. "You are NOT going to believe what Chris just did!"

As she filled her friend in on the news, Claire turned back to the screen with popcorn and phone in hand, the announcer rumbling from the TV speaker.

"KILLER INSTINCT."

The next day

Claire looked out the window of Leon's green Jeep Wrangler as she sat in the backseat, watching the passing buildings and signs, the streets of Raccoon City lit up with flashes of neon.

"Comfortable back there?" Leon asked as he drove, Rebecca seated beside him in the passenger seat.

Claire nodded. "Yeah. I'm so excited to see this! I can't stop pinching myself! You?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, I've always wanted to see this in person!" she said. "I wonder how a live action experience will compare. This will be interesting."

Leon regarded them both. "What is the deal with this program?"

Claire gawked at him as if he grew a third head.

"Are you for real?!" She exclaimed.

Rebecca raised a hand placatingly. "Hey, don't be too hard on him," the younger girl said. "You know he's not into KI and that he's relatively new to this area."

Claire sighed, conceding. "Fair enough."

"So what's the deal with this tournament thing?" Leon pressed.

Claire tucked a long strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Well, initially it had been started by Baron Konrad Von Sabrewulf, the CEO of Ultratech, as a no-holds-barred martial arts pay-per-view program that was both televised and streamed live on the internet back in 1994 in Germany."

"I heard some things about him. Wasn't he a pugilist or something?"

"He was," Rebecca nodded. "At least...I think so? Supposedly there are videos of him somewhere online in some underground fight clubs, but it's been scrubbed clean. Whether it's true or not, who knows. Eventually he started up the tournament and for a time he had hosted and participated in it until he fell ill."

Claire nodded with her. "It's quite a shame, too," she added. "Not only was he a really good boxer and capoeira fighter, but he was really handsome."

"Really?" Leon said interestedly.

"Yeah."

"'Handsome' wasn't the word you used when you first saw his picture, Claire," Rebecca teased, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Rebecca..." Claire said warningly.

"Oh? And what word was that, Rebecca?" Leon asked amusedly.

Rebecca then placed her hands on her face.

"'Ohh, he's so gorgeous!'" She said in a higher pitched girlish voice in mock imitation.

Claire lightly kicked the back of the passenger seat, her face blushing.

"Hey! Don't kick," Leon said as he eyed her in the rearview mirror.

She shrugged. "Sorry."

He then continued, "So what kind of illness does the Baron have?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Nobody knows," she answered. "It's a closely guarded secret. Not even the press could find anything. As far as I'm aware, not even Ultratech knows the full extent of his condition."

Leon clicked his tongue. "Sounds pretty serious," he commented.

Claire shrugged. "Perhaps. But who knows? Maybe he'll get better. I've been hoping to see him in person."

Rebecca gave her a suggestive look, a gleam in her eye.

"Ah, not in that way, Rebecca!" Claire said quickly with a blush. "Besides which, he's in his fifties - he's waaaaay too old for me!"

Rebecca giggled. "I'm just teasing."

Claire glared at her friend, part of her hoping to fry her with laser beams.

"So how does the CEO of one of the biggest pharmaceutical and robotics corporations in Germany, if not the world, end up here in Colorado?" Leon asked.

Claire looked up at the ceiling of the jeep.

"Well," she began, "I heard from a friend of a friend that he came here for some form of treatment after buying out Umbrella back in the nineties. Apparently he liked the view here, so he decided to move and have a castle built in the Arklay Mountains."

Leon scoffed. "A castle?"

"Yup," the redhead nodded. "One modeled after the one he has back in Germany."

She watched as he shook his head incredulously.

"Must be nice to own two castles," he said enviously.

"No kidding. From what I heard, the castle has its own private arena and is where a lot of the show is actually shot."

Claire watched as Leon thoughtfully digested the information in the driver's seat.

"Huh. Interesting."

"You'll love it, Leon," Claire winked, her smile widening. "The Killer Instinct tournament is unlike anything you've ever seen!"

After they found a place to park, Claire followed close beside Leon and Rebecca as they headed toward the arena. Looking over to them, Claire watched with a pang in her heart the more she watched them.

A lean young man in his twenties that stood at five-eleven and weighed one hundred and fifty-five pounds, his long dirty blonde hair done in a parted curtains style, Leon was dressed in a blue windbreaker, formal shirt and jeans. A complete and utter heartthrob, with his piercing blue eyes, short forehead, pronounced chin, long sharp and straight nose and chiseled features, he looked impossibly handsome, drawing looks from a lot of interested women they passed by, all of whom he had ignored in favor of the lucky girl beside him.

In contrast to him, Rebecca was a much smaller figure with a lighter frame, only five-three and only ninety-three pounds, with short brown hair cut like a boy's, her oval face possessing soft, gentle pixie-like features and sparkling mischievous green eyes. A tomboy, Rebecca wore green pants with a white and green t-shirt, her red sneakers clacking across the pavement.

Claire watched as the pair smiled lovingly at one another and held hands with a mixture of envy and regret.

If only she had been quick enough to-

She shook her head. Looking back to the pair, a soft smile spread across her heart-shaped face.

They look good together.

Claire was happy for the both of them, and she hoped they remained that way.

Besides, it was only a matter of time before she found somebody of her own.

Someday hopefully.

...Maybe.

Turning away from the happy couple, Claire looked toward Warren Stadium on South Raccoon Street, the Killer Instinct logo proudly displayed across the roof and on various posters.

Ignoring some of the ticket scalpers as they approached on the street, the trio continued on, then waited patiently in the long lineup until it was their turn. Fans conversed amongst themselves, each one wearing some article of clothing that either celebrated the tournament or some character that they had liked. Children stood by their parents, some of them carrying little stuffed chibi-styled toys representing their favorite fighter.

Leon looked around. "Why are there kids here? And why are they carrying around those toy monsters for? Isn't this a martial arts tournament?"

Claire watched as the attendant in the booth, a portly Caucasian man in his fifties, turned to face her.

"First-timer?" He deadpanned.

She nodded. "For me too. I've never seen this live before."

The attendant grinned as he turned back to Leon.

"Believe me, fella," he said slowly, "you three will be in for a real treat tonight! There ain't nothing else in the world quite like it. You aren't ready," He then tore off the stubs, handing them some brochures. "Here are your tickets. Be advised, we have a no mobile phone policy, so please check in your cell phones and/or mobile devices at the front desk at the security counter. You'll be given a zip-lock bag to store them in along with a tag containing a serial number. Be sure to fill in your name, phone number and email address just so we have a way of contacting you in the event you lose your items. Also be sure to visit the confection stands and our gift shops, we should have the newest Riptor action figures and t-shirts available. Enjoy the show, kids!"

Leon blinked. "'Riptor'? What's a-"

"It'll say in the brochure," the attendant said quickly, cutting him off. "Next!"

As Claire, Leon and Rebecca entered into the stadium, a pair of speakers growled at them overhead with a hard-edged metallic voice upon moving through the door.

"Welcome."

Once the trio had finally gotten their snacks, they entered the stadium.

"Look at this place!" Claire gasped.

There were hundreds of thousands of people, the arena noisy and busy, the air thick with a multitude of different odors, a mix of the sweet and the sour. From the buttery scent of popcorn, the sizzling and scrumptious aromas of hotdogs and burgers to the foul scents of flatulence, B.O. or beer, it all coalesced altogether, reminding her of a circus.*

Candy-colored confection androids with smiling, cheerful faces wandered along the aisles delivering people their snacks and food trays, with one or two people sticking pieces of gum onto the back of their plastic heads. At one end of the arena, a fight broke out between a group of fans. Claire watched as a group of security guards entered into the stands alongside a pair of intimidating Theseus combat androids, causing the fans to cease struggling and cooperate.

Claire shivered.

"Are you okay, Claire?" Leon asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, I just...those Theseus androids always creep me out."

Rebecca nodded in agreement. "No kidding," she replied.

Developed by Ultratech and utilized by their own private security subsidiaries, the Theseus combat androids were massive, imposing two meter tall machines. Gold in color with glowing red eyes, supposedly they had been designed to resemble Greek hoplite warriors complete with skirts, leg braces, sandal-like feet and Corinthian helmet-styled heads with nose pieces, but to Claire, they looked gruesomely like horse skulls mounted on humanoid mechanical bodies.

Over their skeletal hands were some wrist-mounted cannons that were capable of firing both lethal and non-lethal rounds, the cannons themselves protected by a thick ceramic casing that guarded the forearms from damage. Viewing the machines as a whole, they looked absolutely terrifying.

As the androids wandered away with the troublemakers in tow, Claire unconsciously let out a sigh of relief.

"Let's get to our seats." she said. "I think it's in the front row."

Moving past the aisles, the wandering audience members as they moved in and out of their seats along with the occasional child, the trio descended down the stairs before finally arriving at their section, moving past a couple of seated people, uttering apologies every step of the way.

Once they got to their seats, Claire sat down along side her friends with popcorn and coke in hand. The entire arena itself was bordered by large walls with thick plexiglass windows, effectively separating the audience from the fighters and camera people within as they set up their equipment.

A holographic display flashed on above, showing some new advertisement, the triangular logo with a capital U in its center.

"Ultratech - Looking To The Past To Save The Future."

"So what do you think, guys?" Claire said loudly to Rebecca and Leon.

"A bit noisy!" Rebecca yelled back.

"Yeah," Leon nodded.

Rebecca then looked up curiously.

"What are you looking at, Rebecca?" Claire asked.

"It's strange," her friend commented.

"What is?"

Rebecca pointed up at the ceiling. "There seems to be some lead lining in places."

"Why is that there?" Leon wondered.

Claire shrugged. "Who knows," she said before looking at her friends, her blue eyes shining. "Are you excited?"

The green-eyed girl nodded. "I am!"

"How about you, Leon?"

"I don't really know," he shrugged as he thumbed through the brochure while eating popcorn. Taking a sip from his soda, he paused. "...There's a dinosaur in this?!"

"Yeah!" Rebecca grinned. "Riptor is my girl!"

"...And there's...a werewolf," Leon said disbelievingly.

Now it was Claire's turn to grin. "Yeeeeep!" She said, ending with a playful pop of her lips.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the main program will begin shortly," a man's voice said over the arena speakers. "Please enjoy the pre-tournament show."

People applauded as the lights dimmed, the sound dying down.

The arena suddenly went dark as club music started playing.

"'She is a killer.'"

When the spotlights flashed on, a group of women in dark, tight sleeveless bodysuits were at the arena's center.

"She is a killer.'"

"Ohh Ye-a-a-ah!"

The women started to dance and twirl seductively to the beat of the tune.

"'Such a feeling,
Such a feeling.
Such a feeling
Killer feeling.

(Ooh, baby!)'"

Claire blushed at the lyrics and the suggestive dancing. Peeking beside her, she watched as both Rebecca and Leon's eyes widened in mortification, the two bashfully looking away.

"'Such a feeling
Such a feeling
Such a feeling
WOOOOOOAAHH

'Killer, Killer!
Oh, she is a killer!
Killer, killer!
Oh killer!'"

The music started to slow, the lyrics now taking on an even more erotic turn.

"'Touch me, touch me, touch me... Feel me, feel me, feel me...'"

Claire's face was completely flushed in embarrassment as the dancers were doing increasingly erotic movements and gestures, the women feeling and groping themselves.

"Who the hell thought this was suitable for kids?" Rebecca said as she looked away, her face as red as a tomato's. "Are they trying to make us throw up?"

"'Touch me, touch me, touch me...
Feel me, feel me, feel me...

She's a killer.'"

Killer, killer
Oh, she's a killer
Killer, killer
Oh, such a killer

Killer, killer
Oh, she's a killer
Killer, killer
Oh killer.'"

The show continued on for several minutes, the audiences mesmerized by the dancing, some more than others. Finally, after an uncomfortable period had passed, the dance - that was, if one could call it that, - finished, the girls bowing amidst loud cheers from the audience, the room lighting up.

Claire sat there, shifting in her seat.

"Umm...that was...interesting," Rebecca said under her breath.

"Uhh….yeah," Leon said.

As the stadium began to settle down, the lights started to dim.

"Welcome!" A cold, sinister, distorted, modulated and mechanical voice with a haunting echo said through the arena speakers.

People cheered as they heard the menacing voice of Chris Sutherland, Rebecca and Claire rising up to their feet as they joined in whooping, Leon looking at them in confusion.

"WHOOO!" Claire shouted beside her friend.

From the speakers, synthesizers hummed a low, crisp, ominous and brooding tune while the opening sequence played on TV screens directly over the arena itself, which consisted of metallic fonts over a black background.

A lone electric guitar started playing while an anvil clanged in accompaniment, the music continuing to build until finally the highly stylized and metallic title fonts appeared.

"Killer Instinct!" The sinister-sounding voice announced in conjunction with a solo guitar riff.

Once the song finished, the commentators spoke through the microphone as a new tune replaced it, a slow, orchestrated piece that was oddly reminiscent to the ticking of some gigantic clock that counted down ominously each time it clanged.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! My name is Jeffrey Hart," one voice spoke.

"And I'm Bradley Ramone," another said before speaking at the same as the other, "Welcome to Killer Instinct!"

People cheered, the crowd going wild with excitement.

"Boy do we have a show for you tonight!" Hart said. "Before we begin, a little foreword from the CEO of Ultratech himself, Baron Von Sabrewulf!"

A holographic screen appeared overhead, showing a man seated in a wheelchair, his features obscured by a thick cloak with a hood, scarf and sunglasses, his gloved hands resting on his blanketed lap.

"Good evening, everyone," he greeted. "During the Tang Dynasty, the Chinese philosopher Confucius said the following words." Sabrewulf paused meaningfully, then continued on in a slow, deliberate and dramatic manner with certain words emphasized. "'The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach your full potential...these are the keys that will unlock the door to personal excellence.'"

He regarded the audience.

"The first time I heard those words, I was twelve years old, a gawky and shy child. Confucius' words had an impact on me growing up, ladies and gentlemen. Because of them, I strove to be the best that I can be, whether it be in life, in business, or the martial arts. What you will see tonight will probably shock you. Astound you. Perhaps, even terrify you. If you are of the faint of heart or have some medical condition that makes viewing this program impossible for you, you may leave. This program will be available for download on our website, YouTube and on Blu-ray and DVD. Please be advised, no one is allowed to record on their mobile devices. If you haven't checked them in, please take the time to do so and make sure all devices are shut off. You will be given ten minutes."

Claire looked around, watching as one or two people got up from their seats.

"Pretty strict security," Leon commented.

"No kidding," Rebecca nodded.

Several minutes later, Sabrewulf spoke again.

"And now for the main event. Enjoy the show, everyone!"

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

*Music: 1) Killer Instinct Character select theme: www . y outube watch?v=e w

2) Cinder theme ("Inferno"):** : / / w w w . youtube ? v = cRmwFBK0cyk

3) Sabrewulf theme ("Lycanthropy")***: : / / w w w . youtube ?v=3Whpo3lYRmA

Chapter One: Fire and Ice

The arena was still as a voice spoke over the speaker.

"We are controlling transmission," it said, causing people to cheer, Claire herself doing so as well.

And then, with a sudden jolt, the music kicked into the gear, delivering a loud, rhythmic thumping beat that mixed with a ringing clang.*

"GLACIUS!" Chris Sutherland called out, following it up with, "CINDER!"

Upon hearing the latter, Claire shot up from her seat, jumping up and down with joy, catching Leon by surprise.

"WHOOOOOOO! YEAH CINDER!" She fist-pumped into the air.

Holographic displays of the fighters hovered over the arena, flashing on overhead screens.

"FIGHT ON!"

Sitting back down, Claire waited with anticipation for the fighters to appear, her heart thudding heavily and loudly, her hands clammy with excitement. A loud, throbbing humming echoed overhead, drawing everyone's attention as they looked up.

Leon's eyes widened in shock.

"What is that?!" He pointed.

A hard-hitting rock track played as one of the opponents levitated down with its freakishly long arms outstretched in a T-pose from the left side of the arena.**

Claire gasped as she took in the sight of Glacius, staring at it in wonder along with everyone else.

It was tall, about six-four, possibly even larger, with a heavily muscled body. It had a humanoid frame, but it didn't look at all human.

The entity's torso and head were composed entirely of fresh snow that sparkled and glinted in the light, the arms and legs a mixture of rock and ice.

White in color, the hands were huge and had a strange rubbery quality about them, with three digits and an opposable thumb on both, while the feet, though very humanoid in shape and structure, had only three toes on each foot.

Devoid of either a mouth or nose, a pair of striking emerald eyes stared out from a featureless, jagged, cliff-face-like mound, while a collection of stalactite-like icicles formed a sort of beard at the bottom of its chin.

"Look at it!" Rebecca gasped.

"It looks so...real!" Claire said in amazement.

In a way, it looked elegant. Beautiful even, in a strangely otherworldly way, as if its entire being were carved from a jewel.

As it levitated down, the creature then plunged straight into the ground, turning into a puddle before suddenly and gracefully reverting back to normal, its outstretched arms forming balls of white icy shards in its huge rubbery hands.

From the opposite end, his opponent arrived, albeit in a less than graceful manner.

A fireball came crashing down, sending sparks everywhere.

The sparks and smoke cleared, but the fire remained.

A humanoid form was kneeling down on one knee in a superhero pose.

Claire stared, her mouth dry, her eyes as wide as saucers, looking like a child seeing Santa Clause in person.

"Oh...my...GOD!" She gushed.

Standing at six-two, a yellow and orange effigy of perpetually burning plasma with a red aureole surrounding him rose from the floor, his body completely covered from head to toe in flame, his head and face an orange, featureless mass with a pair of dark red orbs for eyes that glowed like hot coals.

The floor hissed as his featureless feet burned into the ground, his breathing a harsh heaving that sounded like a furnace, while embers shimmered and flaked off from his perpetually burning body, crackling and popping noisily, the air shimmering as it produced watery mirage effects.

Rolling his shoulders, the fire being popped his knuckles.

"I would not want to be you today!" Cinder taunted as he got into his stance, his voice a simmering volcanic hiss that warbled as if it were underwater.

Claire shivered.

God, both characters looked so cool! They looked and sounded so...real!

Seeing them on the TV screen or on a laptop was one thing, but seeing and hearing them in person...it was unbelievable! From the whistling, growling purrs and rumbling squeaks of Glacius to the sounds of Cinder's fire and breath, combined with their visuals...they looked absolutely incredible!

Claire clapped loudly, jumping up and down in excitement.

"WHOOOO! I LOVE YOU, CINDER!" She hollered at the top of her lungs.

In a very unexpected move, Cinder turned his head and looked directly at her, catching her off-guard. What had really caught her by surprise, though, were his eyes - they were full of pain and sadness. He stared at her for a long while, then made a slight scoff and chortling noise that was distorted by the heat.

"Flattered, babe," he replied in a low voice, and although the fiery mass of a face made it impossible to discern his expression, his eyes seemed to light up with amusement.

As Cinder looked back to his opponent, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Let's do this."

"READY!" The announcer called over the speakers.

With that single utterance, the battle started, the two elementals leaping forward without uttering a single word, all accompanied by a long sharp whine of a pick scrape running along guitar strings.

Claire ignored the commentators as they talked over the fight - her focus remained on the spectacle.

Glacius dodged to the side as Cinder flew toward him as a fireball.

Twisting around in the air, the fire elemental flew back, this time hitting Glacius in the chest before quickly following it up with a series of combinations.

A kick to the gut followed by an uppercut, a backhand, a low, medium and high kick before finally finishing with a pair of double somersault kicks, the blows catching the ice man across the chin, lifting him up into the air.

Jumping up into the air after him, Cinder looped one arm around the icy creature's neck, grabbing him into a headlock before torpedoing down to the floor like a missile, creating a series of thunderously loud explosions followed by one really large blast that had audiences rearing back, sending Glacius spinning up into the air with a whistling cry.

"WHOA!" Claire yelled, startled by both the sheer speed and aggression on display.

It was fast and hard-hitting. Every punch and kick sounded as if it had impact.

What was even more striking about the battle, however, was how the music itself seemed to be in sync with their movements, making every strike and action, no matter how fast, aggressive or slow, feel as if the fighters were dancing and/or conducting the music themselves.

Crashing down with a grunt amidst the cacophonous cheering from the audiences, Glacius bounced back to his feet and slammed his icy fist into the ground, causing a blue ice ball of energy to bounce along the ground toward his opponent. Cinder sped forward, curling aside just as Glacius ducked down into the floor as a puddle.

Just as Cinder was within striking distance, Glacius reformed, throwing an uppercut that caught his opponent, knocking him out of the air with a yell.

"CINDER!" Claire cried.

Leaping back onto his feet from the floor, the fiery figure balled up his hands, his eyes narrowing into mere slits that glowed with hellfire.

"INFERNO!" He shouted, unleashing a long column of fire like a flamethrower from his hands, the sound a deafening wave as Glacius turned back into a puddle and slipped away, his opponent in hot pursuit.

Claire watched in amazement as the battle escalated.

Cinder twirled and danced through the air as pillars of ice rose from every possible angle and surface, from the ceilings, from the walls, even from the floors as crystal shards and projectiles fired and pelted his body from every direction! Dodging swiftly to one side, he narrowly avoided being skewered by a massive ice spike from the ground, allowing himself to fall and roll freely down toward Glacius before colliding with him in an explosive crash that caused the ice to shatter all around them into millions pieces.

"HOLY...CRAP!" Claire gasped.

"This is incredible!" Leon said breathlessly.

Rebecca stared open-mouthed in shock, giving a dumb nod, her green eyes wide as she remained focused on the fight itself. From the icy pieces, dozens of hands rose, reaching for the sky.

"What is going on?" Rebecca said in wonder.

The icy shards started to form into dozens upon dozens of full-sized Glacius clones, completely surrounding Cinder all throughout the arena on all sides.

Cracking his knuckles, Cinder cockily waved them on. "Bring it on, bitches!"

The clones charged from all directions, the group encircling their opponent, each section divided up into three or four rows, with one group running full speed from one end while another ran in the opposite, a relentless tidal wave of bodies that came crashing from all sides with the fire effigy caught in the middle as he struggled to fight them all off by himself.

Claire watched in awe as Cinder blocked, countered, punched, kicked, elbow-struck, backhanded and tripped any and every clone that came within striking distance.

Some of the clones got one or two blows in between, even at times catching Cinder by surprise by suddenly fusing together or running through another's body as if it were gelatin.

At one point, three of the clones had fused together into a singular, towering, ten foot tall, multilimbed, multiheaded monstrosity that swatted and flailed at its target.

Rolling out of the way of one blow and ducking down to avoid being hit by another, Cinder then slid between its many legs, the fire effigy attaching an orange ball of swirling energy to one joint.

Rolling away to avoid being stomped on, he then attached another, and another, and another.

Leaping onto the creature's back, Cinder proceeded to run all the way up its strange spine before leaping up into the air, twisting around.

"HEADS UP!" He yelled as he tossed a very large orb, the ball attaching it to the icy titan's primary face and head, the giant stumbling back, swatting at nothing but air.

As he landed, Cinder laughed and snapped his fingers, causing a series of detonations that resulted in it crumbling and shattering into pieces.

The explosions were so loud that Claire felt her own ears pop.

Still, she cheered regardless.

As one clone shoulder-checked him, the fire being suddenly ducked low and erupted in a flash of light so bright that everyone had to raise up their hands to cover their eyes and ears.

Once it died down, Claire removed her hand and looked back to the arena, watching as both opponents lay still on their backs, the various pools of liquid gathering back to Glacius' icy body.

"Come on, Cinder," she urged. "Get up!"

Claired watched as both fighters stirred. As they pushed themselves off the ground, the two elementals stared each other down.

Scolding hot red eyes fixed a narrow glare while emerald eyes coolly stared passively back with a disarming look of innocence, each opponent watching each other.

Then, just as Cinder took a step toward his opponent, a voice interrupted the battle, causing him to halt midstep.

"TIME OUT!"

Overhead, a screen declared Glacius the winner.

Giving his opponent a dark look, Cinder turned away, his back facing the ice creature as he folded his arms angrily over his fiery chest.

"And the winner of this match is Glacius!" One of the commentators cried out over the microphone, eliciting a loud cheer from the audience.

Glacius just merely blinked and purred, tilting its head uncomprehendingly like a bird.

"Awww, he's so cute!" Rebecca gushed.

"Yeah!" Claire agreed, holding her hands together, her eyes shining.

Turning her head, she watched as Cinder stormed back to the fighter alley from which he came.

"YOU DID GOOD, CINDER!" The girl called as she clapped and smiled.

The fire effigy raised up his hand as he passed by her, giving her the middle finger.

"Blow me," he bitterly muttered without even looking, causing people to burst into laughter as Claire stood gaping in shock, her smile gone.

"Wow, what an asshole," Leon commented.

"Well, to be fair, he did lose," Rebecca pointed out as she patted Claire on the shoulder. "It's okay, Claire. Maybe next time he'll be in a better mood."

Looking back down the fighter alley that Cinder came from, the latter watched as men dressed in fireproof outfits and masks with filters came out with extinguishers and put out small pockets of flame here and there in different parts of the arena. Overhead fans and filtration systems whirled noisily, clearing out smoke and haze.

"You okay, Claire?"

Looking back to her friends, Claire shrugged, her smile returning.

"Yeah," she nodded. The girl then started to laugh. "Wait until Chris hears about this! I can't believe the guy just flipped me off!"

The trio chuckled amongst themselves in amusement.

"Please enjoy the ten minute interval before the next show."

Audience members got up from their seats and stretched as they got out and walked around, moving out to get drinks, snacks or use the washroom.

"Anyone need to use the washroom?" Claire asked.

Leon nodded. "I do."

Rebecca nodded as well. "Yeah, same here."

"Okay." Pushing herself out of her chair, she looked at her friends curiously. "So how are you three liking the show so far?"

Leon smiled, nodding approvingly. "It's really good so far!"

"Yeah!" Rebecca agreed. "I knew that the KI tournament was awesome, but it looks so amazing!"

"I know, right?"

Looking back to stage, Claire paused as she saw Glacius looking at her, the ice creature blinking as he purred.

For a brief moment, she found herself mesmerized by the sheer amount of detail that it had.

She couldn't believe how lifelike it was.

Whoever did the special effects really had outdone themselves. She felt tempted to approach it and run her hand across its snowy head and feel its icicle bearded chin.

"Really good actors, aren't they?" Rebecca said as she nudged her friend, stirring her back to reality. "They really know how to stay in character."

Looking back to Glacius, Claire stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Yeah."

Pulling the corners of her mouth into a pleasant smile, Claire gave a little wave to the creature. Glacius blinked curiously, then looked down at its huge hand, as if puzzled by the gesture. Looking back up at her again, Claire watched as it timidly gave a small wave of its own, causing her smile to grow.

"Come on, come on, Claire!" Rebecca urged. "I really need to go."

"Okay, okay!" Claire raised up her hands placatingly as she followed Leon and Rebecca up the stairs.

As the trio continued up the steps, Claire gave one last look to Glacius, watching as he stood by himself in the arena.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the next match."

Claire and her friends had just made it into their seats when she heard wind play over the speakers, a bell clanging in the background. That was when she heard the sound.

Howling.

Wolf howling.

"AHHHHHH! OH MY GOD IT'S SABREWULF!" She shrieked, bouncing up from her seat excitedly as a cello started to play ominously. "IT'S SABREWULF! IT'S SABREWULF!"***

Rebecca shrieked as the two girls grabbed hold of each others' hands in their excitement.

Leon just stared at them in confusion. "Come on, girls, it's just a guy in a-"

A loud thump in the arena abruptly cut Leon off, drawing the trios' attention to the source.

Claire's blue eyes widened as she gazed upon her favorite KI fighter for the first time.

Wearing nothing but black torn pants, to her surprise, Sabrewulf wasn't particularly tall; compared to Claire, who only stood at five-six, he only seemed to be at least five inches taller.

However, whatever the werewolf lacked in height was made up in sheer width; covered entirely in blue fur with bits of gray, a wolf's head with glowing, yellowish green eyes, a thick mane and barely any sort of neck sat atop a strong, robust barrel-like furry chest, its upper body itself positioned on an abnormally small and slim waist. Thickly muscled arms ended in long hands with sharp clawed-tipped fingers, the hips supported by a pair of triple-jointed dog-like legs with paws for feet.

Standing on his hindlegs, Claire watched as the werewolf rose up in all of its magnificent glory, making threatening slashing gestures before rearing back with a loud roar that had everyone cheering, her especially.

"WHOOOOOOOO!" Claire clapped excitedly. "I LOVE YOU, SABREWULF!"

She watched as the creature's ears twitched in her direction.

"AWWWW, HE'S SO ADORABLE!" Rebecca gushed.

Sabrewulf rolled his eyes. Looking to his opponent, he started making hand gestures and signs, none of which Claire understood. Glacius, however, seemed to, acknowledging back to him with his huge rubbery hands and fingers.

"READY!"

Once the announcer called out, the opponents charged one another.

Sabrewulf pounced forward. Glacius merely stood there, then, once his opponent was within range, threw his arm up, forming a long icy lance that knocked the werewolf out of the air with a howl.

Crashing down with a dog-like whine, Sabrewulf hopped back onto his feet and swung his claws around like a top, snarling as his clawed fingers swiped across the icy hide as he backhanded his opponent, following it up with a cartwheel, his feet striking across the snowy head before finally finishing with a backflip kick that lifted Glacius up into the air and sent him crashing to the floor.

Claire watched in excitement as the two creatures brawled, grabbing hold of one another before the icy entity suddenly picked Sabrewulf off the ground and started to toss his opponent around across the floor as if he were a sack of potatoes, each slam and blow loud and impactful, even at times making audience members wince before tossing him aside.

Leaping back onto his feet, Sabrewulf charged and leapt forward...only to end up with his top half stuck in Glacius' stomach, his legs protruding out.

Claire watched as the werewolf helplessly swung his arms and limbs wildly, trying to get out.

Blinking down in surprise at his opponent as it struggled to get out, the ice creature shut its eyes and concentrated. The next thing Claire knew, Sabrewulf suddenly spurted out from Glacius' translucent back with a pop, sending him sprawling and rolling along the floor.

"What the fuck just happened?!" Someone behind Claire asked.

"I don't know, I think Glacius just shoved him up his ass and shat him out again!" Someone else replied, causing people to burst out into fits of laughter in full-blown hilarity.

Claire and Rebecca exchanged looks and made disgusted faces, then rolled their eyes, looking back to the arena as Sabrewulf picked himself up again.

Both creatures eyed each other as they stood there like two gunfighters on the battlefield.

"...Do you guys feel a draft?" Leon asked.

Startled, Claire looked over to Leon in confusion, breaking away from the arena. "Huh?"

"It's like the air has gotten colder," he said.

Rebecca shivered. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

It was then that Claire noticed what he was talking about - there was a cool waft of air, but where-

Looking around, she suddenly paused as she stared out to the arena, her eyes widening.

"Oh my God."

A little girl dressed in a white and blue school uniform, probably no older than twelve years old, with short blonde hair and a red headband, had somehow got inside the arena. Stepping tentatively forward, the girl was slowly approaching the two fighters, neither of whom hadn't even seem to notice her presence. Even more bizarrely, nobody else seemed to have, either.

Getting up from her seat, Claire started to pound at the window.

"HEY! STOP THE FIGHT!" She shouted.

A man in a security uniform approached her. "Ma'am, please stop doing that!"

"You don't understand, there's a kid in there!" Claire pointed. "LOOK!"

The security guard looked to where she indicated, then jerked back with a start. "How the hell did she get in there?!"

As he radioed in for support, Claire continued pounding on the window. Leon and Rebecca joined in with her.

"STOP THE FIGHT!" They screamed.

A murmur rose from the audience, the song halting.

Sabrewulf and Glacius looked around in confusion, then turned around, pausing at the sight of the approaching child.

Looking to the latter, the former started to signal something to him. As the girl came closer, both creatures lowered their hands down to their sides.

Claire watched as the girl said something to them.

Glacius blinked and tilted its head from side to side, letting out a purr and a whistle.

Taking a tentative step forward, the girl reached up and touched the ice entity's arm, her whole face lighting up with joy.

The werewolf took a step towards her, causing her to take a fearful step back.

Claire watched as Sabrewulf hesitated, then kneeled down onto one knee.

To her surprise, the wolf's mouth started to move, looking as if it were talking to her, his expression gentle.

The girl seemed to relax, saying something back to him, and for a moment, it seemed like the two were engaging in conversation.

Claire couldn't tell what was being said, but little by little, the girl seemed to be relaxing more and more in Sabrewulf's presence, little by little becoming more comfortable with him.

At one point, he said something that made the child laugh, the creature giving a small but gentle smile. Or whatever passed for one.

Then, to everyone's surprise, he slowly held out his clawed hand in offering.

The girl looked at the offered limb, then back to the wolf man, smiling as she took his hand.

As he rose back to his full height, the child suddenly caught Sabrewulf off-guard by wrapping her arms around his mid section, hugging him.

"AWWWW!" The audiences said collectively.

As the child hugged the werewolf, Claire saw something flash in its eyes.

He was clearly uncomfortable with the gesture, squirming slightly under the girl's grip, much to Claire's amusement, but there was something about his expression that really stood out to her.

From the way his eyes and ears were drooping, combined with the sight of the sag in his muscular shoulders and the lowering of his head, the creature had such a profound look of complete and utter sadness.

"SHERRY? SHERRY!"

Looking abruptly away from the arena, Claire suddenly found herself joined by a beautiful woman in a blue sweater and black skirt with long, curly and wavy blonde hair.

"SHERRY GET OVER HERE THIS INSTANT!" The woman yelled.

Claire looked back to the arena, watching as the werewolf and child looked to the woman calling, then to each other.

The two gave each other a nod, then proceeded to walk hand-in-hand in Claire's direction towards the girl's guardian or mother.

To Claire's surprise, a section of the wall separating the arena from the audience seats started to open.

People rose up and murmured excitedly as the two approached while security guards kept rabid fans at bay.

"EVERYONE, PLEASE STAY BACK! I SAY AGAIN, PLEASE STAY BACK!" One guard called.

Claire watched and waited alongside Leon and Rebecca as Sabrewulf approached with the child in hand. As he came closer, she suddenly became aware of a smell, a distinctive musty odor that she associated with some of the doggy kennels where Rebecca's mom worked, though with some hint of shampoo.

When the strange duo finally arrived, the mother quickly went to her daughter.

"Thank you! Thank you so much for your help! I'm so sorry for interrupting the program!" The woman said apologetically to Sabrewulf before turning to her daughter. "Sherry come on!"

Sherry turned back to the werewolf and gave him one last hug, which he, reluctantly, returned one handed.

Letting go, the girl then went back to her mother, giving him one last wave. "Thank you, Sabrewulf!"

Claire felt her heart melt at the sight of the happy girl.

As mother and daughter disappeared up the steps, she looked back to Sabrewulf, who remained where he stood, watching them leave, a look of longing and loneliness etched on his wolfen features.

As if sensing that he was being watched, he turned to face her, scrutinizing her.

Claire stood in awe at the sight before her, her whole form frozen as she stared into his eyes and studied his every feature.

Up-close, she could see every scar, every scruff and clump of fur, every muscle, the way his chest rapidly expanded and sunk as he panted, the wetness of his black nose.

What really caught Claire by surprise, though, was how sad and tired his eyes seemed, as if somehow he were carrying the entire world on his shoulders.

Even more surprising, though, were his expressions.

He seemed...guarded. Uncertain.

A little frightened and vulnerable, although he was making clear efforts to maintain a somewhat more confident front.

She blinked as she moved closer.

The smell...could it be...?

Taking another step forward, Claire reached tentatively out with her hand, causing Sabrewulf to stiffen, his eyes widening with alarm.

Before her hand could make contact, however, a guard suddenly caught her.

"Ah! Sorry, miss - touching is prohibited," he said.

Pulling her hand away, Claire massaged her wrist.

"Sorry," she said quietly, clearing her throat in embarrassment.

Looking back to Sabrewulf, she watched as he leaned into a guard, uttering something. Nodding, the guard then pulled away.

"Okay, everyone, may I have your attention please! I'm sorry to say, but tonight's show is over." The guard announced.

Audiences groaned.

"I know, I know," the guard nodded, raising his hands placatingly, "but no worries - everyone here will be getting free tickets for the next show along with some coupons for whatever meal you like at the exit. Also, next Friday we will be having a twenty percent discount sale at the box office and a thirty percent discount sale at the gift shop, so be sure to mark those down on your calendars and come visit! If you have any questions, be sure to check out our website or telephone us. Take care, everybody!"

And with that, the show was over. Claire watched as droves of people got from their seats and wandered up the stairs.

Looking back to Sabrewulf, she watched as the wolf man turned away from the audience, then paused as he passed by her. Turning around to face her along with Leon and Rebecca, he gave them a curious look, then a polite nod before turning away, proceeding back onto the arena.

Claire watched as he hand-signed to Glacius, then pointed to one of the fighter entrances.

Nodding in affirmation, Glacius proceeded down as instructed, moving away until he disappeared from view.

Looking back to Sabrewulf, Claire continued to watch the werewolf until he too was gone, the arena now completely barren.

"Claire?"

Startled by Rebecca's voice, Claire turned to her friends.

"Sorry, guys." She then gave a small, sad smile. "I guess that's it."

They nodded.

"It's a shame, too," Rebecca commented, "just because I was really getting into it! I had been hoping to see my girl Riptor. Or at least Hisako."

Claire patted her friend's shoulder.

"It's okay," she said. "Perhaps some other time."

As the trio headed back up the stairs, Claire gave them curious looks. "So, how did you find the show?"

Leon nodded. "It was great! I'm really surprised by how realistic everything is!"

"Yeah, I know, right? They even captured the smell!" Rebecca commented. "I swear, Sabrewulf smells just like a real dog!"

Claire paused, then looked back to the arena.

There was no way it could have...could it?

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Claire blinked, then let out a laugh.

"Claire?"

She waved them off, smiling. "It's nothing. Really. Just a silly thought. Let's go home. I can't wait to tell Chris the good news!"

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

A HUGE shout out to EcoSeeker247 for suggesting the name "Project Odyssey" - thank you so much! I recommend checking out her stories - she's a kickass writer deserving of more readers.

Chapter Two: The Coming Storm

Once they finished checking out the gift shop, Claire and her friends exited the building, laughing and smiling as they talked.

"Man, that was quite a rush!" Claire said excitedly. "I can't believe how cool that was!"

"I know, right?" Rebecca agreed. "Did you see the way Cinder took on all those ice clones? That was crazy!" She then started making jabs and punching sound effects. "Bam! Bam! Wham! Bam!"

"I wonder how they managed to make the fire effects on him so realistic," Leon commented. "Do you think it's a hologram, or is it a guy in a fire retardant suit?"

Claire shrugged. "I have no idea. I think it could be an animatronOOF!"

Crashing head-first into another person, Claire unsteadily wobbled and nearly fell backward when a strong hand grabbed her by the arm.

"Oh! My sincere apologies! Are you alright?" A light, breezy voice asked worriedly.

Regaining her balance, Claire looked to the man in front of her, ready to give him a piece of her mind when she took in his appearance.

He was Asian, young from the looks of him, probably in his early twenties - about twenty-two, perhaps twenty-three - although she couldn't be entirely certain due to the fact that his lower facial features were concealed by a protective face plate that guarded the nose and cheeks.

Underneath was a long veil made of light blue cloth that draped past his chin, his slanted brown eyes framed by ornate golden teeth decorations that lined both the plate and the light blue head band that he wore, looking as if he were peering out from a tiger's mouth.

He stood about the same height as her, his form slim, though Claire could tell from his muscular arms that the man worked out.

Dressed in a light blue dhonka and shemdap with red piping on the edges of his inner robe, the young man appeared to be some sort of Buddhist monk, for draped around one arm, shoulder and part of the torso was a red zhen outer robe like Claire had seen in magazines and on TV.

Only his bare tattooed right arm, short parted brown hair, sandal-clad feet were exposed.

Looking at the former, Claire studied the design.

From his shoulder all the way down were swirling black intricate lines that seemed to mimic the markings of a tiger, some of it stylized into a face with some form of calligraphic writing that she couldn't identify.

Clutching a red wooden scabbard or walking stick in one hand with prayer beads wrapped around another, she could feel the man's eyes regarding her with gentleness and concern.

"Are you okay, miss?" he asked politely.

Claire nodded. "Y-Yeah, sorry about that!"

He gave her a wave. "It's fine. I was the one at fault. My apologies," the man bowed politely, folding his hands in front of his chest in a prayer-like pose.

"That's a really cool tattoo you have," Claire gestured.

"Hm." He nodded in appreciation, then looked around. "Out of curiosity, do any of you know where I can find the nearest Buddhist Temple around here? I'm afraid I'm a little lost."

Claire shook her head. "Sorry."

"I wish I could help out," Leon shrugged. "I'm not even sure if this city has one, to be honest." Seeing the downcast expression on the monk's face - at least, on the parts of his face that were visible - he then added, "But, uh, I'm not a hundred percent sure, so I could be wrong."

"You should try the information desk inside," Rebecca pointed to the arena. "They should have a map to help you out."

The man looked to the building, his eyes narrowing. Darkening.

"I see." Looking back to them, his eyes softened as he gave an apologetic nod. "I'm sorry to have troubled you all."

"Hey, it's no problem!" Claire smiled. "I'm sorry that I wasn't much help! Have a good night!"

The man smiled beneath his veil, then gave a slight courteous bow, pressing his palms together at chest-level. "You too, miss."

As Claire and others continued onto the parking lot, they watched as the strange... Buddhist monk went into the building.

Once they were further away, Leon then leaned into them.

"What do you make of that guy?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible.

Rebecca shrugged. "He's a little odd, but I don't think he means any harm. It's not like he was asking for money or anything like that. I think he was just lost."

Claire looked back to the building.

"...Yeah." she said softly. Turning her attention back to her friends, a mischievous smile formed on her face. "I get front seat!"

"Nuh uh, I call dibs!" Rebecca grinned as she started racing her friend.

Leon merely shook his head with a laugh as the two tried outrunning one another.

Who'd have thought two grown beautiful women would be so immature?

He shrugged, then followed after them.

Claire stared out the window at the flashing neon signs, the streets crammed full. Overhead, hovercars hummed, their turbines and engines roaring. One such vehicle dipped low, causing Leon to swerve.

"JESUS!" He yelled. "IDIOT! WATCH WHAT YOU'RE DOING UP THERE!"

Claire watched as the driver overhead shouted something back to Leon out from his window, giving him the middle finger as he sped off.

"Prick," she muttered.

"I bet it's some stupid rich kid," Rebecca said with a shake of her head. "It's always the very wealthy but tiny-brained people that usually drive those things."

Leon scoffed. "I bet that's not the only thing that's small. I have a feeling that they're compensating for something."

Claire turned away from the window. "How come you don't drive one?"

Leon shrugged. "Apart from the fact that they require a pilot's license, something I don't have, they're insanely pricey and high maintenance. Kind of like, ahem, a certain someone that I know," he teased as he looked in Rebecca's direction.

"Hey!" Rebecca lightly elbowed him from the passenger's seat.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" He laughed.

Looking back to the front window, he stared ahead.

"But seriously, though? I wouldn't really know what to do with it. I mean, yeah it would be cool flying around up there, plus there might be one or two things I would want slightly differently." Reaching for Rebecca's hand, a small smile formed on his face. "That said, though, what I have here is more valuable than anything money could buy. As long as Rebecca is with me, nothing else matters."

Rebecca smiled as her eyes shined, sandwiching his hand between hers, running a thumb over the back of his.

"You always do know the sweetest things to say," she said in a soft voice, kissing his hand lightly.

Leon shrugged. "It's the truth."

With that, he took her hand and chastely kissed hers, lowering it back down.

Claire watched with envy and longing as the two held hands. Looking down to her own, she tried imagining the feeling, then looked back to the window, watching the passing buildings and suburban houses.

Seeming to notice how quiet it had gotten, Rebecca looked over at her.

"Is everything okay, Claire?" she asked.

Claire mustered up a smile. "Yeah. I'm alright, Rebecca," she assured. "Just a little tired, that's all."

By the time Claire got home, it was nine o'clock.

And not a moment too soon; she felt like falling asleep in the backseat.

Yawning, she stretched herself out as she felt the jeep jerk as it pulled up on the driveway.

"Ah, perfect!" Claire nodded in approval as she spotted her brother's Cavalier. "Looks like my brother's home. Thank you for the ride, guys!"

"No problem!" Leon waved.

"Maybe we could try again sometime?" Claire suggested as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

Rebecca nodded. "Sure! I'd love to!"

Leon smiled. "Yeah, I think it would be fun! I'll have to check my schedule, but I'd be totally down with that."

"Have a good night, guys!" Claire waved as she got out of the jeep.

"You too, Claire!"

Closing backdoor of the jeep, Claire stretched herself out with a groan, arching her back as she made her way up past the garage, going up a cement pathway to the front door.

It was a tiny yet serviceable little suburban home, about one story high with white walls and a brown roof. Barely remarkable.

As she reached for the door bell, Claire stopped as the door opened, revealing Jill and Chris as they were stepping out.

"Ah! Claire!" The latter said in surprise. "You're-you're early!"

"Nice to see you too, Chris," Claire greeted, turning her attention to the woman. "Jill."

The woman fidgeted. "I- sorry, we didn't expect to see you!"

Claire looked at her from top to bottom, taking her in.

A fit woman of twenty-four, Jill was Chris' partner, a half-French, half-Japanese knockout that stood at five-five and weighed one hundred and eleven pounds, with short dark brown hair done in a medium bob cut. Her clothes were in disarray and wrinkled, her hair a mess, her face flushed.

A knowing smile edged its way up Claire's face.

"Engaging in a little, ahem, extracurricular activities, I see?" She grinned, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.

She watched as both Chris and Jill blushed.

"No! Uh, it-it's n-not what it looks-" the latter stammered, then took in a deep breath. "I made a mess of my shirt and- and..."

Her voice trailed off.

"Uh huh," Claire continued to grin, forcing the older woman to look away in embarrassment as the auburn-haired girl looked over to her brother. "What's that on your neck, Chris?"

Claire's grin widened like a shark's as his eyes shot wide open, his face as a red as a tomato as he reached up and adjusted the collar of his shirt.

"NOTHING!" He said quickly. "Just a ketchup stain."

"...I think I'll just, uh, get going," Jill said as she looked bashfully away.

"Yeah," Chris nodded, standing awkwardly as he cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, I'll drive you-"

"No no," Jill waved. "I ordered a cab, remember?"

He nodded. "Oh yeah! Sorry, I forgot."

An awkward silence came over the trio as they stood by the doorway. Claire watched as Jill looked around and fidgeted, then paused. and gestured to a taxi as it drove in front of the driveway.

"Uh, that's my ride," Jill mumbled, gesturing to a yellow taxi as it drove up to the curb. "See ya."

Claire waved. "Take care, Jill!"

Turning around to face her brother, she folded her arms and gave him.

"So," she began, "that was why you decided to ditch me."

Chris winced. "It wasn't like that. We just-"

"UP BUP BUP!" Claire raised a hand, pushing through the door. "I don't want to hear about it! I can live without the details."

"Nothing happened!" Chris insisted.

She gave him a flat look as she took off her shoes.

"Chris, you are a terrible liar," she deadpanned, "...plus your fly is open."

She watched as her oaf of a brother clumsily reached down and zipped up his pants.

"So, uh, so how was the show?" He asked, closing the door behind him, turning the lock.

"It was great! It was everything I expected and more! The only downside was that the show had to be cut short."

"Really? How come?"

"Some kid snuck into the arena during the fight. A little girl." She then noticed the concern look, then quickly raised up her hands in assurance. "She's alright, but the show had to be cancelled."

"Ouch," Chris merely replied.

"On the plus side, though, I've got free tickets for the next show!" Claire said as she took out said-tickets from her pocket, giving them a wave.

Chris nodded approvingly. "Nice!"

"Maybe next time you and Jill can come along!" Claire suggested.

He shrugged. "Maybe. No promises, though." He then looked at her. "Did you have supper?"

"Nah, I had popcorn," Claire grinned in satisfaction as she patted her stomach. "Besides, I'm full."

Chris frowned. "I hope you don't get sick."

"I'll be fine, Chris!" Claire assured. "I'm a tough girl."

"Except when you get stomachaches, at which point you start losing that spunk and start whining like a baby," he teased.

"Hey, that was one time!" She insisted.

"Nuh uh."

Claire smacked her brother lightly.

"Ah, what's the use," she sighed. "I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed."

"Okay. If you're still hungry, though, there's some leftover spaghetti and meatballs in the fridge."

She smiled. "Nice. Maybe tomorrow. I was going to say have a good night, but, uh, given the way you look, lover boy, it seems you already had."

Claire laughed as Chris lightly swatted the back of her head.

"You cheeky rat," the latter grumbled. "So tell me, who fought this time?"

Lying on the bed in a pair of fresh pajamas, Claire stared up at the ceiling, thinking about Leon and Rebecca's words, the way the two held hands.

Looking to her own, she tried imagining the sensation.

"That said, though, what I have here is more valuable than anything money could buy. As long as Rebecca is with me, nothing else matters."

"If only some of us were as fortunate as you two," Claire whispered to herself sadly as she looked at her small room and ordinary clothes. Her mind drifted over to Baron Von Sabrewulf, to his castle. Scoffing, she shook her head tiredly. "Some people just have all the luck." She stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, leaning back into her pillow. "I wonder how the other half lives."

David Kellog frowned as he glanced around, watching the guests of the cocktail party in the Ultratech headquarters.

Where the hell had Konrad gone?

A partially bald, eagle-faced man dressed in a nice navy suit, David was Ultratech's Chief Operating Officer, having worked with the company and its CEO, Baron Von Sabrewulf, since its very foundation.

If only he knew where the hell the damned fellow was.

He knew the man was around here somewhere, he just needed to find him.

David knew Konrad wasn't particularly fond of parties, even business-related ones, but still, the man was frustratingly elusive and hard to get a hold of.

The main hall was filled to the brim with people, with caterers dressed in white scurrying around with trays of food and martini glasses in various different directions, the building echoing with laughter and numerous voices.

Wealthy men, famous celebrities and others stood and chatted with one another, dressed in fancy tuxedoes, suits, and gowns, the women wearing the latest and most expensive dresses from Milan.

'Looks like a full house,' David thought to himself as he eyed each and every person carefully, his eyes searching for either the Baron or the distinctive form of his bodyguard Dieter.

He internally scoffed.

Bodyguard indeed!

He had met the man ages ago, and the two of them had an instant dislike for one another.

Dieter seemed more of a gangster than anything else.

Even the way he had dressed, with his grey suit with matching overcoat and broad brimmed fedora, black sunglasses, shirt, tie and shoes made him look as if he had stepped out of an old noir film.

Supposedly both Dieter and Konrad had saved each other from some thugs that were trying to rob the two of them years ago in Las Vegas, but part of him wouldn't be surprised if the former had orchestrated it all in order to ingratiate himself with the Baron.

Despite his misgivings, though, he had to admit the man was a faithful companion to the Baron.

He had always been by the Baron's side no matter what, especially after the unfortunate incident in Germany.

David shook his head pityingly.

First this debilitating disease, and then Konrad's butler Jurgen ended up committing suicide.

Poor man.

A rough masculine laugh stirred David from his thoughts, drawing his attention with a frown.

"Oh God," David muttered as he saw the unmistakable figure of Sergei Vladimir.

A robust man of six-seven, with broad shoulders and a powerful frame, his hair was bushy and grey, with long bangs at the front that coiled down to one side of his rough square face. Standing erect, he proudly wore a long, thick, bluish grey military-styled coat that had a red collar and cuffs with a black belt tied around the waist, his feet clad in heavy black boots.

A former Spetsnaz Colonel, Sergei was a high ranking executive that had joined with Umbrella following the collapse of the Soviet Union, ages before its subsequent acquisition by Ultratech, although Sergei had no trouble adapting to this new environment. A loud and boisterous man, David had little patience for the fellow, even if he was ruthlessly efficient.

He was even more disgusted by Sergei's bodyguards, two hulking giants of men that had dark grey skin with wraparound visors and thick stark white trench coats that made the two of them look as if they had stepped out from a science fiction film.

David repressed a shudder at the sight of "Ivan" and his twin.

"Excuse me?"

Hearing the feminine voice speak directly behind him, David turned around and found himself face to face with the single most beautiful woman he had ever seen - a stunning Asian looker with black hair done in a medium bob cut and a slender though sexy hour glass body wearing a slinky, red sleeveless cocktail dress, looking like the very definition of sex itself, causing him to straighten up considerably.

"Well hello!" David smiled as he eyed her up and down. "And just who might you be?"

The woman smiled seductively. "My name is Ada. Ada Wong," she introduced. "I'm the new secretary."

"Enchanté," David said as he took her hand and laid a kiss on her knuckles. "I am David Kellog, Chief Operating Officer. I didn't realize we had a new secretary. Just started, I take it?"

"That's right," she nodded.

"Well, in that case, where are my manners? On behalf of Ultratech, welcome to our little family," he said, raising a glass to her.

Ada smiled pleasantly. "Thank you, Mr. Kellog, sir."

David sipped from his drink, giving her a wave. "So tell me, Ms. Wong," he began, "how are you settling in? No problems, I hope?"

She shook her head. "No no! Things are good so far. It's my first day, actually."

"Ah," David nodded. "Well, Ms. Wong, you've come to the right place. Hopefully you'll have a good time here."

"Thank you!" Ada then looked around. "Out of curiosity, is Baron Von Sabrewulf here? I was hoping to meet him and get his autograph!"

David's smile faltered. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I have no idea where he is at the moment," he said apologetically. "He is a very difficult man to pin down."

"Aw, that's a shame," she pouted.

"If I see Konrad, I'll be sure to let him know about your interest."

Her smile returned. "That would be much appreciated!" She then checked her watch, her smile dropping. "Oh my! I'm afraid I'll have to cut this party short. I have an early morning awaiting me and a lot of files to get through for tonight." She then gave a polite nod and another of her smiles. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kellong. Have a good night!"

He smiled back. "A pleasure meeting you too, Ms. Wong. May you have a good evening."

As the woman in red disappeared into the crowd, David gave a wistful sigh.

God that woman was beautiful!

'I hope I see her again,' came the thought.

Dropping the smile, David looked back to the crowd.

Now where had the Baron gone this time?

Konrad sat alone at the rooftop balcony, staring over the edge down to the pavement below.

It was so tempting to climb up and take that extra step.

Just one step-

"Enjoying the view, Baron?"

Konrad frowned, slinking into his wheelchair as his bodyguard Dieter approached.

"How are you enjoying the party?" The latter asked despite seeming to know the answer.

Konrad stared out at the night sky, at the spot-lit buildings and flashing neon-lit streets advertising Sony, Ultratech and the newest soft drinks, Coca Cola signs coloring parts of the surrounding buildings, billboards and roads in red. Looking up, Konrad found himself looking at a jumbotron on the roof of a distant skyrise as flashed with the weather and news reports of traffic conditions along with the newest products by Rareware as they advertised the newest Killer Instinct game for the Ultra-64.

Clenching his gloved hands into a fist, the Baron narrowed his eyes at the logo, feelings of disgust and revulsion crawling over him.

As if sensing his discomfort, Dieter cleared his throat.

"Why don't we, uh, call it a night, eh, Baron? Would you like me to take you home?" the bodyguard asked.

Konrad said nothing for a long time as the metallic logo leapt out from the screen punctuated by Chris Sutherland's iconic cries.

"...Ja," he said finally. "Take me home, Dieter. I think I've had enough for this evening."

Leaning back into his wheelchair, he sat still as Dieter guided him back inside, reaching for his cellphone.

As the door closed, he heard that damned announcer again as he uttered that loathsome dreaded word, the word that taunted and haunted Konrad every waking moment. The word that made his life a living hell.

"KILLER INSTINCT."

Jack Krauser waited impatiently at the bar of the strip club, his dark, deep set grey eyes searching around.

"Where the hell's my contact?" he muttered.

His visage marked by four distinctive and hideous-looking facial scars, with two cuts that curved all the way from his left eye through his upper and lower lip all the way down to his chin while the other two marked the other side of his mouth, Krauser was a heavy-set man of twenty-eight, with short blonde hair and a buff, muscular form. His black shirt clung so tightly around his chest and broad shoulders that the fabric practically strained against his six pack, while his combat fatigued pants hung comfortably on his hips, earning some attention from the ladies.

Raising his eyes to the girls onstage, he watched in boredom, the room pulsating with neon to the beat of the song that it played. A smug grin formed on his scarred face as leered at the pretty blonde cocktail waitress in skimpy clothing as she passed by, eying her rear.

"Feeling a little lonely, are we?" a light feminine voice teased, causing his grin to drop as he turned to face the woman to his right, giving her an appraising look from top to bottom.

The woman was pretty, beautiful even, with an hourglass body that was concealed in a long, sexy red cocktail dress, her medium length black hair done in a bob cut that complimented her slightly pale complexion and framed her cat-like face, a perfectly sculpted Asian porcelain mask of pure elegance with a medium length nose, red luscious lips and thin delicate eyebrows.

Her seductive brown eyes, though light with humor, had a dark quality that put Krauser on edge, reminding him of a big cat like a panther or jaguar.

"Just waiting and checking out the goods," Krauser shrugged before giving her a meaningful look. "You're her, aren't you?"

The woman said nothing, her face giving nothing away as she seemingly sized him up.

"I'm guessing you must be Wesker's boy toy," she said lightly.

Krauser gave a low growl and a glare.

"He told me you'd be comin'. The name's Krauser." A smirk edged its way up one side. "I gotta say, it's a real honor meetin' ya." Getting up from the barstool, Krauser grabbed his bottle of beer and took a swig. Pulling it away, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "He's waiting for you in the back. Come on."

Stepping past the other patrons as they all hollered at the girls onstage, he gave a curious look over to the enigmatic woman that he's heard so much about.

As they continued toward the door at the back, a drunken man with a vest and a green spiked hair stumbled toward her.

"Hey baby," he slurred, "how mush do you cost?"

Krauser frowned. "She's not a dancer or hooker, moron."

"Oy, piss off! I'm speakin' with the lady!" Turning back to her, the spike-haired man grinned lasciviously as he fondled his crotch. "I've got something for you right here. Heh heh heh."

The woman gave a pleasant smile, then, with a swiftness that startled Krauser, she grabbed the man by the family jewels, causing him to let out a squeak.

She stared at the man, not in anger, not in disgust, but with the cold narrow eyes of a predator, like a cat that was playing with its food, a slight smile on her face.

"What's the matter, baby?" She said simply. "Wasn't this what you wanted?"

Her grip tightened, causing Krauser himself to wince as the man cried out.

"OWWW! Bitch you're crushing my-" He gave a slight howl as one of her delicate brows arched curiously and as she leaned forward.

"I'm sorry, but was that an insult?" The woman asked, her smile and tone never faltering.

The man looked straight into her eyes, and in that moment he immediately sobered up, looking at the woman with an expression of both pain and fear.

"N-no, ma'am. I-I'm sorry ta have bothered you. It won't ever happen again."

The woman's smile widened considerably, giving her a frighteningly feral quality that made even a toughened Army veteran like Krauser have goosebumps.

"Good," she said.

Then, with a slight shove with one hand, an action that seemed nothing more than a mere flick of the wrist, she flung the man several feet back, causing Krauser to stare in shock as the thug crashed into a distant table, toppling it over.

The man was a pretty big guy, at least two hundred and fifty pounds and six-five, but despite such a delicate action, he was thrown as if he were nothing.

As the man sputtered and scrambled back onto his feet, he eyed the woman, who merely smiled at him.

"Word of advice? Mind your manners." With that, her eyes flickered bright yellow, startling Krauser.

What the hell?

When she turned back to face Krauser her again, the light was gone.

"Lead the way," she gestured to the heavy steel door at the back.

Krauser stared at her for a moment, then resumed on.

'Must be a trick of the light,' he thought.

Approaching the rear door, he knocked a couple times, then watched as a tiny slot opened.

"She's here," Krauser said simply.

Watching as the tiny porthole shut closed, he heard a click and waited as the door itself opened.

As he was about to step forward, a hand on his chest suddenly made him pause.

"Ladies first," the woman in red smiled.

He scoffed. "Right. Of course. Where are my manners?"

Gesturing to the door, he waited as she slipped past, her movement delicate and measured, a predator's grace.

Giving her round rear an appraising glance, Krauser smirked slightly, but then quickly looked back up as he recalled the rumors.

While Krauser was no pushover himself, he knew better than to underestimate her. Not when she has such a notorious reputation.

Looking back to the rest of the strip club, he gave one last glance, then slipped through, shutting the door behind him.

Stepping inside, she paused as she heard the distinctive click of a firearm.

"Up against the wall, no sudden movements," Krauser said behind her.

The woman in red quietly complied and waited patiently as he patted her down, checking for any concealed weaponry and/or bugs on her person.

Krauser seemed to be taking his time, but she gave no mind to it. She remained patient, though part of her remained ready to strike at a moment's notice should the situation call for it.

Tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, she a raised brow.

"You sure are taking your time," the woman in red commented absentmindedly.

Krauser grunted. "Nothin' personal, lady - just a precaution." He then nodded, pulling his hands away. "She's all clear."

"Good," a deep baritone voice said lowly, drawing the woman's attention.

Turning to the source, she gave the room a quick scan as she entered. It was a spacious, although dimly lit and sparsely filled room, with a table at the center, a couple chairs and an emergency backdoor, which was right where her contact was conveniently positioned should this meeting go south.

Although the man was seated in the shadows, with a lot of his features concealed, she could make out his features perfectly, her eyes long used to seeing in the dark. The man was handsome, dressed entirely in black, with a dark blazer, turtleneck, dress pants, shoes, gloves and a pair of reflective sunglasses covering his eyes, his clothing contrasted by his pale skin and slicked back platinum blonde hair. From what she could tell, he was cleanshaven with fine and sharply cut facial features, with a long sharp though straight nose and a strong jaw.

The woman in red felt the sunglasses scrutinize her like security cameras, feeling a little unnerved. Then, after a minute passed, the man gestured to the chair in front of him.

"Please, sit."

Giving a gracious nod, she complied, crossing one leg over the other.

"You must be Wesker, I assume," the woman said.

Wesker gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "Your reputation precedes you," he nodded thoughtfully.

The woman gave a slight though confident smirk. "It usually does," she said smugly as she leaned forward. "So, what is the Captain of S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team doing in a place like this?"

The sunglasses reflected her features as Wesker pushed them up with one hand to the bridge of his nose.

"This place has been under surveillance for sometime by the Raccoon City Police's Drug Squad. Can't go into details, but rest assured, my being here wasn't by choice," he explained. "But enough about that. Have you infiltrated the company?"

She nodded. "I have."

"Does anyone suspect anything?"

"No. As far as they're concerned, Ada Wong is nothing more than a mere secretary."

Wesker nodded. "Good." He then leaned forward. "Have you been able to locate the files?"

The woman in red frowned. "No. There's nothing."

Wesker looked at her curiously. "Nothing? Not even for the T-Virus? The Hunter Program? The Tyrant?"

She shook her head again. "I couldn't find any trace of those anywhere."

He was deathly still for a moment, then raised his eyes. "What of Project Fulgore?"

The woman in red felt her frown deepen. "Couldn't find any files at this branch."

"Hmm." Wesker leaned back into his seat, his fingers pressed together. "Were you able to find anything about the Odyssey energy generator project? Chairman Sabrewulf has made several mentions of a working prototype during the meetings."

"Again, came up empty," the woman in red shook her head.

She watched the man in black as he pondered her words.

For a while now Wesker had been using her services to try to find incriminating evidence to use against the Baron, but the Baron himself was a frustratingly difficult person to get access to, let alone find dirt on.

Not only had entire sections of Umbrella's Research Divisions been reorganized, but many had been shut down altogether despite years of development, including those relating to T-Virus, which Wesker himself had a hand in developing, having been one of Umbrella's top researchers before eventually serving with the US Army and subsequently with S.T.A.R.S.

She couldn't tell if Wesker was the vindictive type, but she suspected that deep down he was given all of this effort to screw over his employer.

Wesker clicked his tongue.

"I thought that might be the case," he said thoughtfully.

The woman raised a brow, "You knew?"

He gave a slight shrug. "I had suspected as much, but part of me been hoping to be proven wrong," Wesker clarified, folding his arms together as he leaned back into his seat. "If I were to hazard a guess, all of that information is at the Baron's estate under heavy lock and key along with the various specimens, viral samples and so on."

She frowned. "If that's the case, then getting in will be extremely difficult."

"I know a guy who'd be able to get in," Krauser spoke up. "Old Special Forces buddy of mine that I worked with plenty of times over the years. He'd be able to make it inside no sweat."

Wesker frowned. "Considering we haven't seen or heard from him in a while, and his last reported sighting was in Germany, I think it's fair to say that Ferris has been compromised."

The woman in red hesitated.

"Ferris?" she repeated. "As in Ben Ferris?"

Krauser raised a brow. "You know each other?"

"We've met. Bit of an ego, but he's good," she nodded, a slight, soft fond smile on her face as she reminisced her encounters before narrowing her eyes, reverting back to the stone-cold professional that she was. "Have you tried contacting him?"

Krauser shrugged. "Tried, but he's all but disappeared."

"Then we'll have to make do with what we have," Wesker asserted as he looked expectantly at the woman. "Do you think you'll be able to get in?"

The woman lifted her eyes to the ceiling, quiet for a long while.

"...Infiltration will be next to impossible due to the amount of security that place has," she said at last.

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

A confident smirk formed on the woman's face. "Fortunately, I like challenges."

Wesker met hers with his, letting out a low chuckle.

"As to be expected from you," he nodded in approval.

"With any luck this op will go smoothly unlike the Bangkok incident," Krauser commented wryly.

The woman rolled her eyes, groaning, "Oh God, not that again!"

Krauser chuckled. "So it's true? You killed ten guys by flashing them?"

The woman shook her head wearily. "In my defense, they were security guards trying to stop me...and they were geriatrics," she replied, pinching the bridge of her nose with a wince.

She watched as Krauser tossed his head back and laughed heartily.

"At least they died happy!" He said with a grin.

"Focus, children," Wesker said sternly. "We still have a problem. How do you intend to get inside?"

The woman gave a half smirk.

"By using the front door," she said simply.

Wesker scowled. "Is this a joke?"

"Not at all," she replied. "According to a source, there's a new KI tournament coming up that will be held at the Baron's mansion. I get in, retrieve the files, samples, whatever incriminating evidence I can get my hands on, then get out. Simple job."

"You make it sound easy," he said doubtfully. "It's brazen, even for you. Potentially foolhardy should you get caught." He tilted his head to the side. "However, given the fact that you have been able to accomplish seemingly impossible feats in the past when all odds had been against you...I don't see any reason why this should be any different for the Black Orchid."

Orchid smiled. "Glad to have the vote of confidence."

"Just don't this mess up," Wesker replied. "After all, it is not just your reputation that is on the line, and I don't need to remind you of the consequences."

Krauser folded his arms together, "You want me to go with her?"

"Aw, somebody cares!" Orchid cooed.

The big man shrugged. "Just want to see you in action."

"She can manage on her own," Wesker gave a dismissive wave. "You will remain here with me and provide her with tech support."

"You won't be disappointed," she assured.

He regarded her for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "Good. I'll be in touch with details regarding the shooting schedule as well as whatever else I can find pertaining to security. Good luck."

Giving him a nod, the woman in red rose from her seat, quietly and gracefully exiting through the way she came like a ghost.

Konrad sat alone in his den, seated by the sandstone hearth as it burned with a glass of wine in hand, staring at the ochre stone floor.

Two unlit chandeliers hung uselessly overhead, creaking as the orangish hue painted everything dimly around him, the ochre color of the floor extending upward to a pair of marble Roman Tuscan columns with smooth shafts and the burning hearth between them, their capitals connecting up to the castle's Gothic rib-like arches.

The arches themselves rested against smooth concrete white walls that were disfigured and cracked from age at the top and bottom corners, resembling the decaying hide of an animal.

Two feet over the mantel hung a brown clock with two pairs of ornamental bat wings protruding from the top and bottom corners, the clock ticking and winding down. To his left on a nearby wall hung a shield with a pair of crossed sabers, while at the opposite end of the room was a desk and self-portrait of Rembrandt.

The sounds of the wind, the clock's ticking, the crackling of the fireplace, the squeaky hinges of the chandeliers mixed together in a cacophony of noise as shutters knocked against their frames.

Konrad was still as he heard the door open behind him.

"Everything okay, Baron?" He heard Dieter's voice.

Leaning back in his wheelchair, the Baron remained quiet as he took a sip, not paying any heed to his bodyguard as he stepped inside and walked toward him.

"I've gotta say, Baron, that had been a hell of show tonight!" Dieter said with enthusiasm. "You've really made that kid a very happy camper."

Konrad grunted.

"Good for her," he said bitterly.

He felt Dieter's eyes on him, but Konrad remained focused on the kindle.

"From what I hear on social media, more and more people are calling you a sweetheart!" Dieter continued. "Some of them are even petitioning to have more photo ops with you and the rest of the "gang"."

Konrad growled.

"That will never happen," he said determinedly, tightening his gloved hands into fists.

The bodyguard merely shrugged. "Just thought I'd let you know," he replied. "Don't shoot the messenger." He tilted his head slightly, "Everything okay, Baron?"

The Baron remained still by the fire, then, taking a swig from his glass, he shook his head with a sigh.

"Nein," he said in a low, soft voice, eying the glass in his gloved hand. "I don't know..." He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "I don't know what to do, Dieter. I used to look forward to watching and being part of the tournament. But the tournament...it's transforming before my eyes into something...warped. Depraved. Debased. Ever since that...fucking skeleton.….so many of our friends are now gone. Roger, Michael, Lawrence...Jurgen..."

Konrad's mouth clenched.

"And I have to deal with Umbrella's shit as well." Tossing the glass into the fire, he heard it shatter, the flame violently wavering.

Dieter shook his head, "Yeah, I still can't believe the stuff those guys have been working on. Fucking Spencer."

The Baron snorted. "Fucking Spencer indeed," he repeated with a nod. "When I acquired Umbrella after his death, I never realized just how corrupt that miserable old fart was. I thought I was buying out a pharmaceutical company, but Umbrella? It's a fucking snake pit."

He shuddered in his wheelchair.

"I hate them," he admitted. "I hate every single person within Umbrella. That blowhard Sergei, the Birkins…."

"Wesker?"

He stiffened in his seat. "Wesker is an even bigger snake, one with ambition. I wouldn't trust that little shit as far as I can throw him. He does have his uses, however."

He was still as he felt a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"We'll find a way through this, Baron," Dieter assured. "Your condition, Umbrella, everything. We just have to stay strong as long as possible and just brave through this like a hurricane."

Konrad scoffed. "'Hurricane' is right, Dieter," he commented. "There's definitely a storm coming. Only...I don't know if there's a light at the end of this."

The bodyguard tightened his grip on the Baron's shoulder. "We'll find a way. Eventually."

Konrad stared despondently at the fire as it wavered.

"...I would like to be alone, Dieter." He then caught himself, "Ah, right after you get me another drink."

Dieter nodded. "Yes sir."

As the bodyguard searched around for another bottle and glass, Konrad stared sadly up at the ceiling.

"I wish you were still here with me, Jurgen," he murmured softly. "I could use your guidance right now."

Author's Note: And that concludes this chapter! So yes, Ada is Orchid in this universe. For those unfamiliar with KI, Orchid had a finisher in the original KI where she flashed her opponents, causing them to have heart attacks. Just thought I toss that bit of trivia so you understand the reference lol. KI fans might spot other certain Easter eggs here and there. Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Stay safe, everyone!

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Three: Fateful Decision

Claire scrawled through the Killer Instinct webpage, keeping up with the latest news and merchandise available, mentally noting the new soundtrack available by Mick Gordon. Clicking on 'Tournament Registration', she eyed the application form and requirements.

Alright, she was over eighteen.

Yes, she knew how to fight.

Fighting apparel?

Claire felt a frown form.

Of course, it made sense. After all, part of a superhero or fighter's appeal is in their look, and not once had she ever given it much thought. At least, until now.

"Hm," she hummed thoughtfully. Raising her eyes from the screen, Claire then stood up and started to search her closet.

Sometime later, Claire stood in front of the mirror, studying herself carefully amidst a pile of clothes on the floor behind her.

She stared at her reflection for a long while, then gave an approving nod and smile.

"Looking good so far," Claire commented to herself.

She kept her look simple - a mix of red and black, although her long, light brown knee-high riding boots provided a sharp contrast to her overall appearance. A red vest was worn over a black t-shirt, while a pair of red cutoff jeans and a brown belt were directly worn over a pair of black shorts.

Standing akimbo style, Claire studied her reflection, then turned to one side, then the other, studying herself from every angle, posing like a model. Turning around, she looked over her shoulder and scrutinized the insignia on the back of her vest, which consisted of a blonde-haired angel in a white dress leaning forward on one leg amidst a field of black bombs, holding one of them up in her hands, the words 'Made In Heaven' scrawled above the image in gold.

A satisfied grin formed on her lips, her heart-shaped face lighting up. "Perfect."

Claire let out a surprised yelp as the door to her room opened, the girl quickly folding her arms reflexively over herself.

"Claire, supper is-" Chris cut himself off as he stood there with a flat nonplussed expression, staring at her, blinking. "...What are you doing?"

Claire felt heat rise to her face as she bit her lower lip.

"Ummm...nothing?" she sweat-dropped, giving a sheepish smile.

Chris looked at her, then to the clothing she wore, then to the pile of clothes all over the floor, then back to her and her clothes again.

"...Just answer yes or no. Do not elaborate, just a simple yes or no will do...is this some weird sex thing?"

Claire's face wrinkled in disgust. "Ew, no!"

She watched as her brother sighed in relief.

"Oh thank God," he muttered.

"I'm your sister, why would you even think that?!" Claire snapped.

"Well excuuuuuse me!" Chris retorted. "How was I supposed to know?! All I know is that I came to tell you that supper is ready, and then I walk in and find you looking like some biker cosplayer doing a bunch of really weird poses! Which goes back to my original question - why were you-" Chris stopped as he saw the open laptop with the KI logo. "Oh."

The two stood there quietly for a moment.

"So, uh, just to let you know, I have spaghetti and meatballs ready, so, uh, help yourself, okay?"

"Yeah. Got it," Claire nodded. "I'll just get changed and put this stuff away. And Chris? Next time learn to knock."

"Alright, alright," he waved dismissively as he closed the door behind him.

Standing in front of the mirror, Claire gave herself one look, then sighed.

"I'm such an idiot," she said softly to her reflection.

What was she thinking? She was in college, for God's sake. What, did she really think that she could just drop everything in order to pursue some fantasy? People less fortunate than her would probably have killed to be in the position that she was in.

And yet...part of her yearned for that sense of adventure.

Her own brother seemed to have a more exciting life than her...and that was pretty sad to think about, honestly. He was part of an elite unit within the RPD, had saved that one trapped hiker up in the mountains and made the headlines, but little ol' Claire Redfield? What was her big contribution to the world other than merely existing?

As Claire studied herself in the mirror, she felt her confidence slipping away.

She couldn't help feeling small.

Insignificant.

Staring into her reflection, Claire saw a frightened girl stare back at her, a child trying to find her own self-worth by playing dress-up, pretending to be a superhero.

A girl that was trying to bolster her own self-confidence.

A girl that was absolutely terrified of being alone.

Claire stared long and hard at the mirror, then gave a slight shake of her head.

"What are you thinking?" she asked herself.

She wasn't alone - she had her friends and her brother, after all. Other people had less than her.

So what if she was a little lonely sometimes?

She stared at the mirror, then turned away, her bangs covering her sad eyes.

"Well," she said in a quiet voice, "back to the real world."

Looking over to the floor, Claire started gathering her clothes, putting all of her childish fancies behind her as she returned back to her old boring life.

The next day, Claire sat at the university library, quietly reading her text at a table when Leon and Rebecca approached.

Looking up from her text, Claire smiled.

"Hey guys!" She greeted.

"Hey, Claire!" Rebecca greeted back, sitting opposite her. "How are your classes going?"

Claire shrugged. "Alright, I guess. Yours?"

She winked. "Pretty well."

"Same here," Leon said as he sat down beside his girlfriend. "I've been reading up on the KI tournament. Really weird stuff."

Claire gave a slight gasp.

"Why, Leon! Have I made you into a KI convert already?" she teased.

Leon gave a slight laugh.

"Not really." He then looked at her seriously. "That said, though, some of the rumors floating about the tournament itself has me feeling a little...apprehensive."

Claire blinked. "Rumors?"

Leon glanced around suspiciously, then looked back to both her and Rebecca.

"Did you hear about how the Baron's butler committed suicide?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Claire nodded. "Yeah, I heard about that," she replied. "Pretty sad."

"Supposedly it wasn't a suicide at all," Leon said simply. "Even more, there's talk that three of the five bodyguards that Baron Von Sabrewulf had were killed. I think there's only one remaining, but I heard the other had left."

Claire folded her arms together.

"What are you trying to say exactly, Leon?" she asked. "Are you trying to suggest that the Baron...killed these people?"

Leon gave a dismissive wave.

"No, not at all, but...that said," he said slowly, "...don't you find it suspicious?"

Claire thought about it for a moment, then gave a small shrug.

"Not really," she replied. "What else did you hear?"

Leon scoffed. "There were some conspiracy theories that the tournament was being run by lizard people or something, that the creatures were in fact real, blah blah blah," he answered, rolling his eyes. "One guy claimed that skeleton thing...what is it called?"

"Spinal?" Rebecca spoke up.

"That's the one," Leon nodded. "He said that that character had some connection with the occult or something. I wasn't paying attention, admittedly - in fact I pretty much nodded off. You know, the typical loony toon conspiracy nut-job stuff you find on the web sometimes."

Claire shook her head. "Yeah, KI has its share of crazies. I guess the same could be said with any sort of fandom, though."

"I guess," he shrugged, his eyes shining with some amusement, "although truth be told, I think KI is the exception. I saw the various fanfics and artworks out there. Blech!"

"Oh come on, you're exaggerating!" Rebecca said as she playfully smacked his arm.

"I'm serious! Have you seen the number of Spinal/Sabrewulf slash pictures? You need to be really bonkers to come up with that stuff!"

"And what were you doing looking at said-slash pics in the first place?" Rebecca playfully jabbed with a mischievous look.

"Hey, it's not my fault!" Leon said defensively. "I was minding my own business looking up the characters on Google Images when I inadvertently found that crap!"

"Uh huh," Rebecca teased.

"Careful, Rebecca," Claire said as an aside, "I think we might have found your boyfriend's secret fetish."

Leon gave a disgusted look. "Ew, God no!" He glared at the two as they giggled at his expense, then let out a huff. "Women."

Letting out a chuckle, Claire felt her cellphone vibrate in her jeans. Absentmindedly taking it out, she lifted it up to her ear, sighing.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ms. Redfield? This is Captain Wesker speaking," said the voice from the other end.

She blinked in surprise. "Oh hi, Captain!" Claire greeted. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"...I'm afraid I have some bad news."

For Claire Redfield, six little words caused her world to stop turning. Six little words made it all feel as if everything around her was about to crumble and end.

Six little words filled her heart with worry and made her stomach clench and knot, made her feel as if she was going to vomit. Six little words made Claire so pale that it drew concern from her own friends.

Six little words were enough to make her get up and leave the university library with a speed that would have made the Flash envious and a manic wildness that would have made even the Joker pause.

Six little words drew Claire all the way to the Raccoon City Hospital, where she found Captain Wesker and a couple of the S.T.A.R.S. crew waiting by the Information desk, all of them seated.

Seeing her, Wesker stood up from his chair and approached.

"Ms. Redfield," he nodded.

"Where is he?!" Claire spoke quickly. "Where's Chris?! What happened?! Where's my brother?! What-"

Wesker raised up a hand. "Ms. Redfield, please calm down. Breathe slowly and deeply, otherwise you'll hyperventilate."

Claire took his advice, taking in a deep breath. Once she got her breathing under control, she swallowed.

"What happened?" Claire asked again.

He frowned. "We were in pursuit of a suspect when someone rammed into your brother's vehicle."

"Oh my God," Claire gasped, holding a hand to her mouth. "Is Chris- is he okay?"

Wesker sighed.

"Both he and his partner Valentine are currently being prepped for surgery," he explained.

Claire felt the urge to vomit strengthen inside her.

"Oh my God." She paused. "What about the guy that did this? Did you catch him?"

Wesker shook his head.

"He fled the scene," he said regretfully, "but rest assured, all efforts are being made to apprehend him."

Claire clenched her fist. "I hope you get him," she said angrily. "Honest to God, I hope you get him."

Wesker gave her an assured nod. "We will, Ms. Redfield. You have my word on that." He gave her a considerate look, his eyes concealed behind his black sunglasses. "Is there anything I can do for you? Can I get you a coffee, sandwich, or-"

She shook her head. "No, thank you. Just..." The girl swallowed. "Just...just make sure that you catch the son of a bitch that did this."

He nodded. "We will." The blonde man shifted uncomfortably. "I'm...sorry about what happened to your brother. Even though we had our differences, Chris is one of my best men."

Claire bristled. "You make it sound like he's dead already."

"I meant no offense, Ms. Redfield," he said placatingly. He then checked his watch. "I'm afraid that I must leave, but if there is anything you need at all, you have my number at work. Take care, Ms. Redfield." The blonde waved to the other S.T.A.R.S. officers. "Let's go."

Claire watched as one by one they all got up and left, some of them giving her a quiet acknowledgement and/or apology. Once they were all gone, she found herself alone in the hospital, her heart heavy and full of sorrow.

Several hours passed, and Claire continued to wait for the news regarding her brother. She hadn't moved from her seat in all that time other than to occasionally use the washroom or get a drink of water, too nervous to even eat anything.

"Claire?"

Looking up, Claire got up as she saw Leon and Rebecca.

"Oh Claire, honey," the latter said as she pulled her into a hug. Claire sniffed as she hugged back. "I heard the news. I'm so sorry."

Claire wiped her eyes. "Thank...thank you for coming to see me."

"Hey, we couldn't just leave you," Leon said softly. He gave her a concerned look. "Has there been any news about your brother?"

Claire shook her head. "I haven't heard anything. I've been waiting all this time, but I haven't heard a damn thing."

Rebecca took her hand and gave a comforting squeeze.

"I'm sure everything will be okay," she said.

As the three friends sat down together in the waiting area, Claire quietly prayed to God to look out for her big brother.

Chicago, Illinois

The door lock had been busted down again.

Taking in a deep breath, T.J. pushed it tiredly open and stepped inside, glancing around at the gym.

A large spacious room with stained white tiles and dirty green floor mats, greeting him was a great boxing ring in the center with red, white and blue ropes, his colors.

Barbells, various exercising equipment and weights lay scattered along the ground while raggedy, moth-bitten punching bags swung uselessly from the ceiling.

The walls were entirely covered with a vast array of posters, some of them being motivational posters while others showcased old fights, ghosts of a two decade long past coming back to haunt him.

How the great T.J. Combo had fallen.

He inspected the walls, his fists tightening.

Red graffiti was written mockingly over some of the posters.

"CYBORG", one message jeered.

"FRAUD!" another taunted.

"Fake" and "Phony!" were scrawled on the walls, along with various other unflattering words, with some phallic and genitalia imagery added for good measure.

He checked the building.

Nothing had been stolen from him this time.

Seems like he had nothing worth the effort.

Even thieves had standards, apparently.

Looking to the boxing ring itself, T.J.'s nose scrunched up in disgust.

Some sick little fucker decided to leave a nice little brown welcome package just for him to clean up.

"How considerate," he grumbled.

Moving to his office at the far right hand corner, he took out his keys and unlocked the door, checking inside. All untouched, thankfully. Dropping his mail onto his desk, he took out a cigarette along with some cleaning supplies.

Once the mess had been dealt with and his hands had been thoroughly washed, T.J. returned back, exhaling his cigarette, blowing out smoke as he looked over his mail as he sat behind his desk.

Leaning back into his chair, he opened up one of the desk drawers and took out a bottle of scotch along with a glass.

'Thank God that's still here, 'cause I'm gonna need this,' he thought dourly as he poured himself a drink and opened up his mail.

The first envelope was from his lawyer announcing that the divorce papers have been finalized, so as of today, T.J. was officially now a free man.

Well, as free as a man could get when his boat's filled with all sorts of holes and he's steering with a shitty paddle. Now he had to worry about the goddamn lawyer's fee on top of his mountain of various other problems.

Gulping down his glass, he poured himself another.

"Yeah, that hits the spot," T.J. muttered. Looking to the next envelope, he braced himself for more good news.

The second envelope was a letter from his wife, or rather ex-wife.

Taking another gulp, T.J. frowned.

"God, I need more bottles," he said as he opened it up.

His alimony check had bounced again.

The letter was mostly expletives and insults, some of which were impressive even by T.J.'s standards.

Some of it was the usual stuff such as "loser", "broke motherfucker" and the like, while others were directly aimed at his lovemaking practices, calling him "the worst fuck of all time". A few comments were made again about his perpetual cheating.

He shook his head.

"Jesus, woman, can't you just give me a break?" he said aloud. He paused mid-sip, then read the line aloud. "'Why don't you go to the surgeon that gave you those implants and see if they can do something about your-'"

Crumpling the letter, T.J. took another long gulp, slamming the glass hard onto the desk. "Bitch."

Okay, he made a slew of stupid mistakes, and she had every right to call him out on that, but that? That was low.

He poured himself another round.

"At least I won't have to see your crazy ass anymore," T.J. said aloud.

He hoped.

Moving onto the next envelope, he froze.

"Oh no..."

T.J.'s heart thudded heavily as he opened it up, dreading what was inside.

As he read the letter, he gulped down his glass again.

By the time he finished opening up the rest of the mail, his bottle ended up completely empty. Not a single drop remained, and yet he desperately wanted more.

T.J. leaned back into his seat as he massaged his temples, combing his hands through his hair as he resisted the overwhelming urge to pull it all out and scream himself hoarse at the top of his fucking lungs.

He pithily looked into the glass, desperately hoping for there to be another drop or two.

He wanted to hit something, and badly.

Of course, that was how this whole mess started in the first place.

Born near Galveston, Texas, the very birthplace of the first African American Heavy Weight Champion- the great Jack Johnson - whom T.J.'s father idolized, Tyler-Johnson Garret came from a life of poverty.

The son of a dockworker and a waitress, T.J. knew hardship very well, having worked at a very young age in order to support his family, taught by his old man to earn every penny that came into his pocket.

A former sergeant in the Army, his father was the kind of man who flew the Stars and Stripes outside his house every damn day of the year, and had trained T.J. extensively to fight using a stack of old tires as a heavy bag with the hopes of him and his family achieving that slice of the American Dream, inspired by his love of Jack Johnson.

When T.J. was twelve years old, he got beaten badly in a city league bout. The other kid taunted him when he was down on the mat and TJ had never felt so ashamed. He still remembered that day.

T.J. sat alone outside of the building, his arms wrapped his legs as his father approached.

"Hey, it's okay. It's alright, son," the big man said softly.

T.J. wiped his eyes, staring to the ground. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Why are you sorry?"

The boy shook his head slowly, hoping to avoid looking at his old man. "I-I let you down."

He heard his father exhale softly and felt his rough hand placed gently on his shoulder. "Hey, don't say that. You didn't let me down."

T.J. remained still as tears ran down his face, trying not to look up.

"I-I lost the fight," he sniffed.

"So? It's just one fight. There will be plenty of others in the future. Don't worry about it, sport. Besides, life isn't about winning, son. It's about losing and still keeping on. That's called grit." He then patted him on the knee. You'll get your day, son. You'll get your day."

Despite the encouragement his father offered him, though, that wasn't what had been on his mind.

T.J. wanted revenge, and badly.

The next time he and the other boy fought again, TJ removed some of the padding in his right hand glove and replaced it with a roll of quarters.

With one punch, he broke the other kid's nose.

T.J. remembered how powerful he felt at the time. He remembered standing over the boy in shock, too stunned by the bloody carnage that he wrought to the kid's face as he lay there on the floor a blubbering mess. But even more that, it gave him a newfound boost in confidence along with a thrill unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Fighting was great and all, but when he had the advantage? It made him feel invincible.

Untouchable.

A superhero.

From then on, T.J. cheated his way using a variety of methods, winning a lot of trophies until he finally got caught and was banned from the league.

He still remembered the look of disappointment on his father's face, how quiet and sullen he had been for an entire week.

He didn't need to yell at T.J. or tell him how stupid and thoughtless he had been, because T.J. himself knew the consequences of his actions - the one thing he had going for him, his true love in life, was gone, and in an instant.

From then on, T.J. was in and out of trouble at school and with the law, and it had gotten to such an extent that eventually his old man had enough with him.

"You want to be a loser for the rest of your life, do it on your own time and with your own damn money! Now get the hell out of here!"

After dropping out of high school, T.J. went on to take all sorts of various odd jobs in different places, a drifter living in whatever cheap area he could afford, if at all. Sometimes to save money he slept on the streets, on park benches, or in an alley, although that would end when a cop would come around and told him to fuck off.

Sometimes he participated in street fights for money.

After a while, T.J. decided to join the Army, figuring that his odds were better than on the streets, but he never made it far.

Four days of intensive grilling and some pretty strong insults about his mother from a miserable bastard of a drill sergeant resulted in T.J. punching the fucker hard in the mouth, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

Even though it felt satisfying as hell, T.J.'s superiors were less than impressed, however, and that had been enough to get him kicked out back onto the streets.

Once he had enough money, T.J. bought himself a one-way bus ticket to Chicago, carrying nothing more than a duffel bag full of workout clothes and a pair of boxing gloves.

It hadn't been easy, but eventually he was able to land a job at a boxing gym over on the South Side, where he performed various menial tasks such as sweeping the floors, taking care of the bathrooms, and cleaning up the cutman's bloody rags…all to pay for his own training. He slept on a cot in the storage room.

Nobody knew him here. Nobody knew about his cheating. He was starting over doing the one thing that he loved. He turned his life around.

Over the next five years, T.J. grew tall and his body filled out. All during that time he studied the sweet science of boxing with the zeal of a scholar, analyzing the fighting techniques of his boxing idols like Ali and Tyson. And he worked his body until he was a rippling specimen of pure muscle and raw power. In his early twenties he started winning fights.

Journalists began calling him "Combo" for his devastating combination of jabs followed by a skull-hammering right hook.

And he loved the title - in fact, he embraced it whole heartedly, developing it into his own distinct persona.

As T.J. Garret, he was a bum. A worthless loser.

As T.J. Combo, he was the opposite of that - a masterful showman bursting with charisma who can work up an audience and who can attract attention, a performer, an unstoppable wrecking ball of fury in the ring.

A real-life, American-styled superhero that was untouchable.

He gained various nicknames along the way that he enjoyed - Dr. Jab, the Main Man, Mr. Fist, the Pain Train, the Rollercoaster - among various others, but T.J. always preferred the moniker "Combo".

Whenever he entered the ring, he knew how to put on a show to garner attention.

Before every fight began, he would do something outrageous - come in with a doctor's apparel, pajamas, a conductor's outfit, whatever he could think of to amuse, delight and entertain his fans.

After every win, he would announce his rising status to the world.

Three winnings in, he shouted "Triple Combo!"

Four winnings in, he put on a red Superman cape after the match and announced himself as "Super Combo!"

Five winnings, "Hyper Combo!"

Six winnings - "BRUTAL COMBO!"

"MASTER COMBO!"

"AWESOME COMBO!"

"BLASTERRRRR COMBO!" was shouted when he uppercut McGregor so hard the man practically flew off the ground.

"MONSTER COMBO!"

By the eleventh winning, he put on a crown and a lush red king robe before cheerfully pronouncing himself as "KIIIIIIING COMBO!"

In a brief commercial he made for Ultratech, where he appeared as a guest fighter, he called himself "KILLER COMBO!"

After five years of grinding on the boxing circuit, he finally got his shot and won the Heavyweight Championship.

T.J. smiled as he thought of that day, leaning back in his chair in remembrance.

Bloodied, bruised and battered, Combo stood over his opponent as the crowd stared in awed astonishment. The boxing ring was deathly quiet and still, the only sounds T.J. heard being his breath as he panted like a dog, along with his heartbeat as it thumped like a heavy drum.

BUMP-BUMP. BUMP-BUMP. BUMP-BUMP.

The beat was so loud in T.J.'s ears that he was certain that everyone could hear it, could hear it echo.

Finally, after a long while passed, he suddenly lifted his head up to the ceiling to make the final call, a hero's cry of triumph that marked his dominion in the ring, the same way a lion announced its presence and place in the jungle to the rest of the animal kingdom.

That day, T.J. Combo roared like never before, mighty and proud.

"UUUUULLLLLLLLLLLLTTTTTTTTTTTTTRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA COOOOOOMBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

As he roared, the crowd rejoiced and joined with him, cheering him on as cameras flashed all around him like brilliant diamonds.

For twenty long years, he held the title, and proudly, gaining fame, fortune, and glory.

He did commercials.

He did interviews with Rolling Stone magazine. He starred in the Killer Instinct tournament in its early days. He even did music videos (even if a lot of them had been pretty shitty, as much as he hated to admit it).

But like many celebrities before him that didn't know what to do with their own fame and wealth, he went crazy with it.

He bought the largest and most expensive mansion money could buy.

He got himself hitched to the sexiest woman imaginable, lavishing her with the most expensive jewelry and mink coats.

He got himself a huge collection of flashy cars along with a posse.

Even more, he partied.

All day, all night.

Like a fucking rock star.

Booty, booze, drugs - whatever he asked for, he got.

In retrospect, T.J. should have figured that he was letting himself go. He barely kept up with his training, and it was a miracle that he had been able to keep hold of his title.

Of course, at the time T.J. believed himself to be invincible, so when he finally lost the belt to Ronnie Wilcox from Detroit, he fell, and he fell hard.

Things fell further apart at the seams when his manager had fled the country, leaving him in debt and owing millions in back taxes.

Even worse, tabloid magazines picked up on his philandering, and some little fucker out there managed to upload a sex tape of him with three women, much to his embarrassment.

That's when TJ's wife left him.

When that happened, he became so consumed with rage that he punched a wall, resulting in him going to the hospital with a shattered forearm.

Eying the surgical scars on his arms, T.J. let out a deep, breathy sigh.

"What do I do now, God?" he muttered aloud.

Stripped of his boxing title, millions of dollars in debt, divorced and hung out to dry by his so-called manager, the cherry on top of the fucked-up sundae that was T.J.'s life couldn't have come at a worse time.

'Dear Mr. Garret,

We regret to inform you that due to your missed payments the Bank will be foreclosing on your business-'

Sighing, T.J. placed a book over it, trying to deny the words of the letter.

Surely there must be some silver lining somewhere!

He checked the other envelopes.

Rejected.

Rejected.

Rejected.

Reject-

Sweeping his hands through his hair, T.J. made a sound that was one part growl and one part groan in exasperation.

All of the job applications that he had sent out have been rejected.

Rock, meet bottom.

T.J. frantically racked his brain for a solution. Surely there must be something to help him out of the mess that he's-

RING.

Combo exhaled as he heard his cellphone go off.

"Just my luck, more good news," he grumbled.

If it was a goddamn telemarketer or the phone company, he's going to tell them to kiss his ass.

Grabbing his cellphone, he accepted the call, bringing it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

Idaho

"And that concludes today's lecture. Have a good break, everyone!"

Hinmatoom watched as his students poured out from the lecture room. Taking off his glasses, he swept a bronze hand through his long black hair, letting out a tired yawn. A robust Nez Perce man of six-four and two hundred and ninety-five pounds, Hinmatoom prided himself on being built like a mountain and having immense strength and endurance, but even at forty-two, he couldn't help feel a little old sometimes.

Thank God it was over - now he just needed to mark up the assignments.

Putting his glasses back on, Hinmatoom reached into his jeans and took his cellphone out from his pocket, checking his messages.

Again, nothing from Tipyeléhne.

He frowned as he typed in some text.

'Been a long time, bro,' he wrote. 'Everything okay?'

He waited for a response. Then waited. Then waited some more.

Looking up at the long wall of text messages he sent in the past, Hinmatoom frowned.

He had tried checking his brother's Twitter and Facebook feeds, but the accounts had been inactive for a long time. The last message Tipyeléhne wrote to his fans and followers said that he was going to retire from fighting due to stress, which had Hinmatoom feeling concerned.

Why wouldn't he reach out to him?

Surely he knew that no matter how low he felt or what happened Hinmatoom would always be there for him. After all, they were brothers! Surely Tipyeléhne would know that.

...Wouldn't he?

Standing alone in the lecture hall beside his desk, Hinmatoom took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he settled down into the chair beside his desk. Pulling his hand away, he opened a desk drawer and took out a photograph of him and his little brother, thinking back to his meeting with him the first time he entered the Killer Instinct tournament

The dressing room door opened, revealing Tipyeléhne as he stood there shirtless.

"Hey!" The younger man smiled. "Come on in!"

As Hinmatoom stepped inside, the older man took in his appearance, scowling disapprovingly at the black axe head-styled face paint on his eyes.

"What on earth are you wearing on your face?" he asked as he closed the door behind him.

His brother shrugged.  "Hey, don't be so judgmental, big bro. I saw a picture of you when you were younger and you were wearing this yourself. Thought I could try it out."  He then paused meaningfully. "Just one question, though,"  Tipyeléhne then gave a cheeky grin. "What the fuck was with the mohawk?"

Hinmatoom winced, letting out an audible groan.  "Oh God, you saw that picture?"

Tipyeléhne laughed, nodding.  "Yep!" He said good humoredly. "You looked like what would happen if one of those troll dolls had fucked a KISS reject. Loved how you braided each part of your mohawk. Tell me, how much hair gel did you use? Were you planning on skewering some trout with them?"

Hinmatoom massaged his brow, trying to ignore the headache.

"Jesus, I should have burned that photo ages ago," he muttered.  "To be fair, when I was that age, I was a horny teenager going through a phase. I was into glam metal and had been really, REALLY drunk when I got that haircut - don't judge me."

His brother continued to laugh. "I don't know, big bro. Even a drunk guy would have had more sense than to go with that hair!"

Hinmatoom rolled his eyes, causing the younger sibling to laugh even harder. "Oh fuck you." He then looked seriously at him once he finished. "You seriously plan on going through with this?"

Tipyeléhne was quiet for a moment, then nodded.  "Yeah."

"Are you sure about this, little brother? There are other ways to get the public's attention to what Ultratech is doing to our peoples' land that doesn't involve you getting hurt."

Tipyeléhne shrugged. "Whether I get beaten up or hurt doesn't really matter to me, big bro. I want to help our tribe any way I can, and I'm good at fighting."

Hinmatoom frowned.  " Tipyeléhne -"

"Hey, it's okay."

"It's not okay!" Hinmatoom snapped. His eyes then softened. " Tipyeléhne, please come home."

He watched as his younger brother's face hardened. "You have no faith in me."

"I have no faith in this," Hinmatoom gestured to the makeup mirror. "You are a smart kid who can make a difference...but not this way. You are young, and your prospects for the future have never been greater. If you were to go to law school or work in medicine-"

"I'm not that smart, big bro,"  Tipyeléhne interrupted, shifting uncomfortably. "Listen, uh, I need to get ready, so...wish me luck, okay?"

Hinmatoom watched his younger sibling for a moment, then gave a quiet nod.

"I hope you know what you are doing," he then exited the room. "Be safe, little brother."

As the door closed behind him, Hinmatoom slowly shook his head sadly.

"The impetuousness of youth," he muttered.

The drive back home was long and quiet, although every so often it was broken by some asshole who would cuss out at him when they cut in front of him or give some offensive slur.

Hinmatoom rolled his eyes as they drove off. "Pricks."

Apparently following the law and courtesy was too much for some people. Then again, Idaho does rank as being the second rudest state for drivers in the US.

The sun dipped, coloring the sky orange with shades of blue, and for a moment Hinmatoom was taken by the imagery of the land, the mountains and all of its serene beauty, reminding him of a watercolor painting.

He always loved coming home to this view.

For all of mankind's creations, nothing can beat nature's splendor.

He continued to drive on until finally he stopped in front of his modestly small family house.

Once he got inside, Hinmatoom checked his voice messages.

Nothing.

Letting out a tired sigh, Hinmatoom sat down in a recliner, looking up at the family photos that hung over the fireplace of him and his baby brother.

The last time they spoke to each other, the two left on bad terms.

Leaning back into his recliner, Hinmatoom recalled the conversation.

"You must leave this place."

Tipyeléhne gave him an incredulous look. "What? Why?"

Hinmatoom was still as he glanced around the makeup room.

"Can't you sense it, little brother?" he asked in a low voice.

"Sense what, exactly?"

"It's..." Hinmatoom hesitated, "it's hard to explain. I can't help sense a wrongness in this place. There is something in the air here, and I can't help feeling...afraid."

Tipyeléhne gave a startled and surprised look, then smiled.

"Ha, very funny, big bro," he pointed. "You almost got me there."

"I'm being serious."

"Bullshit. Nothing scares you."

"Tipyeléhne, look at me!" Hinmatoom said as he grasped his brother by the shoulders and pulled him close, startling him further. "Look at my face, little brother! Look at it carefully! Can you not see my skin turning pale and sweaty?! Can you not see and feel me trembling, even as I hold you close?! Look at my eyes, Tipyeléhne, and tell me that I am not!" As he let Tipyeléhne go, he continued, "I don't know what it is, little brother, but I feel something is wrong with this place, with these people. Surely you must have sensed it as well!"

Tipyeléhne scoffed. "You're getting senile, old man. You're letting your imagination and superstition get the better of you."

"And you are in denial. Tipyeléhne, please. Come home with me."

The younger brother was completely still, his eyes covered in shadow.

"...That's it, then? Come home with you?" he said bitterly. "What about all the paying fans and customers? I should just abandon them? Leave all this behind?!"

"Tipyeléhne-"

"No, Hinmatoom, YOU listen!" The younger brother said, raising his voice, "I'm sick of your shit! You want to know why we're getting more press regarding Ultratech's pollution in Idaho? ME, that's why! You're jealous!"

Hinmatoom stared agape at him. "Jealous?"

"That's right! You're jealous that I was able to make a difference for our tribe, something YOU were never able to do in the first place! Your efforts to preserve our heritage is a joke - not even that fancy college degree of yours can help you out, so why don't you take that degree and shove it, because all you're doing is holding me back!"

As soon as the words left Tipyeléhne's mouth, the young man raised a hand to his mouth in horror and regret. Hinmatoom felt as if he had been slapped across the face, his form numb, a chill running through his blood.

"...Is that what you believe?" he finally spoke, asking in a low voice.

Tipyeléhne shook his head in slow and sorrowful manner. "Hinmatoom..."

"Answer me, Tipyeléhne - is that what you believe? Am I really holding you back?"

It was a miracle that Hinmatoom was able to keep his voice as steady as it was.

"No, you're not...I...Jesus..." Tipyeléhne put a hand to his mouth. "I...I'm sorry."

Hinmatoom kept his eyes on the floor, trying to avoid looking at the lout before him.

"...How can you say a thing like that to me, of all people?" he asked quietly. "Is the preservation of our tribe's heritage really...such a joke to you?"

Tipyeléhne shook his head, swallowing,  "No."

"Have I erred in rearing and educating you about our ways growing up, after our parents died?"

His younger brother shook his head again.  "N-No," he answered, the young man holding back a sob. "N-No you haven't."

"Well, I must have done something wrong," Hinmatoom said, his heart feeling like lead. "Our people have a saying, little brother. Do you remember what that saying is?"

Tipyeléhne lowered his eyes in shame.

"...'Y-You are who you take care of," he answered in a quiet voice.

Hinmatoom raised his eyes to meet his, staring long and hard at the young man before him, a stranger in his brother's skin.

"...I don't recognize you anymore, Tipyeléhne," he said honestly. Tipyeléhne opened his mouth to speak when Hinmatoom raised up a hand, silencing him. "I don't even know who you are...and honestly...I don't think I want to, either. We may share blood, but from hereon...we...are brothers no longer. If I am holding you back, if I am...an embarrassment to you, as you have led me to believe...then we'll part as strangers."

Tipyeléhne was stock still as Hinmatoom turned to leave. As the latter grabbed hold of the door, the former spoke, "Don't...Don't go."

Hinmatoom paused at the doorway. Part of him wanted to turn and look back at the man he was leaving behind, but he forced himself to continue forward, too angry and hurt to even look back.

"Live well...Tipyeléhne. I wish you good health, good fortune, and a good life."

Hinmatoom kept his eyes fixed ahead of him, pushing through the door without ever turning back to see his bro- Tipyeléhne's expression.

As the memory faded, Hinmatoom rested his head against the cushion of his chair. Looking to his cell phone, he stared at the number on the screen.

'Call him,' part of him urged.

Relenting, Hinmatoom dialed the number, then waited.

"We're sorry, but this number is currently unavailable," an automated voice answered. "Please hang up or try your call again."

Something was wrong.

Hinmatoom could feel it in his gut. He had tried reaching out to the people at Ultratech to see if they knew what had happened with Eagle, but they merely claimed ignorance. He smelled bullshit.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, one that caught him by surprise.

Could they be...keeping his brother captive somewhere?

At first, Hinmatoom wanted to snort at such a preposterous idea...and yet...he had no explanation as to where Tipyeléhne might be.

Even if the two hadn't been on the best of terms, Hinmatoom cared too much about what happened to his little brother to turn away completely.

He sighed.

Where should he even start?

The people at Ultratech were far from helpful; he doubted that they were even reliable, to be honest.

Hinmatoom clicked his tongue against the roof his mouth, pondering what to do. His initial thought was to reach out to an attorney; maybe if he got a court order issued to Ultratech to hand over any information pertaining to his brother-

Hinmatoom frowned. He can already see the problem. Multiple problems, in fact.

For one, he didn't have a lot of cash on him. As much as he would like to employ the services of either a lawyer and/or a private investigator, the reality was that Hinmatoom barely had enough to cover his own expenses. Even more, he was worried about Tipyeléhne's well-being; for all he knew, his little brother was dying, and he couldn't afford to wait.

Worst of all, even if he decided to file a Missing Persons' Report, there was no guarantee that the police would do anything; he had no evidence of any wrongdoing. If he was to find his brother or evidence of Ultratech's crimes, Hinmatoom would need to do it by himself.

And he knew exactly where to start - the Killer Instinct tournament.

Claire wiped the sweat from her forehead as she entered through the door, her body aching in protest.

"God there has to be a better way to earn a buck," she muttered as she stumbled over to the couch with mail in hand, collapsing face-first into the soft cushion, part of her wanting to sink into a deep sleep.

Unfortunately, in the land of the living, life was never easy.

While the surgeries for both Chris and Jill have turned out well, they were still unconscious. Claire visited the two often, Jill especially, if only because, aside from the latter being Chris' partner and lover, the only family that Jill had was her father, who was locked away in prison. Claire kept hoping that either one would wake up, but according to the doctors, their chances of regaining consciousness were slim at best.

She hoped that it wasn't permanent.

Regardless, she made it a point to visit them often over the course of the next several weeks, and whenever she did, Claire would talk to the two of them about her day, about something she heard and just prattle on, hoping that they would hear her voice. She didn't know if either could hear her, but the truth was that she was absolutely scared out of her mind with worry, and she wanted to be there when the two of them woke up.

Until that time came, though, she needed to look after things for them, and in the land of the living, there were bills that that needed to be paid. As a result, Claire had to contact the Director of Student Support at her college and take a leave of absence in order to support the three of them and work two jobs, one as a waitress at a restaurant called "Sloppy Sam's Pizza", the other as a cleaning woman at a bar.

Rebecca and Leon would visit her from time to time, if only to give her moral support, but Claire felt as if she was drowning. The bills were just piling up and up, and she had no idea what to do. Captain Wesker himself was generous enough to help out by raising a fund at the Station to help pay for Chris and Jill's treatments and recovery, but there was only so much they could do.

Sitting herself up, Claire opened one of the envelopes...then immediately regretted doing so.

Chris' insurance had expired.

Claire swept her hands through her hair, feeling the overwhelming urge to tear out her hair.

"Damn it, Chris, I told you that you should have renewed your insurance!" She said angrily.

Checking the rest of the mail, she felt her heart sink. Not even her own insurance was going to be enough to cover their expenses.

The room was starting to feel really cramped. Oppressive.

Her palms felt sweaty, her chest tightening, making it difficult her breathe, and the room was starting to swirl and spin as a massive headache set in. For a moment, Claire thought that she was going to have a heart attack.

Part of her wanted to laugh, but Claire kept herself from doing so for fear that if she were to do so, she would be unable to stop and end up being committed to a nuthouse.

Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants? Then again, at least she would be able to escape from it all.

Taking in a deep breath, she leaned forward, massaging her temples as her mind searched for an answer, exhaling softly.

There had to be an answer somewhere. There just had to-

Looking to the pile of envelopes on the couch beside her, a pamphlet made Claire pause. It was black with metallic silver lettering, the words KI shining in capital letters.

Hesitating, Claire picked it up from the pile, then opened it up. There was a new tournament around the corner, and the registration date for it was almost up.

As Claire's eyes scanned through the pamphlet, the headache cleared, replaced by a newly discovered determination.

Yes, this was the answer!

Getting up from the couch, Claire quickly got out her laptop and opened it up, going onto the KI website. Clicking on "Registration", she eyed its contents. As she moved the mouse and pressed on the empty space, Claire hesitated at the sight of the blinking cursor, her hand pausing over the keyboard.

Should she be doing this?

There was no guarantee that she'll get accepted. Even more, there was no guarantee that she was going to win. There were bound to be tons of really good fighters, people with far more experience than her.

Claire frowned as she eyed the screen, the cursor tentatively blinking in the white empty space before her, waiting for her answer.

If she went ahead now, then there was no turning back.

Staring ahead at her monitor, Claire looked over to the pile of bills on the couch, then over to the family photos, of her brother. Ever since the death of their parents, Chris had always looked after her, doing the best that he could.

It was time she looked after him for once, to let him know how much she appreciated his efforts.

And with that, the white space was filled in.

Author's Note: And that concludes this chapter! :)

To Guest: I'm not sure if the comment had been made strictly with regards to RE characters, but in the event that you were talking about the KI characters as well, rest assured, I do intend to be as faithful to the core of the characters as much as I could. For the latter, certain elements will be drawn here and there from the 2013 game, but primarily speaking, this story will be mostly based on the original 1994 game, albeit with slight twists in order to make the narrative as cohesive as possible.

EDIT: Also, I want to thank the following people - EchoSeeker247, The Lady Frost, Flaming Overlord, Lil' Hedgepig, thehappy and others - thank you so much for your help, guys! I highly recommend checking out their works, as they are fantastic writers and are really cool people. Thanks again, guys! :)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, everyone! Take care, and stay safe and healthy! :)

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Four: Gathering

Claire tapped her foot as she nervously waited in the lineup at the Ultratech Registration Desk. Three rows of people waited to see someone at the counter, with Claire and her friends standing in wait in the one in the middle.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Rebecca asked quietly beside her.

"I have to, Rebecca! I don't know what else to do!" Claire replied quietly back, then looked around at the waiting area they were in. "...Man there's a lot of people here."

"No kidding," Leon commented as they eyed the other people around.

There were dozens of people in the lineup and in the waiting area, a lot of them bizarrely dressed. One woman was so scantily clad that Claire and her friends felt mortified from just looking at her. Waiting nearby on guard with one or two Theseus androids on hand in black uniforms with dark helmets and thick kevlar vests were security guards, their features hidden behind black visors that made them look as inhuman as the machines they worked with.

Hearing a grunt, Claire and the others turned around and gave space to a pair of struggling guards as they forcefully escorted a man with a pony tail and a pink karate gi out of the building.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!" The man in the pink gi shouted as he was dragged away, struggling in their grips.

"Yeah, we do, unfortunately," the guard drawled with a flat, tired voice. "We've been given explicit orders to kick you off the premises should we see you again."

Claire and company watched as the man was pushed out of the door.

"This is your last warning - stay the hell away from here! The next time you show up, we will call the police!" The guard growled, pointing his finger at the man. "Now fuck off, Hibiki!"

Claire watched as "Hibiki" kicked the ground in a fit of anger and stormed off, then watched as the two guards tiredly shook their heads.

"What an asshole," one of them commented.

"I know, right? Guy just won't take no for an answer," the other replied.

"Isn't he in porn or something?"

"I don't know, man. All I know is that he's some F-list washup from some old show called 'Street Fucker' or something. Who knows."

As they wandered away, Claire heard a voice call out from the desk ahead of them, "Next!"

Claire stepped forward, handing her registration form and the various other documents to a middle-aged woman with glasses behind the counter.

"Okay, looks good," the latter said as she inspected the paperwork before taking out a slip of paper. "I'm going to need you to sign a waiver, dearie."

Claire hesitated.

"A waiver?" she repeated.

"Yes, a waiver of liability," the woman nodded.

Claire carefully read the terms, then looked up.

"Shouldn't I have a lawyer with me?" she asked.

"No, no," the woman waved. "It's pretty standard stuff, not very complicated. It's just to show that we haven't coerced you into fighting and that whatever injuries you may sustain through the course of the tournament we're not responsible for."

Claire hesitated.

"Injuries...?" she said softly.

"Of course, dearie," the woman said as she pushed up her glasses to the bridge of her nose, speaking if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This is a fighting tournament, after all. Getting hurt is a big part of what it is all about."

Looking over at Rebecca and Leon, the three of them exchanged nervous glances.

Swallowing, Claire looked back to the woman behind the desk. "H-has anyone...ever...died?"

The woman gave a reassuring smile.

"Dear me, no! Well, not in the tournament itself. You don't have to worry, dearie," she said as she reached up and patted Claire's hand.

The latter shifted uncomfortably.

"I can see you're having second thoughts about this, dearie," the woman said kindly. "Why don't you a take a moment to talk this over with your friends, hm? You look like a lovely girl, and I would hate to see you getting hurt. I'll just leave this at the side for you, okay?"

"Thank you, miss," Claire smiled.

The woman smiled back at her and nodded. As she moved away from the desk, Claire looked over to her friends.

"Well, what do you guys think?" she asked.

Rebecca bit her lip.

"Honestly...I don't think you should do it," the younger girl admitted. Looking away from Claire's eyes, she shifted uncomfortably. "It's-It's not that I don't have faith in you, Claire. It's just..." She lowered her eyes to the floor. "...I don't like the idea of you getting hurt."

Claire's eyes softened.

"Oh Rebecca..." she hugged her friend. "It's okay."

Leon stepped forward. "You don't have to do this, Claire. If you want, I can lend you some money-"

"No," Claire cut sharply, shaking her head vigorously. "I am not a moocher. I am not going to take money from my friends."

"It won't be any trouble at all-"

"It is for me." Claire exhaled. "Look, um, I really appreciate the offer, Leon, but...I need to do this. Chris has fought tooth and claw for me - it's time I did the same for him."

Leon and Rebecca gave a long stare.

"...Are you sure about this?"

Claire remained quiet for a moment, then gave a single nod in response.

"There's no guarantee that you'll win," Leon said. "Hell, there's no guarantee that you'll even be accepted. You'll still need to do the interview-"

"I know, Leon," Claire closed her eyes, her voice stern, "but what choice do I have?"

"There are other ways to earn money!" Rebecca protested.

Claire shook her head. "I'm sorry, guys...but I need to do this. If I end up getting rejected, though...I'll keep looking for other better-paying jobs." She muttered the last part, her voice barely audible.

She felt Rebecca take hold of her hand.

"No matter what happens, Claire," she spoke, "we'll always be there for you. You do know that, right?"

Claire gave Rebecca's hand a squeeze. "I know." She then gave a small sad smile. "Thank you, Rebecca."

The two of them remained there for a moment until Claire let go of her friend's hand, the former brushing her hand against her eye.

"Umm...wish me luck, okay?"

She watched as both Leon and Rebecca smiled back at her and nodded.

"Go get 'em!" The latter winked.

Letting out a sigh, Claire went back to the front desk as the woman behind it finished with another person.

"Have you decided, dearie?" the woman kindly asked.

Claire smiled, nodding. "Yeah. I want to do it."

"Are you sure? There's no turning back from this," the woman warned.

Claire took in a deep breath, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be okay."

The woman smiled, then nodded back.

"Alright, dearie. I hope you know what you're doing. I'll need you to sign the waiver, please."

As Claire took hold of the form and lifted the pen, her hand froze, the pen's tip just barely an inch from the paper.

'Am I really going to be doing this?' she wondered.

The realization that Claire could get hurt suddenly made the pen in her fingers feel even heavier, as if she were holding lead, her palms clammy. Even though Claire herself was still, she could feel the muscles in her arms and hands trembling, and the fact that she wasn't shaking visibly despite her certainty that she was doing so was in itself a miracle.

Looking up from the page, the woman behind the counter gave her an expectant look. "...Well?"

'There's no turning back from this,' the woman's voice repeated in her head.

Claire frowned. No, there wasn't. Not now.

Exhaling, Claire narrowed her eyes with purpose, then willed pen to paper, and with that, signed her signature on the dotted line.

Once she finished, she shakily handed the pen back as the woman smiled at her.

"Okay, dearie. That should be about it."

Claire nervously exhaled. "So what now?" she asked.

The woman then handed her a slip of paper.

"This is your call number," she said. "As a potential candidate you'll need to be interviewed." The woman stopped as she noticed Claire paling. "Oh don't worry, dearie! It's just a formality. We usually interview candidates in order to make sure that participants are clear-headed and intelligent enough to understand what they are getting themselves into." She rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. "Occasionally we would get the odd kook or drunkard come in after having one or two many drinks. The stories I could tell."

"Is that why you have all these security guards and androids around?"

"Indeed," the woman nodded, "although those are mainly for the more difficult candidates, usually the ones who had been rejected but were too stubborn to leave." She then gestured to the waiting area at the side. "Just take a seat over there until your number has been called, dearie."

"Okay. Thank you!" Claire waved as she turned around and went back to her friends.

"So what now?" Leon asked as she approached.

Claire sighed. "Well, now I have to sit and wait for the interview." She then looked at her friends with concern. "I really appreciate you both coming down with me, but I don't really know how long this thing is going to be, and I imagine you guys have other things you need to do-"

"Hey, it's okay!" Rebecca said with a smile. "Neither of us have anything to do, so it's fine! We're glad to be here."

"Yeah," Leon nodded. "We'll always be there for you, Claire, no matter what happens."

Claire smiled back, a warmth filling her heart. "Thanks a lot, guys."

Rebecca winked.

As the three of them moved to the waiting area and sat down, Claire found herself thanking God for giving her such wonderful friends.

"Next."

Claire yawned as she tiredly looked up at her call number, then looked up at the one on the call display.

042. Hers was 057 - not even close.

"It sure is taking a while," Claire commented as she continued playing tic-tac-toe on a slip of paper with Rebecca, marking the second row in the middle with an X.

"Yeah," the latter nodded as she looked around at the other fighters, then paused, shaking Claire's arm as she pointed over to the entrance as she said in a hushed voice, "Claire, look over there!"

Claire blinked. "Rebecca what is-"

"Look!" Rebecca hissed.

Rearing her head back in confusion, Claire turned to the entrance, then stopped. Seated close to the door with his eyes closed was the man from the stadium, the Buddhist monk that bumped into her.

"Hey, it's that guy from the stadium!" she said in surprise.

"What is he doing here?" Leon wondered.

"You don't think he's here for the tournament as well, do you?" Rebecca asked uncertainly.

"A Buddhist monk? I doubt that," he replied.

"I'll just ask," Claire volunteered as she got up from her seat and approached. The man was quiet and still, his hands clasped together around his walking stick- if that was what it was - looking as if he were asleep.

She cleared her voice. "Excuse me? Mister?"

"Hm?" The man opened his eyes, then blinked in surprise. "Oh, hello!"

"Hi," Claire smiled. "I don't know if you remember me, but-"

"I do," he nodded, his kind eyes regarding her. "I had accidentally bumped into you sometime ago."

"Yeah," she laughed lightly. "I couldn't help noticing you here. Are you waiting for someone?"

"Not at all. I'm just waiting for my number to be called," he replied.

She hesitated.

"You're-You're participating in the tournament?"

"Indeed I am. At least, I hope so."

Claire blinked several times.

"Oh," she said simply, scratching her head as she gave him a curious look. "Um, no offense, but...um...isn't this kind of thing frowned upon by other Buddhist monks?"

He shifted uncomfortably.

"...It is, especially by my denomination," he said slowly and deliberately with worry, "but circumstances necessitate my coming. I talked with the Abbot of my Order and he was fine with my participating."

Claire searched his eyes, curiosity getting the better of her. He didn't seem to be lying, but by the same token, the man seemed guarded.

Giving a pleasant smile, Claire gave a polite nod.

"I'm sorry to pry," she apologized. "I was just a little curious, that's all."

The man smiled beneath his blue veil.

"It is no problem at all," he said, giving a slight nod.

Tucking a tendril behind her ear, Claire held out her hand. "I'm Claire. Claire Redfield."

The monk looked down at her hand, his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

Confused by his reaction, it suddenly occurred to Claire that she must have offended him somehow.

Pulling her hand away, she gave a nervous smile. "Uhh, I'm sorry, I don't-" She then cleared her throat, speaking timidly, "I didn't mean...um...have- have I...offended you?"

The monk cleared his. "You have to understand, shaking hands is frowned upon by my Order, especially with a woman. It's considered rude."

Claire felt the smile leave her face as he said that. Great, she managed to piss off a Buddhist monk. What else could go wrong?

"Oh," she merely replied. Looking ashamedly away, Claire uncomfortably averted her eyes from him, feeling like a child in the principal's office. She then cleared her throat a second time, "So...um...ahh...how do I...greet you properly without causing offense?"

The man got up from his seat and stood before her.

"For Tibetan Monks such as myself," he began, illustrating with his hands, "you hold your hands together at chest height and bow slightly, then say 'Tashi Delek'."

Claire started to mimic the gesture.

"'TAH-shee De-LAY?'" she repeated, phonetically pronouncing the words uncertainly.

"Yes," he nodded. "It means fortunate circumstance, that you are happy to meet them. This is a general Tibetan greeting. The alternative would be to just say a monk's name and give a slight bow."

Claire then tried again.

"I'm Claire. Tashi Delek," she said as she gave a slight bow.

The monk returned the gesture. "I am Jago. Tashi Delek."

As she looked back up, Claire's face flushed with embarrassment. "I am so sorry for my mistake."

Jago politely nodded. "It happens sometimes. Now you know not to make the same mistake twice."

Claire internally winced at his words. Even though he didn't seem to mean to cause offence, it did sting.

"So, uh, it's nice meeting you. Have a good day, and good luck!" she said as she repeated the gesture again.

"Oh! Would you look at that? You're getting the hang of it already!" he said good humoredly, his eyes twinkling with amusement, returning the bow again. "Take care, Miss Redfield."

Once they finished, Jago sat back down while Claire returned back to her friends.

"Everything okay, Claire?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Claire waved. "His name is Jago and he's some sort of Tibetan monk, apparently."

Rebecca gave her a mischievous and suggestive look, causing the older girl to frown.

"No, Rebecca, he's not interested. Trust me."

"I don't know, Claire," Rebecca teased, "you did managed to get him to give you his name."

Claire rolled her eyes, waving her off.

"So what's the deal with him?" Leon asked.

Claire shrugged. "He wants to join the tournament."

Leon frowned.

"What?" Claire asked.

He looked over at Jago, who sat there in his seat with his eyes closed, then looked back to her, "A Tibetan monk? Are you sure that's what he said?"

Claire nodded.

"Yeah. That's what he said he was," she replied. "Why?"

Leon cleared his throat. "Well, I don't claim to be the most knowledgeable person on the subject, but...I'm pretty sure that Tibetan monks are supposed to advocate non-violence. If that's the case, then...why is he here?"

Claire shifted in her seat.

"I don't know any more than you do, but if that's true...it is strange." She then looked seriously at Leon. "What are you thinking?"

Leon crossed his arms, his eyes raised to the ceiling.

"Well, I've never seen a Tibetan monk dressed like him before," he said slowly. "I thought I heard something a few years ago about a tiger cult or something in that country. I don't want to assume anything, but maybe..." He trailed off, a frown forming as he shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe I'm overthinking things."

"Hm," Claire hummed.

Before she could comment any further, a voice called from a speaker, "O57. I repeat, 057."

Rebecca tugged at Claire's arm. "That's you!"

"Huh?" Claire said in surprise. "No, it can't be, I'm...057." Her eyes widened. "Oh my God!"

Shooting up to her feet, Claire shakily swept her hands through her hair and looked herself over, then looked over to Rebecca and Leon. "How do I look? Should I take off the vest? It's too flashy, isn't it?"

"You're fine!" Rebecca waved. "Really. Just take a deep breath. Slow, deep breaths."

Claire followed Rebecca's advice, inhaling and exhaling long gulps of air. Taking a sharp breath through her nostrils, she sighed.

"Okay." Nervously clearing her throat, Claire spun around on one foot, staring straight ahead. Beneath her fingerless gloves, her palms felt warm and moist, her legs shaking. Letting out a shaky breath, she cleared her throat again. "

"W-Well, here goes nothing."

She took her first step forward, then the next, then another, and another, and another until, watching as the door ahead drew nearer.

"Come in."

Stepping inside, Claire glanced nervously around. Three people sat together at the back of a room behind a long brown wooden desk, with one or two cameras at the side, one of them being a neatly dressed woman wearing a white blazer with a black blouse and skirt, her blonde hair tied up in a bun, the woman seated between two men.

Looking to the latter two, Claire studied them curiously. One was a man in a grey suit with oily, black hair that was slicked back, but it was the other one that immediately caught her attention; upon seeing the unmistakably, and mysteriously, concealed form of the Baron, Claire felt her breath caught in her throat.

"Take a seat," Baron Von Sabrewulf gestured to the stool that rested seven feet away from them with a gloved hand, his German-accented voice a deep, low growl that sounded menacing.

Nodding, Claire nervously complied, sitting herself down as she shifted her jaw. Raising one leg up over the other, the girl then placed her hands onto her lap and tried to avoid fidgeting, clearing her voice as she gave a smile.

"Hi," she greeted.

"Guten Tag," the Baron nodded his hooded head, his sunglasses-covered eyes watching her. "I am Baron Von Sabrewulf. Seated beside me is my assistant Carol."

The aforementioned woman smiled pleasantly. "How do you do?"

"And this is my friend and bodyguard Dieter."

The grey-suited man gave a small wave. "Hey."

"Would you kindly tell us your name?"

Claire scrunched up her brows, then suddenly felt her eyes spring open like saucers. Had she forgotten to give them her name?!

"Oh! Uh, sorry." She cleared her throat, internally wincing. "My, uh, my name is Claire. Ah, Claire Redfield." She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm, ah, I'm just nervous-"

"It's alright, it's alright!" Baron Von Sabrewulf raised a gloved hand in assurance. "Take a moment to collect yourself."

Giving an appreciative nod, Claire closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

Just count to four, breathe, then count to four again and exhale.

Exhaling softly, Claire opened her eyes, then cleared her throat again.

"Feel better?" Sabrewulf asked with concern.

Sighing, Claire nodded. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Nein, nein!" He waved. "Your behavior is one hundred percent normal. It's not so uncommon."

"Isn't it?" she asked curiously.

"Ja," he nodded. "We've had quite a few fainting incidents in here, actually. Would you like any something to drink before we begin? A glass of water? Orange juice? Apple juice? Coffee?"

She shook her head.

"Nein?"

"No thank you," she answered politely.

"Alright." He turned to the man, Dieter, beside him. "Is the camera recording?"

"Yes, Baron," Dieter replied.

"Okay, then let's begin." The hooded figure then clasped his gloved fingers together as he stared directly at her, her image reflecting off his sunglasses. "Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself."

Claire cleared her throat.

"My name is Claire Redfield, and I'm, uh, nineteen-years-old," she began. "I'm a full-time first-year college student over at the Raccoon City University, and my hobbies include motorcycles, reading, watching the Killer Instinct tournament and video games."

"Alright," Sabrewulf nodded as he made notes. "Do you have a criminal record? We have your criminal record form right here for reference, but it helps being honest in these matters."

She shook her head. "No. I might get the odd email about a library book or video being overdue, but generally I try to stay out of trouble whenever possible. I have nothing to hide."

"That's good to hear," he nodded thoughtfully. "Do you have any debilitating conditions that we should be made aware of, physical or otherwise?"

"No."

"Do you have any psychological problems?"

"No."

"Do you possess any form of cybernetics on your person?"

"No."

"Are you on any sort of medication?"

"No."

"Do you take narcotics?"

"Absolutely not."

"Do you drink alcohol?"

"Definitely no."

"Have you taken anything in the last twenty-four hours?"

"That's a hard no."

"Okay. Are you allergic to anything?"

"No," she answered. "As far as I'm aware, I have no allergies."

"Favorite food?" Dieter piped up.

"Cheeseburgers," Claire answered without hesitation. "They're the nectar of the gods."

An amused smile lit up the man's face.

"You are a fan of the program, you say?" Carol asked.

"Yeah!" the girl nodded enthusiastically. "Ever since I was a child. I have posters, T-shirts, action figures, Happy Meal toys, you name it!"

"Do you have the leather jacket?"

"I wish!" She sighed longingly.

"That's an interesting outfit you have on," the woman commented.

"Thank you," Claire blushed.

"Would it be alright if you stood up and gave us a good look at you?" she asked.

Claire complied, standing up straight like an arrow before turning around to face the door, modeling herself for them.

"Very nice," Carol said approvingly. "I like the embroidery on the back."

"Thank you."

"Are the words 'Made in Heaven' of any significance?"

"It's my favorite song from Queen."

"Ahh," Carol nodded in understanding.

"This was actually a gift from my older brother," Claire said as she sat down on the stool again.

The man beside Sabrewulf scrunched up his brows in thought.

"Redfield...where have I heard that name before?" he wondered aloud.

Claire shifted in her seat, continuing on, "My brother is a member of S.T.A.R.S."

At the mention of S.T.A.R.S., the man suddenly sat up straight in recognition.

"Wait a minute..." he started slowly, "is your brother Chris Redfield? The S.T.A.R.S. guy that punched a boulder or something?"

Claire laughed. "YES!"

"No!" He grinned.

"What?!" Carol said incredulously, looking at the two of them in confusion. "What's this about punching boulders?"

"Last year some hikers got lost in the mountains," Dieter explained. "One of them ended up getting pinned down by a boulder, a fat bastard of a thing, but one of the S.T.A.R.S. officers was reported to have gotten the damn rock off the guy by punching it several times before finally getting it off with an uppercut."

"NO!" She laughed.

"It's true!" Claire vigorously nodded.

"And he's your brother, you say?" the woman inquired interestedly.

She nodded again. "Yes!"

"Was it a big boulder?"

Claire shrugged. "I only know from the papers and the fact that my brother broke his hand getting it off the guy." Her eyes lit up with amusement. "Chris LOVES telling that story to friends during the holidays!"

Dieter laughed heartily. "I bet he does!"

Claire giggled. "It's especially entertaining since he keeps changing the size of the boulder with each retelling. At one point it was ten feet, at another it was the size of a small house. One of these days it will be the size of King Kong."

The man crossed his arms together. "You like poking fun of your brother, don't you?"

"Sometimes," Claire admitted with a playful, teasing flash of mischief. "I like to think I'm keeping him grounded and humble. Somebody has to put him in his place, even if it means deflating his ego a bit now and then."

She watched as the woman shook her head. "Girl, you've just become the most interesting person we have encountered today by far!"

At that, the whole room erupted with laughter, causing Claire to shake away those feelings of anxiety. Sabrewulf was the only one not laughing, merely shaking his hooded head wearily in response.

Wiping his eyes, the man grinned. "Tell me, do you punch boulders yourself?"

The girl laughed again. "No! Absolutely not!"

As the laughter died down, Carol sighed. "So tell me, Ms. Redfield, do you know martial arts?"

Claire fidgeted nervously. "Umm, well I know a couple things that I picked up from my brother. Before S.T.A.R.S., Chris had joined with the Air Force at a pretty young age."

"Really?" The woman sat up, leaning on her arm as she listened intently. "How old had he been when he joined?"

"My age," Claire answered.

"That young?!" Carol said in shock, her jaw dropping. "Oh wow! What did your parents have to say about that?"

The girl slowly dropped her smile.

"...They, uh, didn't really have much to say. Well, they couldn't say anything about it, actually," she said uncomfortably.

"And why is that?"

Claire was quiet for a moment, her eyes lowered to the floor, her hands placed on her lap, fidgeting with the hems of her red cutoff jeans and black shorts.

"Our parents died a few years ago," she answered, her fingers scrunching up.

"Oh God," the woman gasped.

"...How did they die, if you don't mind my asking?" Sabrewulf asked hesitantly. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Claire remained still, then absentmindedly scratched her cheek.

"They were, um, killed in a car crash," she replied, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "I was twelve-years-old at the time, and, well, I was so confused. I mean, one moment they were there, the next...they were gone. My brother had been looking after me ever since." She gave a small sad smile. "It was- it was during that time that I became attached to your show. I mean, I already was a big fan of it, but one of my fondest memories growing up was spending quality time with my dad and brother in front of the TV while the program played. KI hasn't just been a huge part of my childhood growing up - it was also huge part of my life as well."

"Aw!" The woman gushed.

"Is your brother a fan of the show as well?" Dieter asked.

Claire shook her head. "No, not really. He liked to watch it occasionally, but when the monster characters started to appear," She noticed Sabrewulf stiffening at the mention, "he thought the show was 'too kiddy' for him. His words, not mine." She smiled. "...I just want to say that it's a pleasure meeting you, Baron Von Sabrewulf! You probably get this a lot, but I'm a huge fan of yours! I hope you get well soon, I loved watching you fight!"

She watched as the wheelchair-bound hooded figure reared his head back in surprise, taken off-guard by the enthusiastically cheerful reaction, the thick scarf hiding his features.

"Uh, thank you," he replied, clearing his throat as Claire felt her whole face become flushed.

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' Part of Claire mentally screamed in mortification as she kicked herself. 'God, this is so embarrassing!'

"So, uh...so why are you here? Why are you fighting? Is your brother here with you?"

Taking in a deep breath, Claire sobered up as she heard the question.

"That's-That's actually why I'm here," she admitted as she nervously cleared her throat. "My brother is in the hospital along with his partner - ah, police partner - and...since he was the breadwinner of the family, I've been trying to support us."

"Oh dear," the woman said as she put a hand to her mouth.

"...What happened?" Sabrewulf asked.

Claire shook her head. "A car accident."

"Another one?!" The man beside Sabrewulf said incredulously.

"A hit-and-run," she clarified.

"Were the police able to catch the one responsible?"

Claire remained still.

"No. No they're-they're still searching for them." Looking down to the floor, Claire suddenly felt very small in front of them. Tiny. "Look, um, I know I probably don't have a shot at this. There are probably better fighters out there with better outfits...but the thing is that I'm desperate. I've been working two jobs, but with the hospital bills piling up more and more along with the various others...I don't know what else to do. Chris is all I have left in terms of family, and...I would do anything for him."

The woman's features softened. "You care a lot about your brother."

Claire gave a single nod. "I do."

Sabrewulf sat quietly in his wheelchair, the hood and scar hiding his reactions. Taking this as a negative sign, Claire got up from her seat, clearing her throat.

"...I...uh...I think I'll just leave," she said uncomfortably. "I can see now that it was a mistake coming here and that I have made a fool of myself-"

"Sit down."

Claire jerked back in surprise, giving the Baron a startled look. "Huh?"

"Please," he gestured to the stool.

Looking uncertainly at the Baron, then back to the offered seat, Claire sat herself back down and looked ahead with uncertainty, waiting to hear what he had to say.

"...Are you sure you really want to do this?"

Claire sat there for a moment. Biting her lip, she gave a nod. "Yes."

Sabrewulf stared her for a long while, then folded his arms.

"You are a curious one, Ms. Redfield," he stated. "As you have pointed out, there are more experienced fighters around."

She lowered her eyes.

"But," he continued, "that said, however... I do see the fire in you. You are a brave girl, Ms. Redfield - driven and determined. I like that. It kind of reminds me of myself when I was younger. I'm not sure how you will fare against the other combatants...but...I see no reason why you shouldn't be allowed to participate in the tournament."

Claire blinked several times. Surely she misheard.

"...I'm sorry, what?" she said uncomprehendingly.

"You're in, girl," the woman smiled.

Claire's eyes widened as she shot up from her seat.

"For real?!" She said excitedly.

"For real," Sabrewulf nodded. "Welcome to Killer Instinct."

Claire started bouncing up and down screaming.

"OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" Realizing that she was making a spectacle of herself, Claire settled down and cleared her throat. "T-T-Thank you, Baron."

"Keep in mind that I'm only allowing you to enter," the Baron reminded. "You have to win the tournament itself in order to earn your prize."

"Of course, Baron," Claire nodded. "Still, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU so much for this!"

"No trouble at all," Sabrewulf waved dismissively. "I hope you succeed, Ms. Redfield. My prayers are with you and your brother."

"Thank you, Baron," Claire nodded gratefully. "You have no idea how much this means to me! Thank you!"

"Don't mention it. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one."

"And that is?"

Claire's eyes lit up like a child's. "When do I get to see the werewolf?"

Konrad didn't know what was funnier - the question itself, or the rather earnest and expectant way it was expressed.

Letting out a laugh, he shook his head in amusement.

"I'm afraid we have to keep the creatures separate from our competitors," he replied.

"Aw!" The Redfield girl pouted. "I've been hoping to get my picture taken with him."

"It is for the best," Konrad nodded. "You have to understand that it's very...complicated."

"I can imagine," the girl nodded understandingly, "what with all the various gizmos, paint jobs, rigging and so on."

"Right." Konrad shifted uneasily in his seat. "You will need to sign an NDA, or non-disclosure agreement, as the property where the tournament is being held does contain certain projects of a...sensitive nature."

He watched as Dieter handed her a slip of paper along with a pen, watching as the girl scanned through it carefully.

"Also," Konrad continued, "be aware that cell phones and mobiles are not allowed on the property for the sake of security. If you wish to make a call outside, you'll have to use the mainline, but just so that you are aware, all calls will be monitored."

Hearing that, Redfield looked up questioningly at him.

"You can't be too careful in this business," he merely shrugged.

The girl regarded him for a moment, then looked back to the slip of paper. Once she finished, she approached the table and signed her signature, handing it back.

"Thank you again, Baron."

He nodded. "Auf Wiedersehn, Ms. Redfield."

As she turned around to leave, she suddenly paused, hesitating.

"Yes?"

Turning back to face him, Konrad watch as she looked at him with a curious look.

"...Your condition," she said softly, causing him to stiffen, "...is it terminal?"

Konrad shifted in discomfort under the girl's scrutiny.

Seeing his reaction, the Redfield girl suddenly put a hand to her mouth as she became aware of the audaciousness in her question.

"I-I'm sorry, Baron," she apologized. "I really shouldn't have asked. It was none of my business."

"It wasn't," Konrad nodded stiffly, causing her to wince.

The girl then folded one arm across her chest, grabbing hold of the other as it dangled limply at her side.

"I-I just..." she lowered her eyes. "I just wanted to say that I hope you get better, Baron. You have my prayers."

He gave an amused snort. "You make it sound as if I were dead already."

A worried look flashed across her face. "No, that's not-"

"It's fine, it's fine," Konrad raised up his gloved hands placatingly. "I know what you were trying to say. Forgive me for my off-color sense of humor. Things have been a little difficult." He then gave single appreciative nod, clearing his throat. "Thank you for the...sentiment."

The girl gave a small friendly smile, and nodded back.

As she turned around to leave, Konrad found himself staring at the embroidered words as they leapt off from the red vest in yellow.

Couldn't have picked truer words himself.

As Claire exited the room, she felt herself dazed and disoriented, a flood of relief surging through her.

"Claire?" Looking up, Claire found herself meeting Rebecca's expectant eyes. "Is everything okay? How did it go?"

Claire shook her head dazedly, then let out a light, relieved laugh.

"I got in!"

Rebecca's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"I got in!"

The girls screeched as Claire pulled Rebecca into a bearhug, lifting the smaller girl off the ground as the two of them bounced around in excitement.

"Congratulations, Claire," Leon smiled. "So what happens now?"

"I'll need to go home, pack up some things and make sure everything is locked and turned off," Claire answered. "I'll have to come back here tomorrow at nine a.m. on the rooftop, where a helicopter will be taking us to Baron Von Sabrewulf's mansion." She shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it! Honest to God, I can't believe it."

"Just one step at a time, Claire," Leon said. "You still need to focus and win the tournament first. It's not over yet."

"I know, I know!" She waved, her eyes softening as she enveloped Rebecca and Leon in a tight hug. "Thank you so much for being here for me, guys."

"We're glad to be here, Claire." Rebecca smiled as she hugged her back.

In that moment, Claire felt pure bliss, as if she were blessed.

As soon as Claire got home, she went about cleaning and vacuuming everything. By the time she was finished, every plate and bowl was scrubbed clean and put back in its original place on the shelf in the kitchen, every corner sparkling clean. Every sock and piece of clothing was washed and put away.

Getting out her backpack, Claire stuffed in a fresh pair of clothes, underwear and toiletries, using every pocket available. Once she finished, she looked quietly around, inspecting every surface.

Every piece of garbage was thrown out. Not even a single dust bunny anywhere.

Crossing her arms, Claire felt a surge of pride come over.

Chris will be so happy to see this when he comes home.

At the thought of her brother, Claire let out a sigh.

There was just one more thing she needed to do.

Claire stood by the hospital bed, watching Chris' unconscious form.

"Hey Chris!" She said softly. "I've got good some news for you."

Her brother said nothing, the ECG beeping way at a steady pace.

"I managed to get into the tournament!" She smiled.

The girl fidgeted nervously before her brother, even as he lay there unconscious.

Part of her hoped he would just wake up to say something to reprimand her, but he just kept lying there on the bed, looking as if he were asleep.

Folding her arms, Claire absentmindedly brushed some bangs out from her eyes.

"I know what you are thinking," she spoke softly. "'What are you, a moron?!' It's just..." She bit her lip nervously, then put a hand over her mouth. "You know I've been wanting to do this for quite a while now." She shook her head. "I'm-I'm not going to pretend that I haven't dreamt about this moment, but I swear...if I knew this was how I was going to get in, I would take it all back. I would..."

She stopped, closing her eyes as she swallowed. "I would never wish for you to get hurt." Wiping her eyes, Claire stepped closer to her brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to be gone a while, but I promise, Chris, I'll succeed. I'll find a way to pay for your hospital bills. Yours and Jill's. Rebecca and Leon will come to visit you often, and I'm going to check in every day so that I know that you are okay, alright? I'm...I'm not abandoning you. I would never abandon you. I will....I will never abandon you."

Claire's eyes burned as tears cascaded down her cheeks. Leaning forward, she gently placed a kiss on her brother's forehead, then gave a slight squeeze of his shoulder.

"Good bye, Chris."

As Claire left the hospital bed, tears continued to pour out, even as she went back home.

Claire stood before Leon, the sun setting in the distance, coloring everything with romantic hues of orange, red and gold.

Taking her hands into his, Leon gently cupped her chin. "Claire," he spoke softly, "there's something I need to tell you."

The girl swallowed anxiously as a blush formed on her cheeks, her heart pounding in her chest.  "What-What is it, Leon?" she asked in a timid though hopeful voice, trying to hide her excitement.

Leon opened his mouth...then bleated. Loudly.

"BAAAAAAHH, BAAAAAAAHHHH! MAAAAAAAHHH, MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH, BAAAAHH!" He cried, his eyes possessing a crazed, glassy stare.

Claire blinked. "What the fuck?!"

"BAAAAAAHH, BAAAAAAAHHHH! MAAAAAAAHHH, MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH, BAAAAHH!"

Opening her eyes, Claire turned and looked around in confusion before realizing the truth.

Her sheep alarm clock had gone off.

Frowning, she reached over and turned off the alarm, then lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Goddamn it," Claire muttered.

She was having such a good dream.

Laying there for a moment, she waited a minute, then rolled onto her side. Grabbing the clock, she checked the time.

Six a.m.

Sitting herself up, Claire yawned and stretched.

"Well," she said to no one, "time to get ready."

By the time Claire finished using the washroom, bathed and got dressed, she found Leon and Rebecca just outside her front door.

"All ready?" Leon asked.

Claire nodded, adjusting the backpack. "Yeah, I just need to lock up."

"Okay. You have everything you need?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Claire waved. Looking behind her, Claire regarded the tiny house and its aged furniture. She was going to miss this. It wasn't glamourous by any means, but it was home.

"Come on, Claire, you're going to be late!" Rebecca urged.

Stirring from her thoughts, Claire then gave a nod, giving one final glance to her home before shutting the door behind her.

It took thirty minutes to find a parking place.

Upon entering the building, Claire was surprised to see over a dozen or so people inside.

"I'm guessing these are the other competitors?" Leon commented.

"Looks like it," Claire nodded, the girl pausing at a particular individual sitting alone on a bench in the corner, a smile forming on her face as she gave a wave. "Hey!"

Jago looked up from the bench as she approached along with the others. "Hm? Oh, hello."

Claire placed her hands together and bowed slightly.

"Tashi Delek, Jago," she said as she gave a slight bow and a smile.

He returned the gesture. "Tashi Delek, Ms. Redfield." Jago then gave a curious glance to her companions. "And who are these?"

"These are my friends Rebecca and Leon. Guys, this is Jago."

Rebecca gave a polite nod. "Hello."

Leon held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said.

Jago's brow twitched as Claire cleared her throat.

"Um, it's impolite to shake hands, Leon," she said.

"Indeed," Jago nodded.

Leon drew his hand away. "Sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect."

"It happens," the monk said calmly.

"So, you've actually managed to get accepted into the tournament!" Claire commented.

Jago gave a nod. "Indeed I have."

"Well, I wish you luck!"

As they were about to part, a murmur rose from the people around them.

"What's going on?" Rebecca asked in confusion.

Claire looked around, then stopped at the front door, her eyes bulging open.

"Holy shit!"

Stepping into the lobby was a tall African American man of six-one and two hundred and twenty-one pounds, his form so powerfully built that he was a rippling specimen of pure muscle, looking more like an ebony sculpture than a living person. His black hair done in a short crop top, the man had strong rugged features with a broken nose and a goatee, his eyes hidden behind a pair of blue sunglasses. His manner of dress was garish, consisting of a a red, white and blue star-spangled vest done in the style of the American flag with a flared-up collar and a white tank top underneath, the words "COMBO" scrawled along his chest in black, his forearms concealed in hand wraps. Completing the ensemble were a pair of long camo pants and thick military boots.

Leon frowned.

"What the hell is he doing here?" he said in a disapproving voice.

Claire was absolutely speechless as T.J. Combo swaggered inside with the cockiest smirk she had ever seen, a murmur rising from the other people in the room, most of it in disapproval. A lot of them were booing, and quite honestly, Claire couldn't really blame them.

"There's no way Ultratech is letting him enter the tournament, are they?" Rebecca frowned.

"Why? What is the problem?" Jago asked.

"You've never heard of T.J. Combo?" Claire said in surprise.

The monk shook his head in answer.

"He was a boxing champion who cheated his way to the top," Leon replied. "His arms have titanium shaft implants in them, the very same ones used to help rehabilitate athletes and improve strength in their bones and musculature."

Claire watched uneasily as one of the fighters got up from his seat, a small thin young guy of twenty-six that stood at five-ten and was dressed in a tank top and Army regalia, his short hair done in a military-styled crew cut with the front part of his hair all spiked up with gel.

"You've got some nerve showing your face around here, Garret!" The man growled.

T.J. smirked. "It's a free country, Jack."

"Yeah, but it shouldn't mean a fucking disgrace like you should be part of this tournament!" The man said as he tightened his fists angrily.

The boxer folded his arms impatiently. "Ya got a problem with me?"

"Yeah. As a matter of fact I do," the man said. "You broke my brother's jaw in the ring with those fancy implants of yours, the same ones relatives of mine are using for combatting arthritis." His lips curled in disgust, his fists clenching harder. "You have no right being in the ring, just as you have no right having those implants. The sight of you here makes me sick to my stomach. Get the fuck out of here, you fucking faggot."

T.J. got up into the man's face, towering over him. "Try and make me, bitch."

"Alright, break it up!" A guard yelled as he stepped between the two men. "Back off."

"Is he part of the tournament?" the man asked.

"I'm afraid he is," the guard shrugged. "Nobody is to fight outside the ring. Back off, or you will be escorted out."

Claire watched as the man looked between T.J. and the guard, then stormed off.

Sighing in relief, Claire perked up as the speaker went off.

"Attention all fighters, your transport is now ready. Please gather your things together and head to the rooftop."

Claire watched as people around them hugged their various friends and families. Looking to her friends, Claire nodded.

"Well, this is it," she said.

Rebecca stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, causing Claire's heart to melt.

"Take care of yourself, Claire," she said quietly.

"You too, Rebecca," Claire said back to her, tightening her hold.

Pulling away, Claire then hugged Leon.

"Take good care of Rebecca for me, okay?" Claire said.

"I will," he assured.

"We'll also be sure to look after your brother as well," Rebecca added. "If we hear anything, we'll let you know."

Pulling away, Claire wiped her eyes. "Thanks, guys."

Rebecca sniffled. "Goodbye, Claire."

Claire sniffed. "Goodbye, Rebecca."

As she turned away, Claire adjusted the strap on her shoulder and followed the crowd up the various flights of stairs, the tears never leaving until she finally arrived at the helicopters, a collection of Bell-206s with thumping loud propellers that sounded like drums.

Once she got onboard, Claire looked out the window and stared at the rest of Raccoon City, watching as it grew smaller and smaller until finally it disappeared from view.

And that concludes this chapter. :)

Guest: No worries. While sexiness has certainly been a part of both Ada and Orchid's characters, rest assured that those aspects are only one part of what makes them tick. The way I see Ada/Orchid, she is essentially a rose - beautiful, but deadly. The interesting thing about both characters is that they're both beauty and beast rolled into one (or rather two) unique packages, and you'll be seeing that.

Also, I just want to give shout-outs to The Goddess Iusaaset, Dusk Evermore and antihero276 and highly recommend everyone read their works, especially the latter's story "A Nightmare On Elm Street 6" - it is a really cool fic worth checking out, and they are all wonderful writers deserving more readers.

Hope you're enjoying it, everyone! Take care.

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Five: Arrival

For the most part, the flight was uneventful.

A couple people were passing the time conversing with one another, making jokes, playing cards, etc. A few had fallen asleep in their seats while one or two were quietly listening to music playing from their earpieces.

Claire herself, however, felt restless - too anxious to fall asleep, and yet at the same time feeling bored out of her mind. She didn't really want to talk to anyone, and because of that, she found herself focused on nothing other than the mountains outside, staring out to the great expanse of trees, greenery and mist down below.

It was a strangely ethereal vision; for a moment, Claire felt as if she were traversing through some mystical barrier into new uncharted territory, and part of her felt giddy with excitement. For the first time in her life, Claire Redfield, the girl next door, was going on an adventure, and she was excited to know what awaited.

As she stared down to the oceans of green and white, Claire's imagination went wild, a kaleidoscope of various, unthought of possibilities flashing in her mind's eye.

She couldn't help feeling like a little girl going on a big adventure. What treasures lay hidden in wait? What challenges did she need to face, and what monsters must she encounter and conquer?

As the unexpected thought of the latter came to the mind, Claire blinked in surprise, caught off-guard by the thought.

Monsters?

Where had that thought come from?

Claire tiredly shook her head. She was getting too caught up in the enchantment of this whole experience.

And yet...on some level...the feeling remained.

Looking outside, there was something about the mountains themselves that...hinted at something. At what, Claire frankly had no idea, other than the fact the sensation was gnawing at her on a deeply subconscious level. She wouldn't call it "fear" exactly, but she did feel a certain level of unease, although why she felt the way she had Claire herself wasn't at all certain. There was a strange, almost hypnotic and dream-like quality about this mountain and forest, the very air electrical and alive, so charged with potential that for a moment Claire actually felt it on a primal level.

Looking over to Jago as he sat there with his arms folded, Claire couldn't help noticing the monk squirm, his brows knitted tightly together, as if something were deeply troubling him. For a moment, it seemed as if he himself noticed the peculiar atmosphere in this area. Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into it.

"First time flying?" Claire asked, drawing the monk's attention. Jago gave a weak nod, causing her to give a reassuring smile. "I'm sure everything will be okay. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?"

He nodded again gratefully. "Hm."

As she looked back to the window, Claire watched and waited, listening to the propeller's unrelentingly monotonous thump.

Claire didn't know what to expect when she finally arrived at the castle, but she never imagined anything like what she was currently seeing.

"Wow!" She gasped as she took it all in.

It was a vast, grey, gloomy and sprawling collection of buildings, a strange mixture of old Medieval style with the industrial creeping in around the edges and in certain sections. Made of stone and built upon a hillside, the main house itself, located in the center of this mass, was built over a moat with a draw bridge at the entrance, its back facing a huge lake with thick forests and mountains beyond. In the forests and parts of the outside, Claire observed various security guards driving around in all-terrain vehicles that rumbled on the ground and flew through the air while squads of the personnel patrolled by foot, some of them accompanied by one or two of those damn Theseus android units.

Shivering, Claire averted eyes away from them, looking at the various buildings. These all probably had some sort of story back in Germany, and she longed to know more about them.

One house some distance away in particular, however, caught her eye, the architecture itself looking very different from the other buildings; standing ominously amongst them at two stories high like some sort of old headstone was an old mansion of British Palladian style, its grey color palette complimented by its black roof while black and yellow CAUTION tape was wrapped all the way around it.

From the sheer size, it looked massive, possibly over ten thousand square feet with adjoining wings on its sides and lined with columns, with a terrace at the top of the west end that overlooked the front yard. In front of the mansion was a statue of a woman in Grecian robes, while staring out from the main building's façade over the front door was a lancet window with an oculi up top. The place looked dilapidated, with parts worn away and shingles missing in places. And yet, what made it so bizarre was the fact that efforts had clearly been made to integrate it with the more Germanic Medieval features of the other buildings, resulting in it having two contrasting, even downright contradictory styles that seemed to clash against one another.

For a brief moment, Claire couldn't help but be given the crazy impression that the Germanic buildings and settings were trying to swallow the British-styled mansion whole but for whatever reason was unsuccessful, with the the latter standing in defiance to the former, even if it seemed to be falling apart and was losing an unwinnable battle.

'What's the story behind that particular building?' Claire wondered.

As the girl stared out the window of the helicopter, she felt a slight bump, causing her to jerk forward.

"Sorry, folks! Nothing to worry about, just a minor bit of turbulence," the pilot upfront assured with a smile. "Everyone fasten your seatbelts, we're going to be landing soon."

Complying, Claire hastily put hers on and leaned back into her seat, praying to God that nothing happened.

The helicopter thumped as it carefully landed on the loading platform beside the others. Once the propellers slowed down, the side doors opened, allowing everyone to step outside, where a man in a black suit greeted them.

"Welcome to Sabrewulf Castle!" He said loudly over the din, his hair fluttering. "Please follow me inside, everyone!"

As Claire took her first step onto the rooftop, she looked around in excitement, a smile etched on her face as she followed along with the other competitors. After she was patted down by a security officer along with the others, Claire continued her way down into the mansion itself.

Claire gave a small gasp of wonder as she and the others looked around.

"Oh wow!" She said in amazement.

The rooms were all large and spacious, all of them filled with very ornate and expensive-looking furnishings, paintings and sculptures. One hallway had a collection of white marble busts lined up against both sides, each one depicting some long-departed figurehead from the illustrious though enigmatic Sabrewulf family, while in a lot of others were suits of Medieval armor that stood on guard.

Stepping into a massive stone hallway with a hanging chandelier, Claire curiously gave the place a once-over. Lit torches and candles were lined nearby against the columned walls while arched curtained windows spilled their miniscule light into the room through slight cracks.

The room appeared to have been some sort of extravagant ballroom at some point, but it was so dark and...unwelcoming.

Moving her eyes to the other fighters around her, Claire saw some of the anxious looks on their faces as they murmured amongst one another.

"Fucking creepy, don't you think?" She heard a woman whisper.

"Meh, I've been in worse shitholes," T.J. commented.

A door creaked open nearby, causing everyone to cease their murmurs as the Baron was rolled into the room from far end of the left hand side, accompanied by a man in a grey suit and several security personnel in kevlar suits and thick helmets with blue visors drawn down, obscuring their features. Off to the sides, observing the group were four Theseus androids, their skull-like heads watching them with dead expressions.

"Ah! You are all here! Good," Sabrewulf nodded. "There haven't been any problems getting here?"

Before anyone had a chance to speak, a female voice called from a speaker with a flat, neutral tone. "Negative. Aside from minor turbulence, all flights have been successful."

"Who's that?" T.J. said in confusion as everyone glanced curiously around while Sabrewulf shifted in his seat with apparent discomfort.

"Uhh...good. Thank you, A.R.I.A." Clearing his throat, Sabrewulf then clasped his gloved hands together. "And now for introductions. Welcome to my castle. I am Baron Konrad Von Sabrewulf, and it is a pleasure to have you all in my home. The voice you heard from the speaker just now is A.R.I.A-"

"Aria, huh? She sounds hot," T.J. replied. "Is she single?"

Sabrewulf was completely still for a moment, not saying anything. He reached up to his eyes, shaking his head as he started to tremble.

At first, Claire thought that he was upset or having a seizure based on how much his whole person quaked, but then she realized what was happening; he seemed to be trying to refrain from laughing...but was failing miserably.

"She's-She's an AI. The-The 'Advanced Robotics Intelligence Architecture' system that operates here and monitors activity." Upon finishing, he along with several fighters, including Claire herself, suddenly burst into a fit of laughter while T.J. stood awkwardly there with a look of embarrassment.

Taking in a deep breath, the aristocrat raised up his gloved hand. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He then cleared his throat as the laughter slowly subsided. "My apologies, Mr. Garret, that was rude of me." Turning back to everyone else, he continued, "You have all met my bodyguard Dieter."

Claire looked to the aforementioned man as he tipped his grey fedora in greeting.

"Dieter", if that was his real name, was a tall man of indeterminate age, probably somewhere in his mid to late thirties, possibly forties, with a broad, square jaw and rugged features.

His eyes, Claire noticed, were cold and stormy grey, matching his suit perfectly, while his slicked-back hair was black and oily with gel.

While he was undoubtedly handsome, Claire couldn't help sensing a sly, dangerous quality about him that kind of put her on edge. With his old-fashioned, 1930s-styled double-breasted coat and broad-brimmed hat, he had the look and air of a thug, a gangster that had stepped out of some old noir film.

As if sensing the discomfort of the fighters, Sabrewulf cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

"Since all of you will be participating in the tournament itself, it is important that we cover some of the basic ground rules around here," he began. "One, there will be no fighting outside of the ring itself. Whatever grudges you have against whoever, save it for the actual match. If there is any fighting at all on these premises, you are out. I will not tolerate bully behavior."

Claire heard one or two people scoff in derision, with some rolling their eyes.

"Two, no mobiles or cellphones are allowed. All of you have signed an NDA, and because of that, none of you are allowed to record any footage that is to take place here. If we catch anyone with a camera, you will automatically be disqualified."

He stopped as a hand was raised up. "Ja?"

"How are we going to be able to get in contact with friends and family?" A youngish male asked.

"As I had mentioned before, you will be using the mainline," Sabrewulf answered. "Keep in mind, however, that all calls going in and out will be monitored." He paused as another hand was raised. "Ja?"

"What about email?" A woman asked as she folded her arms.

"You can use one of the computer labs here, but again, you will be monitored."

"What if one of us has a family emergency?" Another man asked.

Sabrewulf shook his head. "I'm afraid there is not much you can do," he said regretfully. "If you need to leave the tournament because of it, you are allowed to withdraw at any time. However, once you withdraw, there is no turning back."

A grave silence filled the room as Claire anxiously shifted. So it really was all or nothing.

Another person raised his hand.

"Ja?"

"What if a match coincides with a religious holiday or event?"

Sabrewulf nodded thoughtfully. "Ja, that is indeed a concern. You don't have to worry, however - accommodations will be made for each of you. We took those aspects in consideration in determining matchups and the schedule itself. If we have missed anything, please bring it to our attention as soon as possible so that we can rectify the error."

He then adjusted his scarf and sunglasses. "Moving on," he continued, "rule number three - weapons are allowed to be used in matches."

People murmured.

"Are you fucking serious?" One of the guys protested. "How is that fair?!"

"Keep in mind, other fighters will be allowed to use weapons as well, or, alternatively, opt to not use them at all during the match."

"Oh great, so the other guy is going to win on the basis of being armed!" One fighter complained.

Sabrewulf folded his arms. "It is not a question of who has the best weapon, Mr. Coen. Killer Instinct has always been about skill and perseverance. Any good fighter knows that. It's the fighter that makes the difference, not the weapon. The latter is merely a tool, an extension of the fighter him or herself." He shifted in his chair. "That said, however, I am not allowing firearms in this tournament. No pistols, guns, bombs or anything else that dangerous is to be used against another fighter on these premises."

"Brass knuckles?" A fighter off to the side smirked.

"Preferably not," Sabrewulf said flatly, drawing a disgruntled grunt.

"What about him?" One of the fighters pointed to T.J. Combo. "He has cybernetic implants."

"He can fight," Sabrewulf nodded. "Exceptions can be made for people with cybernetic augmentation. Whether they are disabled or not, as long as the fighter him or herself has made the implants known in the first place, they may fight."

The man frowned. "But-"

"I said he can fight," he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. The man folded his arms angrily, then looked away. "Now, where were we? Ah, I remember now. Fighters that are armed are to avoid cutting or killing at all costs. Despite the name of the tournament, it is in name only. Fighters are to be given a chance to yield whenever possible. If the fighter him or herself wishes to continue without their weapon, they may do so until they either yield, if a referee feels the need to intervene, when time runs out, or if they are unable to continue. No one is allowed to draw their weapon against another outside of a match, let alone kill them. If anyone so much as raises a stick or threatens someone with said-weapon, not only will you be expelled from the tournament, but you will be handed over the police. Understood?"

The fighters murmured in acknowledgement.

"Good. Now, let's continue." Sabrewulf cleared his throat. "Rule number five - all fighters must hand in their weaponry. We will keep them safe with us at the armory at all times so as to avoid anyone getting hurt as well as to prevent theft. Any and all hidden weaponry is prohibited and will result in immediate dismissal. Also, be aware that whenever you are collecting your weapons, it will always be under the careful supervision of two or more security guards. Every part of these premises is under heavy surveillance - I advise you all to tread carefully and watch your step, or it may end up being your last." He quietly and meaningfully stared at them all, allowing his words to sink in. "Those of you who are armed, please follow these gentlemen down to the storage unit on Floor 2B, where they shall be registered." He indicated a couple of security guards, "You will be supplied with an identification number to collect it for the upcoming match. We will continue once you return."

Claire watched and waited as several fighters followed the pair of armed guards, Jago being among them, much to the young girl's surprise.

A few minutes later, the group returned.

"Now that is out of the way, we'll continue from where we were," Sabrewulf said as he folded his arms together. "Rule number six - no one is allowed to bully, demean or antagonize each other. While I realize that all of you are competing against one another, that doesn't mean that you shouldn't be civil. You are all adults - as long as you are all living on these premises, I will not tolerate any drama. I have a three-strike rule in place - don't push it. Please refrain from any childish behavior. If any of you causes trouble, you are out. Rule number seven, team-ups aren't allowed. I repeat, team-ups are NOT allowed. While you are all certainly allowed - and encouraged - to interact and be friendly with one another, you are not, however, allowed to gang up on other fighters just so that you can get ahead. Everyone should be treated respectfully, no matter who they are, where they're from, what age, sex, religion, or race."

Claire heard someone give a derisive scoff, earning a glare from the Baron. A few minutes later, he continued,

"Rule number eight - drug usage is prohibited. If you have a medical condition and/or are in need of medical attention, you are to notify and consult with Dr. Erin Gupte, one of my personal doctors and leading scientists, as soon as possible." Claire raised up her hand. "Ja, Ms. Redfield?"

"Where will we be sleeping?" she asked.

"Ah! Glad you have asked," Sabrewulf nodded thoughtfully. "We have a pair of guest houses just outside this mansion that have been specially prepared for you all. Each of you will receive a private room. However, I am afraid that, for the sake of security, men and women must be segregated." Claire heard the fighters let out collective disappointed groans. "Don't worry, you can still meet and interact with one another, but please, behave yourselves."

"Yes, Dad," T.J. smirked, earning a few snickers.

Sabrewulf shook his head wearily as he continued, "Moving on, rule number nine - no one is allowed to steal. This goes without saying, but if any of you have been discovered to have committed a crime, not only will you be disqualified, but we will also contact the police."

Claire noticed one of the fighters tense up.

"Rule number ten - you are only allowed access to certain parts of my estate, and at certain times of the day. Which leads me to rule number eleven - none of you are allowed to traverse through the woods, especially at night."

He exhaled. "Look, I realize that all of you may be excited to be here, but I do need to remind you, however, that we are in a forest high up in the mountains - it can be very easy for anyone to get lost. Animals do tend to wander around here occasionally, and if anyone happens to encounter anything, I recommend moving as far away as possible and getting in contact with Security. Do not feed the animals around here, don't try to 'pet', play with or pick up anything with your bare hands, just leave them alone. Aside from the potential diseases they may be carrying, they are wild animals. They will hurt and/or kill you should you provoke them."

Claire raised up a hand.

"Ja?"

Claire swallowed anxiously. "Are-Are animal attacks up here common?"

"Nein, but they do occur from time to time," Sabrewulf answered. "What is important, however, is that nobody does anything stupid to lead to such an eventuality. Please, don't worry. As long as everyone follows the rules, everything should be fine." He then adjusted his hood. "One area in particular that I emphasize avoiding at all costs, though, is the mansion with the caution tape plastered all around it."

"What's wrong with it, exactly?" A woman piped up.

"Aside from being structurally unsafe, the building is also leaking gas."

Claire perked up. "Gas?" she repeated, earning anxious glances from everyone.

"Ja," Sabrewulf nodded. "You may see people with gas masks coming about from time to time at odd hours." He paused, then jerked up in realization as if just remembering. "Oh! But please don't worry - that building is far enough away from where we are to not cause us any problems, so please, there isn't any need to fear. All of the electrical appliances and generators there have been turned off until the matter has been resolved. For your own safety, however, please avoid going over there."

People murmured amongst each other, with one or two giving slight shrugs and conceding nods.

"Now, I have with me several copies for the shooting schedule, along with maps containing lists of places that you are allowed to visit as well as areas that are out of bounds. Areas marked in green mean that they are safe while the ones marked in red mean that they're not. Dieter, pass around the papers, if you please."

Claire watched as the bodyguard nodded, going around to each person with a couple sheets of papers. Once she got hold of hers, Claire glanced down and curiously studied it.

"Does everyone have a copy of the map and schedule?" Sabrewulf asked.

Several people murmured in acknowledgement. Satisfied, the Baron nodded his hooded head.

"Good. Now that has been settled, I will need you all to follow me downstairs for a physical examination, checkup and vaccination."

Claire blinked in confusion, lifting up her eyes from the schedule and map. "Huh? Uh, why do we need to be vaccinated?"

"It's standard procedure here for every fighter entering the tournament," Sabrewulf explained. "It is invasive, admittedly, but we want to take precautions. It's important that we eliminate any germs as well as make certain that every fighter here is healthy enough to participate. After all, the last thing any of us want is for someone to keel over in the middle of a fight or risk passing on infections such as HIV or AIDS."

At the mention of the latter, everyone stiffened in alert.

Claire shifted uncomfortably. "But wouldn't you have already known about it beforehand?"

"Ideally we would. We try to avoid having such a thing happen whenever possible," Sabrewulf replied, "but you have to understand,Ms. Redfield, people will lie, especially where there is a great deal of money on the line."

She shrugged, conceding his point. "Touché."

The Baron then adjusted his cloak, "Now, if you will follow me please, everyone."

Claire didn't know what to expect when she entered the doctor's office in the basement. Sitting behind her desk with her back facing her was an intimidating, stoic, sixty-one-year-old woman with short silver hair, strong prominent features, and a stern mouth.

Dressed in a lab coat, a white buttoned up blazer, blouse and a long black skirt with heels, she exuded confidence and a sense of authority, taking Claire aback despite her much smaller frame and stature.

"Guten Tag," the woman greeted, her voice low and grating like ice as she eyed a collection of papers in hand. "I am Dr. Erin Gupte. Could I have your name please?"

Claire cleared her throat, put off by the cold demeanor of the woman. "Uh, Claire Redfield."

"Hm." The woman, Gupte, then put the papers aside and turned around, looking directly at her with hard cruel eyes, causing the young girl to flinch. Gupte watched her for a moment, then gestured over to an examination table. "I will need you on the table, please."

Claire complied, seating herself down on the table as instructed.

"Now, Ms. Redfield, do you have any allergies that I should be made aware of?"

"No, Doctor."

"Are you on any sort of medication?"

"No."

"Do you possess any cybernetic implants I should be made aware of?"

"No."

"Are you pregnant?"

Claire laughed. "Absolutely not!" She then looked at the older woman curiously. "Do you get many of those around here?"

"Occasionally," Gupte shrugged. "You'd be surprised by some of the fighters that would make their way here. Sometimes we might get the odd teenage runaway who is a couple months pregnant trying to earn quick cash."

"Really?" Claire said interestedly. "Are they allowed to fight?"

Gupte shook her head. "I'm afraid not, unfortunately," she said regretfully. "However, it is probably for the best. The tournament can be pretty brutal at times." She then pushed up her glasses. "I'm going to need to perform a physical examination as well as perform blood work to ensure that you aren't on anything, alright? After that, I'll give you a vaccination. It will be quick and painless."

Claire nodded, her heart racing at the mention of the latter.

'What have I gotten myself into?' she wondered.

Claire sat outside the lab on a bench, pouting as she massaged her arm.

"Is this seat taken?"

Claire looked up to the speaker, taken by surprise upon recognizing T.J. Combo. "Uh, not at all! Go ahead!"

Nodding appreciatively, T.J. sat down beside her, rolling his shoulder.

"Take it you just got your blood sucked by Lady Dracula in there?" he asked, pointing to the office.

She smiled, nodding. "Yeah."

"Ah." T.J. shook his head. "I have no idea why we need to do this."

Claire quirked a brow. "Not a fan of needles?"

"Hell no."

She shrugged. "I'm not crazy about them, either," the girl replied as she rubbed her sore arm, looking curiously at him. "You're T.J. Combo."

T.J. smirked. "Damn straight. And you are?"

She held out her hand in greeting. "I'm Claire Redfield."

Taking hers, they shook.

"Nice to meet ya," he said confidently, grinning from ear to ear. "So, you're a fan?"

"Actually, my brother is. Well, was," Claire replied as she tucked a bang behind one ear, the smile dropping from T.J.'s face. "After my brother found out about your cheating, he was pretty disappointed. You were his favorite."

He winced.

"Um...sorry," Claire apologized as he looked away. The two awkwardly sat there waiting, looking for something to say. "Um...do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Go ahead," T.J. nodded.

She looked at him seriously. "...Why did you do it?"

He remained quiet for a moment.

"I'm not going to judge you or anything - I just want to know. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

He leaned thoughtfully back in his seat, folding his arms as he looked up to the ceiling. He was quiet for so long that Claire started to feel uncomfortable, wondering if she had crossed a line.

Looking away, she cleared her throat. "Sorry to have asked you such a personal question. I'll just go away-"

"I was desperate," he admitted, causing her to pause and sit back down. "I got sloppy. One moment I had it all, the next I was in the shitter, and I wanted to find an easy way out. So, I thought this...this would help me." He gestured to the surgical scars on his arms. "Ended up back in the shitter anyway."

Claire looked at the scar tissue, wincing slightly. "...Does it hurt at all?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Doesn't bother me one bit. I'm used to pain, girl. Comes with the territory. If ya ain't receivin', ya better start dishin', and I'm pretty damn good at the latter."

Claire nodded. "I saw your fights. You were really good."

He smirked. "I know, right? I was something, wasn't I?"

"You were," she nodded again, smiling. "I think you still are, if that means anything. I mean, you held the title for twenty years - that has to count for something! And that was even before you had those implants!"

He nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Yeah, I still am something," he said as he looked away. "I am T.J. Combo."

He had a look on his face and a tone in his voice that were both hard to identify. To Claire, however, it was the look and sound of a man who seemed...lost. His words had a kind of hollow uncertainty, as if he were uncertain about his own relevancy, like a man questioning whether or not his time had come, if he still got it or if it was time to throw in the towel. Seeing him that way, Claire couldn't help feeling pity for him. To see a great giant reduced down to size, it was a sad sight for anyone to see. She watched him for a long while, then pulled her folded up map out from her pocket along with a pen.

"I don't know how far I'm going to make it in the tournament," she began, "but would it be alright if I have your autograph? It's for my brother, and it would mean a lot to me if you could."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then smiled.

"Sure, kid." He then took the pen and map. "Who do I address it to?"

"My brother's name is Chris. He's...he's in the hospital."

She watched as he paused mid-writing. "Ouch. Sorry to hear, kid."

Claire smiled sadly. "Thanks."

"What's wrong with him?" he asked.

"Car accident," Claire replied.

He exhaled softly. "Damn. That's rough." Claire watched and waited as the boxer wrote on the map. Once he finished, he handed it back to her. "There you go."

At that moment, Gupte stepped out from her office.

"Mr. Garret, it's your turn now."

T.J. scowled. "Looks like Lady Dracula wants a taste of my blood now," he grumbled.

"I wish you luck, Mr. Garret," Claire smiled.

He quirked a brow at her.

"Luck?" He smirked. "Lady, I create my own luck. I make the impossible possible, baby. Just watch and let me show you how it's done."

Getting up from the bench, T.J. Combo rose to his full height, his muscles rippling with strength as he stretched and flexed.

"T.J. Combo," he said aloud in a deep and powerful voice, speaking his own name as if it were an empowering mantra.

Claire rolled her eyes. Typical male bullshit.

As he stepped forward, he gave one last look over his shoulder, smiling.

"You're a good kid, Claire. Thanks for that. I wish you luck with the tournament." T.J. gave her an approving nod and a thumbs up, then disappeared into the room, the door closing behind him.

"Surprised to see you getting all chummy with that guy." A feminine voice to her right called out.

Blinking curiously, Claire turned to the speaker, then shrugged.

"Well, I don't have any reason not to be nice to him," she replied. "It's not like he hasn't done anything to upset me."

The woman hummed thoughtfully. Curious, Claire took her appearance in, looking at her from top to bottom.

She was a stunning Asian woman with a black bob cut and a killer hourglass body, with a bust that made the younger girl feel envious of the woman, if not woefully inadequate. Dressed entirely in green with a yellow headband and black fingerless gloves, the woman wore a a short thin green jacket with sleeves so short that it looked more like a shirt, the zipper lowered down to reveal a black t-shirt underneath. Green shorts with a brown belt buckle clung to her shapely hips, while long, knee-length green boots with protective kneepads drew Claire's attention to the woman's long legs.

What really caught Claire by surprise, however, was the fact that she never had noticed her among the various fighters given how beautiful she was, which came as quite a shock to the young girl. After all, the woman herself was wearing an all-green outfit with the words "HOT" scrawled on her side in bright yellow - not exactly subtle stuff by any imagination!

So how was it that she had managed to escape her notice?

"...Is everything alright?" the woman asked.

Blinking, Claire rubbed the back of her head as she sheepishly smiled. "Uh, yeah! Sorry about that, you just...kind of came out of nowhere!"

"Hm."

Claire then held out her hand. "I'm Claire Redfield."

The woman looked down at the offered limb, then looked back to her with a hint of amusement.

"Ha. Cute." Then, she enigmatically sauntered off, leaving Claire alone and confused.

Looking down at her hand, Claire looked back up again, only to find that the woman had disappeared into the crowd of fighters.

What a weird woman.

Claire waited until all of the fighters had finished.

A few of them had fainted from the vaccinations, at which point, Gupte had some doctors attend to them. A couple others had to be forcibly removed by some security guards after the blood tests revealed some negative results.

Finally, just when Claire was starting to feel fed up, Sabrewulf rolled in on his wheelchair.

"Alright, everyone. My apologies for the minor inconvenience to all of you. Now that is out of the way, let me give you all a tour of my home. Follow close, please."

Claire looked around at the various elaborate rooms and furniture, astonished by how expensive everything looked as Sabrewulf and Dieter showed them around the areas they had access to.

In one room was a large gym stacked full of training equipment, the room supervised by a cheerful old Chinese American man named Tyler Zhou, the Baron's private trainer. Inside were boxing bags, treadmills, weights and tons of other stuff, including showers, all of which the fighters themselves had access to at any time, provided that they signed themselves in and out and were under supervision.

In another room was a recreation room that must have been the size of Claire's own house that had a bar, a pool table, a jukebox, even some old arcade machines from the 90s, including the original KI arcade cabinet from '94 in the far right hand corner.

There was a computer lab full of state of the art equipment and monitors, complete with a sign-in desk.

The next area was a massive dining room with a long table and a thunderously loud grandfather clock right beside it in the center, with a fireplace at the very end that bore the Sabrewulf sigil, a pair of crossed sabers with a wolf's head at the center, with the words "Zahn und Klaue" written beneath in fancy font.

Squinting at the words, Claire tilted her head from side to side, then raised up her hand.

"Yes, Ms. Redfield?" Sabrewulf called.

"What do those words mean?" Claire pointed to the words on the sigil.

The Baron gave a low chuckle as he shifted in his wheelchair. "Ah, 'Zahn Und Klaue'. It's the Sabrewulf family motto."

"Which means?"

He exhaled. "'Tooth and Claw', Ms. Redfield. 'Tooth and claw'." Drumming his gloved fingers along the armrests of his wheelchair, he glanced over to the grandfather clock. "I think that might be all for today. I imagine all of you must be feeling exhausted after that long flight, so why don't we show you all to your rooms?"

The group had just stepped into the main hall, where they were greeted by a long hallway with a marble floor with a staircase at the end and chandelier that hung from the ceiling, but it was the being that occupied the landing that drew everyone's attention, causing a woman to scream and Claire's heart to leap.

"Oh my God!" She gasped in elation, her pupils dilating.

A diminutive figure that stood at five-six, Spinal was one of KI's most iconic characters, if not one of its creepiest. Seeing it in the flesh...or rather, in real life, however, he was a visually startling sight to take in.

A human skeleton that was held together by no apparent form of tissue or muscle, the only things it wore were a red bandanna wrapped around its forehead along with Scottish tartan that was held up by a belt around its waist, while a pair of buccaneer boots that looked like they were from the late 1700s adorned its feet.

Wrapped around its ribbed torso were a cluttered series of ropes while what looked like old rotted parts of a ship's mast and steering wheel were impaled straight into its right shoulder, with one part swinging around loosely behind each time it moved. In one right gauntlet-covered arm, held by a bony hand was a large cutlass, while attached to the left arm was a shield.

The shield itself was the most striking feature of all; mounted obscenely on a piece of driftwood was some sort of large skull resembling either an elephant's or a mammoth's.

Brown in color with beady glowing yellow eyes, it was about four feet long and two feet wide with no mouth - at least, as far as Claire could tell. Where the mouth and lips should be located, however, was nothing but a gruesome collection of two foot long octopus tentacles that waved about in the air like a bunch of snakes. Parts of the head were marked by what looked like runes, although of what origin Claire was uncertain, while draped around its face, acting as a makeshift handle for the shield were some ropes.

While the shield was disturbing to look at, the creepiest aspect of Spinal, however, had to be its inhuman glowing red eyes; right where its empty sockets were were nothing but a pair of small little balls of light that reminded Claire of hot coals.

On the TV screen, Spinal was downright creepy, but seeing him standing there on the staircase...Claire actually felt goosebumps just from looking at him.

Seeing the group, the creature remained on the steps, its attention fixed on them.

For a long time, nobody moved. Claire waited anxiously in excitement, the fangirl wanting to know what would happen next.

It was then that she suddenly became aware of the tenseness in Sabrewulf's form as he sat deathly still in his seat, clutching hold of something on his blanketed lap while his bodyguard Dieter looked like he was on edge, the security guards stiffening in alert.

Claire took a step toward the character when Dieter roughly grabbed her by the arm.

"Don't!" He hissed in warning.

The skeleton watched them all for several moments, tilting its bony head from side to side, shifting its jaw with a click and a clack.

Rolling its shoulder along with the ship's wheel in its back, he then let out a low sinister chuckle as he crept back up the stairs. With each step it made, Claire could hear the bones creak, crackle and snap.

As he disappeared from view, Dieter darted up the stairs, letting go of Claire, following after the skeleton along with a couple of security guards.

Just as one of the fighters started to open his mouth, a shrill maniacal laugh filled the air that rose and fell in horrific arcs.

"Yaahahahahahaha!"

And then it was gone, the spell broken.

"...What was that?" Jago asked, his hand clenched on his prayer beads.

Claire looked over at him, then smiled.

"I have to say, Baron, you really know how to put on a show! I didn't realize how much of a prankster you were!" She laughed.

The wheelchair-bound figure was still for a moment, and then he gave a slight laugh, his form untensing a little.

"Ja, you caught me," the Baron shrugged in his seat, adjusting his blanket.

With that admission, other started to join in one by one, including T.J.

"You know," the boxer said thoughtfully, "that really scared me for a moment!"

Sabrewulf scoffed. "Oh come now!"

"I'm serious! The snake/tentacle beard, the walking skeleton thing..." He scrunched up his brows. "How were you able to make it so convincing?"

The Baron shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't divulge that information," he said regretfully. "Trade secret, but let's just say it involves careful puppeteering."

Claire looked around at the ceiling, then at the floors.

She didn't see any signs of strings or cables.

Perhaps it was remote controlled somehow and automated? If so, it could explain why Dieter had to run off.

She smiled as her eyes lit up with realization. "Of course! Your bodyguard had the remote control on him, didn't he? That's why he and the security guys ran after it!"

The Baron's hood tilted down in a nod. "Clever girl."

"I knew it!" Claire fist pumped in excitement before eagerly looking at him with shining enthusiastic eyes. "Would it be alright if I took a photo with Spinal later? Please?"

Others started to join in, their pleading voices merging together.

"Now now, children," Sabrewulf raised his hand. "I'm afraid I can't."

"AWWWW!"

"Please?" Claire begged, placing her hands together as she looked at him with big eyes.

He shook his head. "Again, I'm sorry, but I cannot. You have to understand, we have very sensitive equipment and I don't want anyone getting hurt."

"We'll be careful!" Claire insisted.

Sabrewulf shook his head again. "Nein, and that is final," he said firmly. Before Claire could protest, his bodyguard returned down the stairs. "Ah, Dieter! Perfect timing! Is the puppet safely stored?"

"It is," Dieter replied, smiling. "Exciting stuff, eh? The Baron is a true showman, so how about giving him a round of applause, eh, guys? How about it?"

As he clapped his hands, others joined in, including Claire. The only people that weren't clapping, however, were Jago and a tall Native American who stood staring up at the stairs with dark looks on their faces.

"Danke. Danke," Sabrewulf bowed politely before sitting himself up. "Now that is out of the way, why don't we show you all to your rooms, hm? We have quite the day ahead of us tomorrow, after all, so come along, everyone."

Moving to the front door to the right, the group followed him out. As Claire passed Jago, she noticed his stiff figure.

"Hey, are you okay, Jago?" she asked with concern.

The Tibetan monk said nothing, his eyes fixed on the second floor upstairs, his hand nervously fidgeting with the prayer beads he carried between his fingers.

"Jago?"

Hearing his name, Jago turned to face her, then his posture loosening.

"Ah, sorry," he smiled assuredly beneath his veil.

"Pretty scary, huh?" Claire smiled back. "It's okay. I was a little startled by it, too, but it's alright. It's just fake."

The monk said nothing as he glanced back to where the skeleton disappeared to.

"Hm." Finally, he turned away, leaving her alone as the Native American passed by her.

"This way, miss," one of the security guards gestured.

"Okay," Claire nodded.

Giving one final curious glance over her shoulder, she gave a small smile, part of her trembling in anticipation for the coming days.

And that concludes Chapter Five! Gears are starting to turn ever so slowly. Eagle-eyed fans of both series may be able to spot easter eggs in here related to both series. ;) More exciting things will be coming with all sorts of easter eggs and surprises! Hope you've all been enjoying this.

Take care, everyone! :)

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Note: A huge thank you to  Oknwehonwe Kasatstenhshera for his help. I recommend everyone checking out his work. Thanks a lot, man! :)

Chapter Six: Settling In

Claire wandered around the guest house, looking for her room. Glancing down one corridor, then another, the girl refrained herself from growling in frustration.

Where the hell was she?!

Upon entering the building, she and the others found themselves before a registration desk, where they all had to sign in and collect a key for their respective rooms.

Claire's was Room 404, somewhere on the fourth floor, but where exactly it was she had no idea. She hoped it was decent, but her biggest worry at the moment was finding the damn thing.

"Room 404...Room 404," she murmured to herself. It should be around here somewhere, so where...?

"You look lost." A feminine voice commented behind her, startling Claire as she whirled around to face the speaker.

It was the strange woman from earlier. Seeing her, Claire gave a slight smile. "Yeah, I can't seem to find my room anywhere."

"What is your room number?" the woman asked.

"404. Do you know where-" The woman cut her off as she pointed to a door that was three feet away from Claire's left. "Oh." Giving a sheepish smile, the girl gave an apologetic nod. "Sorry about that." She then absentmindedly tucked a bang behind her left ear as she regarded the mysterious woman. "I don't recall you mentioning your name."

"That is because I haven't," the latter said matter-of-factly.

"Could you tell me your name?"

The woman quirked a brow. "Why?"

Claire shrugged. "Well, to be friendly, that's all. Besides, I can just go around calling you 'you', you know?"

The woman said nothing, her face a cold controlled mask, completely unreadable.

"So, uh, do you live close by?"

The woman kept staring at her, and for a moment, Claire couldn't help feeling small, unnerved by the woman's intense eyes. To Claire, it was like being under the scrutiny of a wild animal, like a cat regarding her as if she were nothing more than a little mouse that she was playing with.

Then, a small yet equally unpleasant smile formed on the woman's porcelain mouth, revealing teeth, again reminding Claire of a predator, causing the girl to shiver.

The woman chuckled darkly, shaking her head in amusement.

"You are a funny one, little mouse," she said.

Claire blinked in surprise at the nickname, somewhat startled. 'Little mouse'? What-

Before she even had a chance to open her mouth to respond, the woman turned away from her and rounded a corner, disappearing from her view.

Claire remained rooted to the spot, staring to where the woman had gone. She waited a minute, then two. Once she became certain that the woman was gone, Claire felt her form untense.

"Weirdo." Looking back to her door, Claire then got out the key and inserted it into the slot, giving one final though suspicious glance over her shoulder as she entered her room.

Staring up at the ceiling in wonder, Claire lay on the bed, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. On one hand, part of the girl couldn't help feeling as if she were in a dream, and for several moments, she actually had considered the possibility that she were, just because of how crazy it all seemed!

What were the chances that little boring ol' Claire Redfield would be allowed to fight in her favorite TV show?!

From her being allowed to participate in the tournament to the wonderfully furnished (not to mention cozy) room that she was given, Claire had to pinch herself to make certain that what was happening around her was the real deal.

When she felt the stinging pain on her arm, the girl's mind then drifted back to her empty house, to her friends, to her brother and Jill.

Claire's eyes drooped guiltily.

Chris and Jill. She had been so preoccupied by her being here that those two had ended up being pushed back to the back of her mind.

"I wonder how they're doing..." she murmured softly to herself.

Lying there on the bed, Claire stared up to the ceiling as a feeling of melancholy came over her.

Even though this was a golden opportunity that could solve all of their problems, she felt so...alone.

Frightened.

Was she even really doing this for her brother and his girlfriend? Or...was this some long, sought-after and selfish desire of hers that she wanted fulfilled, and she's using what happened to them as an excuse to join?

Pangs of doubt and guilt stirred inside of Claire as she lay still on the bed.

Here she was, a nerdy, insecure nineteen year-old girl playing dress up and superhero.

Claire's brows knitted together as she stared contemplatively to the blank white ceiling, her mood dark.

Should she resign from the tournament? After all, the idea of her getting hurt, let alone her hurting someone...it frightened her. Claire didn't like the idea of hurting anyone. Granted, she could take care of herself when the situation called for it, but to beat up someone that she didn't even know or had any reason to beat up in the first place? Someone who, in all probability had more experience in the ring and probably even had a better reason to fight?

Sitting herself up, Claire looked around the room, then shook her head.

"I should get some air," she muttered.

Perhaps some fresh air would help clear her thoughts. After all, it was a better way of passing the time rather than just lying here like a bump on a log.

Taking in a deep breath, Claire got up and searched her bag, then started to get changed.

Stepping out from the elevator, Claire approached the front desk, where a thin, well-dressed African American man with glasses stood behind the counter, writing something in a journal. Glancing up, the man smiled.

"Ah, hello, Ms. Redfield," he greeted.

Claire smiled back. "Hi, Mr. Rogers. How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you for asking!" Rogers beamed. "How about yourself? Does the room meet up to your standards?"

"Oh it's wonderful! I have to admit that I was a bit lost, though."

He waved. "It happens sometimes, but don't worry. Once you get used to this place, you'll be able to know your way around. It's just a matter of adjusting." He then pushed up his glasses. "Signing out?"

"Yep," Claire replied.

Giving her a pen, he then pointed to the checkout list, indicating the time slot. "Just sign here please."

Taking it, Claire jotted her signature down beside the indicated space.

"So everyone has to sign out whenever they leave?" she commented.

Rogers nodded. "Yes, it is mandatory."

Claire looked around, then back at Rogers. "Don't you find it a little strange?"

He shrugged. "When I first came here I thought so, but then again I can't say that I blame the Baron. After all, one can never be too careful."

"Hm," Claire nodded thoughtfully in agreement. Finishing, she handed back his pen and smiled. "Thank you."

"No trouble at all. Take care, Ms. Redfield!" Rogers waved as she headed out the door.

Claire sat in the computer lab, staring at the screen, waiting. Finally, a window showing Rebecca and Leon's faces appeared.

"Hey guys!" Claire waved.

"Hey Claire!" Rebecca and Leon waved back. "How was the flight in?"

"Oh it was so cool! A bit bumpy, though." She shifted in her seat. "How are you two doing?"

"Good, good," Leon nodded. "So have you started yet?"

Claire shook her head. "No, we're going to be fighting tomorrow. Today is kind of an off day, so we're just kind of gathering our bearings. It's weird, this place is really anal when it comes to security. It almost feels like a prison here."

Rebecca blinked in surprise. "Really? That bad?"

She shrugged. "Kind of." Claire shifted in her seat. "So, um...how are Chris and Jill?"

Leon and Rebecca frowned, the two of them shaking their heads.

"Neither of them have woken up," the former said regretfully. "We'll let you know if there have been any changes, though."

"I really appreciate this, guys," Claire nodded, her features softening. "Thank you so much."

Rebecca gave a thumbs up as she smiled. "You can always count on us, Claire." She then looked seriously at her. "So what are you going to do now?"

Claire leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms as she glanced up thoughtfully. "I might go have a look around, maybe do some training. How about you guys?"

Leon blushed. "Uh, Rebecca and I are going on a date."

Claire grinned. "Really? Real party animals, aren't you?"

Rebecca winked. "You know it."

"Planning on playing the game of 'hide the purple turnip'?"

Claire laughed as their jaws dropped onscreen.

"CLAIRE!" Rebecca shrieked in mortification.

She raised up her hands. "Sorry, sorry, I was just kidding! Enjoy your date, you two."

"Good luck at the tournament, Claire!" Rebecca waved. "We'll be watching and rooting for you!"

"Take care, Rebecca. Bye."

"Bye."

As the monitor shutdown, Claire's smile lowered.

"All done?" A guard nearby asked. Turning to face him, she nodded. "Alright, come with me to the front desk and sign yourself out."

As Claire scrawled her signature, she glanced up to the guard.

"Out of curiosity, do you know where I can find the Ultratech Museum?" she asked. "I couldn't help notice it on the map and I would LOVE to check it out!"

The helmeted guard politely nodded. "Just go left, then proceed four flights down and take a right outside. You won't miss it."

"Okay. Thank you!" Claire smiled cheerfully as she left.

'Am I really here on the Sabrewulf estate?' she wondered in awe.

Wandering around the castle halls, Claire glanced around in fascination at the gloomy architecture, at the various paintings and fancy furniture before making her way out the door.

Stepping outside, she wandered along the cement walkways, studying the various medieval structures around her in wonder, curious to know how much of these buildings were exact duplicates of the Baron's estate back home in Germany. Every so often she would encounter a pair of guards on patrol or a roaming Theseus android, making the girl shake her head at the amount of security this place had. Looking around in confusion, Claire then took out her map.

So, the guard said down four flights of stairs and take a right outside, so where...?

Glancing around in confusion, Claire suddenly paused at the sight of the area blocked off by a wire fence, specifically at the large, imposing warehouse before her, taken by its unusual appearance.

A series of smoke stacks at the top emitted thick dark clouds that drifted up into the sky, while a collection of solar panels along with a series of eight by nine foot heavy-duty steel shipping containers that lined its sides.

Claire watched as some of the latter were hauled around by large yellow tractor-like loader android units as they carefully placed them down with their electrically-operated claws, stomping away on massive bipedal feet.

Looking away from the machines as they clomped out of view, the girl then turned her attention to the entrance's large gothic arch, studying the building itself.

A strange mishmash of shapes, with the various jutting cylinders sprouting out from the facility's sides, the warehouse looked more like some weird Eldritch abomination turned Industrial complex. The main structure, however, was cylindrical and had a huge, multipaneled window at the top of its looming, elongated structure, looking like a very large shark that threatened to bite down.

"Can I help you?"

Startled from her thoughts, Claire looked dumbly back to the guard. "Huh?"

"Are you lost?" the man asked.

Claire blinked. "Oh! Uh, sorry!" She then brought up her map. "I was trying to find the museum around here. Do you know where I can-"

He then gestured to a smaller white building beside the warehouse, the words "Museum" written in clear black and white font.

"Oh. Uh, sorry."

Shaking his head dismissively, the guard then walked away, leaving Claire alone.

Letting out a sigh, Claire looked over to her destination. "Well, at least I found it."

The interior of the museum was a startling contrast to the antiquated interiors of the Sabrewulf mansion.

From its reflective black floors marked with two yellow and black caution strips to the various dioramas and machinery on display, it all seemed far more futuristic than anything in the mansion itself, making the transition and disconnect all the more jarring.

Over the entrance, at the left-hand side, was a valve that rested ten feet off the ground.

All around her, concealed behind thick plexiglass display cases, were a series various of old generators, prototype androids and other long defunct models and vehicles that made up Ultratech's history in the robotics industry. Cameras whirred noisily while a red spotlight periodically scanned along the floor, leaving a long line of red.

Staring up at it, Claire shivered underneath the red glow as it scanned her form, feeling uncomfortable by its dispassionate empty red eye as it remained focused on her for a while. For a brief moment, Claire almost thought that it would fire a laser at her or something and disintegrate her instantly.

Finally, after a period of time had passed, the spotlight moved away from her, allowing Claire to let out a breath in relief.

Taking a step forward, she glanced around at the various displays, reading some of the labels and descriptions for each exhibit. She kept wandering forward, her attention shifting from exhibit to exhibit. Raising her head, Claire's eyes widened with glee as she gave sharp gasp.

"Oh my God!" She gushed excitedly.

At the very end of the room, mounted on display was an old Goliath mech, a towering white and black figure with glowing red eyes and a pair of massive cannons for hands.

"Look at you!" She gasped.

"Yeah, it really is something, huh?" An unfamiliar voice said behind her.

Startled, Claire whipped around. A man was leaning against an exhibit with a cocky smile on his face, his bare muscular arms crossed.

Dressed in a blue tank top with a pair of jeans, the man was in his mid-twenties, about twenty-three or twenty-four, approximately the same age as her brother, though in her opinion handsomer, his face cleanshaven. His hair was a thick brown slicked back mullet, his hair framing his angular rugged features, his dark, deep-set eyes watching her with a gleam of amusement.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Y-Yeah," Claire nodded. "Sorry, you scared me."

"Sorry about that, miss," he nodded back, glancing over to the machine she was looking at. "Yep, they sure don't make these babies like they used to. It's been ages since I've seen one of these boys in the Corps."

Claire gave him a look of surprise. "The Corps? You're a Marine?"

He shrugged. "Was." He looked back to her and smiled, causing her heart to flutter as he held out his hand. "The name's Billy. Billy Coen."

Claire smiled back and shook the offered limb, "Claire Redfield." She glanced down to his left arm, noticing the black stylized tattoo. "Nice tattoo you have there!"

"Thanks," he grinned.

"What does it say?"

"'Mother Love'."

"Queens fan, I take it?"

He winked. "Hell yeah! You as well? I couldn't help noticing your vest - 'Made in Heaven'."

"Ahh, so you were checking me out, huh?"

Billy gave a half shrug. "Guilty as charged. Besides, pretty girl like you, who wouldn't?"

Claire blushed at the compliment, trying her best to hide it.

He then tilted his head at her curiously. "So, are you a Queens fan as well? You never did answer my question."

Claire shrugged. "You got me." She then folded her arms. "So, what brings you to the tournament? Are you here with anyone?"

Billy raised a brow. "Why?" A lopsided, teasing smirk formed on one side of his face. "You interested?"

Claire's cheeks burned underneath his stare. "Uh, uh, no! I mean..." She sputtered.

The Marine laughed, shaking his head good humoredly. "I'm just messing with ya. I'm actually here with a buddy of mine, an Army brat named Piers. He, uh, kind of had this crazy notion that we could team up and split the cash prize. Like the the saying goes - 'one for the money, two for the show.'"

She looked at him curiously. "And which one are you?"

Billy shrugged. "Well, I was here for the money," he began, then looked her up and down appraisingly, "but seeing you..." He gave a wolfish smile, "I think I might have to reconsider."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Is this how you talk to all the girls you come across?"

"Just the ones that catch my interest, Red," he replied, his eyes gleaming before giving her a curious look. "What about yourself?"

Claire shook her head. "No, it's just me."

"Hm. And what brings you to KI?"

The girl tucked a bang behind her ear. "Oh, you know. Bills."

He quirked a brow. "That bad, huh?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Hm," he nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, they can be a pain in the ass to deal with."

The girl scoffed. "Tell me about it." She looked away, then paused at the sight of a distinctive blue humanoid android in a glass display. "Is that an old ECO35-2?"

Billy looked over to where she stared, then nodded. "Yep. I remember those. Before they went defunct, Electrocorp had quite the promising start back in the 90s. I remember the advertisements for them. So much promise." He shook his head, exhaling with disappointment. "What a waste." Billy then stroked his chin thoughtfully, "I'm surprised Ultratech even has one of these things around here to begin with."

"You shouldn't be," a voice interrupted, startling the pair. Claire watched in surprise as the Baron was wheeled toward them by Dieter. "After all, I did buy out Electrocorp. There were flaws with their designs, no doubt about that...but I did see potential in their work."

Claire smiled. "Baron! I had no idea you were here! I hope we haven't been bothering you!"

The cloaked man waved dismissively. "Nein, nein, I was just dealing with certain matters." His black sunglasses looked up at her, casting their reflection. "So how are you two finding everything? Any issues at all with your quarters?"

Claire shook her head. "No, not at all! Thank you so much for having us here, Baron," she nodded graciously.

"Oh, don't mention it."

Billy looked away, squirming uncomfortably while Claire babbled on.

"The museum you have here is incredible!" She gushed.

"Danke."

"Do you have the old Electrocorp Sentry Androids as well?"

The aristocrat exhaled through his thick scarf. "I don't, unfortunately," he replied. "I'm afraid those have been lost."

"Aww! That's a shame."

Billy cleared his throat. "I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Claire."

"Take care, Billy!" She waved.

Billy waved back, then nodded stiffly at the wheelchair-bound figure. "Baron."

Sabrewulf nodded back. "Mr. Coen. Good luck with the tournament."

Claire watched as Billy walked away, scratching her head. "I wonder what's up with him," she commented.

Dieter shrugged. "I'm guessing he didn't appreciate us interfering. From the looks of it, blue boy was looking to make the moves on ya."

The girl blushed, somewhat put off and embarrassed by the bodyguard's somewhat crass assessment.

"My apologies, Ms. Redfield," Sabrewulf nodded. "Dieter is a little...blunt sometimes. My apologies for the interruption and for my friend."

"No, it's fine, Baron," Claire assured. "Honestly, we were just talking. That's all."

"Hm." The hooded head glanced up at her, his scarf hiding his features. "Tell me, Ms. Redfield, have you tried out the equipment at the gym?"

She shook her head. "I haven't, to be honest. I probably should, though." Taking out her map, Claire held it open for inspection. "Do either of you know-"

"Just head out through the entrance back there, then take a right all the way to the main castle," the Baron interrupted, pointing to the entrance.

Claire blinked. "Oh." She smiled. "Okay. Thank you, Baron!"

"Anytime!" Sabrewulf waved as she headed back out the door.

T.J. nodded to himself in satisfaction, smirking as he admiringly studied the castle's decorations and architecture, wandering from room to room.

Somewhere, God must have been watching over him; one minute he was down in the dumps, a worthless bum. When he got the phone call, however, that changed everything!

An all-expense paid trip to Colorado, where he was to live like a king in this place, and all he had to do was knock some asshole flat on his ass and occasionally fight some dork in a rubber suit?

Fuck yeah!

It was MILES better than having to work at McDonald's under the management of some pimply-faced asshole named Dwayne, and it was definitely better than doing porn.

He looked around, studying the other fighters.

'I can take him,' he thought as he glanced at each one confidently. "I can take him. I can take him. I can stomp him. I can beat that guy. I can beat that guy, I can beat-"

He cut himself off the moment he laid eyes on her.

Ho. Ly. Shitballs!

The woman was HOT!

In fact, the green jacket she wore had that exact word written on her side in capital letters, and in bright neon yellow no less.

Looking her up and down, T.J. stared admiringly at her figure.

God DAMN, she was his dream woman!

Hour glass figure, huge tits, and a PERFECT round ass! And Asian to boot!

The woman was looking around in a bored and aloof manner, taking everything in.

Licking his lips, T.J. sucked in his gut and threw his shoulders back, clenching his buttocks as he stood up as straight as he could, putting on his most confident smile as he approached.

"Hey, baby!" He said in a deep, silky smooth and seductive baritone, stopping just behind her. "Are your parents retarded?"

Whipping around violently, the woman gave him the evil eye, causing T.J. to tense up in surprise, the atmosphere dropping down to zero.

"Excuse me?" she said in a dangerously low, threatening voice.

Hearing her voice, T.J. felt a cold chill run down his back as the room temperature plummeted.

He swallowed nervously. "Uh, I asked if your parents are retarded, 'cause you're something special."

The woman stared at him, blinking nonplussed as she processed what he said, then rolled her eyes in dismissal.

T.J. flexed his pecks, standing akimbo style. "Know who I am?"

"Unfortunately," the woman answered in a drawl.

"And you are?"

She smiled. "Not interested."

As she started to turn away, T.J. followed after her. "Hey, I got you to smile at least!" He then reached for her shoulder, "Why don't we-"

The moment T.J. put his hand on her, she suddenly halted, then slowly turned around, giving him the most terrifying look he had ever seen on a woman's face.

Her eyes were blazing balls of fire, and for a moment it looked like they flashed with bright yellow.

Startled, he drew his hand away. "Uhh, sorry."

The woman stared long and hard at him, the light gone from her eyes. She coldly regarded him in a way like a female lion would an irritating warthog, staring him down. T.J. would never admit such a thing, but few women, if any, ever scared him, and this woman was downright terrifying.

For three minutes, the woman watched him with her cold stare.

Finally, she turned away, storming angrily off.

T.J. remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by what he just saw.

Her eyes had been glowing!

"What the fuck was that?" he wondered, remembering to breathe.

"Hey!" A familiar voice called, stirring the boxer from his thoughts.

Turning to the source, T.J. smiled at the sight of the kid from earlier, Claire, if he remembered her name correctly.

"Hey!" He greeted back as she approached. "How's it going?"

"I'm good, thanks!" Claire smiled cheerfully. "Did you manage to find your room?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's a helluva lot better than what I have back in Chicago, that's for sure."

"That's good to hear." Claire tilted her head curiously. "You okay, big guy? You kind of look a bit shaken up."

T.J. looked back to where he saw the woman left, then back to Claire. "Uh, yeah. I was just looking, that's all."

Claire gave a knowing and mischievous smile. "Yeah, I saw you chatting with that woman. I take it things didn't go too well."

"Weeeellll...yeah," he admitted flatly. T.J. glanced back down the hall where the woman had gone. "She's one scary lady."

The girl scoffed. "Tell me about it. She's so...weird."

T.J. kept thinking back to the woman's eyes. How they radiated with such menace and a caged ferocity, unlike anything he had ever seen. Part of him actually felt a little...afraid. Not that he would ever admit to it, of course - after all, T.J. Combo ain't afraid of shit. And yet that glow...

He closed his eyes and let out a dismissive laugh. "Just a trick of the light," he murmured to himself.

"What is?" Claire asked curiously.

He waved at her. "It's nothing."

"What?"

"No, no. It's nothing, honest. It's stupid. I kind of thought her eyes were glowing, but it's just a trick of the light," he laughed.

Claire hesitated. "They were...glowing?"

T.J. waved. "Nah. It's nothing. It's crap." He then looked at her seriously. "So, was there something you need?"

The girl smiled sheepishly. "Yeahhh, I'm trying to find the gym, but...um..." She sighed. "I'm lost."

"I know where it is. Just follow me, kid - I'm heading there anyways."

"Thank you for helping me out."

He shrugged. "Hey, it's no trouble." Looking back to Claire as she walked beside him, he gave her a quick once over, giving her rear an appraising look.

'Nice ass,' came the thought.

He opened his mouth to deliver a cheesy pick-up line, only for the thought to abruptly die off as he carefully studied the girl.

He had no idea how old she was; while T.J. would admit that he was a man with a history of making many, many mistakes, even stupid ones, he knew there were some lines that he wouldn't dare cross, especially with women.

Especially with young women in their teens, and there was no way in Hell the Main Man was gonna go to jail for something like that.

Better to play it safe and not go there.

Looking ahead, T.J. followed after Claire in silence.

Jago sat cross-legged on the floor of the balcony outside on the second floor, his eyes locked in intense concentration as he throat sang.

Trees fluttered in the breeze, causing leaves to ruffle as he remained still, his mind a troubled whirlwind of thoughts.

"Sounds like you're getting a bad cold," a female voice called out nearby.

Stopping what he was doing, Jago opened his eyes to meet the woman's as she loomed a few feet away.

"No, just meditating," he replied, eying her greet attire. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The woman chuckled, sauntering lazily over like a tigress. Although her demeanor was relaxed, part of Jago remained alert. He wasn't alarmed or afraid; if anything, he was a little intrigued by the woman. She had masked her step so cautiously, so carefully, so quietly that Jago himself was surprised that he hadn't picked up on it sooner. The woman moved with disciplined and graceful movements, every step, movement and gesture precise and calculated.

"Just a little curious," she purred as she regarded him, her eyes twinkling with mischief and humor. "It is strange to see a Tibetan monk participating in a martial arts tournament of all things. If I'm not mistaken, the only martial arts Tibetan monks know how to perform, if any, is the verbal variety."

Jago remained quiet, causing her to tilt her head at him inquisitively.

"Hm, quiet one, aren't you?" The woman smirked, eying him.

He refused to dignify her with an answer.

Not paying him any mind, she nodded thoughtfully.

"From what I know about Tibetan monks," the woman began, "it is more typical to see them debating on the opinions of philosophical concepts in order to defeat any misconceptions rather than promote violence." The woman clicked her tongue, "They are supposed to advocate peace and nonviolence, aren't they?"

"They are," he nodded, carefully selecting his words slowly. "The principle of nonviolence is central to Buddhism, to my Order especially."

She chuckled darkly. "Ah yes, your 'Order'," the woman replied with a seeming knowingness as she looked out to the vast array of trees, lazily tracing her gloved fingers along the rail. "It is strange that a denomination that is supposedly dedicated to the vows of nonviolence would send one of their own all the way over here in order to participate in an event where violence thrives." Shaking her head in disbelief, the woman stared out to the dark mountains ahead. "It sounds to me like you were chosen as the sacrificial lamb."

Jago blinked in surprise, startled by her comment.

Before he could question her, the woman's fingers stopped on the railing. "Of course," she said slowly, turning around to face him, "you're not exactly the regular type of Tibetan monk, now...are you?"

Jago remained seated, his eyes betraying nothing while her brown eyes scrutinized him as he remained silent, guardedly watching her. Taking his silence as a cue, the woman started to circle slowly around him.

"Is it for money?" She pretended to wait, then shook her head. "No..." She continued circling around him. "Fame? Glory?" She then stopped behind him.

"Or," the woman said slowly as she leaned into his ear, "is it for the thrill?" She then lowered her voice into a hushed, seductive whisper, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Repressing the urge to shiver, Jago leapt up to his feet and whipped around to face her, getting into a stance, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"What is your game?!" He demanded, his heart racing, his hands trembling.

The woman chuckled. "My my my! Such anger! I can tell from the way you move that you know how to fight."

Jago clenched his hands into fists. "Is that why you are here?" he glared.

She shook her head. "No. Just checking out the competition." The woman then folded her arms together. "I have to admit to feeling a little...bemused by your presence."

"What business are my affairs to you?"

The woman merely shrugged. "None, really. Just merely passing the time."

Jago suddenly realized what was happening; she was trying to get a rise out of him. Apparently she was looking for ways to amuse herself and found an unwitting toy to mess around with.

Closing his eyes, Jago calmed himself, his eyelids reopening slowly as the monk continued in a gentler tone, "You say my presence is misplaced due to the violence here." He raised a brow. "Is it, though?" He looked out to the mansion grounds and the forests beyond. "Perhaps it is precisely because this is where violence thrives that I have been sent here."

The woman folded her arms together, looking at him with a mixture of wry amusement and intrigue. "Is that why you're here? To preach your dogma?"

"To perform an exorcism."

She stared at him for a long time, then gave a slight laugh. "Ha. You're funny."

"Alleviating bad karma from the soul is hardly a laughing matter," he replied calmly. "The more you accrue, the more harm it will bring to you and those you care about."

The woman gave a mirthless grin. "I guess it's a good thing that I don't have anyone to worry about, then."

The monk blinked with surprise. "You have no one? No friends? No family?"

She shrugged, saying nothing.

He nodded sympathetically, his voice soft, "You have my condolences."

The woman in green gave a dismissive wave. "I don't need your sympathy."

Jago stared into her eyes, their brown eyes meeting. For two minutes, he studied her, then gave a thoughtful nod.

"...I can see through the charade," he said seriously.

She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" The woman asked suspiciously, putting her hands on her hips.

"You are well-versed with violence. With pain."

She scoffed. "So? Everyone has problems."

"Indeed. Life is suffering, and some know pain and violence moreso than others. You, however, seem to have been intimately acquainted with it, although you mask it well."

The woman's smirk returned as she crossed her arms, barking out a harsh, cruel laugh. "That's funny coming from a man wearing a mask," she sneered. "Why do I get the feeling that you are about to give me a sermon?"

Jago said nothing for a long time, his soft eyes giving her a pitying look.

"...I don't know what your experiences were," he spoke, "nor do I know what you went through...but...if you wish, I can offer you spiritual consultation and guidance, if not support, or at the very least recommend someone."

The woman was still for a long time, looking at him with a startled expression. Then, she darkly laughed, shaking her head in dismissal. "I think I'll pass. I'm not some delicate little blossom. Besides, I'm an atheist, and a lost cause."

"You aren't," he said certainly. "Everyone is deserving of compassion and capable of change, including you. That said, however, it is up to you to decide as to whether or not you wish to break the cycle and alleviate the burden from your soul."

The woman tilted her head. "My soul?" She repeated. "Are you sure you aren't talking about yours?"

Jago stared long and hard at her, then nodded, causing her smile to drop. "There is some truth in that. After all, we are all bound to the Wheel of Life and karma. The difference between us, though, is that I am willing to seek out nirvana."

The woman clicked her tongue. "So, you wish to attain enlightenment and peace for all," she drawled. "How boring." She then shook her head. "Spare me your pity, monk. I don't need it. I can take care of myself. I'm a big girl."

"You sound certain of yourself."

She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm adaptable. It helps being a survivor. I've been on my own ever since I was a child wandering the streets, and look at how well I turned out. Not bad, all things considering."

The monk looked at her curiously. "What brings you to this place?"

The woman looked at her nails, her porcelain face unreadable. Looking up, she met his stare with hers, then looked up to the sky, letting out a tired sigh.

"Life decisions," she said simply.

Jago's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

The woman gave a teasing smile. "Wouldn't you like to know." She then brushed back her black hair. "Well, this chat has been fun and all, but I've got to get going. Time is money, after all."

The monk pressed his hands together at chest level and bowed. "I wish you good health and happiness, miss." He watched as she turned around and walked away. "If you ever are in need of spiritual guidance," he said, causing the woman to pause and look over her shoulder, "...if there is a matter that you wish to discuss, if you are in need of help or just someone to talk to, you...are always welcome to talk with me any time."

The woman hesitated, then gave a slight smile and nod. Looking ahead, she continued forward, leaving the monk by himself on the balcony.

A shadow passed over Jago, causing him to look up into the sky as a crow flapped its black wings, cawing out a cackling laugh that left him feeling troubled.

Claire stared in awe at her surroundings.

All around the gym were various fighters as they practiced their moves, some of them lifting weights while one or two were bench-pressing.

"Well well well! Look what the cat dragged in!" A familiar voice greeted, drawing their attention over to the benches.

Claire smiled as she approached. "Billy! Hey."

"Hey yourself, doll-face," Billy smiled back. "How are you?"

"I'm good! And it's Claire."

He shrugged. "Alright."

She looked around at their surroundings and nodded appreciatively. "This is a nice place!"

"It is, right?" he nodded in agreement, then gestured to a young man beside him. Claire recognized him instantly as the one who got into T.J.'s face earlier. "This is my Army buddy Piers."

The man held out his hand, smiling kindly. "Piers Nivans."

Claire smiled back, shaking his hand. "Claire Redfield."

Hearing a throat being cleared, the trio looked to Claire's left, noticing T.J. as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. This is-"

"We know who he is," Piers glared.

Billy put a hand on his buddy's shoulder. "Save it for the ring, man. Not now."

Piers looked at Billy's hand, then gave a conceding nod to his friend. "I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Claire. Good luck with the tournament."

"It was nice meeting you as well, Piers."

As the two military men departed, she looked back to T.J. "I'm sorry about that."

He scoffed, waving dismissively. "Nah, don't worry." The boxer stretched his arms, arching his back as he produced a series of audibly loud cracks and pops. "Uhhh. Well, it's been great seeing you, kid." T.J. said as he departed from her. "Good luck with your training!"

Claire smiled. "You too, T.J."

She watched as he approached the nearest punching bag, then started to flex his biceps, his muscles rippling.

"T.J. Combo."

Once he finished flexing, T.J. started to dribble the boxing bag with his fist. The bag flopped wildly around as the boxer repeatedly jabbed at it, building up speed and momentum before finally getting into rhythm as he began his practice. Releasing sharp breaths as he twisted and turned on his heels on the gym floor, he danced a fighter's dance with his imaginary opponent as he struck at the bag his various strikes.

Looking away, Claire scanned indecisively along the gym.

As Claire watched the various fighters, she suddenly realized just how out of her depth she was.

What was she even doing here?

She wasn't a martial artist. She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't even a cop, despite being a sister to one.

Claire watched as one guy twisted and spun around on his back and sides like a top, his legs a whirlwind of nonstop motion.

'...I hope I don't fight that guy,' she thought to herself.

There was no way in hell she would even stand a chance against him. She would be soooooo screwed.

Turning away, Claire paused at the sight of one particular person on a treadmill.

Dressed in a black tank top with matching shorts was a muscled giant of a man of 6'4 and 295 pounds, a Native American with copper red skin and long, raven black hair. His face was handsome and squarish, with raised cheekbones, a strong aquiline nose with deep set eyes and a wide mouth, but it was the intense, dark stormy expression that he wore that made her pause.

He looked grimly determined, yet...sad.

And familiar.

Sensing that he was being watched, the man turned his eyes over to her in a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

"Do you need help with something?" he asked.

Claire cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, sorry. I'm, uh, just trying to figure out where to start." She looked around, paused momentarily, then pointed to a treadmill beside him. "Is anyone using that?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Do you mind if I use it?"

"Go ahead."

As Claire got on, she held out her hand, "I'm Claire."

The man held out his and shook hers. "Hinmatoom."

Claire blinked. "'Hinmatoom'?" she repeated.

He sighed. "It means 'Thunder'," the man explained.

She smiled. "'Thunder'? Your name is 'Thunder'?!" she said enthusiastically.

"Yes."

Her smile widened. "That is the coolest name ever!"

And just like that, his stormy expression disappeared as he let out a rumbling, deep-chested laugh.

"I'm glad you think so," he said in wry amusement. "Funny thing, though - my grandfather was a chief years ago. Had it been a hereditary title, today I would have been called 'Chief Thunder'."

"NO! Shut up. Are you messing with me?"

He shrugged. "It's the truth."

"That sounds even cooler!" Claire said excitedly. She looked at him. "Are you a chief?"

Thunder shook his head. "No. I'm a college professor at the University of Idaho. My area of specialty is Native Studies, more specifically traditional medicine."

"That is really interesting!" She gushed. "I'm actually part Native American myself."

"Hm," the man grunted, looking unimpressed, if not unconvinced. "What tribe?"

"Mohawk on my mother's side. At least... I think so?" Claire shrugged. "I'm not too sure, to be honest." She then looked back at him curiously. "What tribe are you from, out of curiosity?"

"Nimíipuu. The more common term is Nez Perce, although I do have some ancestry with the Sammamish People."

"That's really cool!" Claire stared at him, her eyes taking his facial features in.

Unnerved, Thunder raised a brow. "What?"

"Sorry, but...by any chance...um...are you...related to Eagle?"

His brow rose higher. "Why? Because I'm Native American?"

"No," she shook her head. "It's just I see some resemblance."

He blinked in surprise at the admission, then sighed. "He's my brother."

Claire's eyes widened in shock. "Your brother?" she repeated.

He nodded.

"How is he, out of curiosity?"

The big man slowed himself down on the treadmill, his pace decreasing before finally halting to a stop.

"What?" Claire asked in confusion. "Did I say something wrong?"

Thunder shook his head slowly. "No, no, you did nothing wrong." Grabbing a white towel that hung from the treadmill's handle, he got off and wiped off his sweat-slicked forehead, "I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Claire."

"You too," Claire waved. "I'm sorry if I have upset you."

He gave a dismissive wave. "You haven't." As he turned to leave, he paused. "A word of advice to you, Claire? Run."

The girl blinked, taken aback by his words. "...I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," he nodded as he glanced suspiciously around. "There is something in the air here. A wrongness..." Thunder quietly stood still with his back toward her, staring straight ahead, as if focused on something ahead of him. Turning slowly to look over his shoulder, his eyes met hers, startling Claire. His face was hard and cold, his dark, almost chocolate brown eyes turning obsidian in the light. His face flashed with several different emotions, all of which Claire herself had trouble identifying.

Exhaling through his nostrils, the giant's eyes softened at the sight of her. "Whatever your reasons for coming here, leave this place. Leave while you still can, while you still have time."

Before she could even demand an explanation for what he meant, Thunder looked away and exited the gym, heading to the changerooms.

Claire's brow scrunched up in confusion, put off by his bizarre behavior.

"You okay, Claire?"

Glancing aside, she smiled at the sight of T.J. "Uh yeah, I'm okay, thanks."

The boxer glanced to the changerooms. "What was all that about? Did you piss him off or something?"

She shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea. One moment we were talking, the next he just..."

She trailed off, staring blankly at the changerooms.

"What did he say?" T.J. asked.

Claire opened her mouth, then closed, frowning. "He...told me to run."

T.J. looked at her in surprise. "He told you to what?"

"He told me to run. To leave this place before it was too late."

Claire watched as the boxer shifted his jaw angrily. "He threatened you."

She raised up her hands placatingly. "No, no! He wasn't! At least...I think he wasn't."

T.J. frowned. "What do you mean 'you think' he hasn't? Did he or didn't he?"

The girl shook her head. "I...it's hard to explain."

T.J. cracked his knuckles. "How about I go and ask?"

Claire's eyes widened with worry as she waved her hands in alarm. "NO, no! Please, it's nothing! I'm fine!"

He watched her. "Are you sure?"

"I am." Claire looked over to the change room. "You don't have to worry, big guy. I can take care of myself. My brother is S.T.A.R.S., after all, and I learned a lot from him. Still, thank you for your concern, though."

The boxer regarded her for a moment, then exhaled. "Okay. If he gives you any trouble, though, let me know right away, alright?" She opened her mouth to protest. "If not me, then security, okay? Big guy like that isn't going to be easy to take down, plus it helps having extra muscle by your side."

Claire folded her arms. "You're just trying to get a good look at my ass, aren't you?"

He frowned. "No I...okay yes I'm a pervert!" The admission caused Claire to burst out laughing. "What can I say, I'm a man!" T.J. huffed in mock indignation as Claire laughed, then shook his head with an amused gleam in his eyes. "No, I'm just messin' with ya, kid. Yer too young for the Main Man, plus I prefer my women to be more..." He then illustrated with his hands, putting a lot of emphasis on the top and bottom, causing Claire to roll her eyes.

"Classy," she drawled.

He shrugged. "Meh, what can I say? I am what I am." His eyes softened. "Still... if he or anyone gives ya grief, let me or security know, alright? I'll sort 'em out."

The girl gave a look of surprise, then nodded. "Thank you, T.J."

He winked, then turned away. Straightening himself, he stood akimbo style. "T.J. Combo."

And with that, he left her alone, the girl shaking her head amusedly.

Men.

Looking back to the changeroom, Claire's blue eyes questioningly stared.

"What was that all about?" she murmured softly.

Several hours later, Claire found herself lying on the bed in her room, staring up at the ceiling as moonlight shined through a closed window, lighting her countenance.

'What was that look?' she wondered, thinking back to Thunder and his final words before departure.

Ever since her encounter with Thunder, Claire couldn't help replaying his reactions in her mind over and over again. Something about it bothered her.

His voice echoed loudly in her ears over and over again like a mantra, his haunting words repeating rhythmically.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

There is something in the air here.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

A wrongness.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

Leave this place.

Claire gulped nervously as the ghostly voice reverberated in her mind, whispering the words to her like a ghost come to haunt her, hinting suggestively at...something.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

There is something in the air here.

A wrongness.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

Leave while you still can.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

A wrongness.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

Something in the air here.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

Claire felt her stomach clench nervously into knots, the ache in her belly growing with each chant as nausea set in, her knuckles turning white as she unconsciously gripped the covers beside her.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

A wrongness.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

Something in the air here.

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

A wrongness.

A wrongness.

Something in the air here.

A wrongness.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

A wrongness.

Leave while you still have time.

Run.

Her eyes widening, Claire suddenly shot up from the bed with a sharp gasp, her face damp with sweat as she clamped hold of her mouth, trying to refrain from vomiting.

Oh my God!

Thunder wasn't threatening her - he was trying to warn her!

She finally now understood what it was about Thunder's reactions that bothered her so much - it wasn't anger that she saw, not at all!

'That's what it was!' She mentally gasped.

Fear. Pure, overwhelming fear.

Something frightened him. Badly.

Furrowing her brow, Claire leaned forward and stroked her chin, puzzled by his reaction.

What could have possibly scared someone as big and strong as Thunder to produce such an unusually intense reaction?

Closing her eyes, Claire shook her head, scoffing in disbelief.

What was with her? For all she knew, the guy was just trying to spook her. Maybe Thunder was just plain crazy.

Feeling a bit better, Claire let out a sigh of relief.

Turning her attention to the window, Claire then stared out at the mansion grounds as the moonlight painted everything in a whitish hue.

Looking to the taped-off mansion far away, she felt a chill come over her as she took in its appearance amidst the other structures, watching as the moonlight washed out all the color from its frame and surroundings, rendering the building in a manner that made it look positively ghoulish.

Feelings of disgust and repulsion filled Claire's heart the more she looked at the building. From the way it appeared in the moonlight, it almost looked as if it were a bleached, decomposing skeleton amid a series of gravestones.

Shivering, Claire pulled back the curtains and turned away, crawling back to bed.

As she nestled herself beneath the covers, Claire remained awake, drifting asleep to the sound of the howling wind outside.

Author's Note: And that ends this chapter. So, in one of the original screenplay drafts for the first RE movie by George Romero, Chris was portrayed as being Native American, and from what I've seen of RE2make, Capcom seems to be hinting at that with Claire's necklace, although it's possible it was meant to be a homage. So, I thought that I would reference that. Sharp-eyed readers may spot other references to other games as well as a reference to "Boston Legal". Let's see if you can spot them all. ;)

Hope you liked this, everyone! Take care, and stay safe.

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Author's Note: Shout-outs to Disciple of Ember, The Goddess Iusaaset and Shaderem X - thank you so much for your help, guys! You absolutely rock! :)

Chapter Seven: Secrets

Konrad watched the screen on his monitor as David Kellog settled down into his chair.

"Ah, Mr. Chairman! Welcome. It's good to see-" The latter caught himself, frowning disapprovingly. "Your camera is offline again, Mr. Chairman."

Konrad shrugged. "I'm aware, David."

"Really, Mr. Chairman, you should replace your computer or at the very least get a proper camera installed-"

"Can we get a move on already?" he retorted sharply. "I have a program to run soon, and the more we bicker about nonsense, the more valuable time that is going to be wasted. Move on."

He watched on the screen as David's mouth pinched itself into a tight line, his eagle-like eyes glaring at him.

"...Very well," he said calmly. Shuffling his papers, he placed on a pair of glasses. "Before we begin this meeting, as a reminder to everyone here and online, please make sure that all cellphones and pagers are turned off immediately. I cannot stress enough the importance of confidentiality and the sensitive nature of our work. Please take the time to shut them down."

Konrad heard the Board of Directors mutter on the audio as they all shut off their cellphones.

Once everyone finished, David then slid his glasses up the bridge of his aquiline nose. "Now that matter is out of the way, let's get right down to business."

The beast roared in its cage as it slammed against the bars, causing all the personnel to flinch, save for Glenn Arias. A tall man of six-three, Arias was a lean figure with the athletic build of a twenty year old, but his shortly cut silver hair betrayed his age of fifty-seven, his narrow eyes possessing a cool, calculating intelligence.

"Patience, little one. You'll get your chance to fight," he said in a soft, soothing voice. Raising his eyes to the nearest guard, he pointed. "Keep on guard, I'm going out for a smoke at the entrance."

"Yes, sir," the guard nodded his helmeted head, his voice distorted by a filter.

"Now that we have finished covering the warranty agreements for our new line of service androids, let's direct our attention over to Item Four, concerning the Killer Instinct program." David looked expectantly at the screen. "How goes the program, Mr. Chairman?"

"All of the fighters are gathered and waiting. They are largely in good physical condition, although there are one or two subjects that are at their peak in comparison to the others," Konrad replied. "Once the program begins, A.R.I.A. will begin recording combat data for Project Fulgore."

Konrad watched as Sergei Vladimir folded his arms together, staring coldly at the camera. "You intend to test your precious machine against them?"

The Baron shook his head, even though Vladimir couldn't see the gesture, "Certainly not! We're just gathering data from their movements and fighting styles. Once that information has been collected, we'll implement it into the machine's program."

David frowned. "You do realize that the presentation for Project Fulgore along with Odyssey is less than a few days, don't you?"

Konrad frowned back at the screen, "David, please. I am quite aware. Mathison and Gore are already done with their work - it just needs a few finishing touches in its programming and presentation. We'll be running some tests to make sure everything is in working order and make the necessary adjustments."

"Will they be able to deliver in time?"

"They will."

"Remember, Baron, a lot is riding on this machine of yours, along with your Odyssey energy project. I don't need to remind you of how Electrocorp bungled everything up when one of their ECO models started walking into a wall and tripped over its own damn feet."

Sabrewulf scowled. "I remember that incident very well, David, thank you very much. Rest assured, it will not be a repeat of history."

"Let us hope that it isn't. To be frank with you, Mr. Chairman, I have doubts. I mean, really, a cyborg soldier? A generator that syphons energy from other dimensional planes? If your projects end up malfunctioning or failing-"

"They won't," Konrad said certainly. "Once you've seen the results for yourself, David, you'll be grinning from ear to ear and seeing dollar signs in neon."

David quirked a brow. "Really? That's a very bold claim to make, Mr. Chairman."

"I have the utmost confidence in their success."

Konrad watched as David shrugged on the screen. "Very well. We'll see the results for ourselves." He looked back to the pages in his hand. "Now, continuing on with the tournament, what match-ups do you intend to feature? Will you be featuring any of your costumed friends in any of them?"

Konrad's brow furrowed, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Ja, we have a good selection for the upcoming fight. Our first matchup will be one Claire Redfield along with an 'Alice Abernathy'. Both are Raccoon City residents, so it only seems appropriate to start off with something that has a local flavor. Next we have Aganos and Hisako-"

"One thing that has me rather curious with your matchups, Baron," Sergei interrupted, "is that you never seem to have the human fighters combat your costumed friends." He looked meaningfully at the screen. "Why is that?"

Konrad chuckled. "Too complicated and expensive. It's as much for the fighters' sakes as it is for the crew's. After all, Sergei, we don't want lawsuits now, would we?"

Vladimir grunted, his dark eyes unreadable.

"You should consider having such a matchup one of these days, Mr. Chairman," David spoke up. "After all, we have been getting a lot of fan letters requesting for such a thing to happen for quite a while now. Perhaps this season we can shake things up a bit?"

The Baron sat still, his face darkening. "...I'll...take that under consideration. No promises, though." He then cleared his throat. "Continuing on with the tournament schedule..."

Glenn stood outside the warehouse, watching as the lighter snapped out a tiny flame that wavered, leaning forward to light it.

"What is taking our contact so long?!" Diego said impatiently beside him, his rough accented voice low and grating.

In contrast to Arias, Diego Gomez was a robust bald-headed man with squarish features and broad shoulders, his face hairless save for a grey goatee, his dress suit a dark black, made of a material less expensive than Glenn's carefully tailored grey pinstripe clothing.

Drawing back from the lighter with his cigarette still smoking, Glenn drew his thumb away from the switch, the tiny flame dying out as he leaned back into the leather office chair, "Calm down, Diego. There's nothing to worry about."

Diego grunted, then paced anxiously about, checking and rechecking the 8mm in his hand.

Casting his eyes over, Glenn watched as the large and robust form of his trusted friend and bodyguard Diego Gomez as he paced about nervously, his grey hair and beard shining in the light. Nearby stood Diego's daughter Maria, a tall, lithe blonde woman in her twenties that wore a buttoned up black blouse with matching pants and shoes. Leaning casually against a wall with her arms folded, Maria kept her attention elsewhere, her features betraying nothing, while all around were black-uniformed armed guards, their visors glowing a dim blue light in the barely lit warehouse.

"When is he going to be here?" Diego demanded.

Inhaling his cigarette, Glenn drew back the sleeve of his fancy pinstriped grey coat, checking his watch.

"He'll be here. There is still time yet." Lowering the sleeve, he then neatly brushed down his grey suit, straightening the wrinkles that he incurred into both his coat and red shirt.

"This is a dangerous game you are playing, Glenn," Diego warned.

Closing his eyes, Arias smiled lightly, his demeanor calm and collected. "You seem nervous, old friend," he commented.

"You know that I am!" The bodyguard retorted back. "If Ultratech finds out-"

"They won't," Glenn replied certainly as he drew closer, putting a hand on the big man's shoulder. "Don't worry - I have covered my tracks. No one suspects a thing." A smirk crawled up one side of his face, "Besides, what are you worried about? We have armed guards with us."

He watched as the large man's form relaxed a little, but he could see he was still tense.

And he couldn't blame him. Ultratech was incredibly efficient, much more so compared to Umbrella.

And yet, in certain other areas, Arias couldn't help feeling disappointed. Ever since the buyout of Umbrella, the Baron had to do a lot of reformatting and taking stock of Umbrella's inventory. It was a shame, really - so much research, so many wonderful specimens, so much potential!

Why the Baron had opted to put a halt to everything and destroy it all rather than continue on, Arias will never know, although he partially suspected that whatever "condition" he had made him senile. Only a fool would ignore the potential money-makers these viruses and creatures represented.

He waited a minute, then two. Checking his watch again, Glenn was about to call the whole thing off when his contact arrived; a tall man of six-two and two hundred and twenty-five pounds with short silver hair and a long, narrow face with dimples, his dark, cold eyes looking especially cruel.

"Ah, Nicholai!" He greeted, shaking the Russian mercenary's hand. "Zdravstvuyte."

Nicholai shook back firmly. "Zdravstvuyte, Glenn. My apologies for being late - I came as soon as I could."

Glenn shrugged it off. "No worries. I'm just glad you have made it."

"Do you have the specimens?"

"Indeed I do. The show was just about to start. Wouldn't want you to miss it now, would we, 'Silver Wolf'?"

The Russian rolled his eyes at the code-name as he was led deeper into the warehouse, following Glenn.

The abandoned underground Umbrella warehouse that they were occupying was large and spacious. A former storehouse for vehicles, a collection of hooked chains creaked noisily overhead. Glenn mentally noted to himself to thank his wife Sarah for suggesting this location.

Hell, he should thank her for managing to get that one extra creature, the one that really caught him by surprise!

The room was dark and tense as all of the guards stood alert, their eyes fixed ahead on a large, caged-off arena with a pair of spiked pillars that stood erect in the center, the floor stained with a mixture of fresh and dry blood and gore of previous challengers that came before.

Glenn then looked over to a guard that stood next to the fenced off arena and the cages, "Is the cage secure?"

"Yes, sir," the guard nodded.

"Are you sure?" Arias pressed, his eyes forming a glare. "I don't want any room for errors. You remembered what happened last time."

The guards exchanged nervous looks, then double-checked to make certain that the cages were locked into position. Satisfied, they returned.

"The cages are locked and secure."

Glenn puffed on his cigarette, exhaling, "Good. If it isn't, though, it'll be too late for any regrets."

Hearing a snarl, he turned around to find the Hunter baring its teeth at him.

Smirking, he turned away, then gave an affirming nod. "Bring him in."

He watched as one of the cage doors opened from the left, revealing nothing but a black, shadowy interior.

From one end, the first creature emerged.

About four or five feet tall, the creature was short but had a wide frame and a vaguely simian outline, with long muscular arms that had three fingers and an opposable thumb on each enormous hand, the digits lined with razor sharp talons.

It barely had any sort of neck at all, just an ugly squat toad-like - or perhaps snake-like - head that almost looked as if it were fused together with its shoulders, just slightly protruding outward, giving it a vaguely cobra-like look. Green and heavily muscled, reptilian scales glinted in the dim light as it walked cautiously out into the arena on its hind legs on triple-jointed, three-toed clawed feet, flexing its clawed hands as it let out a loud shriek, revealing sharp teeth, its back textured and ridged like a crocodile's.

Glenn nodded quietly, his eyes squarely fixed on the arena. "Very impressive, isn't he?" he commented lightly. Flicking the cigarette out from his fingers, Glenn held one arm out dramatically in demonstration, speaking with the air of a showman. "An old, long-forgotten specimen from Umbrella - the Hunter Alpha. The initial prototype series were produced through infecting human embryos with the Beta Two T-Virus strain as a bonding agent before splicing in animal genes of reptile origin."

Nicholai nodded, impressed. "How long does it take to develop?"

"Maturation usually takes a year, but it involves repeated exposure to growth hormones."

"And its intelligence?"

"About equal to that of an Orangutan. It can recognize ten different commands taught by trainers. As you can plainly see, the hard, keratinized skin on it acts as a form of armor."

Nicholai nodded in approval. "He seems like a fighter."

Glenn's smile grew, "Wait until you see his opponent."

The Hunter paced about, sniffing the air. As a group of guards entered with another large cage, the creature jerked its head up and widened its yellow slit pupiled eyes in alert. Bearing its fangs, it started to slam its fists on the ground like a gorilla about to charge, letting out a challenging roar in agitation.

From the other end, his opponent roared back a deafening reply, a harsh, unearthly sound like the squawk of a parrot and nails on a chalkboard played through a filter, causing the creature and everyone in the room to flinch, startling Nicholai.

"What in God's name was that?!" The Russian demanded.

Glenn gave a coy smile. "That is his opponent. Something that my wife had inadvertently found, apparently."

He watched as the guards nervously made certain the cage was locked into place. Several men had their fingers coiled around the triggers of their rifles and tasers while one or two were visibly shaking with fear.

Arias watched as the cage door drew open from the opposite end of the arena facing the Hunter, the occupant of its cage snorting and hissing in serpentine fashion.

Stepping slowly out with its clawed feet scraping along the ground, the other creature poked its snake-like head out and peered around, flickering its forked tongue before emerging fully into the arena itself, dwarfing its opponent and practically filling the arena itself with its massive form.

"Вот дерьмо!" Nicholai uttered in Russian.

People were silent as it slinked steadily into the arena.

Orange in color with black stripes on its back and a yellow undersection, the creature was tall, a whopping seven footer that stood on its tiptoes, kind of like a dog.

Proportionally, it was very humanoid, with a robust, heavily muscled torso, a very slim waist and a pair of long, sturdy muscular legs.

Like its opponent, the creature had very pronounced serpentine features, even more so compared to the former, with a cobra-like "hood" that hung over the shoulders like a pair of miniature wings, while the incredibly strong-looking back itself was a sort of scaly, heavily muscled and armored shell.

The most human feature of the thing, though, were its arms and hands, both of which were bound in a pair of steel manacles with chains; despite having only three fingers on each hand excluding an opposable thumb and having huge talons at the end of each digit, they looked remarkably human. Disturbingly human.

And incredibly strong-looking - Glenn could easily imagine those arms and hands crushing someone or something in their grasp.

The worst feature were the feet of the damn thing - on each of the beast's four toes, including its dewclaw, were four enormous sickle-like talons.

Completing the overall package, though, was a very long and strong-looking tail with a sharp stinger at the end that swished around behind the creature, oftentimes hanging directly over the creature's back like a scorpion.

Viewed as whole, it was a creature that looked as if Freddy Krueger decided to build himself a dinosaur, using a cobra as its base.

"Look at the size of it!" Nicholai gasped quietly.

Staring back at its opponent, the Hunter let out a challenging shriek.

Looking over in its direction with a steady stare, the creature retorted with a guttural roar, its snake-like head and jaws unhinging at a one hundred and eighty degree angle, revealing a series of razor-sharp teeth along with a huge pair of viper-like fangs that dripped with venom.

Taking that as an invitation, the Hunter leapt high into the air toward the larger beast, its arm reared back, ready to swipe its clawed hand at the beast's face when its opponent struck first with a slashing uppercut that caught the Hunter across the chest, sending the smaller creature flying.

As it crashed hard to the floor, the snake-like creature took the opportunity to continue its assault, even as the Hunter hopped back onto its feet with a bleeding chest wound.

With a swiftness that caught everyone by surprise, including Glenn himself, the larger creature charged toward the smaller one and lunged into the air, rearing itself back on its tail like a kangaroo as its scythe-clawed feet cut and kicked at the Hunter, looking as if it were riding a bicycle. Black claws raked and kicked into the Hunter's skin, flaying green scales away, revealing exposed pink and red muscle and sinew underneath, blood spilling to the floor in quick sprays.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" A guard yelled, putting a hand to his mouth.

Glenn watched as the snake beast kicked its opponent several times, then slashed in a downward arch with both claws, slashing down its opponent's shoulders before leaping forward with a front flip in a rolling arch, its great, curling tail slamming onto the Hunter's back.

Then, it suddenly bounced back up from the floor like a coiled spring, lashing out with a pair of thrusting kicks that struck its opponent's chest.

The moment its feet made contact with their target, the Hunter was lifted off the floor, struck with such force that it practically flew all the way toward the other end of the arena cage and crashed into the arena bars, causing them to bend outward.

"WHOA!" A guard yelped as the cage rattled, ducking out of the way.

All around, men were cheering, egging the creatures on as the snake creature charged forward with frightening speed, pinning its small prey down with a startled cry.

The Hunter shrieked and whined as it tried to get away, the creature's long tail coiling around its whole body like a python as it frantically struggled, the great viper-like maw chomping onto its neck.

The Hunter's screams grew louder as the scythe-like claws rapidly and relentlessly raked into its flesh, carving and cutting into it with the ferocity and speed of a chainsaw.

Intestines spilled and were flung into the air while blood sprayed wildly around like a wild firehose, soaking every corner of the floor and cage itself, causing some of the guards to back warily away to avoid being soaked.

As the Hunter gave its last pitiful cry, the warehouse became still as the death cries were replaced with gurgling along with the sounds of eating and fresh meat being torn from bone.

For several minutes, Glenn and Nicholai remained quiet, both men overwhelmed, albeit for different reasons.

Poking its snout through the bloody exposed ribs of its latest meal, the snake beast tore a huge chunk of flesh from its defeated enemy, lifting up its head to let out a bellowing cry.

Swallowing, Nicholai swept his hands through his grey hair, swearing something in Russian, his eyes wide the whole time, completely transfixed by what he had just witnessed. "What is that thing?! Fucking shit, what is that thing?!"

Glenn smiled, sensing the Russian's growing excitement. "Allow me to introduce you to the 'Retrovirally Infected Predator'," he said grandly. "Otherwise known by its acronym, 'RIPTOR'."

Nicholai reared his head up, giving a startled look. "'RIPTOR'? Wait a minute...are you saying that-"

"Yes," Glenn nodded with a smirk, knowing the question he wanted to ask, his mind lighting up with dollar signs. "And the best part? It's for sale. So, what will be your starting-"

Glass shattered as soldiers repelled into the room from the roof, causing the cigarette to drop in startled surprise. "What?!"

It had happened so fast that Glenn didn't even have time to process what was happening before it was all too late.

One or two guards had tried reacting only to be gunned down instantly.

Glenn himself had attempted to draw out his 8mm Beretta only to have several guards force the weapon out from his hands, one of them socking him hard in the eye with the butt of his rifle, causing Glenn to see stars.

As he rolled over dazedly onto his stomach, he felt himself pinned down to the floor with his arms restrained behind his back alongside Nicholai, Maria and Diego, the four of them struggling to break free when a shadow fell over them.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" A familiar voice commented lightly, causing Glenn's heart to stop as he heard footsteps drawing closer. Finally, a pair of fancy, wing-tipped black leather shoes appeared right in front of the captured group. "Hello, Glenn. Hello..." he paused, glaring down as his tone became laced with displeasure, looking as if he stepped into fresh dog shit, "...Nicholai..."

"Room is clear, sir," a muffled voice asserted. "Hostiles have been neutralized."

"Were you able to secure any specimens or files?"

"Only some of them so far, sir."

"Continue on."

Giving an annoyed grunt, the man then reached out with a black, leather-gloved hand and gingerly picked up a chair that had been upturned during the chaos, straightening it back up before dusting it off.

Looking up, Arias' eyes widened as he caught sight of the distinctive grey fedora, the brim lowered over its owner's eyes, concealing his entire face in shadow.

Shaking his head slowly, the man in grey clucked in disapproval as if Glenn were some naughty child.

"Glenn, Glenn, Glenn," he drawled, taking the seat for himself as he sat directly in front of the four. "Double-dipping behind our backs?" The man lazily waved a gloved finger from side to side tauntingly, clicking his tongue. "Nicholai is to be expected, being the dirty, opportunistic cocksucker that he is, but you, a researcher? Tsk tsk tsk. Very naughty. Did you really think you could just stick your greasy little fingers into the cookie jar without people noticing?"

Glenn struggled, trying to break free from the guards' hold.

"How-How did you-"

"How did I know?" Dieter repeated with a devilish smirk as he took out a pack of cigarettes from his coat, quizzically looking over to one of the black-suited commandos. "Why is it that whenever we catch these fuckers red-handed they act so confused? Any thoughts, HUNK?"

The gas-masked operative remained quiet.

"No?" Ignoring him, Dieter then looked back down at Glenn and the others, slipping the cigarette into his mouth. "Newsflash, dateline Racoon City - you're not the first Umbrella cockroach that tried pulling this kind of shit, genius." Taking out a match, he flicked it off Glenn's cheek, producing a small flame as the man in grey raised it up, smoking like a chimney. Pulling the cigarette out from his mouth, Dieter then breathed directly into Glenn and Nicholai's faces, causing the former to cough. "It wasn't hard figurin' you out. In my line of business, guys like you are a dime a dozen. You had good connections; I'll give you that." His face hardened as leaned forward, the bottom half partially lit. The rest of the top half remained in shadow, making Dieter look absolutely Mephistophelian, his voice a steady calm that betrayed nothing, "Of course, I should know."

Glenn's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

Someone stepped into the room. Arias listened as their footsteps clacked along the stained floor, pushing past the guards to reveal a fat, balding man in a black suit, causing Arias' eyes to widen and his mouth to drop in shock.

"Y-You?!"

The man gave him a dismissive, contemptuous glance, then turned his attention over to Dieter as he straightened himself.

"Dieter," he nodded.

The man in grey nodded back, his expression neutral. "Joel."

Then, to Glenn's further astonishment, the two men suddenly embraced, the two laughing as they patted each other on the back as if they were dear old friends.

"Dieter, you crazy fucker!" The man laughed. "How are you?"

Dieter shrugged. "I'm good. How are the wife and kids?"

Glenn stared, his insides turning to ice. "You...know each other?"

"We do," the man in grey replied. "You don't need to know the details, but we've always kept in touch throughout the years." Dieter looked back to Joel. "So, this was the guy, eh?"

"Yep."

"Hm. Well, give my love to the Missus. Just wait outside while I deal with this." As "Joel" disappeared outside of the warehouse, Dieter then looked back to Glenn and chuckled darkly, shaking his head in amusement. "I have to say, I was quite surprised when he told me about your offer."

Nicholai glared at Glenn. "You made an offer to him?! You told me I was the only one!"

Arias felt his heart constricting in his chest, mustering the strength to glare up at his captor. "I-I didn't know!"

Dieter's teeth glinted in the light as he grinned. "Of course you didn't." The bodyguard shook his head, letting out a laugh. "What a shithead! What a pair of grade-A shitheads you both are! You couldn't be any more perfect for one another."

"Does your Baron know what you are?" Nicholai sneered.

The bodyguard shrugged. "He only knows what I want him to know." He crouched low with cigarette in hand, sprinkling his ashes over the Russian's head. "It's not polite stealing other people's shit."

Glenn smirked. "Nobody was using it."

"Doesn't matter - the Baron was pretty clear on what he wants. 'Destroy every sample, document and creature you could find.' Doesn't sound like 'sell off to the highest bidder' now, does it?" Dieter then folded his arms, "Now, what do I do with the four of you?"

Diego swallowed. "L-Let us go."

Dieter quirked a brow. "And why would I do that?"

"We can help you make money," Nicholai said seriously, his forehead sweating, his eyes betraying just a hint of desperation. "Lots of money. After all, you can't put a price on life, right? I know for a fact that your precious Baron is-"

Nicholai's skull exploded as it blew apart, the shot ringing in Glenn's ears as he felt something warm and wet hit his face.

"No, wait! WAIT! Please!" Glenn pleaded.

"Been wantin' to do that to that rat bastard for years." Dieter blew the smoke away from his pistol, then narrowed his eyes down at the three remaining. "You've been playing with dangerous shit, Arias. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into... just as your precious Sarah had."

Glenn looked up with a start. "Sarah? What are-what are you talking about?" He clenched his jaw. "You-You bastard, what-what have you done with Sarah?!"

"What I have done?" Dieter's grin widened. "I didn't do anything. Sarah, on the other hand, got a little, how do I put it...too close to one of the creatures. In fact," he paused deliberately, a savage smile forming on his face, "...I'm surprised that you didn't recognize her. After all, you did just feed her..."

Glenn's heart stopped, his mouth feeling dry as his eyes widened in horror. "N-No. No, that's....that's impossible! T-That's not-"

"Oh yes!" Dieter sneered. "After she got scratched, well, that's when the idea occurred to me - why not have some fun? How funny would it be for you to find out that you've tried selling off your own wife? You got to admit, that's absolutely hilarious, isn't it?"

Arias remained on the ground, his form numb. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to scream, to cry, to do something...but...he couldn't.

Meanwhile, in the background, Sarah was eating noisily, tearing off strips of meat, not taking any notice of the things happening around her.

"You only got yourself to blame, Glenn," Dieter shrugged. "You got your wife involved...and now she's paying for it. It's amazing how quickly she turned. Less than two, three days. She was crying and screaming your name all throughout, begging for you to be spared, for you to come rescue her. You're a lucky guy, you know that? A woman like that? You should have seen her during her final moments. Even when she was barely lucid, she still loved you and called you by name. Shit, it almost made me a believer in that whole namby-pamby 'true love' crap. Now, there's nothing of her left. A pity, really. I would have loved to have fucked her." He gave a sigh of longing. "She had some great tits, and an amazing ass on her."

Glaring up at him, Glenn struggled on the floor beneath the guards, wanting to strike the man in front of him, "YOU ROTTEN SON OF A-"

His cries were cut off as the bodyguard fired his weapon.

Dieter stared down at the smoking remains of Arias' head. "It's been fun knowing ya, Glenn. You've been a real pal." The man in grey turned his attention over to Diego and Maria.

"No, no!" The former pleaded. "Please, wait-"

Multiple shots repeatedly echoed, drowning out Diego's pleas.

Once the ringing ceased, Dieter hissed sharply on his cigarette, staring down at the fresh remains on the floor. "Serves the four of you right for muscling in. Don't worry, Glenn, I'll take very good care of your lovely wife." He then looked back to the guards. "Search them. Bag and tag whatever you can find, then get rid of the bodies, fellas. I want every document and creature found. Don't leave anything unchecked."

As the security detail proceeded to go to work, Dieter then glanced down at Nicholai's remains, the cigarette still in his mouth. Exhaling smoke, he let it fall, watching as it plummeted into Nicholai's exposed brain matter.

"Commie motherfucker."

"And that concludes this meeting," David said as he shuffled the papers in his hand. "Good luck with the program, Mr. Chairman. I hope you put on a good show."

"Thank you, David. Take care, and say hello to your wife and son for me." And with that, Konrad turned the monitor off, letting out an exhale as he pressed a button on his phone. "A.R.I.A., are Gore and Mathison ready?"

"Yes, Baron," A.R.I.A. replied in a flat voice. "All of the equipment is in position and ready for recording."

"And the creatures?"

"Still sealed in their cages."

"Good." He straightened in his chair. "Well, time for the show to begin."

Author's Note: Hope you liked this, everyone. Take care, and stay safe and healthy.

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Eight: First Blood

The alarm clock broke the din of silence, stirring Claire awake. Rubbing her eyes, the girl looked at the clock, then jumped up from her bed.

"Oh shit!"

Once she finished having her breakfast, she showered, brushed her hair and teeth, then threw on her apparel. Giving one look at herself in the mirror, Claire moved into various poses, studying herself carefully to make sure there weren't any noticeable holes or stains.

Satisfied, she gave a nod of approval to her reflection.

Perfect.

"You got this, girl," she said to her reflection. Looking over to the clock, Claire eyes bulged in alarm as she saw the time. "Oh crap!"

Grabbing her keys, boots, and map, she hurried out the door. As she stumbled down the stairs, Claire drew down the black fingerless gloves over her trembling fingers.

As she stumbled down the stairs, Claire hurried past the desk toward the front entrance.

"Uh, Ms. Redfield!" Rogers' voice called from the front desk, causing the girl to halt abruptly. "You forgot to sign out."

Claire smacked her forehead. Of course she had.

Spinning around on one foot, she quickly backtracked, grumbling to herself as she took the pen from the attendant's hand and jotted down her signature and time.

"I take it you're not a morning person," Rogers commented lightly.

"Afraid not," Claire replied as she massaged her inner eyes.

"Do you know who's fighting first?"

"I think it's me."

"Oh! Well, in that case, you better get moving, Ms. Redfield," Rogers smiled. "I hope it goes well for you. It's nice having you around."

Claire smiled back. "Aw, thank you!"

"Just merely saying the truth," he shrugged as he took the pen from her. "Take care, and good luck!"

Claire's smile grew as she headed for the door. "Thanks!"

Claire's palms felt sweaty as she glanced around worriedly. "God, where the hell am I?"

Taking out the map, she squinted at the various labels, trying to figure out where she's at. Frowning, she placed it away and continued her search, moving past the various buildings, going through alleys. The air was still yet the noises of birds, with the sound of machinery whirring in the background, filled the space. After wandering aimlessly for fifteen minutes, Claire suddenly found herself in front of the sealed-off mansion, the caution tape fluttering in the wind like peeled off skin. Turning away, Claire paused momentarily, then gave it a curious look at the grey building. It must have been beautiful at some point, but now it was a corpse of a building with exposed beams and missing shingles.

Shivering, Claire then noticed the statue nearby. Approaching it curiously, she took noted the details, studying it. A stone statue depicting a woman in Grecian robes, presumably Hestia, the Greek goddess of the hearth, home and family, at the base of it was a name. Kneeling down, Claire tilted her head at different angles, squinting as she tried making out the rusted writing.

"...'Spen'...'Spencer Mansion'..." she read softly.

"Hey you!" A filtered voice barked, causing her to look up to see an armed guard angrily approaching, his hands clenching on his rifle. "What are you doing here?"

As Claire opened her mouth to respond, a shrill scream echoed from within the building, causing the girl to jerk back in surprise.

"What was that?" she asked, her skin forming goosebumps.

The guard's features were unreadable beneath his helmet as he shook his head. "Never mind that. That's just equipment." Claire watched as the visor focused on her. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Claire raised up her hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, easy! My name is Claire Redfield! I'm one of the fighters for the tournament?"

"Let me see some ID."

Reaching into her pocket, Claire took out her wallet and showed the guard her driver's license. She watched and waited as the guard studied it, then raised up a gauntleted arm, pressing a button as a holographic image of her appeared out of thin air. A minute later, he looked back to face her.

"What are you doing here?"

Claire tucked a bang behind her ear. "I'm lost," she admitted. "I'm trying to find the arena, but I have nowhere to go."

He pointed down the opposite direction from the mansion.

She blinked, then blushed. "Oh. Um...sorry."

Even with that helmet on, Claire could tell the guy was rolling his eyes at her as he turned away.

Turning around, Claire proceeded to move away from the mansion, then stopped as a guttural shriek sounded out again, this time accompanied by a metallic rattling, like...dragging...chains.

Looking over her shoulder, she stared back at the building, listening and watching intently, rooted to the spot as the guard anxiously approached the building, holding his rifle nervously as he quietly spoke into the headset of his helmet, his words indiscernible.

'Equipment,' she tried mentally telling herself.

That was what the guard said, right?

And yet...she felt unconvinced.

Once again, Thunder's words whispered and repeated conspiratorially to her.

A wrongness.

Leave while you still have time.

Run.

A wrongness.

Claire swallowed back the bile forming at the back of her throat as that sound replayed in her mind.

That didn't sound like any machine or piece of equipment that she ever heard. To Claire, it almost sounded like a woman screaming, like a...vengeful ghost.

Startled by the thought, Claire gave a perplexed look.

A ghost?

Scoffing, Claire let out a slight, amused laugh, shaking her head dismissively.

God, she really should cut down on watching the KI program. She was letting her imagination run wild. Looking back to the building one last time, Claire turned away and proceeded forward. Time to get a move on.

Claire let out a frustrated growl as she looked wildly around, refraining from tearing her hair out in exasperation.

Was she secretly jinxed or something?

How was it possible for her to get lost again?!

If Chris were here, he'd be laughing his ass off about now.

Claire continued forward, rounding a corner to the left before bumping into T.J.

"Whoa, hey!" T.J. greeted.

"T.J.!" Claire smiled in surprise. "God, I'm sorry!"

"Hey, don't worry about it!" He winked. "What are you doing?"

Claire's frown returned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, you know, just trying to find the arena."

"Got lost, huh?"

She nodded. "Yep," she answered, ending with a pop of her lips. "Just my luck." The girl looked at him expectantly. "You don't happen to know where-"

T.J. shook his head regretfully. "Sorry. I'm about as lost as you are."

Her frown deepened. "Oh. Well, that makes two of us. This keeps getting better and better."

He placed an assuring hand on her shoulder. "Relax, we'll make it." T.J. glanced around, then paused as a pair of guards approached. "Hey! Yo!" The guards turned to face them. "Can you guys help us out? We're trying to find the-"

"We've been sent to retrieve you," one of the guards interrupted. "The Baron is waiting for you along with the others. Come on."

Claire quietly followed the guards alongside T.J., moving past the strange mix of medieval and industrial buildings as she fidgeted nervously. With each step taken, Claire felt her heartbeat hammer into her eardrums, her breathing short and shaky, drawing a concerned look from the boxer.

"You okay, kid?" T.J. inquired.

Looking to her left, Claire anxiously smiled. "Not really," she replied. "According to the schedule I think I'm the first one up. I shouldn't have eaten that bagel for breakfast."

"Ahh," T.J. nodded knowingly, "so yer feeling jittery now, right?"

She nodded weakly.

"First fight is always the hardest. You'll be fine," T.J. nodded back as he patted the back of her shoulder.

She gave a small smile. "Thank you." As she turned away and looked ahead, Claire's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh wow!"

"What?"

She pointed to the building they were heading toward, drawing the boxer's attention forward as he gave a low whistle.

"Goddamn!" T.J. commented lightly.

The building was a large four or five story grey church done in the Gothic style, with a large rose window that stared outward like a giant multicolored cyclopean eye. Seated outside of the entrance with his bodyguard Dieter was the Baron himself, his dark, enigmatically cloaked form almost complimenting the church's structure.

The two of them seemed to be in heated discussion about something, neither of them seeming to notice until finally Sabrewulf turned his concealed head to face the fighters as they drew closer.

"Ahh, welcome!" The Baron greeted affably. "Everything alright?"

Claire blushed. "I'm so sorry for being late, Baron!" She apologized, her heartrate rising, her face flushed red in embarrassment. "We were just kind of lost-"

"Nein, nein, it's alright! You're fine!" Sabrewulf soothingly assured.

She rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment. "I'm really sorry about that, Baron. It won't ever happen again."

Giving an acknowledging grunt, the Baron nodded, then turned to face the others, "Thank you all for coming, ladies and gentlemen. I hope everyone is well and ready! Let's head-"

Sabrewulf was cut off as a door opened. A guard stepped outside and approached, leaning forward to whisper into his ear.

"What's that?" Claire heard the Baron utterly quietly. "It's- but..." He then elicited a slightly annoyed growl before looking back to the expectant fighters while the guard stepped back inside. "It would seem that there has been a slight delay due to some faulty hardware that should require a few minutes of fixing. We'll just have to wait out here until the workers have finished up inside." Claire heard the fighters let out a collective groan. "My apologies, everyone, but it can't be helped. The film crew will be ready in a few moments."

He paused at the sight of Claire's raised hand. "Ja?"

"Um, sorry, Baron, but...is this," Claire gestured to the church, "the arena?"

Sabrewulf nodded. "Indeed it is. It was originally a church that had been built here decades ago, but it had long been abandoned. So, I had it converted."

Claire watched as T.J. glanced uncomfortably at the church, the boxer shifting anxiously.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Garret?" the Baron asked.

T.J. frowned. "Uh, isn't it kind of...blasphemous?" he asked as he nervously stared up at the building, drawing perplexed looks from everyone, including Claire herself.

Sabrewulf made a gasp of mock surprise. "Why, Mr. Garret!" He exclaimed. "Is that religious indignation I hear?"

"Well, uh...kinda, I guess," the boxer shrugged. He shifted beneath the looks of the other fighters. "What? I went to church every Sunday as a kid back in Texas - so sue me!"

He paused, then muttered under his breath, "...Actually, don't."

The Baron shrugged. "Fair enough. I...suppose it is a normal reaction to have. If I had remained a Catholic myself, I probably would have felt as mortified as you."

Claire looked at him interestedly. "You were a Catholic, Baron?"

"Ja," Sabrewulf nodded. "I was a choir boy."

Dieter scoffed while Claire's jaw dropped, the latter gaping at him incredulously. "No!"

"It's true," the Baron nodded. "For a time anyway."

"What happened?" Claire suddenly looked up with a start. "Oh! Was that when you-"

The hooded head nodded slowly, confirming her unfinished question.

"Oh Baron, I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Why? You didn't cause my ailment." The Baron raised his head, looking over his shoulder toward the church. "When I found out, I spent every waking moment praying. I prayed. I volunteered. I attended mass. Read my sermons. Got baptized. I donated to charity. Used the confessional..." He trailed off momentarily, looking as if he were caught up with a particular memory. As he did so, he slumped slightly, his tone listless, "...I was...so devout in my practice, so dedicated. I thought...I thought that if I were a good Catholic, then..."

He faltered, then suddenly averted his concealed eyes, as if embarrassed for making this admission. He sat motionless in his seat, the pregnant pause growing. Minutes counted by, and not once did he stir.

'...Had he fallen asleep?' she wondered.

Claire glanced around at the other fighters and personnel as they murmured amongst themselves.

"Baron?" she said hesitantly.

Sabrewulf remained in his wheelchair, his cloaked form unmoving.

Was he...dead?

Stepping forward, the girl moved worriedly toward Sabrewulf, reaching out with her outstretched hand when he let out an audible sigh, his cloaked shoulders sagging, seemingly not noticing her approach, nor when she quietly backed up a few steps.

"Forgive me, I was just...reminiscing about the way things used to be," he explained.

Claire nodded in understanding while T.J. remained quiet.

Minutes passed as the group silently waited.

T.J. clicked his tongue out of boredom, then looked over at Sabrewulf. "So, Baron... you were a fighter yourself?"

Sabrewulf nodded. "I was."

"That right? Huh. What styles?"

"I'm a black belt in karate, but I also have dabbled in boxing and capoeira."

"Nice," the boxer nodded, impressed.

"I've seen all of your fights on YouTube," Claire smiled. "You were amazing, Baron."

The hooded head nodded at her. "Oh danke."

"Do you still have the trophies?" she asked interestedly.

"Indeed I do, though they're all just collecting dust in my attic," he replied, causing her smile to widen.

"Awesome!"

He regarded her thoughtfully, his features concealed beneath the hood, scarf and thick glasses. "You're just a glowing, hyperactive ball of enthusiastic energy, aren't you?"

"Yep!" She chirped, grinning happily.

Sabrewulf shook his head with a scoff. "The naivety of youth. Incredible." He sighed. "I wish I had your level of energy, young lady."

"Oh stop."

"I'm serious! With it I probably would have powered through ten other tournaments had I been your age!"

T.J. raised a brow. "Ten? That's it?" he huffed with mock indignation. "Shit, I thought with the amount of piss and vinegar this one has that she'd power through a hundred."

Claire let out a light, playful laugh along with some of the other fighters. Turning her head back to the Baron, Claire's smile and laughter faded as she watched Sabrewulf sitting still, looking somehow small in his wheelchair. Alone.

"...Is something wrong, Baron?" She asked, the laughter dying down little by little.

The girl watched as his wide shoulders sagged, his tone sad as he spoke. "...Forgive me, but...it has been ages since I heard laughter around here. Pure, good-humored, light laughter. It makes me think back to my youth.. and...well..."

Claire smiled sadly back, then gave a sympathetic, understanding nod.

Everyone remained quiet upon hearing that, their forms still as they absorbed the exchange.

Tapping his index finger against the armrests, Sabrewulf looked around uncomfortably, then inhaled sharply through his cloaked nose, steaming up the sunglasses that he wore as he adjusted his cloak and scarf.

"When I learned of my condition," he continued, "...I was forced to go on a string of diets and exercise regimens. None of my prayers were being answered, and because of that, I had to dedicate myself to martial arts to help me cope." Tilting his head in the direction of the church, Sabrewulf looked aside in contemplation. "I suppose you could say that I exchanged one form of spirituality for another."

Claire reared her head back, her brows furrowing in confusion at the unusual remark. "How do you mean?"

"Well," Sabrewulf began, if not a little defensively, "martial arts and religion are both disciplines that are ultimately about control. Control of the mind. Control of the body. Control of the spirit. Both are disciplines that require sweat and dedication from all of their practitioners."

"And blood."

Hearing Thunder's rough voice, Claire turned to the left, spotting the tall Native American as he stormily stared in the Baron's direction from amongst the crowd of fighters. The Baron hesitated underneath the man's stare, then looked uncomfortably away, clearing his throat.

"Well quite. Indeed. Blood."

Jago clenched his prayer beads, "You make martial arts sound debased, Baron. It isn't about drawing blood."

"In a manner of speaking it does," the Baron interjected. "Religion and conflict have a long correlated history with one another. Even Buddhism had its share of violence."

Claire saw Jago glare in disapproval, his brow creasing.

"Buddhism has never caused acts of violence," he said in a patient, though slightly stern and apprehensive voice.

The sunglasses turned in the monk's direction. "I never said that it had." Looking away, Sabrewulf's gloved fingers tapped the handles of his chair. "Still, I'm not wrong. Both disciplines require us to establish boundaries and strive to seek new horizons for the inner self. Isn't that the goal of martial arts and religion, after all? To push one's self to their utmost limits, trying to attain the unattainable, to find and assert some measure of assurance and control over an entropy-filled existence?" Sabrewulf looked down at his gloved hands, studying them. Forming them into fists, he continued, "What fighter upon winning doesn't feel blessed, as if they were favored by some higher power?"

"You sound as if you're advocating for violence, Baron," Jago noted with a hint of worry and concern.

Claire watched as Sabrewulf let out a darkly amused grunt. "Ha. Not at all. That said, however, conflict has been around since time immemorial, for far longer than any scroll, scripture or psalm penned by ink, an integral part of existence, if not humanity. Without it, we wouldn't have climbed down from the trees. We wouldn't have innovated nor expanded our knowledge otherwise."

He hesitated, then raised his eyes slowly to the sky as the pregnant pause grew. An air of melancholy seemed to fall over the Baron as he wordlessly stared up at the clouds, at the sun.

As he stared up at the sky, Claire couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking in that moment. Finally, he heaved out a heavy, tired sigh, looking very worn.

"Of course... the Devil always has a way of finding his way into the details somehow," he muttered bitterly. "Sometimes I wonder whether or not one would be better off not knowing the ugly truth..."

Claire tilted her head curiously. "What truth are you talking about, Baron?" she asked, wondering where this was going.

He exhaled wearily. "Sacrifice, Ms. Redfield," he answered in a tired voice. "Martial arts, like religion and life itself, often requires hard work, dedication, sweat, blood...and sacrifice."

The word brought an uncomfortable silence among everyone, the word drawing odd looks from everyone, including Claire herself.

"With that in mind," Sabrewulf said thoughtfully, "...is it any wonder that I have selected a church as a battleground? For centuries, the church has been the arena for the soul, where men and women gathered, reflected, and sought some measure of solace during their most vulnerable...trying to exorcise themselves of their demons..." He then glanced over his shoulder, regarding the church for a moment, giving a slow, thoughtful nod. "What better place is there for an arena than that?"

Claire looked at the church herself and pondered quietly while others glanced around at each other, some of them looking not quite sure what to make of the Baron's points.

Turning back to the Baron, she then watched as Sabrewulf coughed embarrassedly into his gloved fist. "My apologies for my rambling. I...tend to...lose myself sometimes in my thoughts."

"Hey, it's no problem at all, Baron!" Claire smiled, raising her hands up in assurance. "I find it interesting."

Jago nodded his head in agreement. "There is truth in your words, Baron. Some of it, anyway." The monk then gestured to the church. "With that said, however... this place hasn't been constructed for the purposes of enlightenment, nor is it used in honor of the spiritual, let alone the Holy. The only one being honored is yourself."

She watched as the Baron whipped around to look over in his direction. Even Claire herself was surprised by the accusation.

"Excuse me?"

Jago calmly regarded Sabrewulf, the golden teeth decorations of his headband and light blue veil framing his eyes as he meaningfully glanced around, gesturing to their surroundings. "Everywhere I look, Baron, I see your mark. Everything around here is a testament to your sense of industry. To your prestige. To your wealth. Your arena is a church dedicated to currency, a monument dedicated to both yourself and to your business." Turning around to face him, the monk nodded respectfully. "There are many wondrous things that you have here in this place, Baron. Many fine, and no doubt expensive things. And yet...I sense no joy here. Nor happiness."

Claire blinked in surprise, taken aback by his remarks. Even Sabrewulf himself seemed startled, looking uncomfortable.

Jago stared at the wheelchair-bound figure, his gaze unwavering.

"You are correct that there is a link between martial arts and spirituality," the former nodded, "but there is one element that you failed to account for. Something that you seem to lack."

The Baron tilted his head the side, intrigued. "And what might that be?"

"Faith," Jago answered simply.

Sabrewulf made no response at first. He didn't even react at all, the cloak, sunglasses and scarf making it completely impossible to tell.

Claire looked at the two masked men as they both stared at one another. Neither of them seemed to be angry - they were quietly watching the other, both of them seeming to be in contemplation, but...she couldn't be sure. For a moment, Claire felt tempted to approach the two of them and snatch away their masks, if only so that she could get a better read of the situation, if not see their expressions, their faces.

For five minutes, the two men were still.

Before anyone could respond, the church door opened, revealing a shadowy figure.

"Everything is set," a voice answered flatly.

"Oh, uh, thank you." Looking to Jago, Sabrewulf then nodded stiffly. "We'll discuss this later after the program."

Jago nodded in acceptance.

Turning to the others, the Baron nervously glanced back to the door in an apprehensive, distrustful manner that caught Claire off-guard. Turning back to face them, he continued, "Before we go inside, I must warn you all about...interacting with the film crew. You may be put off by their demeanor, but...rest assured...they are all professionals. That said, however...it would be preferable if you didn't bother them. Do not talk to them, do not distract them, just leave them alone and let them do their jobs. Understood?"

Claire scrunched up her brows, puzzled by the Baron's attitude as murmurs rose from the other fighters around her. From the way he was acting, one would think that she were being led into a lion's den or something.

As Sabrewulf relaxed in his wheelchair, he exhaled softly, his demeanor changing into something lighter.

"Good. Now, follow me inside, everyone! On with the show!"

Claire exchanged looks with T.J., then looked straight ahead, following everyone into the building.

Stepping through a grey ogee-styled arch, Claire gave small gasp at the exquisite surroundings. The arena was made up of muted colors, brown being the primary one used, but it was massive, with huge gothic arches that reached so high up in the air that they almost seemed to extend indefinitely to the black, shadowy ceiling. Nearby, eye-like rose windows with stained glass shined crystalline colors, painting the floors with hues of red, pink green and black in places.

Greeting the fighters was an enormous black metallic cage in the center, with various cameramen and technicians working away off to the sides as they rigged and tested equipment and lighting. Overhead, a pair of large, arm-like cranes with mounted cameras that hung from the ceiling were being tested, swiveling around, rising and lowering, the crane's movement's corresponding with the movements made with the remote controls in the technicians' hands.

"Look at this place!" Claire gasped.

"No kidding!" T.J. nodded, his eyes brows arched in surprise and admiration. "Shit, this is an arena?!"

"Indeed it is," Sabrewulf nodded as he was wheeled forward by Dieter. "We were considering making this open to the public, but due to a combination of time, money and...certain other factors, it was decided for the sake of practicality to just use this area for filming rather than have any live audiences present."

Claire glanced at him in surprise. "You're not going to make this open to the public?"

"For the time being, although it's possible that we might at some point in the future. No promises, though."

"Ah. Well, I hope you open it up someday - this place is awesome!"

Sabrewulf gave an amused grunt, then looked away.

Claire stared up at the arches, following them all the way up to the black, shadowy ceiling. As she admired the art and architecture, it was then that Claire suddenly became aware of a strange, disconcerting sensation, as if she were being watched. Lowering her eyes back down to the ground floor, she suddenly paused.

"T.J." she said in a low voice, elbowing him.

"What?"

Claire tilted her head in the direction ahead of them, drawing the boxer's attention.

The arena was dark and quiet, the silence made especially discomforting by the eerily silent and deathly stiff forms of the film crew as they remained where they stood, all of them staring directly at the incoming fighters with flat empty uniformity, their features hidden in shadow.

Claire suddenly felt a chill come over her, the girl unnerved by the stillness of everything. Even though the majority of their faces were covered by black shadows, she could feel their eyes on her.

"What is up with them?" she said softly.

T.J. shrugged. "Dunno. Drugs maybe?" He suggested quietly, his voice barely raised above a whisper.

The Baron was quiet as he lead the way, ignoring the stares from the film crew as he and the fighters moved forward. As she stepped deeper into the church-turned-arena, Claire could feel their eyes locked onto her, the girl stiffening apprehensively. She tried to ignore them, but...she just couldn't! There was something in their eyes and demeanor that really, really bothered her, and yet...she had no idea why. All that Claire knew was that there was something...off...about them. Claire didn't know what it was, but the more she looked at the crew, the more she had the vague sense as if they were...she didn't even know the proper words to describe it.

One man close by, a mousy fellow in a dress shirt and black pants that stood over to the right with a camera, was staring directly at her, and for reasons unfathomable to her, Claire felt...unclean. He didn't look particularly handsome, nor was he particularly ugly, just average at best.

As she came closer, Claire suddenly did a double-take; his eyes had a strange, glassy, almost artificial quality, like black marble.

Claire's eyes widened.

'That's what's bothering me!' Claire mentally gasped in realization - the crew didn't look real!

Well, they did, but by the same token, though, they looked...so...weird!

For a moment, Claire suddenly found herself thinking back to when she was ten-years-old, when her parents took her and Chris to the local Halloween supply and costume store. She vividly recalled how she used to wander the various aisles and observed the various rubbery masks for various characters, be it man, woman, or beast. Seeing the crew's features, Claire found herself thinking back to those Halloween masks.

The film crew weren't overtly abnormal by any means... but there was undoubtedly a suggestive, almost false quality about them all. Like as if she were looking at statues.

Claire's brow furrowed.

Could the film crew be some new experimental line of automatons made by Ultratech?

Claire squinted her eyes, then tilted her head at different angles.

'No,' part of her said with certainty.

While it may at first glance seemed to be the case, the film crew were definitely not robotic. In fact, that particular word couldn't even begin to describe what she was looking at, let alone capture the intense, almost indefinably...alien and frightening quality about them all.

She knew that there was nothing wrong with the film crew physically...but there was definitely something, and Claire could practically feel it on a deep, primal level. She felt absolutely repulsed by their presence, though she hardly knew why. Even more, there were times where Claire could have sworn that the film crew were sensing - and taking personal delight - in her disgust, in her fear...even if they didn't seem to visibly show any indications of such.

Part of Claire wanted to dismiss it all as being her overactive imagination, that she was acting irrationally and having an extreme reaction as a result of stage fright - after all, today was going to be her first fight.

But...she couldn't.

Her instincts were warning her that she needed to avoid contact with the film crew at all costs. Claire didn't know why she felt the way she had, nor did she wonder what would happen if she made contact with one of the workers, but deep in her gut, she intuitively knew that it would be a horrible idea to be alone with this lot for any amount of time.

The air felt very thick and oppressive as the shadowy figures watched them draw closer toward the arena, like wolves watching a fresh flock of sheep being led to a pen.

Claire felt very alert and conscious of her surroundings, of the film crews' proximity in relation to hers, her eyes shifting about like a nervous deer amid a pack of dangerous wild animals in the middle of a blackness-filled forest. The other fighters also seemed to be picking up on the strange atmosphere and behavior, some of them huddling closer together, while some of the guys like T.J. - people that tried maintaining cool, strong fronts - were on edge and guarded. Some of them were looking ready to throw out the first punch should the occasion call for it.

Scanning slowly along from left to right, Claire suddenly noticed that not all of the film crew were acting in this strange manner - a couple technicians were minding their own business and doing work.

Some of them were trying their damnedest to ignore what was going on and continue on with what they were doing, while others were quickly and nervously looking over their shoulders at their coworkers, including a man in a blue baseball cap that Claire assumed to be the director.

Two announcers were talking to each other in hushed voices as they sat outside the arena, casting anxious glances at one or two of said-weird workers every so often. In a couple instances, Claire could swear that she caught a flicker of fear etched onto some of their faces, but it was so quick and fleeting that she was left wondering if she had even seen anything at all.

'What is this feeling?' she wondered.

Claire was not a superstitious person by any stretch of the imagination, nor was she a wuss by any means. Granted, there may be the odd instance where a spider would come along and freak her out, thereby forcing her to use her brother Chris as both designated spider killer and meat shield, but for the majority of the time, hardly anything scared her.

And yet...there lingered at the back of her mind something uncanny. For the first time in her life, she actually did feel afraid, even if she coudn't understand why.

Claire stared down the aisles at the nervous crew and the equally off-putting and freakish personnel that stared back, trying to make sense of everything.

Why were these people making her feel so afraid?

What was wrong with these people? With this place?

She tried pinpointing the fault in the crews' features, in their movements, but no matter what, she was unable to determine anything.

She knew, though, that there was something off. Something VERY off.

'A wrongness...' Thunder's words hauntingly echoed from the back of Claire's mind.

The girl shivered, then averted her eyes, willing herself onward as she tried to ignore the flat, staring eyes that watched her every move.

'Like a bunch of vultures waiting for fresh carrion,' came the morbid thought.

Wincing at the image, Claire shook it off and looked ahead as Sabrewulf was stopped by a blank-eyed man in a one-piece bodysuit.

"Our work is complete, Baron," the man said in a flat voice.

"Uh, thank you, Miles," Sabrewulf nodded as he anxiously shifted. "You may leave."

Claire watched as "Miles" twisted around and parted, the Baron untensing as he did so. Turning his wheelchair around to face them, Sabrewulf then nodded to them all.

"Alright, everyone," he began, "we will begin filming shortly. There is absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Places, everyone!" One of the film crew said through a megaphone. "And in five...four...three...two...one. Cue music."

The lights dimmed, the colors fading, everything blending into darkness. As she heard the distinctive and iconic theme song for KI play out over the speakers, the synthesized beginning echoing through the church, Claire felt chills running through her body when it suddenly hit her. After years of watching, years of yearning and dreaming of this exact moment, it was finally happening! Claire was going to participate and star on her favorite television program!

As the realization dawned on her, Claire felt her legs wobble and tremble beneath her in excitement as the guitar rumbled and mixed with the heavy anvil clanging in the background, her heart hammering to its beat.

'I'm actually doing this,' she mentally told herself as she heard the riff, tears forming in the corner of her eyes in a mixture of elation and happiness. 'I'm actually doing this!'

Her fingers fidgeted nervously, the palms of her hands feeling damp beneath her fingerless gloves. Sweeping a hand through her hair, Claire checked herself nervously, glancing down at her person to make sure there were no food stains and that her fly wasn't open.

Satisfied, she looked back up and tucked a tendril of hair behind one ear, gulping back saliva as she stared up at the holographic jumbotron over the arena, watching as the shining metallic logo hovered over her in the air.

"KILLER INSTINCT."

As Chris Sutherland's voice rumbled and echoed throughout the church, the sound and music so loud that Claire could practically feel it vibrating through her small form, she heard T.J. utter something beside her as he too stared up at the logo.

"Looks like we're seeing the face of God."

Startled by the remark, Claire turned to face him, the boxer's features hard to read. She wasn't sure certain if he had meant it sarcastically, or if he was being sincere. Turning back to the logo and the light show, Claire couldn't help musing on the thought.

Regardless of the intention, it wasn't hard to figure out why T.J. would say such a thing, even as blasphemous as it sounded. Taking everything in at once - the pitch-black ecclesiastical surroundings, the hovering and glowing metallic logo, the multitude of cameras that watched and stared from a multitude of angles, the freakish film crew - together with the Baron's reflections... in a weirdly warped kind of way, there seemed to be a kernel of truth to it. It all felt...

Claire frowned. She didn't even know to describe it.

As she watched the show, standing in that arena amidst all the various fighters, with all of her senses being assaulted at once, Claire suddenly felt an anxious sensation in the pit of her stomach.

For a brief moment, the girl was given the vague sense that what she was watching wasn't the start of a television program, but rather...something else.

Like as if she were watching some sort of ritual, or like she was gazing upon some long-lost, multi-eyed amorphous monster from antediluvian times stirring awake, hungry for fresh souls to swallow.

Claire shivered as she unpleasantly recalled Sabrewulf's words along with Thunder's warnings, the two blending seamlessly together, with phrases punctuating and repeating in hushed, ghostly whispers that echoed in her mind, the words suggestively alluding and hinting to something diabolical.

Run. Run. Run.

A wrongness.

Blood.

Run. Run. Run.

Leave while you still have time.

Run. Run. Run.

Sacrifice.

Run. Run. Run.

A wrongness.

Blood...and sacrifice.

Run. Run.

A wrongness.

Run.

Looking over her shoulder at the others, then at the aisle, the girl was about to take a tentative step back to the entrance, if not make a mad dash out from the building when she suddenly caught herself. Blinking for several moments, Claire closed her eyes and looked down with a slight smile, gently shaking her head incredulously with a slight snort of amusement at her foolish behavior.

'God, what's wrong with me? You really need to get out more, Claire,' she told herself.

Relaxing, Claire turned back to the show, then started enjoying the beat of the theme song's tune, bobbing her head and humming to herself.

Once the music finished, one of the crew, a man with a blue baseball cap that Claire assumed to be the director, spoke, "Alright, better get ready. Camera is on in five. Four. Three. Two. One. And...action!"

"WELCOME!"

A spotlight shone over two men sitting close to the arena behind a table.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!" One of the announcers spoke into the microphone. "I'm Lawrence Cooper."

"And I'm Henry Hull," said the other.

"Welcome to Killer Instinct!" Both men announced at the same time. "Live from the Sabrewulf Estate in Raccoon City, Colorado, we have with us quite a lineup of new competitors, each of them itching to get their hands on the one million dollar prize money!"

"That's right, Henry," Lawrence nodded. "And now a word from Baron Von Sabrewulf."

Claire watched as the camera people turned our their lenses of over to the Baron as he faced the fighters, the spotlight striking his concealed form, much to his apparent annoyance.

Sabrewulf straightened himself up in his seat as the camera was positioned before him.

"Good morning, everyone," he greeted, clearing his throat. "I...am Baron Von Sabrewulf, and welcome...' He paused dramatically, "...to my home. You have all come a long way in order to get here. All of you are unique in terms of what you bring to KI. Many of you come from different walks of life, with different styles and backgrounds. Regardless of where you came from or how you got here, you should all feel privileged for having been selected in order to participate. It is wonderful seeing so many fresh faces here!"

The Baron scanned along the crowd of fighters, his concealed eyes meeting Claire's briefly before sweeping to the others. "Unfortunately, your stay here is only temporary, if not conditional. For the next few days, each and every one you will be in direct competition with one another. The fighters that end up winning will be able to proceed onto the next match and continue to live on these premises. Those of you that are either defeated or incapacitated will be forced to leave. If anyone wishes to forfeit, be it for personal reasons, medical or family emergencies, you may do so at any time. However, the moment you do...there will be no turning back. You will be unable able to claim the prize money. You will be going home with only the clothes on your backs, and nothing more."

Claire unconsciously reached up and touched the necklace given to her by Chris, her fingers tracing along its metallic form as a murmur grew from the crowd.

"I'm sorry, everyone," Sabrewulf nodded, "but I'm afraid that's how things must be. I do not expect to see all of you at the finals. You are all familiar with the rules, so there is no need for me to go over them again."

The girl glanced over at T.J., her eyes meeting his as they exchanged anxious looks, although the latter was more reserved. Looking away, the boxer pushed up his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and gave her an assured nod, then looked straight ahead to the speaker.

"But..." the Baron spoke slowly as he crossed his arms, "...there is...one...additional rule that I have been saving for this moment. One that I wish to make known. This particular rule is very simple..."

He leaned forward from his wheelchair. "Fight all the way to the end. The winning participant will have the privilege of not only winning a million dollars...but they will also have the privilege of battling one of our monsters for an upcoming short movie!"

Claire's eyes bulged as she along with everyone else whooped and cheered in excitement, the girl jumping up and down. "WHAT?! WHOO!"

"FUCK YEAH!" T.J. fist-pumped into the air.

"Ja, ja, very exciting," the Baron said dryly, "but remember - it is only the winner that gets to fight our creature, so you have a lot of work cut out for you."

Claire raised her hand.

"Yes, Ms. Redfield?"

"Which monster will we be fighting?" The girl asked smilingly. "Can you tell us what the movie is called?"

Sabrewulf nodded. "It is a scene for an upcoming live-action short film called 'Brute Force'. I cannot tell you the plot details, unfortunately, but in the scene you will be shooting, you will be fighting and killing KI's mascot and reigning champion."

The girl felt her breath caught in her throat. "Mascot? Y-You mean..."

The hooded head nodded in confirmation. "Indeed. My...namesake," he replied with a hint of what sounded awfully like contempt. "Sabrewulf."

Claire blinked, perplexed by the unusual news as people murmured amongst each other, one or two of them awing in disappointment.

Sabrewulf sat there quietly, then lowered his sunglasses-covered eyes, shaking his head. "I know, ladies and gentlemen, I know, I know, but I'm afraid the character is at a point where he needs to be retired." He lifted his concealed eyes back to them. "Now that you know what is at stake, let's make this tournament as exciting as possible!"

Everyone cheered loudly at the proclamation. As the noise died down, the Baron then adjusted his scarf and blanketed lap. "I'm afraid that I won't be around for the entirety of the tournament, unfortunately, but rest assured - I will be watching your progress with much interest. You all look very formidable and very capable. I get the feeling this season will be very special, and I very much look forward to seeing the tournament's outcome and shaking the winner's hand as I present the million dollar award to them. Regardless of whoever wins or loses, I hope you all enjoy your time here. May the best fighter win. Farewell, and good luck to all of you."

Looking over to Dieter, Sabrewulf gave a quiet nod. The bodyguard nodded back, then proceeded to wheel him back to the entrance. Claire watched the duo as they disappeared all the way down the aisle.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, let the tournament begin!" Hull said over the microphone.

"WE ARE CONTROLLING TRANSMISSION."

"READY!"

Hearing the loud iconic and ominous clanging thump of the select theme as it struck her eardrums, Claire looked back to the arena, letting out a shaky nervous breath, watching on the holographic jumbotron as it shined over the arena in flashing neon.

"ALICE ABERNATHY!"

Claire watched as the spotlight fell on a woman ten feet away from her as she strode to the arena cage. A woman of five-eight, her hair was a dark shade of brown with hints of blonde dye, short and done in a medium bob cut. Clad in a dark grey, full-bodied spandex suit with a tight, black bustier-cut leather vest with buckles at the front, the suit itself highlighted and accentuated her slim and fit body, her legs bedecked in black high boots with wedge heels. The woman was pretty, but she just seemed...bland. Like, no personality.

"Isn't that Paul's wife?" Claire heard a guard say to his friend nearby.

The other one shrugged. "I think so. I bet the guy's at this moment beating off to her along with his lasers."

Claire scrunched up her brows.

Lasers...?

Looking to T.J., she nudged him, indicating the older woman as she entered the arena, "So what do you think?"

T.J. looked over to where she pointed, then shrugged. "I'd bang her."

"Ew, no!" Claire said as she lightly smacked his bicep. "I mean do you think she's a good fighter?"

The boxer shrugged again. "Dunno. She's fit, but I have no idea. I wonder if she's a model or something. Or maybe a porn star based on the S&M gear? Either way I'd still bang her."

Redfield rolled her eyes.

"CLAIRE REDFIELD."

As Chris Sutherland's voice echoed with its echoing metallic snarl, a spotlight illuminated directly over the girl like a blinding halo, forcing her to raise up her hand to block the light out from her eyes.

"FIGHT ON!"

"Well, looks like you're up, kid," T.J. nodded, patting her on the shoulder. "Good luck out there, Claire. Kick her ass."

Looking straight to the arena cage, Claire swallowed, then stepped forward, her heart ready to jump out of her.

I'm doing this! I'm actually doing this!

Climbing up a small set of steps, a guard nodded at her as he pulled the cage door open, allowing the girl through before sealing it shut behind her.

Once the cage closed, Chris Sutherland's voice rang, "READY!"

Opposite her, the woman, "Alice", was standing there akimbo style, looking at her from top to bottom disapprovingly, a smirk formed on one corner of her mouth.

"So, you're my opponent, huh?" The woman asked dismissively.

Claire shrugged. "Looks like it."

Her opponent stepped closer, stopping inches from Claire's face. "Give up - there's no way you can win this. I know more martial arts styles than anyone here. I'm perfect."

Redfield stared hard at her, her eyes narrowed. "You're right," she nodded. "You are perfect."

As Alice gave a smug smile, Claire threw a haymaker, the blow catching her squarely in the face.

POW!

Claire heard an audible crack as her fist connected with the woman's face, the woman flying back to the floor unconscious.

"A perfect bitch!"

Outside the cage, she heard T.J. let out a loud raucous laugh as he clapped, whooping proudly. "WHOO! WAY TO GO, KID!"

Hearing the round of applause and the cheering, Claire raised her head and looked around.

Did that just happen?

She watched as footage was replayed on an overhead holographic jumbotron, the scene reverting to a shot of her shocked features as a crane-mounted camera zoomed in on her.

"SUPREME VICTORY!" Chris Sutherland's voice roared from the speaker, the words implanted on cold blue metallic text, accompanied by another set, "PERFECT!"

Beaming from ear to ear, Claire fist-pumped wildly. "WHOO!" She whooped, throwing both fists up into the air before doing a little moon walk, much to everyone's amusement.

In that moment, Claire felt as if she were on top of the world, and that nothing could stop her.

That feeling dissipated the moment she heard the cage open, causing her to turn to see medical personnel as they approached her knocked-out opponent. As her gaze fell on her, so did Claire's smile along with those feelings of elation and invincibility. Concern, worry and guilt started to form along with a sick feeling in her stomach.

That's a lot of blood...

Looking to her fist, Claire studied her hand, rubbing her sore knuckles, then looked back as medical personnel entered and checked up on Alice.

"Is...is she okay?" the girl asked nervously as she cautiously approached, massaging her sore knuckles.

One of the doctors nodded. "She's unconscious. From the looks of things, though, you broke her nose."

Wincing, Claire's eyes drooped, watching as the doctors placed the unconscious Alice on a stretcher.

"Okay, fellas, let's get her out of here."

As the woman was carried away, Claire guiltily watched on, then looked back to her gloved hand as she studied it carefully, stopping at the sight of the red stains that marked her knuckles.

For one moment, Claire Redfield felt like she was on top of the world.

Now all she wanted to do was cry.

Claire huddled on the floor of bath tub as she tirelessly scrubbed her hands clean, trembling furiously as she slathered every ounce of skin with soap. Even now, her hand still felt sore. She still felt unclean.

After the match was over, Claire had quickly left the arena and had vomited outside the building, her body a wobbling, jittering jumble of nerves. Billy and T.J. had both stopped by to check up on her, but she was insistent on being alone, too ashamed and embarrassed to see anyone.

Pulling her hand from the water, the girl glanced down at her sore knuckles, sniffling.

She had hurt someone.

She had hurt someone!

Not only did she hurt someone, but she also enjoyed it!

Granted, Alice was a piece of work, but still...the way it felt...she didn't know what to feel anymore.

Claire stared down into her reflection in the pool of water, then splashed at it with disgust.

Leaning forward, Claire tightly hugged her legs and rested her forehead on her knees as her body became wracked with quiet sobs and sniffles.

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay, guys! Hope you are all safe and healthy!

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Nine: Wandering Souls

She heard the knock at the door. "I'm coming!" Claire said as she adjusted her bathrobe, tying it securely. Drawing open the locks, she cracked it open, her eyes widening in surprise. "Billy!"

"Hey," Billy gave a slight wave.

"Hey!" Claire blushed, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear.

"Is now a bad time...?"

"No. I mean, I just got out of the bath."

Billy blinked. "Oh, uh, sorry," he coughed, clearing his throat in embarrassment. "I'll come back later-"

"No no, it's fine!" Claire waved assuredly, folding her arms together. "What do you want to talk about?"

He exhaled, sweeping a hand through his mullet. "Well, the big guy and I were feeling worried about you. You did just walk out before the show had finished. Everything okay?"

The girl frowned. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I just...I just wasn't feeling well after that."

Billy stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "First time, huh?"

Claire bit her lip, then gave a conceding nod.

"Yeah, I thought that might have been the case. I reacted similarly first time after my first fight. All that adrenaline coursing through you and you're feelin' too wired up to think straight."

She nodded more rigorously. "Yeah." She then looked around outside. "Is T.J. out there?"

"Nah, he's back at the arena," Billy replied, "but he did want to check up on you himself. I told him that I'd cover for him and send you his regards."

Claire frowned. "God, I feel bad for missing out on his fight."

He shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. His fight's been delayed."

She blinked in surprise. "Has it?"

"Yeah. His opponent had dysentery or something, so his match was replaced with someone else's."

"Do you know who's?"

He shrugged. "No idea."

The two awkwardly stood there at the doorway.

"So, uh, listen," Billy said slowly, "the Baron said something about a celebratory dinner at six and I was wondering if you feel up for it?"

Claire gave a slight smile. "Why Billy! Are you asking me out on a date?"

He leaned on one side of the door frame with a smug though charming grin, flashing perfect white teeth, "What if I am?"

His grin grew as she averted her eyes to hide her blush, clearing her throat as he chuckled. "Hey, I'm just messing with ya." Billy then dropped his smile. "But seriously, though, will you be coming?"

Claire felt a twinge of disappointment at the admission, though did her best to hide it. "...Um...well...Yeah. Yeah, I'll definitely be there. I just need to clear my head and get dressed. Maybe do a bit of jogging and some exercises over at the gym."

Billy then pushed himself off from the doorway. "Okay then. Guess I'll see you there." As he turned around, he stopped, hesitating.

"Yes?" Claire asked expectantly.

Turning back to face her, Billy nervously swept his hand through his hair. "So, uh...would you like me to pick you up-"

"I'll meet you at the mansion," Claire said too quickly, wincing at the rushed words afterwards.

Billy gave a slightly dejected look, stiffening slightly.

"Oh," he said simply. "Okay. See you there."

Claire peered out as Billy quickly walked away, reaching her hand out, "Billy! Billy wait!"

She watched as his form disappeared. Lowering her eyes, Claire receded back into her room, closing the door behind her as she leaned her back against it and stared up at the ceiling.

Why did she have to open her big fat mouth?

Claire banged the back of her head several times against the door. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

She stared up at the white ceiling, exhaling sadly.

Claire Redfield, knock-out queen and empress of shit dating decisions.

"Goddamn it," she breathed.

She leaned against the door for a long while. Sighing, Claire lazily pushed herself off, clicking the lock back into place before unenthusiastically walking toward her bedroom to get dressed.

What a fucking day this has been.

"You should eat up. Your supper is getting cold."

Claire sat at the dining room table, staring down at her plate of chicken with salad dressing. Sitting around her were all the fighters. Billy sat all the way down one end of the table, refusing to look at her. Sighing, the girl grabbed her fork, fidgeting with a piece of lettuce.

"Sorry, Baron," she apologized. "I'm just not really hungry at the moment."

Opposite her, Sabrewulf sat and studied her, his cloak and scarf in place.

"Is everything alright?" he asked concernedly.

Claire wordlessly moved a piece of chicken with her fork while to her left T.J. was scarfing his steak down noisily. To her right, Jago was scooping up forkfuls of salad and eggs from his plate, slipping it underneath his veil, not bothering to take off his mask.

Looking away from her, Claire watched as the Baron turned his attention over to the monk. "Is it to your liking?"

Jago nodded in affirmation.

"Are you sure you don't want a steak or some chicken?"

Jago shook his head. "My religion prohibits me from eating from meat, Baron."

Sabrewulf tilted his head curiously. "Doesn't your religion also prohibit you from having more than one meal, let alone eggs? Doesn't it also require you to shave off your hair?"

The monk's fork paused over the egg as he glanced up from his plate. "My...denomination...is a little more lenient in certain matters," he replied calmly.

"Ah." The Baron then dipped his head respectfully as Jago resumed eating. "My apologies, I didn't mean to offend."

T.J. scoffed as he chewed. "Ya know, you could always take off your mask while you eat, Ninja Boy."

The monk steadily turned his eyes over to him. "I'm afraid I can't. Again, it's against my religion."

The boxer stared back, then shrugged. "Strange-ass religion."

"No stranger than a lot of others, Christianity included," Thunder said as he cut into his steak with a knife and fork, his neatly-pressed shirt tucked into his jeans. "Every religion across the globe has some feature or custom that would be considered peculiar."

T.J. shrugged again. "Touché, I guess."

The fighters quietly ate at the dining room table as the grandfather clock counted on.

Taking a drink, T.J. then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked over at Claire. "So how did you find your first match, Wonder Woman?" Claire cracked a small smile. "Eh? You took out that Alice chick with one punch!"

Dieter smirked. "I had figured that would happen. Her brother punches boulders, after all."

People murmured, chuckling and giggling while T.J. gave a slight laugh. Billy lifted his head from his plate and arched a brow at her.

Claire cleared her throat. "It's true."

T.J. scoffed. "Yeah. Sure."

"No, it is! He's a member of S.T.A.R.S."

The boxer frowned. "'Stars'?"

"Special Tactics And Rescue Service. It's an elite police unit here in Raccoon City. He saved a hiker stuck in the mountains when the guy got pinned by a boulder."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No shit?"

"Yeah."

"And he...punched...a boulder?" Billy said slowly.

"Yep."

"...Is your brother retarded?"

Claire grinned. "A question I ask myself all the time," she deadpanned, causing people to laugh before laughing it off herself. "In all seriousness, though, no."

Billy scoffed, then shook his head. "Must be a juiced-up 'roid user to pull that off."

"Nah. Just Redfield guts and determination," she replied, flashing a brilliant smile.

Sabrewulf made an amused grunt.

Looking over to him, Claire's smile lowered. "Aren't you going to eat, Baron?"

He waved dismissively. "Nein, nein. I'm fine, thank you."

"Are you sure? I feel kind of bad having this while you're not eating-"

"It's fine."

"Okay."

The dining room fell quiet as forks clattered over plates, mouths chewing and slurping noisily.

Claire watched as Sabrewulf tilted his head in Jago's direction, the monk staring at him. Through him...at least, so it seemed to her.

"Is something wrong?" The monk was quiet, his piercing brown eyes locked on the Baron. "Well?"

Raising up a cup of water, Jago slipped it underneath his veil and took a sip before pulling it away. Finally, Jago spoke again, his voice low and full of concern as he looked back to Sabrewulf. "You said earlier that church is where people go when they experience inner turmoil, the arena for the soul as you put it..." he said slowly. "...Is that why you have appropriated a church for yourself?"

The Baron clicked his tongue thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly. Exhaling, the hooded head shook slowly from side to side.

"...I...suppose...there is some...element of truth to that," Sabrewulf admitted hesitantly, staring up to the ceiling. "All my life, I have been searching for a cure. But...as years pass by and you're confronted with one discouraging failure after another...eventually... one ends up feeling desperate."

Claire watched as the aristocrat stared blankly up at nothing, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

"...What demons haunt you, Baron?" she asked.

Turning to her in surprise, Sabrewulf looked directly at her. Claire could feel his sunglasses-concealed eyes on her, staring at her. Looking away, he then lowered his hooded head, shaking it from side to side, raising a hand to cover his face.

"Baron?"

Claire watched as the Baron's form trembled.

Oh God, did she make him cry?

He made slight rasps in his seat, the shaking growing as he made a series of loud barks or coughs.

Getting up from her seat, she was just about to circle around the table when she suddenly stopped.

At first, she thought that he was having a seizure, but then she heard the cold, sharp laugh as it rose, catching her and the others off-guard as the sound punctured the quiet air, cutting into her.

It was a disturbing noise to listen to, one that sounded so sickly.

So...unhealthy.

The way it sounded...it actually frightened her.

It was an awful noise, the kind of sound one would probably hear at a nuthouse.

Demented.

Hysterical.

Tearful.

Weakly.

It was the sound of a broken soul who had lost his way, a man who was mere steps away from plunging headlong into oblivion, into madness, if he hadn't already.

It was the sound of a man near the edge of his life, so full of despair and untold-of misery.

Even more, it was the sound of someone who was damned.

At first, Claire felt afraid of the Baron as he roared hysterically, unsure about his mental state and how to respond.

Before coming to the castle, Claire had seen old pictures of Sabrewulf on the Internet, in newspapers and on YouTube.

To see a once-strong, handsome man that she had long admired, a man that had absolutely everything, reduced to a cripple...it was a sobering experience, if not a painful reminder about the impermanence of things, the fragility of life. The Baron was able to accomplish many things in his lifetime, blessed with gifts and fortunes that many a person could only dream of.

And yet, she began to realize, despite still possessing such a luxurious home and enormous wealth... he was powerless against an unseen enemy, afflicted with some unknown condition that was not only wearing him down physically, but also mentally as well, it would seem.

A condition that in all likelihood would continue to wear and tear at Baron Von Sabrewulf until he was nothing more than a shell of his former self, perhaps until death mercifully claimed him.

With that thought in mind, Claire's fear turned to pity as her eyes softened.

'What have you been through?' she wondered sorrowfully.

Once the laughter mercifully subsided, she watched as the Baron's seated figure recovered.

"My apologies," he waved, "I...I just never expected to have that directed at me."

Sabrewulf then sat contemplatively in his seat, his gloved fingers pressed together, looking as if he were meditating on the answer. Sniffing, he shook his head in a slow and despondent manner. "To answer your question..." he said slowly with a suggestive knowingness, as if he were telling a private joke, "...a great many..."

Claire's brow wrinkled in confusion, curious and a little uneasy about the ominous response. Turning to Jago, the Baron then gave a conceding nod.

"You are correct in what you said earlier," he admitted. "I...do... lack faith. If only because of my...predicament."

Jago nodded understandingly. "And because of that, you feel an inner void. A void that you have been trying to fill. You're a materialist."

The Baron took a long time to answer.

Finally, he let out a dismissive scoff. "So what if I am? Is that a crime?"

"Exploitation is," a voice muttered.

All heads turned to face the speaker, Claire herself included as she found herself looking at Thunder as he continued eating from his plate.

"Come again?"

"You heard me just fine, Baron," Thunder said gruffly with a mouthful of steak.

Claire watched as Sabrewulf stared at him and took his appearance in, the hooded figure shaking his head. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Don't you?" Thunder drawled. "Your business is built on exploitation."

The Baron bristled. "How dare you. I'll have you know that no one has ever been exploited in my company. Not once!"

"I beg to differ," the Native American challenged. "You and your company have exploited the land. Its resources. Its people."

Claire watched as Sabrewulf's gloved hands impatiently tapped the handles of the wheelchair as he allowed the Native American to make his point.

"According to surveys commissioned by your own company, Baron," Thunder continued, "the vast majority of those that participate in your tournament tend to be from lower-income families, usually in their early twenties to thirties. I know of a number of communities and programs that would have benefited enormously from the kind of money that you are offering, all of them far more useful and nobler than what you are doing here."

The Baron shifted in his seat. "What is your issue with this program?"

The Native American's mouth tensed as he looked up from his steak, his eyes narrowed, "My issue with your program stems from the fact that you force people into degrading themselves, and you parade that around for everyone to enjoy, like some sort of sideshow at a carnival. For the price of a million dollars at the end, you let people make themselves into spectacles. You force people to hurt one another for the sake of entertainment and profit. You broadcast and feed off of people's desperation and pain. You commodify suffering." Thunder shook his head, his lip curled angrily. "It's disgusting. Jerry Springer would be proud."

Claire felt the very air thick with tension as both men stared each other down.

Sabrewulf growled. "Look, I do not deny that there are many who have troubles of their own. We all do. While I certainly am sympathetic and have made great strides with my company to improve the human condition as much as I'm able to, I cannot solve every single wrong out there. Even I have limits," he said slowly in a restrained tone, "and I am not going to sit back while you so smugly lecture me! My tournament isn't the only fighting tournament out there - there are plenty of sports programs around the world that result in far more debilitating injuries! Programs that have done far, far more outrageous things in comparison, so spare me the holier-than-thou shit! I'll have you know my company has done far more good than you give credit for!"

"Yes, but at what cost?" the big man said evenly. The two men glared at one another, the air tense as Thunder continued, "My people have a saying, Baron - 'You are who you take care of.' But you, Baron, take care of nothing. You only take. You think that you are a shepherd, but you are really the wolf."

Claire watched as the Baron jerked back in surprise along with his bodyguard Dieter, the two of them exchanging looks. Turning back to face Thunder, the hooded figure scrutinized him carefully.

"...I don't believe I caught your name," Sabrewulf said lowly, his voice a raspy growl.

The Native American shook his head slowly.

"You have forgotten," he rumbled, shrugging nonchalantly. "Can't say I'm surprised."

Taking in a deep breath, Sabrewulf exhaled, giving a conceding shrug.

"It's not just you - I'm pretty bad with names generally," he admitted, then gave an expectant look. "Would you be kind enough to remind me?"

Thunder stood still, his face dark and tense.

"Well?"

Claire watched as his eyes narrowed.

"Can you see my face with those glasses on, Baron?" he asked.

Sabrewulf exchanged puzzled looks with Dieter, returning his eyes back to Thunder's still form.

"I can..." he answered in an uncertain tone.

"Look at my face."

Dieter blinked. "What?"

"I said look at my face for a moment. Do I look familiar?" Thunder said slowly. "Someone you recognize, perhaps?"

Before the Baron had a chance to respond, the speaker went off.

"Forgive my interruption, Baron," A.R.I.A. spoke mechanically, "but you have an urgent call waiting from Dr. Matheson."

"Thank you, A.R.I.A." Looking back to Thunder, Sabrewulf said nothing for a moment, then turned to the other fighters. "My apologies, everyone, but I'm afraid I have business to attend to. Ms. Redfield. Mr. Garrett. I bid you all good evening."

Claire nodded and smiled. "Good evening to you too, Baron."

She watched as Dieter wheeled the Baron toward the other end of the dining room. A guard opened the door, allowing them through before closing it behind them.

Turning her attention over to Thunder, she raised a brow. "What was that all about?"

Thunder quietly cut into his steak and raised another forkful. Taking a bite, he then grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth, putting it back on the table as he got up from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Claire asked.

"Taking a walk," Thunder enigmatically replied as he headed for the exit.

Looking over to T.J., the girl gave him a quizzical look. "What's with him?"

T.J. shrugged. "Guess the steak wasn't to his liking."

"Ninety-eight...ninety-nine...one hundred!"

Wiping the sweat off from her forehead as she finished the last sit-up, Claire got up to her feet, stretching her back noisily as the training manager Tyler Zhou, a bald old man dressed in a tight green and black tank top and shorts, approached with a towel in hand. Zhou was a sixty-seven year old Chinese-American with the enthusiasm and energy of a young man and the body of a forty year old, much to the girl's incredulity, always walking around with a smile on his face.

"Thank you," she smiled as she took the towel from him, wiping herself off.

He smiled back. "Any time. By the way, I saw you on television."

"Oh, you did?" Claire said in surprise.

"Indeed," he nodded, then added with a grin, "A couple guards and I were making bets, and boy did I win the jackpot with you!"

She grinned back. "You did, huh?"

Zhou laughed. "Absolutely! Five hundred bucks, and it's all thanks to you, Ms. One-shot." He winked.

Claire gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, I didn't really think that I was going to do all that well, to be honest."

"Nonsense."

"No, no, it's true!" she insisted. "I was really nervous." The girl then shook her head. "I bet the Baron never felt that way whenever he got into a match."

Zhou scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. When he was a young man, he was so anxious that he threw up into a garbage can."

"No way!"

He nodded. "It's true. I can tell you all sorts of stories about the mischief he was up to, the funny ones especially." The trainer paused. "Of course, I can't really divulge. At least, not without his express permission."

Claire then looked around the gym. Seeing that they were alone, she looked back. "Baron Von Sabrewulf's condition...is it serious?"

The trainer said nothing at first, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Finally, Zhou frowned, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't talk about it."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to put you in such an awkward situation like that. I swear I didn't want you to get in trouble or anything, I just...well...I'm, uh, kind of a fan of the Baron's," she explained anxiously.

He gave a weak smile. "Even so, I'm afraid I can't divulge that kind of information."

She swept a strand of hair behind her ear, looking away with blushing cheeks in embarrassment. "Um. Sorry. Just, uh, just forget I said anything, okay? I'm really sorry." Claire then cleared her throat as she handed back the towel. "Thank you."

"Well well well! If it isn't the champ herself!" She heard T.J.'s voice behind her. Smiling, Claire turned to face him.

"T.J.! Hey!"

"Hey yourself, girl!" T.J. said affably, wearing a blue sleeveless tank top with black shorts in that some red and white strips at the sides. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks!" She smiled. "How did your match go?"

He shrugged. "Didn't happen. The match was moved to tomorrow's episode. From what I heard they were going to edit in one of their creature match-ups or something."

Claire perked up interestedly. "Really? Do you know who will be featured?"

The boxer scratched his head. "Yeah, I think it's His-" His brows scrunched up, looking as if he were trying to recall the name.

"Hisako?"

He nodded. "That's the one. The other is...shit, it started with an 'A'..."

"Aganos?" Claire squeaked.

T.J. raised a brow at her. "Do you know the names of all these monsters?"

She grinned. "Yep."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Girl, you need to get out more. Breathe some fresh air."

The girl laughed.

T.J. looked seriously at her. "You feelin' okay?"

She gave a small smile. "Yeah, sorry about that earlier. I just..." Lowering her smile along with her eyes, she shook her head slowly. "I just felt awful about what happened to that woman." Claire then raised her eyes to meet T.J.'s. "Do you ever think about the people that you hurt?"

The boxer was uncharacteristically quiet as he considered the question. Clucking his tongue, he lowered his chin, then gave a half-shrug.

"No."

She regarded him, studying his features. "How are you able to do it?"

He pushed up his sunglasses. "I shut them all out. When I was a kid, my family was dirt poor. Didn't have anythin' worth nothin'. Nothin' but boxing."

Claire tilted her head. "Didn't it ever bother you? Does it ever bother you?"

T.J gave her an irritated look. "No, 'cause the truth is that I can't afford to worry about it. Everyone has a reason for fightin'. Hell, some are probably more deservin' and have suffered worse than I have, or are doin' it for some noble reason or whatever. Even if that's true, that's not gonna stop me from winning a fight. I don't give a fuck if it's some charity case. I don't care if it's Satan or Jesus himself - nothin' is gonna stop me from winning. Call me selfish if you like, but between me and the next guy, I'm gonna beat motherfuckers down no matter what. T.J. Combo isn't anyone's bitch - I'm not gonna lie down for nobody. Not even for you." Claire gave a startled and bewildered expression upon hearing what he said, his sunglasses-covered eyes locked onto her as if she were a target.

"You're a good kid, Claire. I like ya, but..." He gave a weak smile, "I'm afraid that's not gonna stop me from plowing straight through ya. So," he patted her shoulder as he passed by her, "don't take it personally when I beat ya in the ring, kid."

Claire watched as T.J. headed toward one of the weight-lifting machines, sat down and started to bench press, his ebony muscles rippling. Staring at him for a moment, she anxiously turned away and left the gym, troubled by his words.

The walk didn't help at all.

No matter where he went, no matter what direction he took, there was always some guard, android or damn camera around.

Thunder tightened his large hands into fists. And those were the castle's known defenses. He had no idea what other security this place held.

The Native American frowned.

"So much for the life of a college professor," he muttered. Maybe he should have joined the Army or the Police Force like his parents before him where he could have learned how to handle firearms and lock picks, if not how to navigate through security like James Bond or something rather than a cushy university position. Of course, he had ways of getting around, but he couldn't risk it - not with all these cameras watching and recording all the time.

As he walked down a street, a noise caught his attention, causing him to pause midstep. It was a strange sound, like a deep-chested, buzzing and rumbling drone that echoed lowly. Curious, Thunder turned to his right and followed the noise all the way to its source, where he found a man sitting cross-legged on the ground. Recognizing him as the masked man in blue from the dinner table, Thunder approached cautiously, his brow furrowed in confusion at the sound.

The man's eyes were sealed shut in concentration, not paying him any notice as he made those strange sounds.

Thunder audibly cleared his throat, the sound ceasing at the interruption. Opening one eye, the man opened the other upon seeing him, turning to face him.

"Oh. Hello there," the man greeted. "Can I help you?"

Thunder tilted his head curiously.

"What are you doing?" he queried.

"Throat singing."

He blinked. "Pardon?"

"Throat singing," the man repeated. "In Tibetan Buddhism, the goal of chanting is to invoke and unite with a particular deity or being."

"I see," Thunder nodded in understanding. "So it's a means of attaining unity with the spiritual world for you?"

"Among other things," the man nodded.

"Interesting," the larger man said as he reached up with one hand and stroked his chin. "My tribe, the Nez Perce, also believe in attaining such unity as well. With nature, and with the spiritual. We do things differently, but from what you described, it sounds like there are some similarities in our cultures."

He watched as the stranger's eyes softened, looking as if he were smiling gently beneath his veil.

"Hm," the latter nodded thoughtfully. Raising his brown eyes to meet Thunder's, the man then bowed slightly. "I'm Jago."

Thunder grunted, nodding back in acknowledgment. "Hinmatoom. It means 'Thunder'. You can call me that if you like."

Jago raised his head with surprise upon hearing it. "'Thunder', you say?"

"Yes."

"A very interesting choice for a name."

Thunder narrowed his eyes, his form tense and apprehensive. "Why? Is there a negative connotation to it where you're from?"

Jago smiled beneath his veil. "Not at all!" He replied affably, causing the larger man to relax slightly. "Vajrapani is a deity associated with thunder and is an important figure for us Tibetans, one synonymous with power! He can appear peaceful and wrathful, in many forms. He can be an Enlightened Buddha, Bodhisattva and Protector all at the same time. He helps us overcome delusions, attachments and poisons."

"Poisons?" The Native American repeated, creasing his brow.

"Obstacles that prevent our progress towards enlightenment such as pride, anger, hate and jealousy. You are most fortunate to be equated with such a revered figure!"

Thunder said nothing, staring down at the red-robed clad-man. "Hm," he grunted.

He started to turn.

Jago shifted on the ground, his smile lowering underneath his veil. "Despite such a fortunate name and connection, however, " he said slowly, causing Thunder to pause and turn back to face him, "...I can't help sensing great anger and sadness within you."

The Native American was still, not reacting at all, his face marked with gloom.

"What troubles you, mighty one?" Jago asked politely.

Thunder lowered his eyes. "...Many things."

"...Would you like to talk about it?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but...I can't," Thunder said quietly. "My burden is my own. Nobody else's."

Jago stared up at him thoughtfully, then gave a respectful nod. "Fair enough, I suppose." He folded his arms together. "So, what brings you to the tournament?"

Thunder shook his head. "I'm not staying long," he replied. "I'm looking for someone. Once I find him, I'm going to leave as soon as possible. This place frightens me."

Jago's head perked up. "You sense it too."

Thunder nodded. "I do. I don't like it. If you have any sense at all, Jago, you would turn away and leave before it gets worse."

Jago watched him, then shook his head. "That is why I cannot leave," he said calmly. "I wish to cleanse this place of the evil that lurks here."

The Native American shook his head, his face hard and tense. "I'm afraid no amount of cleansing in the world would rid this land of this sickness," Thunder said with certainty. "It's so deeply embedded in the soil here that I tremble at the idea of walking on such unholy ground. Even the air here feels tainted."

Turning around, Thunder gave Jago a soft glance over his shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, Jago. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances...but I do not want to be here any longer than necessary."

He looked around at the castle grounds, taking in the landscape, the strange intestine-like pipelines that erupted from the ground and coiled around like snakes around various warehouses and medieval buildings, then narrowed his eyes at the dilapidated mansion in the distance.

"I don't know what this sickness is," Thunder continued, his eyes never leaving the mansion, "nor do I know what source it stems from...but...regardless of its origins... there's no denying that people have died here...in this place...in this tournament. I sense it. This place has consumed many, and if you are not careful..."

He looked over his shoulder back at Jago, his jaw tense. "...My advice to you is to always be on your guard, Jago. Guard yourself, and guard yourself well, otherwise it will consume you as it had the others."

Thunder then looked away, raising a hand, "Farewell, and take care."

Jago placed his palm and fist together and bowed quietly, watching as Thunder departed. As he raised his head, the monk looked around at the castle grounds, his fingers tracing along the prayer beads as he stared to the abandoned mansion far away, its ruined structure standing out in the moonlight like a bleached skeleton.

"Ja. Ja. Uh huh. I see. Thank you. Au Wiedersehen."

Hanging up the phone in his office, Konrad leaned back into his wheelchair with a weary grunt, pinching the bridge of his concealed nose tiredly while Dieter lit a cigarette.

"Everything alright, Baron?" the bodyguard asked mid-smoke.

The Baron sighed. "Ja. Matheson was just informing me that they have finished installing the new eye lasers for Fulgore and will be running tests to make sure they're operational." He shook his head slowly. "I have to say, as much as I detest Umbrella, I'll give them credit for one thing - they're resourceful little bastards." He gave an incredulous scoff, "Who'd have guessed that they would have that particular bit of technology available, let alone an expert of all things?"

"You mean Anderson?"

"Who else? All the man talks about is his wife Alice and lasers! The man's obsessed - I swear he has some sort of secret fetish for them or something! Did you know that he's been bothering me nonstop for the opportunity to create a laser corridor for my castle?"

Dieter laughed. "You're kidding!"

"I'm not! God only knows what goes on in that man's head!" Konrad huffed. The Baron watched as his companion snickered, then looked away. "That said, it was convenient that Sergei had his number, though why he would is puzzling."

He raised a hand to his chin, stroking it thoughtfully. "You don't suppose that Sergei has..."

The two exchanged looks, then quietly chuckled to themselves.

"Russians," Dieter said as he shook his head, the laugh subsiding.

"Hm," Konrad grunted, looking to the side in concern.

Noticing how quiet his employer had become, Dieter glanced back to him. "You okay, boss?"

Konrad's gloved fingers anxiously fidgeted with the armrests. "That man at the dinner table..."

"What about him?"

"He knows."

"About what?"

"About me."

Dieter scowled. "No he doesn't, Baron."

"Dieter-"

"He doesn't know anything."

"I'm telling you he knew!" Konrad snapped, slamming his gloved hand on the armrest. "Why else would he make that remark?!"

The bodyguard shrugged. "It's just a coincidence! Really, Baron, there's no need to get worked up over this!"

"Coincidence!" The Baron retorted. "Was it a coincidence that fucking skeleton found its way here?! Was it a coincidence that ever since its discovery that more and more horrors keep turning up on our doorstep?!"

He lowered his hooded head, "Was it...was it coincidence that Jurgen...the closest thing I have to a brother...ended up dead...while I...continue to live on in his stead?" he said in a quiet cracked voice.

Dieter's eyes softened. Stubbing his cigarette out into an ashtray, the bodyguard approached and patted Konrad quietly on the shoulder.

"I...I miss him so much, Dieter," Sabrewulf confided. "I wish..."

Dieter frowned, giving his shoulder an assuring squeeze, looking uncomfortable. "I know, Baron. I know. We'll find a way out of this shit. You don't have to worry. We'll figure things out."

Konrad remained quiet as he stared to the floor with uncertainty, feeling lost and afraid.

Thunder stood on the rooftop of Sabrewulf castle, staring out from the terrace at the forest-covered mountains and castle grounds, the strange mix of Medieval and industrial buildings providing a sharp contrast to the serene naturalistic setting. Smokestacks puffed thick grey clouds up into the air, the moon shining red above along with the rest of sky.

"Nice night out."

Startled, he turned around and found himself face to face with a woman dressed in green. Giving her a once over, he gave a low grunt of acknowledgement, turning back to the landscape.

"Not exactly a conversationalist, are you?" the woman said, drawing closer.

Looking over his shoulder, Thunder gave her an annoyed look. "Can I help you?" he said, less than enthused about the person's presence.

The woman shrugged. "Not really. Just curious." She then turned her attention to the landscape, stepping closer until she stood right next to him. "Beautiful view this place has."

Thunder clicked his tongue, his mouth stern. "I suppose."

The woman quietly brushed back her black bangs.

"Looks even better with the moon hanging overhead," she commented, "especially with that shade of red."

"'Hunter's Moon'," Thunder nodded.

The woman glanced at him. "Sorry?"

"That is what some of the tribes during this particular season would call a moon like that," he clarified.

Tilting her head in thought, the enigmatic woman leaned on a piece of brick, resting her hand on her chin.

"'Hunter's Moon'," she repeated, testing the name out. A small smile formed on the corners of her sculpted mouth, "...I like the sound of that."

Thunder grunted. "You would, wouldn't you?"

She looked curiously at him. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a predator," the tall man replied. "The way you move, the way you hold yourself..." He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. "What are you really here for?"

He saw a wicked light gleam in her eyes as the woman gave a mischievous, playful look, drawing closer with a seductive smile that would have made any man melt, causing Thunder to take a half cautious step back, his form tense.

"Very direct," she said, her cat-like grin growing, her eyes like a hungry animal. "I like that." She then reached out and placed her hands on his chest, running her hands down his pecks and biceps, feeling the hard musculature as she suddenly drew closer, producing a slight shiver in Thunder's massive form.

"Does this answer your question?" the woman said in a low and breathlessly husky voice as she leaned closer.

Thunder stood straight like a signpost as he felt her move closer into his proximity, so close now that she was pressing up against him, his breath caught in his lungs as he caught a whiff of her perfume, her warm breath making the skin on his neck tingle.

"What say we find a place to make ourselves more comfortable?" the woman suggested sultrily, her eyes half-hooded.

He swallowed, his mind intoxicated. "W-Where?"

"How about...down at the abandoned mansion over there?" she half-whispered into his ear, blowing gently on his earlobe, causing goosebumps to form on Thunder's skin.

The big man struggled to think clearly, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. "W-W-Why not here or back at your room?"

She smirked. "I like living dangerously," she whispered, laughing naughtily as she pressed herself tighter against him.

Opening his eyes, Thunder's eyes narrowed. "Get," he then suddenly shoved the woman away, snarling, "off of me!"

Stumbling away, the woman looked at him in shock as she recovered her footing, then huffed, giving a smirk. "Aww!" She pouted in mock disappointment and in exaggeration. "And here I thought this would be the start of a special relationship!"

"Find your own damn toy to play with!" Thunder retorted. "I am not interested in your games, witch!"

The woman scoffed, then brushed something off her green jacket. "Your loss."

Turning around, she suggestively departed, wiggling her rear with slow, drawn-out arcs with each step.

Looking over her shoulder at him with cold and cruel eyes, the woman smiled, baring pearly white teeth at him, reminding Thunder of a snarling cougar. "Too bad. I think we could have had a lot of fun together." She then shrugged. "Some people are just meant to be alone, I guess."

Turning away, the woman enigmatically wandered off, leaving Thunder alone on the roof of the castle as he desperately tried ignoring the painfully aching erection in his pants.

Claire wandered the halls of Sabrewulf, studying the various paintings on display along with the sets of medieval armor, admiring their craftsmanship.

"Jeez, how small were these guys?" she reflected quietly to herself, tilting her head from side to side with curiosity.

Claire herself wasn't a particularly tall person, just five-six at best, but even then, she couldn't help feeling like a fat giant in comparison to the various sets of armor that stood against the wall.

The people wearing these things must have been really, REALLY small back then, if not had weighed less due to poor diets.

I am so tempted to try one of these things on, just because they look so cool...but I doubt they'll even fit me.

She shook her head disappointedly, then continued on down the next hallway.

Turning to her left, she found herself confronted with a collection of white marble busts that lined both sides of the wall, each bust depicting a handsome aristocratic male face. Every one of the faces, Claire discovered, represented some ancestor of the Sabrewulf family.

Every one of the busts were masterfully crafted, but she couldn't help wondering how true they were to the likenesses of the various men that they depicted.

Interestingly, she noted to herself, all of the busts seemed to represent the men in their twenties; hardly any were ever depicted in their thirties, let alone in their old age. Part of Claire chalked it up as being some ego thing on the part of a very wealthy family that had a lot of prestige, but another part of her, however, wondered if there was more to this.

I should ask the Baron about it one of these days.

Once she was all the way down the corridor, past the hard, staring faces, Claire noticed a door left slightly ajar. Curious, she approached and gently knocked.

"Hello?" Claire called.

"Ja, what do you want?!" she heard the Baron bark agitatedly, causing her to flinch.

"Uh, sorry, Baron," the girl called back. "I'll just leave."

"Come inside." Halting, Claire glanced back to the door nervously, hesitating.

"...Well?! Are you coming inside or not?!" Sabrewulf said impatiently.

Fumbling at the door, Claire opened it up and peeked her head into the room.

A figure sat alone on a red Koger chaise lounge chair in the middle of what seemed to be a massive library, the entire walls stacked from floor to ceiling with numerous volumes, his wheelchair cast off to the side beside a table to the right.

Two unlit chandeliers hung uselessly overhead, periodically creaking, while in front of him a sandstone hearth roared and crackled noisily, pouring out its dim light across the ochre stone floor.

The sole source of light in the entire room, it illuminated the room and the Baron's still form, the orangish hue painting the rest of his environment unnoticed.

The ochre color of the floor extended upward to a pair of marble Roman Tuscan columns with smooth shafts and the burning hearth between them, their capitals connecting up to the castle's Gothic rib-like arches. The arches themselves rested against smooth concrete white walls that were disfigured and cracked from age at the top and bottom corners, reminding Claire of peeling skin.

Two feet over the mantel hung a brown clock with two pairs of ornamental bat wings protruding from the top and bottom corners, the clock ticking and winding down. At the left hand corner hung a shield with a pair of crossed sabers, while a self-portrait of Rembrandt watched from the right hand corner next to the table.

Turning her attention to Sabrewulf, she found him sprawled out on the lounge chair, his form concealed in blankets, his face concealed beneath the hood, scarf and sunglasses, his eyes fixed on a book that he was reading.

"...What were you doing outside my door, Ms. Redfield?" came the low response.

Claire anxiously tucked her bangs behind her ear. "I am so sorry for disturbing you, Baron! I had no idea that you were in here!"

Snapping the book closed, he placed it down onto his lap and turned to face her.

"How long were you standing out there for?" he asked suspiciously.

The girl raised her hands placatingly. "I swear I only just got here!"

"Were you peeking inside?! Did you see anything?!" He pressed.

Claire waved her hands and shook her head. "No, no, I swear I would never do that!" She said hastily, her face burning red. "I didn't see anything! I would never invade your privacy, Baron! Not knowingly! I swear I wouldn't! I just saw that the door was open, that was all!"

The library was still as the two stared at one another.

Finally, Sabrewulf inclined his hooded head. "I see." He looked away. "My apologies for my behavior, Ms. Redfield. I was worried that you were intruding."

Claire then cleared her throat. "I'll...just leave you alone. I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Baron," she said as she bowed her head politely.

As she was about to turn, the Baron's voice called out, "Wait."

Turning back to face him, Claire watched with surprise as Sabrewulf gestured to a chair by the fireplace.

"Would you...like to take a seat?" he offered. "It has been...it has been ages since I had company."

Claire hesitated, then gave a small smile.

"Sure." Sitting down into the chair, she glanced around at the room. "This is a nice place you have."

"Danke. It's modeled after the one I have in Ravensburg. There are slight differences, of course, but this has always been my favorite room," Sabrewulf nodded. "I used to sit here and lose myself in the works of Goethe, Chaucer and Shakespeare amongst various other writers. Sometimes this was where I would write music."

The girl glanced at him interestedly. "You wrote music, Baron?"

"Ja. Not very good pieces, mind you, but I did dabble from time to time with the arts," he replied.

Claire smiled. "Do you have any of them recorded?"

The hooded head nodded. "Ja. You might have heard one or two of them in the tournament. One was called "Zahn Und Klaue", or "Tooth and Claw" in English, the other "Lykanthropie". That is "Lycanthropy" in German."

Her smile grew. "Oh, I recognize those names!" she exclaimed. "Those are Sabrewulf's theme songs!"

The Baron mirthlessly chuckled. "Ja. They are," he said dryly.

"I LOVE those songs!" She said enthusiastically. "Sabrewulf is my all-time favorite character in the show!"

The hooded head quizzically tilted. "He...is?"

"Absolutely!" Claire then absentmindedly brushed a strand of hair aside. "When I was little, we used to have a Husky named Terry. He would cuddle up with me on the couch and on the bed, just this big, furry sweetheart."

"Sounds nice."

"Yeah," she smiled, reminiscing.

"Do you still have him?"

Claire's smile fell. "No. He died of old age."

The air was still as the words seemed to echo in the library.

"...I'm...sorry for your loss."

The girl shook her head. "It was ages ago, but thank you, Baron."

As the two of them stared into the glowing hearth, Claire suddenly became aware of something. A sort of musky smell. Sniffing the air, Claire glanced around.

"Is something wrong, Ms. Redfield?" Sabrewulf asked.

"Oh no! Not at all, Baron," Claire replied as she kept sniffing. "Do you have a dog, out of curiosity?"

She sensed Sabrewulf tense up at the question. "Why?"

Claire shrugged. "I smell dog fur. Or, well, something like dog fur-"

"There used to be a pelt rug here, but it's getting cleaned at the moment," Sabrewulf said hastily, clearing his throat. "My apologies, I'll be sure to get some air fresheners in here."

She shook her head. "No, no, it's alright," Claire assured, her features softening. "I actually like the smell. It reminds me of home."

The Baron looked at her in surprise, then hummed in thought.

Claire glanced around. "Out of curiosity, where's your bodyguard?"

"Dieter? He had an errand to run."

She frowned. "Forgive me, Baron," the girl said slowly, "but if you don't mind my saying so, I think you might need to get extra bodyguards for yourself. A person in your condition shouldn't be left on their own."

"Nein, it's fine," he waved dismissively. "I'm actually used to the solitude. Still...thank you for your concern."

The two sat together, staring quietly at the fireplace as it crackled.

"So what were you reading?" Claire asked.

"'Dante's Inferno'," he replied.

"Ah."

"Have you ever read it?"

"I haven't. I heard the title mentioned, but outside of that? No." She glanced curiously over at him. "What is it about?"

"It's an epic poem chronicling Dante's journey through the Nine Circles of Hell with his guide Vergil." He then looked at her. "Would you like to read it?"

Claire looked at him surprise. "Oh. Uh, thank you, Baron, but I couldn't."

He held it out to her. "Nein, nein, nein, it's alright! I've read this hundreds of times. Take it."

Biting her lip, Claire reached out and took the book from his hand.

"Thank you, Baron," she smiled, nodding. "I promise to return it back to you in perfect condition."

"Don't worry." Looking over to the clock, Sabrewulf nodded. "It is getting late. Curfew will be imposed soon."

Claire yawned. "I should get going then." She smiled. "This has been a nice talk."

He nodded. "It has. Thank you for your company." Sabrewulf then shifted in his seat. "If you ever...wish to visit the library, or if you wish to visit again...you are more than welcome to visit after 6 pm."

Claire smiled. "I'd like that. Thank you again, Baron."

Sabrewulf nodded. "Have a good evening, Ms. Redfield."

As Claire left the library, she felt her spirits soar as she closed the door behind her. Looking down to the book in her arms, Claire stared at the cover. A red book with gold lettering, the cover marked with two illustrated figures, the art done by Gustav Dore.

"Looks like I have something to read tonight," she commented, hugging it tightly to her chest as she gleefully skipped.

Inside the library, Sabrewulf stared to the door.

"What a nice girl."

Turning back to the fireplace, the Baron stared off, watching the flames as they burned.

The warehouse was dark and filled with nonstop chattering and cigarette smoke.

Dieter glanced up as the black uniformed figures of Alpha Team appeared from a tunnel at the far end, their forms cutting through the parting crowd as they were accompanied by three Theseus units.

'Speak of the Devil,' he thought, watching as they approached, led by their most infamous member, a tall, lean figure that wore a red-lensed gas mask with a ballistic helmet along with tactical load-bearing kevlar vest, looking more like a walking armory ready for war given all the armor plating.

"Ahh, Hunky!" Dieter smiled, greeting him as if he were an old friend. "A pleasure to see you."

He watched with a grin as the black-suited man tensed in annoyance at the nickname, but other than that, he kept his mouth shut, his MP-5 submachine lowered to the floor.

"What's the news?"

The enigmatic man known only as Mr. Death shook his black helmeted head, the red lens hiding his expression.

"We've eliminated all traces of the T-Virus from the old Umbrella Training Facility."

Dieter sensed a 'but' coming. "And?"

HUNK exhaled noisily through his mask. "We've been unable to locate the target."

Dieter frowned. "Hm." Sharply inhaling his cigarette, the bodyguard exhaled a low, dark cloud. "So Lisa Trevor's still wandering around here somewhere."

"I'm afraid so. We're doing everything we can to find her, sir, but given the vast terrain she could be anywhere."

His mouth curled in annoyance.

Fuck.

"Well then, keep searching," Dieter waved dismissively, putting the cigarette back into his mouth. "I want that bitch eliminated already starting yesterday."

From the side, Dieter heard a growl, drawing their attention.

Turning to look, the bodyguard watched impassively as a Hunter snarled at him in its cage, causing him to sneer.

"You really wanna tango, huh, Toad-fucker?" he taunted. "Don't worry, you'll get your fight."

For a while now, Dieter had been running a betting pool to see which creatures would last and for how long. It all started out of sheer boredom, back when they all had nothing to do but plunge in the increasingly murky, shit-stained waters that had been considerately left over by Umbrella.

Dieter shook his head in distaste. Fucking Umbrella.

After the Baron acquired it, he couldn't help noticing some peculiarities in some of the financial figures and assets listed, so when the two decided to investigate, boy were they surprised at what they found! The Baron had skeletons in his closet that he wasn't proud of, but Umbrella's? Shit, theirs was chock-full of the fuckers!

So much dark shit that it made the Baron's problems seem almost miniscule in comparison!

Thus, Dieter had to run damage control and be the shit cleaner.

Taking a drag from his cigarette, the bodyguard exhaled, shifting his jaw as HUNK stared at him. "What?"

The latter shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, we've been given explicit instructions to eliminate any and all creatures," he reminded.

The former gave a dismissive wave, "I know, Hunky, I know. Keep your panties on. The matter will be dealt with accordingly."

HUNK angrily drew closer. "Sir-"

Dieter looked sharply at the guard, meeting his red lensed eyes with a glare. "I said the matter will be dealt with," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

The man stood his ground, not flinching. "The Baron will hear of this in my report."

Dieter sneered. "Go ahead," he said before dropping it from his face altogether. "Now fuck off and take the rest of your faggot gimp unit with you - Papa's got a betting pool to run."

He sensed the tension in their movements. For a moment it seemed as if the unit were going to draw their weapons, but then they gave pause, glancing nervously back to the Theseus units with them.

It was a known fact that the machines were specifically programmed to take down anyone or anything that were deemed a threat to high-ranking members within the Corporation, Dieter himself included. The one instance where a USS grunt tried laying a hand on Dieter resulted in a broken arm...among other things.

As the USS soldiers stormed off angrily, Dieter turned away, shaking his head.

Pricks. Those guys were supposed to be 'elite'? Bunch of elitist pussies were all they were - Dieter had taken on and crapped bigger.

If they were as good as they said they were, this mess would have been cleared up ages ago. It was a fucking wonder that their T-Virus hadn't infected the town already.

Hearing the snarl from the Hunter, Dieter turned to face it. Exhaling, he blew smoke in its face, the creature sputtering and coughing as the bodyguard then gestured to the other personnel at the opposite end of the fighter cage. "Get our star ready, boys!"

Turning back to his guests, Dieter's smile rose.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," he said with his arms outstretched, speaking with all of the charisma and air of a showman, "everybody get the money out! Come on come on! It's time to place down your bets! One Hunter Alpha against our reigning champion, RIPTOR! Will Lady Fortune wink in our challenging beastie's favor? Place your bets, people!"

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

*Jai Freedom - "Fight Night": Fight Night

**Song: T.J. Combo KI2 Theme Remix - Killer Instinct 2 TJ Combo Theme Exist EDM Remix - : / / . b e / KVjngjF-Kj0

Chapter Ten: T.J. Combo

"'Do not be startled, for no power of his,

However he may lord it over the damned,

may hinder your descent through this abyss.'"

Claire thumbed through the pages of the book as she lied back comfortably on her bed, her eyes scanning along the rest of the passage. "Interesting reading material, Baron."

As she lay on the mattress, comfortably tucked in underneath her blanket, the girl listened to the howling wind outside, shivering unconsciously as she drew the covers up more over her chest. Thank goodness she was inside and in bed - she'd hate to imagine walking around at night, especially around here.

Claire kept reading quietly, flipping through the pages. As her finger brushed on the next page, she heard a shrill high-pitched scream somewhere outside, causing her to jump up in alert.

What was that?!

Getting slowly up from her bed, the girl nervously walked toward the window, peering outward through the glass. For a brief moment, Claire caught a flicker of movement and heard the unmistakable rattling of chains. Under the moonlit sky, a tall, hunched-back figure of a woman with long bound arms was stiffly lumbering around in the dark in front of the mansion ruins, causing Claire to gasp and stumble backwards, startled as she dropped the book that she had been holding.

"What the?!"

Moving closer to the window, Claire stared through the glass, looking around for that figure.

The woman was gone. The night was completely still, the wind whistling hollowly.

She had seen that, right? She wasn't just imagining things, was she?

Claire kept scanning and listening intently, looking through the window at different angles.

Nothing.

Brushing her auburn bangs out from her eyes, Claire tiredly sighed. Great, her imagination was getting the better of her.

Looking down at the floor, the girl scooped up the red book, brushing it off her shirt.

"Well," she spoke quietly to no-one, "time to go to bed."

Twisting around, Claire went back to her mattress and settled down underneath the covers, reaching for the lamplight on the dresser table nearby.

She sensed a presence in the room. Opening her eyes tiredly, Claire looked to the foot of her bed and jerked from her pillow in alert, sitting straight up with an audibly loud and startled gasp as her eyes flashed wide open.

Standing there at the foot of the bed were both her parents, looking ghostly and dead, their eyes flat and rolled into the backs of their skulls. Claire just sat there, her eyes meeting theirs, her entire form freezing up, her heart beating so hard and fast in her chest that part of her wondered if she was having a heart attack. Goosebumps dotted her arms and her face became slick with sweat. Opening her mouth, her attempt to scream died out in a shaky, shuddering, breathy moan as she kept her eyes locked on the cadaverous figures.

What were they doing here?

Claire felt tempted to move, but part of her was terrified. She knew from watching horror movies that turning her eyes away would be a bad idea, for one of several instances were likely to happen as a result were she to do so - they would either disappear, at which point she would be left wondering if she was going crazy or if she was dreaming-

She paused.

Wait a minute...was she dreaming?

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, smiling in spite of herself.

Of course! Obviously her meal from last night was acting up in rather strange and inconvenient ways, influencing her dreams. Thanks to indigestion, she was now having a nightmare.

And yet...in spite of that knowledge, the sight of both her parents unnerved her just the same, especially considering the condition they were in.

She kept expecting them to say something, smile, anything at all...but they did nothing. They just stood there and stared at her with their flat eyes, looking at her expectantly. Finally, her father raised up a hand, gesturing for her to follow as he and Claire's mother headed toward the door.

"Wait! Don't go!" Claire cried out, watching as her parents phased straight through the door itself as if it were water. Getting up from her bed, she reached out. "Wait-"

She let out a shriek as the floor snapped beneath her, causing the girl to plummet and crash down to the ground. Groaning, Claire opened her eyes, then sat right up in alarm.

She was now outside underneath the pale light of the moon, sitting on the road, but the road itself was concealed beneath a thick veil of mist that lightly covered the ground itself, the moonlight granting it a sort of luminous and strangely iridescent quality that shifted from light blue to slight hues of green.

Getting up, Claire slowly took in her surroundings, her heart knocking and drumming heavily in her chest.

There were skeletons lying scattered all over the place.

Not just one or two, but hundreds, possibly even thousands! Perhaps even millions!

Taking a step forward, Claire heard and felt something crunch beneath her, forcing her to lower her eyes. Even the very ground she stood on was covered in layers upon layers of bones.

Shakily raising up her eyes, the girl peered through the mist and squinted, shaking as she was struck with cold fear.

The entire castle grounds had become a massive boneyard, with so many layers of skeletons that they extended far off into the horizon, farther than the eye could see, stretching into the mist and beyond, to infinity...at least, so it seemed to Claire.

'So many skeletons!' She thought in horror.

There were bones of all shapes and sizes, some of them not even human.

She spotted a cat's skull. A dog's leg bone sticking upward from a pile. Birds. Mice. Cows. Foxes.

There were even some enormous ones, what looked like whale bones along with those belonging to what seemed to be an impossibly large snake that must have been over forty feet long with a head the size of a Cadillac hood! There were even dinosaur bones among the pile, incredibly enough!

Shivering, Claire looked away from the snake's skeleton, disturbed by its oversized fangs and visage. Everything around her was nothing but a horrible mosaic of death and decay.

Raising up her eyes from the bone-covered floor, Claire found herself looking in the direction of the taped-off mansion, then froze at the sight of the horrible phantasmagoric image before her - though the frame and general outline was consistent, the entire building itself was not; the Palladian architecture and materials itself were now gruesomely replaced with bones and skulls. Even worse, parts of it were twitching, swelling and deflating, as if the whole foundation itself were breathing, as if it were alive!

Swallowing, Claire stared, transfixed by this strange vision when a shrill maniacal laugh echoed distantly somewhere. Somewhere behind her.

Turning to the direction of the laugh, Claire felt herself involuntarily drawn to the source, forced to follow its echo all the way down toward Sabrewulf Castle, even as it repeated, the sound growing louder.

The road was long and barren, eerily quiet.

For brief moments, Claire could have sworn that she detected figures flitting through the mist; she couldn't be sure if she had, but occasionally, she would hear the unmistakable sound of something rustling. Other times during the walk, she spared glances around her and was startled by a series of glowing silvery eyes that watched her every move before disappearing back into the shadows.

Must be a trick of the light.

Bones and skulls snapped and crunched beneath Claire's feet with every step she made, the girl shuddering at the sensation against her soles and between her toes.

Do not look down, Claire. Keep your eyes ahead.

Claire didn't know why she felt the irresistible urge to move forward, toward Sabrewulf Castle. She tried telling herself that she wanted to get help, but every step she took made her want to drop everything altogether; she no longer cared about the tournament or the prize money. Claire didn't even care if she became broke anymore or if people saw her as a mad woman - she just wanted to turn the other way and run screaming all the way back home!

That was what she wanted to do - she wanted to run! She wanted to scream! Scream like never before in her life!

Despite this feeling building up inside of her, despite her reluctance to press forward, the girl continued onward in her nightmarish trek, helplessly drawn toward Sabrewulf Castle as a fish would to a wriggling worm on the edge a hook.

The girl struggled against it, looking around with terrified eyes at every crooked and warped piece of bone and gaping skull that leered at her, at every indistinct shadow that seemed to taunt and torment her, mocking her. God help her, she was absolutely frightened!

If this is a dream, then please let it end! Let me wake up in my bed! Please God, I've had enough! I just wanted to-

An ominous yellowish green light shined ahead of the girl, catching her attention, the light itself hellishly mixing with the black shadows in such a way to render it all in an otherworldly manner. Turning her eyes ahead, Claire suddenly halted her footsteps as she arrived, and as she did so, the girl trembled and whimpered, her blue eyes so wide open in fear that they were bulging, her whole body shaking, his lips trembling, a scream bubbling its way up from her throat.

Where Sabrewulf Castle once stood, in its place was a monstrously enormous wolf snout that protruded straight up from the ground like an oversized mountain, barking, snarling and gnashing its oversized teeth and fangs at the moon while rivers of saliva spat in all directions, the sound thunderous and deafening. The snarling mouth snapped its jaws hungrily, biting and grasping at the moon, babbling incoherently in some strange language that Claire had trouble identifying, the voice a guttural snarl, the voice of a madman. It growled, roared and chanted the same words over and over, babbling incoherently a mad and insane rant.

"Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!  Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah-nagl fhtagn!  Iä! Spinal! Iä! Spinal!"

Standing in front of the set of jaws, however, with his back facing the girl, his red headband bathed in the hellishly green and gold hues of this strange light, his octopus-bearded shield glaring with those same colored nightmarish eyes at her, was the distinctive form of Spinal.

As if sensing Claire's presence, the skeleton slowly turned to face her, its glowing red eyes blazing out from its horribly grinning skull. Cocking its jaw to the side, Spinal reared its head back and laughed mockingly into the night, the sound piercing the girl. In answer to his call, massive tentacles sprouted up from the ground, surrounding the snapping wolf jaws, while a group of silhouetted, shadowy titanic figures started to rise up in the dark, yellowish-green mist-covered horizon...

Claire gasped as she jerked up from her bed with a start. Flicking on the lamp, the girl looked wildly around with wide frightened eyes, her pupils dilated as she put a hand over her mouth, feeling the urge to wretch.

Moaning in discomfort, she hunched forward and put her arms around her stomach, wincing at the knot that she felt in the pit of her belly as she rocked herself back and forth, cradling herself in a kind of fetal position. Her face was damp with sweat while a scream was lodged in her throat along with vomit, nausea setting in as she swallowed both back with a gulp, making the girl wince at the taste, her eyes tearing up.

"Fucking chicken!" She croaked.

The girl kept rocking back and forth until her stomach settled. Once the pain was gone, she sighed, then looked around in both directions anxiously, waiting and listening. Outside, she heard the wind letting out a long wailing groan, eliciting a shiver from her. Leaning back against the headboard, Claire untensed the muscles in her body, shakily wiping off the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt.

"Fucking chicken," she sighed quietly to herself.

She should have known better than to overeat. She recalled a lecture from her psychology prof from college mentioning that nightmares would sometimes result from indigestion and lying on one's stomach. Putting a hand to her face, Claire shook her head, smiling in spite of herself.

Fucking chicken.

It was all a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

Comforted by that knowledge, Claire moved aside the covers and got up, heading to to the washroom. Flicking on the light, she then turned on the sink and lowered herself down, splashing her face with water, enjoying the coolness against her warm skin. Straightening herself up, she then wiped her face off with a towel before heading back to bed.

"God, that was horrible!" Claire said quietly aloud, settling back into bed before feeling something hard poke her in the hip. "Ow! What-" Grabbing the offending item, the girl narrowed her eyes at the red cover of 'Dante's Inferno'.

"I should have figured that this was the cause." she muttered wryly.

Note to self - never read a scary book after a bout of indigestion before bed.

Adjusting her position against the headboard, Claire sighed audibly. Reading this probably wasn't a good idea; in fact, in all likelihood, it was not only the likely cause of her nightmare, but it would probably inspire other nightmares like it. After that horrible dream, however, she really didn't feel like going back to sleep either.

Claire huffed, brushing an auburn bang aside. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't." she mused. Leaning back comfortably, she adjusted her pillows underneath her. "Well, Dante, time to get back at it."

Opening the book, she thumbed through the pages. Once she found the particular chapter that she was on, Claire continued on with her reading.

"'But the stars that marked our starting fall away.
We must go deeper into greater pain,
for it is not permitted that we stay."

Claire yawned as she waited outside Dr. Gupte's office along with the other fighters.

"You look tired," Billy commented beside her, his arms folded. "Didn't get any sleep, I take it?"

She nodded, rubbing her eyes exhaustedly. "Yeah, I had a weird dream last night."

He looked at her interestedly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I dreamt about Spinal."

He raised a brow. "Why Claire! I didn't realize you had a thing for dead guys!" Billy teased.

"Ew no!" She punched him in the arm, causing him to laugh. "Not that kind of dream!"

The Marine chuckled as he raised up his hands placatingly, "Hey, easy, doll-face! I was just kidding!" Claire rolled her eyes as Billy's feature smile lowered, the latter looking around at the room. "I have no idea why we have to keep getting check-ups around here."

Claire shrugged. "Apparently it's standard procedure around here."

"Don't you find that strange?"

She shrugged again. "A little," the girl admitted. "Then again, better safe than sorry, I guess."

Few of the other contenders, if any, were seen to be sick. One or two of them may have had an allergic reaction to the inoculations, but generally speaking, everyone seemed to be doing alright so far.

Billy clicked his tongue as he leaned against his seat with his arms folded, shrugging nonchalantly back. "Fair enough, I suppose." As the doctor's office opened, the two watched as Piers stepped out. "Hey, buddy! How did it go?"

The two fist-bumped. "Clean bill of health," Piers smiled jovially, showing off his perfect white teeth.

"Next patient. Mr. Garret," Gupte called.

Claire watched as T.J. stood up and swaggered over, his sunglasses firmly placed over his eyes. As he did so, Piers' smile dropped.

"Mornin', kid," T.J. greeted Claire.

Claire smiled. "Morning, T.J.! I hear your fight's today, right?"

His smile grew. "Hell yeah it is!" He nodded. "Watch and learn, young blood - you might pick up a thing or two. You got lucky with that one punch against that amateur, but now today you get to see a champ in action!"

"Former champ," Piers corrected with a glare, causing T.J.'s smile to falter. "Then again, you never were one in the first place."

Claire watched as the boxer's face hardened as he turned to face him.

"Piers," Billy said cautiously.

"What did you say, junior?" T.J. retorted.

Piers got up from his seat and took a challenging step forward. "You heard me just fine."

The boxer's face darkened. "Say that again."

The soldier scoffed. "What, you're growing deaf now, old fart?"

As T.J. prepared to take a swing, Gupte stepped in between them. "Knock it off!" She snapped. "This isn't the time nor place. Mr. Garret, come into my office." Her tone left no room for argument.

T.J. gave one last glare at Piers, then turned to face the doctor, nodding in compliance before following her inside.

As the door closed, Claire watched as Piers turned away, heading back to his seat.

"Prick," the latter muttered as he sat down beside Billy.

"Cool it, man," Billy said with his arms folded. "You'll fight him eventually."

Piers' mouth tightened. "Yeah, well, it isn't soon enough."

Claire looked at him curiously. "You hate him that much?"

She saw his hands tighten into fists, his eyes hard and intense.

"You have no idea." He then turned his eyes over to the door. "My older brother Pete was a heavyweight champion. He loved boxing, so much so that it was all he would ever think about. It was his passion." His mouth formed a disgusted line, his teeth and jaw clenched in anger. "But then...that fucker comes with his fancy implants, and shatters his face!"

Claire blanched. "Oh God!"

Piers nodded. "It wasn't pretty. Crushed Pete's nose. Broke several of his teeth. His right cheek bone. Part of the jaw...hell, he nearly damn well took the jawbone itself off with that punch of his. Pete could have died in the ring had it not been for medical intervention." Piers glared angrily toward the door. "Even worse, that fight put him into a coma." Piers' eyes glistened as he slowly shook his head. "Pete hasn't woken up since."

The girl's eyes softened. "...I'm so sorry. About your brother."

The soldier glanced over to her, giving a small smile. "Thank you." Looking ahead, he said nothing for a while, an air of melancholy falling over him.

"...Is that why you entered the tournament?" Claire asked.

Piers was still, not answering at first. Finally, he lowered his eyes to the floor.

"...My family's running out of funds," he answered. "Docs say that he's unlikely to recover...nor has he shown any sign of getting better. There's even talk of taking him off life support."

Claire gasped as she put a hand to her mouth. "God, it's that serious?!"

Piers gave a single nod in response.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "What will happen if you lose?"

The soldier glumly stared to the floor, his eyes lowered. "I can't afford to. Everything is riding on this. As much as I want to beat T.J. into the ground for what he did...I don't give a shit about him. I'm not in it for revenge, I'm in it for Pete."

"You love your brother."

Piers nodded. "I do. I would do anything for him. I looked up to him all my life, and even though I have three others, Pete had always been the most supportive. He-He'd always been there for me when I needed him most..."

Billy sighed as he patted his friend's shoulder, comforting him.

As Claire watched the soldier, her eyes lowered. "I'm also fighting for my brother as well," she admitted, drawing their attention. "He and his partner- ah, police partner...got into an accident, and now they're both in comas as well."

Piers scoffed, shaking his head. "I guess we should start a fan club. The 'Unconscious Brothers' Group' or something."

Claire giggled, nodding in agreement, "Yeah." She then looked at him intently. "Regardless of who wins...I wish you luck with the tournament. I hope your brother gets better."

Piers turned to face her, a slight smile on his face, "Thanks, Claire." He shifted in his seat. "I hope your brother gets better, too."

The door to Gupte's office opened, drawing Claire's attention away as T.J. stepped back into the hallway, rubbing his arm.

"Fuckin' needles," he muttered.

"Oh lighten up, Mr. Garrett!" Gupte tutted. "It's just a tiny shot."

The boxer shrugged. "Even if that's true, I still hate 'em."

She rolled her eyes. "Just sit out here for five minutes. If you feel any side effects during that time-"

"I know, I know," he waved annoyedly. "Come back and see you."

Claire watched as the stern-looking woman glared at T.J., clenching her fists angrily. For a moment, it seemed as if the doctor was going to say something, but then she paused and looked as if she were deliberating something, seeming to think better of whatever comment she was going to make. Finally, she spun around and stormed back into her office, shutting the door behind her. Hard.

"Miserable old Kraut," T.J. muttered as he took a seat near Claire.

"You seem to be in quite the mood," the latter noted.

"Like I said, kid, I hate needles. Always hated them, even back when I was eight years old."

"Does that mean you forfeit the tournament?" Billy smirked. "After all, needles are gonna be a regular thing around here."

T.J. smirked back. "Haw. You wish." He cracked his knuckles. "I'm a rollercoaster, kiddo - I always push forward, and when the Main Man steps into the ring, ain't nothin' stopping me."

Piers folded his arms. "We'll see about that."

Claire felt the air become tense as the two stared each other down.

"Ah, Guten Tag, everyone!"

Turning to the voice, Claire found herself looking at Baron Von Sabrewulf as he was wheeled in by Dieter, everyone murmuring in acknowledgment.

"Good morning, Baron," the girl greeted along with everyone else.

Gupte stepped out from her office as people gathered around. "Ah, Herr Baron. Perfect timing."

"I trust they have all received their inoculations and check-ups?" Sabrewulf queried.

"Just finished, actually. One or two patients seemed to have come down with a minor cold, but other than that, nothing too serious."

"You're sure?" He pressed.

Gupte glared at him. "I'm a hundred percent certain."

Sabrewulf grunted, then gave a nod. "Very well." Turning to the other fighters, he clasped his gloved hands together. "Right, well now that has been dealt with, let's make our way to the arena, then. Come on, everyone."

Claire stood at the sidelines along with the other fighters in the cathedral-turned-arena. Glancing around, she watched as the creepy film crew went about their tasks. One of them paused, then slowly turned in her direction, staring back, causing Claire to shudder.

He then pulled his mouth into an ugly, corpse-like grin, causing her to flinch and look away.

"You okay, Claire?" Billy asked concernedly beside her.

"Y-Yeah, sorry. These guys keep giving me the creeps," Claire said as shifted nervously.

She watched as Billy looked over at the guy that smiled. The man suddenly stuck his tongue out and slathered his lips with saliva, wriggling it around almost suggestively and obscenely at the Marine.

Billy responded in kind by giving the guy the finger. "Freak."

Everyone fell silent as the arena darkened. Claire felt the the musical cue for KI rumble through the church, drowning out every sound. Once more, the clanging anvil in the background accompanied the tune, the guitar building. Once more, Chris Sutherland growled out the show's title as the metallic font flashed on the holographic jumbotron overhead.

As she watched everything unfurl before her, Claire was suddenly struck by how...ritualistic...everything felt, for lack of a better term. Perhaps it was the fact that they were all inside a church that inspired such an impression, but the more she watched and listened, the more it seemed to cement itself in some odd, if not perverse way.

Claire shifted in discomfort as she recalled Sabrewulf's words from yesterday. There was something...surreal...about all of this; here they all were, gathered together in church, only instead of celebrating and basking in the light and life of Christ and all that he represented with hymns, they were standing solemnly in darkness, ready to inflict violence. Ready to spill blood. They stared up at the flickering metallic fonts of the KI and Ultratech logos with a collectively grim, anxious, awe-filled, anticipatory - and almost reverential - silence, looking up at the shimmering logos as if they were visiting angels or deities that they have all put their faith in.

Gods that have come to test them and collect their due.

As Sabrewulf's comments about blood and sacrifice echoed from the back of her mind, Claire shivered.

She couldn't help feeling slightly perturbed as feelings religious indignation and revulsion came over her. While she was not a practicing Christian, let alone a religious person herself, the girl did, however, find it all kind of...obscene. Blasphemous, even, if she were being truthful.

Part of her didn't know what to do. She supposed that the rational thing to do would be to protest, to feel and express some form of outrage, but...she couldn't. For reasons that were...completely unfathomable to her, Claire was transfixed by what she was seeing. Completely mesmerized, as if she were caught under a siren's spell. She felt compelled to stay and participate, even when part of her really, really started to feel anxious and uncomfortable with what was happening. She felt as if she were now part of something...bigger...than anything she had ever imagined. Something...greater. She felt like a tiny cog gazing upon the engine that it was a part of, that it was serving, watching as it rumbled and stirred into motion. The air was alive and electrical, so charged with potential that it almost felt as if anything was possible.

'Must be the euphoria of being able to participate,' Claire tried telling herself.

As the electric guitar of Robin Beanland echoed a lonely and dissonant tune, Claire stood and stared quietly up at the KI logo, watching as it loomed above all the fighters' heads, its font glowing, artificial and coldly metallic.

Seeing the logo above them, Claire couldn't help recalling the lines that the actor Peter Finch uttered in the movie "Network".

"'I have seen the face of God,'" she said softly.

Beside her, Billy clucked his tongue in thought, then gave a slow nod of acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the logo. "You just might be right."

Once the song finished, the logo fading away, Claire felt the clutches on her mind and senses release as the announcers' voices echoed over the speakers, the sound rattling through her.

"WELCOME!"

A spotlight shone over the two announcers as they sat close to the arena behind a table.

"Goooood morning, Raccoon City!" One of the announcers spoke into the microphone. "I'm Lawrence Cooper."

"And I'm Henry Hull."

"Welcome to another Killer Instinct!" Cooper said enthusiastically. "Boy do we have an exciting show for you tonight! Let's do recap of the fight from yesterday. Where are we at, Henry?"

Claire watched as a holographic chart appeared with fighters names, with three of them crossed out in red.

"Yesterday was a very exciting opening show, Lawrence, with Raccoon City's very own Claire Redfield blasting her way through Alice Abernathy without even breaking a sweat!"

It then cut briefly to her punching her opponent, causing Claire to wince as she saw the replay and heard the noise.

"OOOH! THAT's gotta hurt!"

"Alice is definitely going to feel that in the morning! A very impressive debut for Ms. Redfield!"

Claire brushed a tendril of hair and looked away in embarrassment as T.J., Piers and Billy congratulated and nudged her.

The scene shifted. "Next up was Hisako as she devoured her way through the competition."

A pale girl in a red kimono quickly appeared on the screen, moving slowly at first at a snail's pace before suddenly scuttling along the ground on all fours like a spider toward the camera, unhinging her jaw impossibly wide, her long black hair flying in all directions as green energy flickered all around her.

"Jesus!" Billy flinched, startled.

"We're fighting that?!" Piers muttered, staring aghast.

"Of course not!" Claire assured. "Haven't you guys been listening? We're only fighting Sabrewulf."

T.J. frowned. "Where's the fun in that?"

"It is a bit disappointing," she admitted. "I've been hoping to see all the inhuman fighters myself up-close."

They all watched as the camera then shifted to footage of Hisako as she suddenly faded into her opponent - a massive metallic golem covered with vines and boulders. Claire watched as Hisako's opponent was twisted into all sorts of shapes, each limb snapping and cracking out of proportion.

"God damn!" T.J. cringed. "That is one scary-ass bitch!...I wonder if she's single?"

Claire and Billy turned as one to look at the boxer, raising their brows.

"What?" T.J. said defensively. "She's hot and limber!" He then looked back at the jumbotron, folding his arms together as he said softly as an aside, "I bet she's better-looking without the makeup."

Claire rolled her eyes, turning back to the hologram.

"And last but definitely not least, we have Lilith Urchin from Salem, Massachusetts, overtaking contestant Vanessa Z. Schneider as she shows us how girls get it done!"

She watched as a tiny, goth-looking girl with long black hair finished her opponent, a woman dressed entirely in white with orange sunglasses who looked uncannily like Jill, with a flying kick, the blow catching her in the chest.

Claire blinked, staring up at the screen. "...Jill?"

"You know her?" Billy asked.

"Uh, no, it's just...she looks a lot like my brother's partner," she said. "They could practically be twins."

Looking back to the jumbotron, they watched as the girl, Lilith, pummeled and curb-stomped her opponent, laughing maniacally.

Claire shivered. "Jesus, she's scary," she commented.

Piers scoffed. "Yeah. Scarier than that other one."

Finally, the screen reverted back to the announcers.

"Now that we finished our recap," Cooper spoke into the microphone, "it's time to move onto the main event!"

Claire rubbed her hands excitedly, grinning from ear to ear in glee, "Alright!"

"Before we begin, a word from our sponsors."

She frowned. "Goddamn it. I hate it when they do this!" Claire said in exasperation as they started to broadcast some boring infomercial from their sponsors, showing off the latest merchandise from Ultratech.

"Ultratech - Looking To The Past To Save The Future!" The advertisement concluded.

"And now for the main event."

She sighed. "Finally."

"WE ARE CONTROLLING TRANSMISSION."

"READY!" Chris Sutherland's voice growled as it was accompanied by the fighter's select music.

Claire braced herself as the jumbotron flickered.

"BLADE!"

The spotlight flashed onto a buff young man as he climbed into the ring, the speakers playing some generic butt-rock tune that made the girl roll her eyes.

"...You gotta be shitting me." She heard T.J. muttered beside her.

The fighter was above average in height, his stocky though buff frame completely dressed in hockey player regalia. Holding a hockey stick in gloved hand, his muscular chest was concealed in a red jersey, his muscular legs partially beneath his green shorts, his lower legs covered with thick goalie kneepads. Lifting up his hockey stick up into the air with one arm, "Blade" turned to face the camera with a challenging yell, his head and face concealed behind a hockey mask, his long, dirty blonde hair flowing out from beneath the helmet itself.

Claire arched a brow. "...Really?! He made it in?!"

Granted, she wasn't exactly a fashion model herself, but still, even she had standards.

"T.J. Combo!"

She watched as the boxer scowled as the spotlight fell on him, the echo of his name filling the church along with some generic hip-hop, the song making the boxer roll his eyes and groan in derision.

"Great," he muttered.

Claire shrugged. "Well, you gotta start somewhere, I guess." She then offered an assuring smile. "Good luck to you, T.J.!"

T.J. looked back at her, then nodded back with a smile. "Thanks." Turning back to the cage, he cracked his knuckles. "Better watch and take notes, kid - this is how a superstar rolls."

He then strutted toward the announcers, much to their bemusement as they looked at one another in confusion as he took a CD case from a pocket in his vest. Security guards stepped forward.

"Sir, step away from the announcers!" They warned, their tasers ready.

"Whoa, easy!" T.J. called as he raised up the CD case. "Just want to change the music!"

She watched as the announcers gave each other confused and incredulous looks before nodding and waving him over.

"Let him through," she heard Cooper say to a guard.

The guard then waved him over. "Alright, go ahead."

Claire watched as T.J. said something to the two of them, then handed over the CD and walked toward the arena.

"Just play the music."

The audio went off momentarily. Claire watched as the boxer rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck from side to side, stretching his body as Jai Freedom's "Fight Night" kicked on.*

"(If you think you're better now)
Turn it up, it's about to get worked out."

T.J. bounced on the soles of his feet as he practiced his jabs, his head nodding to the beat of the tune.

"(If you think you're rough enough)
Turn it up it's about to get worked out
(Turn it up it's about to get worked out)
It's fight night, woo! Ready to get your minds right.
Welcome to the prime time, make it to the bright light."

He kneeled and stretched, flexing his impressive muscles and six pack before throwing a series of quick jabs and uppercuts.

"It's fight night, educate your mind right
Welcome to the prime time, make it to the bright light."

Even with everyone booing at him, nothing deterred the former champ as he proceeded toward the arena with all the confidence, charisma and swagger that only T.J. Combo could bring.

"It's Saturday night at the MGM Grand
Prime time fight against the undisputed champ
Hear the fans clapping, the paparazzi flash
The best all around, pound for pound in any class
It's the main event so place your bets and drop your cash
Like the money team CMB I'm 'bout my cash
Goes in more productions, enormous endorsements
Money team management balling out of proportion
Yeah, posting up with the bumbaclot
Who the hell want with the champion
Come, come face your fears in the octagon
And end up with your head on my blooded palm."

Raising his hands high into the air, T.J. flashed a handsome smile, blowing kisses to the cameras.

"It's a fighter's life
Here it ain't no game
And we train up so hard
Live to fight another day
It's a fighter's life
It ain't no game
And we train up so hard
Live to fight another day, another day."

Seeing him on the hologram jumbotron, even Claire could see the larger-than-life, demigod-like presence that he projected, all without even saying so much as a word, his sculpted physique shining underneath the spotlight.

Some people, it seemed to Claire, were made for the spotlight, for television, and by God she was certain that T.J. Combo was one of those people.

As the music died down, she watched as he and the hockey player slowly approached one another like two gunslingers ready for a showdown. After the two exchanged words, she saw T.J. smirk and raised up his fists, looking ready to fight.

T.J. stared down his opponent, taking his appearance in, not at all impressed with what he was seeing.

"So," Blade spoke in an unimpressed tone, his voice possessing what seemed to be a Southern accent - Arkansas, if he were to a hazard guess, "you're T.J. Combo."

He shrugged, cracking his neck. "That's right."

Blade stared at him for a while, looking at him from top to bottom. "...I was expecting you to be taller."

The boxer grinned. "I'm pretty tall already."

The hockey player raised up his goalie stick, the stick resting on his shoulders.

"Tell me something," he said slowly, "...what kind of fag uses cybernetic implants for a boxing match?"

T.J. scoffed, cracking his knuckles. "In Texas, the way we can tell if someone is a fag is if they have a haircut like...yers."

He smirked as Blade stiffened, the hockey stick removed from his shoulders.

"It's gonna be a real pleasure wipin' that smirk off yer face," Blade said as he palmed the stick.

The former champ raised up his fists, waving him on. "Bring it!"

"READY!"

Claire watched as the two men stood their ground eying one another, the two bouncing on their heels. Just as Blade suddenly lunged forward, T.J. suddenly raised up a hand.

"WAIT!" Pausing mid-step, Blade faltered, completely confused as the boxer suddenly moved to another part of the cage, moving toward the announcers. "Play Track Two."

The two announcers looked at one another, then shrugged, complying with his demand.

Over the speaker, she suddenly heard...the Hamster Dance?

"NO! TRACK TWO! TRACK TWO!" T.J. waved.

The audio cut out as almost all of the fighters laughed. Looking around, Claire stopped upon seeing Billy's reaction. The Marine was trying to restrain a snicker, while his friend Piers was just rolling his eyes.

Turning back to T.J., Claire arched a brow at him. The former champ gave a sheepish grin, giving a slight shrug before turning to face the announcers, clearing his throat.

"Track Two," T.J ordered. "You were on Track Five. Go back past the previous two songs."

"But-"

"Just play the damn music already!" Blade said in exasperation.

Claire watched as everyone waited.

Finally, she heard the tune play over the speakers, a mix of hip-hop and EDM. As the music played, she saw T.J. bobbing his head and tapping his boot to the beat, his back facing Blade.

"Yeeahhh!" T.J. said, smiling as he nodded appreciatingly, stretching. "Hear that? This is my jam!"

"(Just play the music!)" The speakers sang. "(Just play the music!)"

"SAY MY NAME, BABY!" T.J. twisted around, doing a superhero pose, flexing his muscles as Chris Sutherland's voice echoed through the church.

"T.J. COMBO!"

As the song picked up, Blade let out a roar of impatience and charged forward, attempting to shoulder-check him, the boxer shifting to one side, allowing his opponent to skid harmlessly past him.

"Hey!" The chorus sang as another solo singer followed it up with an understated "(Yeah!)"
"Hey! (Yeah!)"
"Hey! (Yeah!)"

"Hey! (Yeah!)"

"READY!"

Claire watched as they circled one another, turning clockwise, then counterclockwise, the two locked and focused in a violent and deadly dance of strength and wits, the two exchanging a combination of fists, feints and insults.

Suddenly, Blade lunged forward with a yell, swinging his hockey stick wildly around in the air as T.J. parried high and low blows with his forearms.

Watching T.J. in the ring, Claire was struck by how he moved. He was playful, and yet, with every step, twist on the heel and jab, it was all carefully measured and calculating. T.J. always maintained a certain measure of distance away from his opponent - when he struck, he was quick on his feet, hard-hitting and brutal, delivering three combinations to the face and chest whenever he was in reach.

"Hey! (Yeah!)"

"Hey! (Yeah!)"

Ducking down to avoid a horizontal swing just in the nick of time, Claire let out a startled yelp as the stick whizzed past his hair.

Whoever this 'Blade' guy was, he was dangerous - T.J. was lucky that stick didn't take his head off!

"Hey! (Yeah!)"

Doing a backward roll to avoid a coming vertical blow that slammed hard down onto the floor, T.J. sprung back up to his feet and delivered a deadly combination, striking his opponent's head, chest and gut.

"Hey!"

Stumbling back, Blade let out an enraged yelled, charging forward, raising the stick high over his head when T.J. did a frontal roll toward the hockey player, throwing out a fist that connected with the man's groin.

"(Just play the music!)" The singer yelled over the speaker.

POW!

"Feel the power, baby!" The chorus sang in harmony with the blow.

"(And you don't stop. And you don't drop.)"

Claire heard every man in the room groan at the sound, every single one flinching. Even Billy and Piers were wincing. She watched as Blade's eyes widened like saucers, the stick dropping from his hands as he made a high-pitched squeal like an animal, his gloved hands holding onto his undoubtedly very sore family jewels.

"Feel the power, baby!

(Yeah, yeah!)"

T.J. followed the blow with a series of combinations, an unrelenting flurry of jabs that tore into his opponent, the music in sync with his movements.

"Feel the power, baby!

(And you don't stop. And you don't drop.)
Feel the power, baby!

(Yeah, yeah, yeah!)"

"Yeah, eat it!" T.J. yelled as he threw a hard left hook, the punch knocking Blade off his feet. As the latter struggled to get up to his feet, the former hung back as the chorus chanted the next verse, bobbing his head to the tune.

"C to the O to the M-B-O!
C to the O to the M-B-O!
C to the O to the M-B-O!
C to the O to the M-B-O!"

"That's right, baby! Say my name!"

Wiping his mouth, Blade let out an enraged and animalistic roar, his stick high over head.

T.J. just dodged and played with his opponent, circling around, all the way nodding to the tune.

"Hey! (Yeah!)
Hey! (Yeah!)
Hey! (Yeah!)"

"I...am not gonna lose!" Blade screamed in frustration. "Not to you of all people!"

"Hey! (Just play the music!)"

Blade repeatedly struck at T.J. until the latter lashed out with a jumping knee strike, the boxer yelling, "C-C-C-C-C-OMBO BREAKER!"

"Feel the power, baby!"

Following that cry, Claire watched as the boxer unleashed everything into his opponent. T.J.'s fists were swing hard and fast, moving with such speed and ferocity that it caught the girl off-guard as she watched. After delivering a lethal combination of high and mid strikes, he followed it up with a spinning backfist and a punch to the stomach, causing Blade to double over and spew, the force knocking the wind out of him along with his breakfast.

"(Yeah, yeah!)"

Claire cringed as she heard the mask crack beneath T.J.'s repeated blows, the boxer not letting up. Blade was stumbling and trying to retain his balance, trying to raised up his arms in order to defend himself, but the boxer was too fast and strong to avoid, a one-man wrecking ball of pure frenzy and fury.

"Feel the power, baby!

(And you don't stop. And you don't drop.)"

Pieces of Blade's mask were breaking off to the ground, while blood sprayed and flew up into the air along with bits of what looked like human teeth.

"Feel the power, baby!

(Yeah, yeah, yeah!)"

As the music started to quicken in its pace, the quicker T.J.'s blows became, until finally the boxer pulled away, rearing himself back slight as he dramatically spun his arm backward like a windmill.

"And now for the encore!" T.J. said cockily, his arm gaining momentum with each swing, producing an audible whiffing noise, reminding Claire of a propeller on a plane that was about to take off.

A few seconds later, the boxer slammed his fist into Blade's face, catching him by the chin, completely demolishing the mask as the fighter was lifted several feet up into the air before slamming back down to the floor with a thud. As the hockey player stared up from the ground, he coughed, spitting up blood and teeth, his nose completely broken and bleeding profusely, his face black and blue, horrifically swollen.

Cracking his knuckles, T.J. scoffed. "C to the O to the M-B-O, motherfucker!"

"WINNER!" Chris Sutherland roared.

Standing straight up for the camera, T.J. flexed his muscles, shouting "THINK ABOUT IT!" before turning his head to kiss his own biceps as the music cut itself off.

On the holographic display, Claire watched as it flickered with his image.

"AWESOME VICTORY!" Chris Sutherland snarled from the speakers, the metallic voice causing her to shiver.

As Claire watched medical personnel gather inside to collect the broken man lying on the floor, a lump formed in the pit of her stomach.

Perhaps joining the tournament was a not so good idea after all...

Author's Note: So, for those of you wondering, there are a couple cameos featured here of some rejected characters, one being Vanessa Z. Schneider from the old Capcom game called "P.N.03". Originally it was going to feature a certain rejected "SF2" fighter...but I have a better idea for his placement. You'll have to wait and see where he turns up. In terms of who he is, you might know thanks to Matt McMuscles and Two Best Friends. ;)

The character of Lilith was the protagonist for a cancelled Rare game called "Project Urchin", which was going to play with some pretty dark concepts and themes, while the hockey player Blade was from the first KI game who had been completely modeled but dropped from the final game in favor of Sabrewulf due to their similar body sizes and poses. Since I couldn't really find some appropriate matchups for certain characters, I kind of figured why not toss these guys a bone and see what happens. I hope you like what comes next. :)

Take care, everyone! Stay safe and healthy! :)

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Song: "Do It Now" and/or "The Tiger Warrior"

Chapter Eleven: Tiger's Fury

Konrad watched the footage of the fighters on screen as he sat in his office, his eyes studying their movements before pressing a button on his phone.

"Yes, Mr. Chairman?" A.R.I.A.'s voice spoke through the speaker.

"Patch me through to Dr. Mathison of the R&D Department," he ordered.

"Yes, Mr. Chairman. Patching you through now."

Konrad waited as he heard the dial tone, the line ringing for several moments.

"Hello?" He heard a voice say from the other end.

"Dr. Mathison?"

"Speaking."

"Ah, good. It's Baron Von Sabrewulf."

"Oh! M-M-Mr. Chairman!" The voice stuttered in surprise. "It's good to hear from you, sir!"

"Likewise."

"H-how can I be of service to you?"

"Have you been recording the footage?"

"We have, sir. Doctors Fulton, Gore and I have been studying the footage very carefully, and we believe that we may be able to implement at least a couple of the fighters' moves, but it's not a lot, admittedly. We have, however, managed to get at least a couple frames of data from Mr. Garret, but we're still going to need more."

"Don't worry," Konrad said as he stared at the screen, his eyes locked on the KI logo and on the fighters, "you'll have plenty of material for reference. There are still plenty of fighters who haven't been featured yet."

Claire stared up at the holographic jumbotron, listening to the announcers as they were doing replays, the two of them breaking down the fight piece by piece, frame by frame, the fighters on screen moving in slow motion.

"So whaddya think, rookie?"

Turning to the speaker, Claire mustered up a smile as T.J. approached, trying to avoid looking at the slow-motion video of the boxer's fist slamming into his opponent's face, trying to avoid looking at blood-stained arena floor. From the corner of her eyes, the girl saw personnel cleaning up from the last round, the crew picking up bits of teeth from off the matt as the boxer wiped the sweat off himself with a towel.

"You were great!" She winked, giving him a thumbs up.

T.J. gave a thumbs up back, along with a smile. "Thanks, kid."

"I especially liked when you made your entrance and that song you were playing."

He nodded appreciatively. "Glad to hear."

Claire tilted her head at him. "Out of curiosity..."

"Yes?"

"...Do..." the girl said slowly, "...you always carry around a CD containing your own theme music?"

He flashed her a grin. "Of course! Any good superstar or superhero knows when to put on a show for the audience!" He then flexed his muscles. "And if there's one thing the Main Man loves, it's putting on a show!"

Billy then nudged her. "You know, I bet T.J. has a theme song for every occasion. TV shows, radio-"

"Uh huh. Uh huh," the boxer nodded along.

"The crapper," Piers interjected.

"Ew!" Claire made a face.

T.J. shrugged. "Sometimes."

"I don't need to know that!" The girl said disgustedly.

"When he's making a sandwich," Billy spoke up.

"The shower," Claire added.

Upon saying that out loud, she instantly regretted it as the girl received surprised looks from the three men, her eyes widening as a blush started to form on her face.

"Well well well!" T.J. grinned.

"Ah! I swear I didn't mean anything by that!" She waved her arms wildly amidst their laughter.

"Sure you didn't!" He said smugly, offering her a knowing wink.

"I DIDN'T!" She insisted, her face as red as a tomato's. "It's not like that!"

"I know, I know," the boxer chuckled, raising up his arms and flexing his pecs and impressive biceps. "You find it hard to resist me, especially the thought of my naked body. Listen, I understand what you're feeling."

"Oh for God's sakes," Claire groaned, putting a hand up to her face, trying to avoid looking at him, her blush deepening.

"It's only natural that you're getting all hot and bothered by yers truly, kiddo. Women everywhere find me irresistible!"

Billy shook his head. "Man, look at the ego on this one!"

T.J. sighed dramatically. "Well what can I say? I'm only a man!"

A smirk then appeared from one corner of his mouth.

"Actually I lied - I'm T.J. Combo, baby! I held the title for twenty years! Sure, I stumbled, but once I'm in the ring, ain't nobody touchin' this! And considering the competition so far..." He looked back to the ring and opened up a bottle of water that a guard passed to him, taking a large chug. Swallowing, the boxer then wiped his mouth, nodding thoughtfully to himself, "I like my chances in this tournament already!"

Looking back to Claire, he smiled and gave her a nod. "Take care of yourself, kid."

"Have a good one, T.J.," Claire waved pleasantly.

As the boxer departed, Piers scowled. "I have no idea why you are so nice to him of all people. Guy doesn't even deserve it."

Claire shrugged. "Well, even if he did do some bad things, it's not going to stop me from being pleasant to him. Sometimes you get further with people through acts of kindness. Besides, there's tons of unpleasantness in the world already, with just as many bullies and people taking pleasure in others' pain, so why join that lot? Between that choice and the underdog, I'd go for the latter any day of the week."

She watched as both Billy and Piers gave her surprised looks, drawing her attention. "What?"

Neither said anything at first. Finally, Piers shook his head incredulously.

"You're too nice for your own good, Claire," he said.

The girl grinned. "Well, I have my moments."

"Please stand by for the next match," she heard the announcers call over the speaker, the select theme delivering a loud thump.

Looking ahead to the jumbotron, Claire watched the screen, bobbing her head and humming the tune.

"Great music, huh?" Billy commented beside her.

"Yeah!" Claire nodded.

"I wonder who's going to be next?" Piers wondered.

"GUNN!"

Claire watched as a spotlight highlighted a rough-looking individual as he approached the stage. Tall and powerfully built, "Gunn" was a young man in his twenties with short white hair that was parted to the side, his features heavily reminding her of a thuggish version of Leon. Dressed in a red and black tank top that exposed his muscular arms, the man wore a pair of bandoliers around his chest, his legs and hips adorned in camo-colored pants and boots.

Claire glanced over at Billy. "So, what do you think?" she asked curiously.

He studied the man for a moment, then gave a dismissive laugh. "Heh. Poseur," he remarked. "What do ya think, Piers?"

Piers scoffed. "Wannabe tough guy at best. I'm a bit curious to know who-"

"PIERS NIVANS!"

Piers blinked, looking like a deer in the headlights as the spotlight fell on him, the soldier looking around in confusion. "Huh?"

"They called you, man! You're up!"

He blinked, completely caught off-guard. "I am?" Piers said with surprise and uncertainty.

"Yeah! You're up! GET UP THERE!"

"Oh shit!" Piers' eyes widened. Rolling his shoulder, he straightened his hair, then stretched, exhaling. "Well...here goes nothing."

Claire clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck, Piers! We'll be rooting for you!"

Piers smiled. "Thanks, Claire."

Claire watched as he looked back to the arena, the young man stepping forward and climbing up the stairs.

Piers' fingers anxiously and restlessly flexed and moved as he got into the ring, the cage sealing behind him. Ahead of him, his opponent, "Gunn", had his back turned to him, rolling his shoulders smugly.

"Tell me, friend," he said confidently, "what do you think the odds are of you winning?"

Piers scoffed. "Better than yours."

Gunn smirked as he turned to face him, cracking his neck. "Ha. Ya got balls, I give you that, but ya don't have a chance, dude," he said smugly. "I'm military."

Nivans raised a brow, meeting his challenging stare with one of his own. "Is that right? So am I."

He saw the smirk falter. "Huh? You are?"

"Yeah. I'm from West Point, top of my class. What branch are you?"

Gunn puffed out his chest. "I'm United States Army! Special Forces!"

Piers grinned. "Really? So am I." He leaned forward and got into a stance. "This should be an interesting fight then."

Gunn got into a stance of his own. "Let's get down to business."

"READY!"

Claire watched as Gunn circled around Piers like a shark. Piers leaned forward and got into a stance, raising up his fists. The two men slowly circled on another, both men eying one another, looking for an opening, a weakness in the other man's stance.

The next thing Claire knew, Gunn lashed out with a punch, the blow parried by Piers as he attempted to strike back with a punch of his own, only for that attack to be parried by his opponent. Both men seemed evenly matched, their footwork quick and precise as they struck, dodged and weaved, moving distinctively like a pair of lethal professionals. They punched, kicked, parried, and countered, receiving blows in between, but neither one was willing to surrender.

"Look at him go!" Claire marveled.

Beside her, Billy nodded in agreement and approval. "Yeah, Piers is a good fighter. This chump has no idea what he's in for."

The two of them watched as the two military men grappled, engaging in CQC, or close quarters combat, before pushing each other back.

Claire watched as Piers and Gunn wiped their mouths, the two of them panting.

Finally, the two of them yelled and charged.

...That was, until a...very...unexpected and distinctive sound suddenly echoed throughout the church, the sound amplified by microphones.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!

The two fighters froze in place, the sound ringing loudly. Piers stood still, blinking at his opponent as Gunn gave a wide-eyed look of horror and mortification.

"...Did...Did you just-"

He then heard a loud gurgling coming from the man's stomach, his opponent hunching forward with a grimace as he held his midsection.

"Oh Jesus!" Gunn groaned as he massaged his stomach. "Oh God! Oh GOD! Fucking burritos! Oh no! No! No! NO! No no no no no no-"

Piers gave a look of disgust as the man suddenly let one rip, the sound longer, louder than before, a sound like a very loud, and very wet-sounding, trumpet going off.

"Aw gross!" Piers coughed, pulling up his collar to cover his nose as he smelled foul odor.

"Oh Christ!" Gunn stumbled toward the gate door, slamming his fist frantically against it as he clutched his stomach with his other arm. "Hey guard! Open the door, I need to use the bathroooohooooooom!" His eyes flew open in alarm as he straightened himself, his stomach churning as he grabbed hold of his rear, the man hollering at the top of his lungs, "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"

Claire was trying to stifle back her laugh as she watched Gunn doing a funny little dance on stage. Billy didn't bother holding back, nor had the rest of the fighters. Even some of the crew and guards were howling uproariously, with a couple of them doubled over and holding their midsections. Laughter echoed throughout the arena as everyone watched the man frantically pace himself around, moving about in distress and shouting at someone to open the door.

Finally, Claire lost it. She hadn't meant to laugh at the poor man given his evident distress and the unfortunate circumstances that he was clearly in, but she couldn't help finding the image of a buff military guy holding his rear and waddling about in the spotlight like a penguin an absolutely ridiculous sight to behold.

After a couple exchanges with the guards and referee, with the fighter nodding frantically, the arena doors opened, letting the poor man out as he raced, running from the knees down while he tightly held his legs together. Gunn wobbled and nearly stumbled down the stairs, rushing as fast as he could to get to the nearest available washroom as he was guided along by a guard.

The only people didn't laugh were Thunder and Jago, both of whom remained quiet, neither of them showing any indication that they found any sort of amusement, along with the the woman in green, who had a sort of contemptuous and disgusted look on her face.

"Pathetic," Claire heard the woman said dismissively before turning away.

Looking over to the arena, the former saw Piers standing there with a sheepish expression on his face, the soldier shrugging at her as the announcer declared him the winner.

Meanwhile, back in his office, Sabrewulf face-palmed, shaking his head slowly.

"Of course something like this would happen," he sighed disbelievingly.

Claire smiled as Piers came to join her and Billy, the holographic jumbotron playing some new commercial by Ultratech.

"...Well, that was an interesting fight," she quipped.

Billy laughed as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "You just know that is going to be Number One on YouTube."

"Honestly, I can't help feeling a little bad for the guy," Piers said as he scratched the back of his head. "I didn't think it would end this way for him."

His friend shrugged. "Meh, whatever, dude. Better him than you. If it had been the other way around, I don't think he would have cared."

The soldier considered his words, then gave a half shrug back. "Probably," he conceded.

"Well," Claire began, "at least you are able to continue. It would have been a little sad to see you go."

Piers raised a brow. "You do realize that I still could be your opponent in the future, right?"

She grinned cheekily. "I know. I can still kick your ass, though."

Billy and Piers exchanged looks with each other, then glanced back to Claire. Finally, the three of them lightly laughed.

"You've got spunk, kid," Piers remarked before looking over to his friend. "I like her."

Claire winked, beaming brightly at the soldier as she looked back to the arena. "I wonder who's going to be up next," she said, squinting at the screen.

"My congratulations on your victory." Turning to the unexpected voice along with the others, Claire smiled as she saw Jago approach. "Even though the way it had ended had been abrupt, from what I saw of the fight, you are a skilled opponent."

Piers nodded. "Uh, thanks," he said uneasily, taking his appearance in. "Piers Nivans. This is my friend Billy Coen."

Jago pressed his hands together and a slight bow to them both, then nodded in Claire's direction. "Ms. Redfield."

Claire smiled, nodding back. "Hi Jago," she greeted. "So what brings you up here?"

"I was just getting ready," the monk answered. "According to the schedule, I am up next."

"Oh really?" Claire said in surprise. "You are?"

"As far as I am aware."

"Do you know who your opponent is?"

"Yes," he answered, looking around at the other fighters, "someone calling himself Black-"

He paused midsentence, his eyes locked on someone to the right. Looking to where he stared, Claire and the others found themselves looking upon a man that was a foot taller and a good fifty pounds heavier than Jago, seemingly older. Like Jago, he was Asian and wore a cloth mask and a headband, but unlike the Tibetan monk, who wore Buddhist attire, the man was wearing more urban clothing. A torn, dirty black leather motorcycle jacket with missing sleeves and a flared up collar hung over his lean frame, exposing his strong, muscular arms. Underneath, he wore a red shirt and black, torn jeans with combat boots, the man cracking his fingerless gloved hands in readiness. Taken as a whole, he looked more like an urban ninja.

Claire and the others watched as the man approached, his eyes locked on Jago.

"Hello...Jago," the man greeted, putting emphasis on his opponent's name.

Jago said nothing, his expression hard to read.

"What's the matter? I would have thought you of all people would have been happy to see me," the man said sarcastically.

The monk narrowed his eyes. "I remember you," Jago said slowly. "You were excommunicated from my Order years ago."

"No thanks to you!" The masked man retorted, his words dripping acidly, his hand tightening into a fist.

The monk exhaled, shaking his head slowly. "Let's not do this here."

"Oh, I think now is the perfect time to talk, monk!" The man snarled, the last part emphasized almost mockingly before pointing an accusatory finger at him, "You got me kicked out of the Order!"

"You were abusing your authority," Jago replied in an even voice. "You were intimidating villagers into giving you money. You showed disrespect to the High Abbot and his decrees, always turning up late. You were stealing from the poor, and from the elderly. You picked on the weak and vulnerable. Even more, you were caught having intimate relations with another man's wife. Was it any surprise that you were let go? It was your actions that got you into trouble."

"Don't be so smug, you arrogant little shit!" The man snapped. "That old fart favored you since we were children! You were his golden child, but me? I was the fuck-up! I did everything that he asked, but I was never good enough for him!"

"You did your tasks well," the monk conceded, "but you have never applied yourself. Not fully. That was one of your many problems - you have no self-restraint. You lack conviction. You always had to push it, Bankei."

"Don't call me that!" "Bankei" hissed in resentment. "The name's Black Tiger."

Claire watched as the two masked men stared each other down. While "Black Tiger" stared hard at his opponent, giving him a dark, angry look, Jago, in contrast was calm and collected, seemingly indifferent to the man's attempt at intimidation.

"Why are you here?" Jago asked as he folded his arms.

Closing his eyes, his opponent took in a deep breath, then exhaled, reopening them slowly with a smirk forming beneath his mask as he placed his hands on his hips.

"Isn't it obvious? To win the prize money," he stated. "Once that heap of cash is mine, I intend on starting my own martial arts club." He sneered down at the monk. "Funny that you of all people would turn up here. What is your reason for being here?"

Before Jago could answer, Black Tiger waved him off, "You know what - I don't care." Black Tiger's gaze hardened along with his fists. "I'm glad that you came, for now I can beat your scrawny little ass into the dirt and get payback for you did to me."

As the man departed, Jago closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "Oh Bankei," he said in a hushed voice, almost to himself, "what has become of you?"

Turning to Claire and the others, the Tibetan monk apologetically and politely nodded. "I'm sorry that you had to bear witness to that."

"It's no trouble," Claire assured. "So you know that guy?"

"I did, for a time," Jago answered as he looked in the direction where the man went. "His name is Bankei. He used to be part of my Order, but his childhood was...troubled, to say the least. I cannot elaborate on the details out of respect for him, but...it pains me to see him like this."

"You used to be friends?"

The monk was quiet, considering his words carefully. Closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly from side to side, Jago exhaled through his veil. "...I... like to think we had been." Glancing over to the jumbotron, he squinted up at the time. "I'm afraid I have to get going to the armory," Jago said as he adjusted his red zhen robe. "It will be my turn next."

"Good luck, Jago!" Claire waved to the monk as he left, watching as he approached a group of security guards and said something to them. The guards nodded, then started to escort him out to the armory.

A few minutes later, Jago and Black Tiger returned, each man escorted separately by guards from different ends of the arena.

"AND NOW FOR THE NEXT MATCH!" The announcer spoke into the microphone.

Looking back to the arena, Claire and the others stared up at the holographic jumbotron as it flickered.

"BLACK TIGER!"

"JAGO!"

"FIGHT ON!"

Claire watched in anticipation as the two masked fighters entered the arena one by one. Looking to Black Tiger, she suddenly noticed the two katanas strapped to his back, watching as he pulled one of the swords out from his scabbard, spinning it confidently around with one hand as he circled around Jago, who only held what looked to be his walking stick.

The two men exchanged words, although Claire couldn't tell what was being said due to the thumping loud music and the announcers' commentary.

Black Tiger said something that made those standing closer to the arena to burst into laughter, causing to Jago to turn away.

'What is he doing?' she wondered.

Stepping into the caged-off arena, Jago regarded his former friend as the man playfully spun his sword around.

"Ooh, now would you look at this," Black Tiger commented, his eyes focused on his sword. "Isn't this a thing of beauty?"

Jago gave an acknowledging nod. "It is a well-made sword."

Lifting his eyes up from his weapon, his opponent met his stare, watching as he glanced to the weapon Jago had strapped to his back.

"A ke-tri?" Black Tiger stated rhetorically.

"A ke-tri vajra."

"Ahh," Black Tiger nodded. "So you have done well. You must have truly excelled if the Abbot was able to allow you to wield that particular weapon." He cocked his head to the side. "What rank are you now?"

"Gelong."

"Gelong?" He repeated. "For someone so young? You're what, twenty-two? Twenty-three?"

"Yes."

"My my my! You truly are a prodigy, aren't you?"

Jago heard the venom and detestation in his words, the man's hands tightening so hard on the handle of his katana that he could hear the friction in his glove. He then watched as Black Tiger slipped his sword back into its scabbard.

"Tell me, monk," the latter spoke enviously, "did the Abbot teach you the so-called secret "Endokuken" technique?"

Jago hardened his stare.

"No?" Black Tiger gave a partial smirk underneath his cloth mask. "How about the Taak Krodha 'Tiger Fury' uppercut technique?"

The monk was still, his features darkening.

"He didn't, didn't he?" Black Tiger crossed his arms, giving Jago a smug look, letting out a loud dismissive bark. "I knew the Abbot was a fraud. I had him pegged for years. Fuckin' phony." He shrugged. "Figures."

Jago closed his eyes and shook his head despondently. "I pity your ignorance," the monk said softly. "If only you had been more committed and respectful, you could have-"

"Yeah, well, I don't give a shit. I am NOT going back to that shithole. The only person in charge of me is me. That faggot can go fuck himself for all I care. Only thing he was ever good for was teaching me how to fight."

"He also gave you a home when your own parents wanted nothing to do with you," Jago said pointedly, causing his opponent to stiffen, his eye twitching. "He had always treated you with kindness - he didn't beat you with a belt, slap and kick you around like your father had with your mother. He didn't break a chair over you. He didn't lock you up like an animal. Or break a beer bottle over your head - the Abbot had always treated you like a human being. And this is how you show your gratitude?"

Jago watched a flurry of emotions pass in Bankei's eyes, the latter clenching his jaw hard, his face reddening, his hands squeezing harder on the handle of his weapon. "Haw!" He sneered at the monk. "'Gratitude'? For being forced into celibacy and being made a fool of? To be looked down upon by you and those other bald pricks every day?! Fuck. That!"

Jago shook his head. "Your anger is clouding your judgment." His eyes softened beneath his veil as he looked imploringly into the eyes of his old friend. "Bankei...please. Don't do this."

He watched as Black Tiger hesitated. For a moment, it almost seemed as if he was struggling internally. For a moment, Jago caught a flicker of his old friend, the playful, boisterous and crude though somewhat good-natured child that he used to know all those years ago.

That flicker disappeared as Black Tiger closed his eyes and shook his head, giving a dismissive scoff. "You know," his opponent remarked loudly, "this is gonna be the first time I've ever kicked a man's ass while he's wearing a skirt."

Upon making that remark, several personnel and fighters close to the cage laughed out loud.

"Maybe after I beat your ass into pulp," the former monk continued with a sneer, "I'll disclose some of the Order's secrets, maybe make some good money from their fighting techniques."

As Black Tiger's words left his mouth, Jago felt the air become still.

Narrowing his eyes into a glare, the Tibetan monk dipped his head low and closed his eyes. "So be it, then."

Claire watched as Jago turned away from his opponent, the monk slowly unraveling the outer red zhen robe that he wore, carefully folding it up and placing it on one part of the cage bars. The girl then watched as Jago took a pair of long ropes and started coiling them around his legs, tying and folding the inner sections of his skirt. Once he was finished, the monk straightened himself up and turned to face Black Tiger.

Seeing him now, Claire couldn't help thinking how much more...ninjalike he was in his appearance. With his strong and muscular though lean frame, he looked more like a force to be reckoned with, his eyes possessing a firm resolve, the ornate golden tiger teeth of his headband and veil gleaming brightly underneath the overhead lights.

Letting out a deep-chested growl, Jago pressed his fist into his palm and bowed before finally getting into a stance, his hands raised, exposing his open palms, his fingers curled like claws.

Cracking his neck and hands, Black Tiger got into a similar stance, raising his own in a similar manner to meet Jago's.

"READY!"

The match started slow, with the two fighters slowly stepping forward. Shifting their stance and positions, they crept closer and closer toward each other, their open handed claws edging closer. Then, with a speed that startled Claire, they lashed out, their movements quick and graceful as they struck, blocked and countered.

"Wow!" Claire gasped as she watched the whole thing.

She had seen kung fu used in movies, but to see it in person...words failed to describe how beautiful it actually was. Every bit of movement - every punch, kick, palm strike or sweep, no matter how frenzied - was so precise, so smooth. Every twist and turn on a given heel. Watching Jago and Black Tiger fight, it was very different from T.J.'s and Piers' matches; there was much more of a gracefulness to their movements, making the whole event seem like some sort of performance or dance.

But it was the sheer speed that had really caught Claire by surprise - she had never seen anyone move so fast, especially during a fight!

Some of their movements were so quick that there were a lot of times where Claire had to do a doubletake, her mind unable to comprehend what had happened. Just when part of her was trying to register what had happened, her mind still trying to break down and process the information that she had seen for a given strike or block, both fighters would then do something else that would make Claire's mind reel, making the girl feel overwhelmed.

"Jesus Christ, look at them go!" Billy gaped beside her.

Claire could only nod in astonishment, her eyes squarely fixed on the arena.

It was nothing short of spectacular. Whereas T.J.'s fight was brutal and hard-hitting in comparison, this fight had so much more dynamism and kinesis. It was vicious in its own way, with clothes being torn and parts of their skin being slashed and bloodied. In a way, Claire couldn't help but be reminded of two caged tigers fighting, but more elegant to watch.

There were differences in both fighters' respective styles, abilities and movements, though - in the case of Black Tiger, his style seemed to have shades of Kung Fu, but generally speaking it was more based on Tae Kwon Do. Jago's, on the other hand, was strictly Tiger-based Kung Fu. Whereas Black Tiger's was competent, it seemed much more aggressive and frenzied, much less refined, in Claire's opinion, the lines in his form less clean, somewhat sloppy.

Jago's, in contrast, was much more controlled, acrobatic, disciplined and precise. Every line in his strikes and guards were so calculated, measured and fluid that she had to admit to being impressed by the Tibetan monk.

Claire watched as Jago reared back as Black Tiger lashed out with an axe kick, the blow nearly taking off his head before lashing out with a palm strike to the chest that caused his opponent to stumble slightly before regaining his balance. As the latter let out an angry roar, the two men charged each other and struck, the blows causing both men to skid backwards on their feet to opposite ends of the arena, their gazes locked on one another.

Jago watched as Black Tiger wiped the sweat off from his forehead.

"Had enough, Jago?" Black Tiger panted, asking with a smirk.

The monk said nothing as he stood still, his eyes focused on his opponent.

"You haven't even broken a sweat," his opponent commented. "Impressive."

Jago remained quiet for a time. Finally, he spoke, "...Do you yield?"

The man in black garb blinked. "What was that?"

"Do you yield?" Jago repeated.

Black Tiger let out a harsh, derisive laugh. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Like hell I will!" Drawing out a sword, the former monk spun the blade around in his hand, rolling his wrist backward and forward. "You've gotten better with hand to hand." Black Tiger narrowed his eyes at Jago. "Let's see how good you are with a sword!"

Letting out a roar, he charged toward the monk, raising his blade high.

Pulling out his ke-tri vajra from his sheathe, Jago quickly parried the coming attacks, metal clanging loudly against metal as he swiftly blocked high, medium, and low strikes.

Breaking away from him briefly, Black Tiger smugly nodded. "Not bad," he commented. "Not bad at all!" A smirk formed underneath his mask as he drew out a second sword. "Let's see how you fare against two swords!"

As Black Tiger charged and swung his weapons, Jago swiftly deflected the coming strikes, his ke-tri vajra clanging against the former monk's katanas.

"Is that all you got, Jago?!" The former sneered as he wildly swung and slashed.

Jago maintained his composure as he blocked the coming attacks, sidestepping as his former friend attempted to stab him, causing his opponent to stumble and lose his balance.

Recovering, Black Tiger turned around to face him with a heated glare. "Come on, Jago! Fight me!" He yelled.

The former monk rushed toward him with his blades raised along his sides. Before he was able to lash out, he let out deep gasp as Jago struck his solar plexus with the butt of his own ke-tri vajra, driving all the air out from his lungs, causing him to sputter, double over and clutch his chest.

"You fight well," Jago spoke, "but you lack discipline. You also suffer from another major obstacle that prevents you from truly succeeding."

"And what's that?!" Black Tiger snorted.

"You are consumed with rage." His eyes softened, his sword lowered. "Bankei, please. Yield. Yield before this escalates even further. I do not wish to hurt you. I am not your enemy. It is your anger and hatred that are the true enemies, not me. Let me help you."

The former monk stood still, his face dark and unreadable.

Raising up his eyes, Black Tiger's nostrils flared underneath his mask, his face turning an angry deep shade of red. "NEVER!"

Claire watched as Black Tiger let out a furious roar as he viciously threw both his katanas at Jago, the monk deflecting them harmlessly from the air.

Staring at him, the former monk reached behind his back and started to throw various knives and swords in an unrelenting and deadly whirlwind of blades. Jago was deflecting as many as he could, but some of them were cutting into his clothes.

"Jesus Christ," Billy said beside her, "the guy's insane!"

Claire glanced around nervously. "Where the hell is the referee?! We need to stop this before it gets out of hand - he's going to kill him in there!" She raised her hands to her mouth as she she yelled, "SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING! STOP THE FIGHT!"

Before anyone could react, Jago suddenly swiveled on his heel and leapt forward, seemingly gliding straight through the swords and blades themselves as they were thrown, catching everyone by surprise and completely defying logic, his legs stretched fully out in a manner reminiscent to Jean-Claude Van Damme's signature 360 Crescent Kicks.

"What?!"

As the kick connected with Black Tiger's face, causing him to stagger, Jago went into a Crane-styled stance before launching himself again off the floor, striking Black Tiger repeatedly in the chest before followed it up with a slew of double roundhouses, his movements growing faster and faster with each kick.

Finally, as Jago twisted on his heel, he suddenly dipped low.

"ENNNNNDOOOKUUKEEEEEENNNN!" Jago yelled as he leapt up with a spinning jumping uppercut, the blow catching Black Tiger in the stomach, striking him with such force that it tore through both his shirt and jacket before rising upward to slam straight into the man's jaw.

Claire cringed as she heard the unmistakable crunch of bone and teeth shattering as the man was lifted straight up from the floor.

As Jago spun up in the air with his fist raised, Black Tiger's body limply rose up with him before the man crashed down to the floor in a broken and bloodied heap.

Claire stared in awed silence along with the rest of the fighters as the Tibetan monk twisted himself around, gracefully and quietly landing on his feet.

Finally, Jago turned to face his fallen opponent and placed a fist into his palm, politely and respectfully bowing his head.

"WINNER!"

As the announcer snarled over the speakers, Claire and the others started cheering and whooping loudly.

"WHOO!" She yelled with her fists raised, clapping loudly and wildly. "GO JAGO!"

Jago stared down at the broken form of Black Tiger as the latter lay on the floor, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"...NGNG...Dat was it, wasn't it?" Black Tiger spoke as he moved his cloth mask aside, spitting blood and teeth onto the floor, "Da Tiga's Fuwy technique?"

Jago nodded quietly.

"You...also...mastawed da Wind Kick as wewl."

The Tibetan monk dipped his head low.

Black Tiger coughed. "I bet...I bet you're feelin' all pwoud of yourself wight now."

"You know that I take no pleasure in this, Bankei," he said quietly.

"Sure you don't," the former monk said dismissively, wiping his eyes and mouth.

"I'm sorry that things had to end this way."

"Spare me your pity!" His opponent spat, glaring up at him. "I want nothing from you."

Jago sighed. "You and your foolish pride. Does it hurt?"

When Bankei refused to answer, the monk approached, kneeling beside him. Placing a hand on his fallen brethren's shoulder, Jago raised a hand and closed his eyes.

As medical personnel made their way over to the arena, Claire watched as the Tibetan monk chanted something quietly. For a brief moment, she saw Jago's black tattoo flicker, shimmering a bright gold.

Claire blinked.

The hell?

"Did you guys see that?" She said, gesturing to the arena.

"See what?" Piers asked.

"That!" Claire pointed, "His tattoo! It's-" Cutting herself off, Claire stopped upon seeing that the tattoo no longer glowed.

"Uhhh...my mistake, I guess. Must have been a trick of the light or something."

Claire saw both Piers and Billy give her puzzled looks, the two of them exchanging questioning glances with each other.

Looking back to the arena, the girl watched as medical personnel entered the cage and encircled Black Tiger's form, watching as Jago removed the ropes, letting his skirt fall back down. Straightening himself back up, he then talked with a couple of personnel, the monk shaking his head in polite refusal, waving off offers of his getting medical attention as he quietly stepped away from the arena with his red zhen robe in hand, moving in Claire's direction.

As the monk moved closer, Claire smiled.

"Hey Jago!" She waved. "That was an amazing fight!"

"Thank you," Jago said quietly as he adjusted his outer zhen robe, his voice low.

Letting her smile drop, Claire blinked in surprise as the monk sadly looked back to his opponent, watching as medical personnel carried Black Tiger off on a stretcher.

"Man, that was one hell of a fight!" Billy nodded in approval. "Congratulations on your victory!"

Turning to face him, Jago looked back with drooping sad eyes, his shoulders sagging.

"I have won this match," the Tibetan monk nodded, "but it was no victory."

Claire blinked. "What makes you say that?"

"The match should have ended differently. Instead, it has resulted in this outcome." Jago then shook his head in a slow and despondent matter. "It was wrong for me to have hurt him so badly, and with a technique I had no right to use on him."

Piers stared incredulously at him. "The guy was trying to kill you!"

"Yes, but now he is in a worse state because of me." Closing his eyes, the monk sighed. "If only Bankei's vision hadn't been so clouded by his anger and hatred."

Piers raised a brow at him, folding his arms. "You do realize this is a fighting tournament, right?"

"I do."

"Then you should know that someone is always going to get hurt regardless."

Jago said nothing, staring at the still form of Black Tiger as he was hauled out on a stretcher. As the latter passed by, the former monk gave Jago a strange, almost mystified look of awe, something that really struck Claire as weird before he finally closed his eyes, the medical personnel carrying him out from the building.

"I wouldn't feel too bad if I were you," Billy shrugged. "You should honestly consider yourself lucky that it was him that ended up getting hurt rather than you, ninja dude. Hell, it's probably lucky that he had faced off against you, 'cause there's no telling what would have happened if he had fought somebody else."

Jago clicked his tongue, considering his words.

"Hm," he hummed as he looked back to the bloody floor of the cage. "Perhaps there is some slight truth in what you say. I only hope that he recovers and that he sees this as a learning experience, maybe use it to help himself find a better path and become a better person as a result. I sincerely hope that the next time we meet it is as friends."

Claire looked at curiously. "Even after what he did, you would want him as a friend regardless?"

A small, warm and kind smile formed underneath his veil. "Of course. If such a thing were to happen, then I would truly consider this battle a victory. 'Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them.' Those are the words of the Dalai Lama, and I believe them wholeheartedly." His smile fell. "But, things being as they are, I feel no comfort over what happened. I can only pray."

Billy shrugged again. "All anyone can do, ninja dude."

Turning his attention back to Claire and the others, he put his palms together and politely bowed. "I wish you well in the coming days. Good luck with your battles."

"Take care, Jago!" Claire waved, watching as the Tibetan monk departed.

"Man, what a strange guy," Billy said as he scratched the back of his head.

"He is," Claire agreed, watching Jago with a smile, "but he's a nice one."

Once he had finished returning his sword back to the armory, Jago stepped outside and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he enjoyed the fresh air. Exhaling, he dipped his head low, then shook his head despondently.

What have I done?

Konrad stared at the monitor as he watched a replay of the fight.

"Very impressive," he nodded in approval.

He kept watching the Tibetan monk on screen as he did that magnificent finisher. He ignored the audio commentary, watching as the man in blue said something to his injured opponent before kneeling down beside him.

Rearing his head back, Konrad blinked several times, then massaged his eyes and leaned closer toward the screen, squinting with a frown. It was so quick and fleeting that, if it hadn't been for the fact that he just so happened to glance at the exact right time, he otherwise wouldn't have noticed.

"What the hell?"

Was someone playing around with the camera lighting?

Before he could investigate further, Konrad was startled by the phone beside him as it rang. Picking it up, he raised to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Chairman? It's Dr. Mathison from the R&D Department," came the response from the other end of the line.

"Ah, Doctor! I was just expecting your call. Were you able to obtain any useful data?" he said into the receiver.

"There wasn't a lot of footage, unfortunately, especially with the second fight. The last two fighters especially were far too fast for the cameras to pick up."

Konrad growled. "Damn."

"But," Mathison continued, "we do have good news - we were able to acquire some additional combat data from that last match, notably that snap kick from that one fighter and the jumping uppercut from the other."

The aristocrat perked up. "Is that right?"

"Yes, Mr. Chairman. We're in the midst of analyzing the data, but so far, I think we may be able to implement it into Project Fulgore."

"Excellent. Let me know when you have finished. I'll see to it that you are given extra material to work with from the other fights."

"Yes, Mr. Chairman. Thank you."

"Auf Wiedersehn."

Hanging up the phone, Konrad allowed a small smile to form beneath his scarf.

Well, at least something was going right for once.

Machinery whirred, squeaked and bellowed noisily while CPUs hummed a dull low tune, the overhead fans and ventilation systems rumbling as researchers in safety suits and masks busily checked the monitors and equipment.

A figure lay still in the middle of a well-lit operating theater, beneath the hanging overhead lights and crisscrossing catwalks of the R&D Department, its exposed mechanical limbs strapped to a table and outstretched in a T pose, its form concealed by a long white canvas.

"Running diagnostic tests in three...two...one," a researcher counted down before typing into a nearby monitor.

Mechanical hands tightened into fists as red lenses flickered on, the lights glowing menacingly through the white fabric.

Author Notes: And that concludes this chapter! So, for those of you wondering, "Gunn" was a KI character that had been designed by the original artist Kev Bayliss but was dropped before being fully implemented into the game itself. The character of "Black Tiger" is somewhat an original creation, but his design is meant to be a sort of callback and update of Jago's classic black ninja look from the 90s, albeit with some more urban features added to his aesthetic. Hope you enjoyed this everyone. :)

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Twelve: Thunder

Once the show had finished, Claire and the others were free to do whatever they wanted for the rest of the day. Most of them hit the gym in order to train for the upcoming fights for tomorrow, while others decided to visit the recreation room.

Claire herself decided to visit the computer lab in order to check up on her friends and family, if only to shake off her feelings of homesickness and loneliness.

Sitting in the computer lab, she stared at the screen, watching and waiting for the familiar and comforting visages of Leon and Rebecca, hoping that they would pick up.

She patiently waited a minute, then two. Finally, just as Claire was about to give up, her heart leapt with joy as both Leon and Rebecca appeared onscreen.

"Leon! Rebecca!" Claire said excitedly, overjoyed at the sight of her two friends.

"Hi Claire!" Leon and Rebecca waved, smiling. "How are you doing over there? I hope you're staying out of trouble."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Come on, guys, I'm not that bad!"

"Uh huh," Rebecca deadpanned, looking unconvinced.

"I'm serious!"

"Sure," Leon said with a hint of sarcasm and a smirk.

Claire's brow twitched. Sighing, her expression softened. "It's good to see you guys. I miss you both."

Rebecca smiled. "We miss you too, Claire."

Claire smiled back, her heart skipping a beat. "So," she began, "how did your date go?"

Rebecca's smile widened as she and Leon exchanged looks, the girl grabbing hold of his arm, hugging it tight.

"It was wonderful!" She beamed, pressing her head into his shoulder, pecking him on the cheek.

Claire felt a slight pang of jealousy, but kept the smile on. "That's great to hear, guys! I'm happy for you two."

"Thanks, Claire," Leon nodded, smiling back.

Lowering her smile, Claire looked seriously at the screen. "Has there been any news about my brother or his partner?"

She watched in dismay as their smiles dropped, Rebecca's head shaking sadly.

"I see." Looking apologetically to the screen, she bowed her head. "I'm sorry to have ruined your good mood, guys."

"You haven't," Rebecca piped up. "I'm just sorry that there isn't more we can do for you."

Claire nodded quietly.

"By the way," Leon piped up, "Rebecca and I saw you on TV!"

Claire's eyes widened as her smile returned. "You saw the fight?"

"Yep!" Rebecca winked. "I couldn't believe how fast that ended." She threw a fist at the camera. "POW! Ah!"

Claire blinked in surprise as the on-screen camera fell backward, showing what looked to be the back of the monitor.

"Rebecca!" Leon said with a slight tinge of annoyance.

"Oh God, I am so sorry about that, Leon! Is it broken?"

"No, it looks alright."

For a few seconds the screen started to wobble around, trailing up from the wall before being tilted back into place.

"Claire, are you still there?" Rebecca called.

"Yeah yeah," Claire waved. "I'm still here."

Her friend sheepishly rubbed the back of her head. "Sorry about that!"

Leon looked curiously at Claire from the screen. "So, are you going to the next fight?"

"Just came back from watching it, actually," Claire replied. "I can't say much, but man, it was amazing! It was sooo cool, you guys!"

"Really?" Rebecca sat up. "Ooh, you're getting me excited!"

"You'll love it!" The auburn-haired girl winked. "Just a bit of a warning, though - it's a bit bloody. I think the guy lost some of his teeth."

Upon hearing that, both Leon and Rebecca winced.

"Ouch. Thanks for the heads up." Shifting in his seat, the former raised his eyes to meet Claire's. "So, what are you going to do now?"

Claire thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Oh, you know, some training here and there. Maybe I'll stop by and get something to eat afterwards, perhaps play with one of the arcade machines they have here." She smiled. "It's great seeing you guys!"

"You as well, Claire!" Rebecca and Leon waved. "Take care, and good luck! If anything comes up about your brother, we'll be sure to let you know."

"I appreciate it, guys. Take care!"

As they disappeared from the screen, Claire saw her reflection drop the smile, her eyes drooping down sadly as she was left alone in the computer lab with the guard behind her.

"Alright," the latter spoke, "time to go, Ms. Redfield. Come this way and sign yourself out please."

Standing up from her seat, Claire turned around and nodded to him, following him back to the front desk.

"Ninety-eight...ninety-nine...a hundred!"

With that, Claire let herself drop from the handlebars of the dip stand, her arms sore and her body covered in sweat.

"Very nice work," Tyler Zhou nodded as he handed her a towel.

She smiled. "Thanks." As she wiped off her arms and face, Claire glanced around at the near empty training room. "Rather quiet today, huh?"

He nodded. "Indeed it is. They're probably at the bar having drinks. Today's karaoke and dance night."

Claire gave a look of surprise. "Is it?"

"Yeah!" He nodded vigorously. "Will you be joining?"

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm not good at either, unfortunately." The girl then gave the trainer a curious look. "What about the Baron? Does he do karaoke?"

Zhou let out a hearty laugh. "He used to when he was a young man. Lousy singer, though."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Don't tell him that I told you."

As the two of them shared a laugh, Claire looked back to the gym, glancing around at the equipment. "Does he ever work out here?"

"He does," Zhou answered slowly, "but he is a uh...private person by nature. He only prefers to work out when nobody else is around."

"Hm," Claire hummed.

"I take it you're trying to get a peek of the Baron," he said flatly.

She glanced up to him in shock. "W-What? N-No!" She bleated as she raised up her hands in protest, her cheeks blushing.

Zhou let out another hearty laugh. "I'm pulling your leg," he said before looking at her meaningfully. "But in all seriousness, though, don't. The Baron is very sensitive about his privacy. Even if you are a guest in his home, he wants his space to be respected. So please, refrain from doing anything that'll vitiate his trust."

Claire felt the words linger, then gave a slow quiet nod in acknowledgment.

As she did so, the man's expression softened.

"Good," he smiled. "I'll just clean up around here and put away some of the equipment."

"Would you like any help?" Claire asked.

"No no, it's fine," he waved. "Go right ahead and get changed, then sign yourself out, young lady. I got this."

"Are you sure? I'll gladly help out if you want."

"I'll be fine," he smiled. "Thank you for being so considerate, though. Not a lot of young people would help an old man nowadays."

Claire smiled back. "Hey, it's no problem! The way I see it, sometimes a person needs a helping hand. You're sure I can't persuade you?"

He chuckled. "You're a persistent one, I'll give you that. Go on, Ms. Redfield. I'll be fine."

"Okay," she waved. "Take care, Mr. Zhou!"

The recreation room was incredibly noisy, much to Claire's displeasure as she sat alone at the bar. Men and women laughed and clinked drinks together before gulping it all down while billiard balls clacked in the background as a group of guys played pool. Nearby, Claire heard the revs of digital engines and cheers of people mix with the clicks of the arcade game machines, with one or two of them uttering curses as they placed in some fresh coins.

"Hey there, baby!" An annoying, nasally immature male voice said to the right of her. "What's your name?"

Turning to the speaker, the girl frowned in displeasure as she took in his appearance.

He was young. Really young. Probably eighteen-years-old, but if she were being honest with herself, Claire was certain that the man - or rather, boy - was younger than her by at least two years. Thin and scrawny, the kid seemed to be an inch taller than her, with short, red parted hair. His clothes consisted of a short-sleeved black jacket with a yellow t-shirt underneath, while his lower half was clad in camouflage pants and oversized army boots.

Looking away, Claire tried ignoring the little twerp.

Moving to where she looked, he gave her a broad smile. "The name's Steve. Steve Burnside," he introduced himself, leaning on the counter beside her.

Taking a deep breath, Claire forced a smile onto her face. "Claire Redfield. Nice to meet you."

Just look away. Just ignore him, Claire - he'll go away eventually.

To her annoyance, Steve kept talking, kept trying to speak to her, his voice grating on her nerves.

God, even the sound of his voice made her want to grind her teeth!

"So tell me, Claire," he said slowly, testing out her name, "what is a hot dish like you doing in a place like this?"

Oh God, just kill me already!

"Hey babe!" A familiar voice drew her attention, causing her to turn and smile as Billy appeared and wrapped an arm around her, watching as Steve's own smile fell, "Sorry to have kept you waiting! Everything alright?"

Claire grinned. "Not all. In fact, I'd say your timing was perfect, actually." Turning to Steve, she nodded, "Steve, meet my boyfriend, Billy."

Steve blinked. "Your boyfriend?" he repeated.

"Yep!" Billy nodded, his arm wrapped around Claire's shoulder, pulling her close to him. "We've been going steady for some time now. Right, honey?"

"Uh huh," she nodded, looking over to the dance floor. "Say, Billy, why don't we go dancing? You promised me a dance, after all."

"Huh?" Looking to where she stared, Billy then gave an acknowledging nod, "Oh, right! That I have. I'm sorry, baby." Pulling his hand from her shoulder, Billy then held out his hand to her, "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Taking his hand, Claire smiled brightly. "Gladly!"

As the two of them left, Claire glanced offer her shoulder and saw Steve dejectedly watching them from the bar, then looked away to face Billy.

"Thank you for the save, Billy," she nodded.

Billy shrugged. "Meh, don't mention it. I saw how uncomfortable you were with that dweeb, so I kind of figured that I'd help you out somehow."

"Well, you swooped in at the right time and saved the day. I really appreciate it." She then looked expectantly at him, a corner of her mouth lifting into a partial and expectant smile, "Now then, about that dance..."

The Marine frowned. "I'm afraid I can't."

"Why? Afraid of getting cooties from little ole me?"

He scoffed. "No, but-"

"Come on, it will be fun!"

Billy's frown deepened. "Claire-"

"Come on. Please?" Claire pleaded. "One little dance isn't going to kill you, you know."

Billy's brow raised an inch. "You just won't take 'no' for an answer, can you?"

"Nope!" She popped her lips playfully, her shining with mischief. "You know you want toooooo." She said the last part in a sing-song voice, before continuing, "So what do you say, stud? May I have this dance?"

For a moment, the Marine had a guarded and uncertain expression on his features.

Closing his eyes, his features loosened as he smiled in spite of himself, shaking his head as he seemed to relent.

"You really are something else, Red." As he lifted his head, Claire felt her heart flutter as he gave her a warm smile, his eyes soft. "I think I might like you." He then held gestured to a jukebox and the dancefloor. "Shall we?"

Claire smiled brilliantly, her heart pounding in excitement. "Let's."

Bringing her over to a jukebox, Billy then inserted a quarter into the machine. "And what song would you like to play, my lady?"

The girl scanned the list of songs, then pressed "Only A Dream" by Kev Bayliss.

Tapping her foot to the beat, she nodded in approval, then turned to look at Billy.

Doing a mock curtsy, Billy held out his hand, his eyes beckoning her.

Claire smiled as she placed hers in his, his other hand placed on the small of her back, eliciting from her a shiver of excitement as he pulled her in and held her close, the two of them slowly dancing to the beat of the keyboard as it played. As the singer's voice echoed, Billy dipped her low, swaying her back.

"Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeeaam now.

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam.

I'm living in a dream world!

Living in a dream!"

Pulling her back up, the two of them twirled on their feet, the electronic beat pulsating as both partners kept their eyes firmly locked on the other's.

"Tell me how it feels when a mother

Has to see the sun fall down on her only child,

And tell me how it feels when another

Has to see the hunger,

When her baby only cries.

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeaam now."

As Billy dipped her back again, Claire held her eyes closed as she smiled, enjoying herself as she whipped back up again in a curling arc, their movements coordinated, yet sensual, their hips grinding.

"In the real world.

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam.

The real world.

I'm living in a dream world!"

Claire let out a laugh as Billy raised up their arms and twirled her around in a loop before pulling her back, the two continuing to dance to the techno beat.

"My my my, aren't you quite the dancer!" Claire giggled.

Billy shrugged, giving a smug grin in return. "Well, what can I say? I aim to please."

The two playfully twirled together on the balls of their feet for some time when there came a change in Billy's demeanor upon hearing the next set of lyrics.

"When it feels-"

"Tell me how it feels when a fa-ther

Has to see his son shot down

From a thousand miles away,

OH!

And tell me how it feels,

Tell me how it feels,

Well is it real now?

Cause I'm waking up again!"

"Billy?"

Claire watched as the Marine stared off to the side, listening to the lyrics.

"Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeaam now.

In the real world."

"Billy, are you okay?"

"Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam.

The real world."

"Billy, what's wrong? You're scaring me," Claire said as she eyed the Marine anxiously.

Billy continued to focus on the song, focused on the lyrics. He had a distant, almost fearful look in his eyes, his breath hitched in his chest, the Marine looking pale.

"Billy? Billy? Billy!"

"Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeaam now.

(I'd love to want to wake up!

I'd love to want to wake up!)

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam.

(I'd love to want to wake up!)

(I'd love!

I'd love!)"

"BILLY!"

Snapping back to reality, Billy blinked, then looked back at Claire. Looking down at her, the Marine let go of her hand.

"I...I can't," he said softly as he withdrew away from her.

Blinking in confusion, Claire's brow scrunched up. "You can't what?" The girl then gave a worried look as she tried stepping closer to him. "Billy? Billy, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you feeling ill? Did I do something wrong?"

She watched as the Marine rubbed a hand along his mouth and chin, his eyes full of regret and sadness.

"...I can't get involved with you, Claire," he said, shaking his head.

Claire reared her head back in confusion, doing a double take. "What? Why?"

He exhaled, shaking his head. "I can't talk about it. Let's just go our separate ways."

She stared dumbfounded, feeling as if she were freshly slapped.

"Billy, please!" Claire pleaded. "What's wrong? Did I-Did I do something?"

He shook his head. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, Claire. It's me."

As the words left his mouth, Billy winced.

Claire stared at him, feeling hurt. Keeping it all in, the girl swallowed, her face burning, part of her feeling like she wanted to cry.

"...Tell me what's going on. Right. Now," she demanded in a hushed voice.

Sighing, Billy slicked his hair back with his fingers, running his hand straight through his mullet as he struggled to find the right words.

"Look, um..." he frowned, "...I entered the tournament because..." He swallowed, "because I'm trying to get out of the shit that I'm in, and..." He exhaled, "I'm afraid that's all I can say right now." He shook his head again. "I'm sorry, Claire...but...I can't get you involved."

With that, he turned around on his heel and left, leaving Claire alone on the dance floor.

"Why don't tell me how it feels,

Tell me how it feels

living in the real world?

Cause I'm waking up again!

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeaam now.

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam.

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeaam now.

Only a dreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeam.

I'm living in a dream world!"

The table shook violently as the entity that lay on top of it let out a shrill, angry roar of frustration in the pitch-black, sound-proofed attic, the creature struggling against its shackles and bindings.

Wriggling around like a worm, it flexed its boney fingers as it let out a strained grunt, feebly reaching out for his weapons, moving only an inch at a time.

Squirming around to the left, then to the right, it repeated the process over and over, then collapsed back onto the table.

Turning its glowing crimson eyes over to its tentacled shield and cutlass that were positioned some distance away, it gave an indignant squawk and huff.

No matter. All it needed to do was wait for all the pieces to finally align, along with the stars.

As he lay in the shadows, the entity rested its bony head against the table, its glowing red eyes the only sources of light in the entire room as it shifted its pelvis, trying to scratch its rear against the table.

Unsatisfied, he heaved out a tired sigh.

The walk back to her apartment was a dark and lonely one for Claire. Slipping her fingerless gloved hands into her pockets, the girl hummed the KI theme tune as she tried to distract herself from Billy and the painful emptiness that she felt. Sniffling slightly, Claire wiped her nose with the back of his hand, then wiped her eyes.

It had all been going so well, hadn't it? What made him suddenly decide to ditch her?

The way Billy had reacted, he looked scared about something.

As she felt the cold breeze touch her cheeks, Claire lifted a hand and brushed some bangs out of her face.

What kind of trouble was Billy in? Did he owe the wrong people money or something?

'If only he told me what it was,' the girl thought to herself.

Letting out a despondent sigh, she then shook her head.

It didn't matter. It probably wouldn't have worked out between them in the end anyway.

A good-looking guy like that, she wouldn't be surprised if he had a whole lineup of girlfriends at his beck and call. Hell, for all she knew, he was probably married with kids, and the reason why he joined was because he was looking to get a quick buck to pay child or spousal support, maybe even both.

Maybe he was gay.

While part of her felt somewhat felt satisfied with the explanation, part of her felt disappointed, nonetheless.

She exhaled through her nostrils. Yet another guy taken.

Was she destined to be...alone...for the rest of her life? Was she fated to watch from the sidelines as all of her friends and family find someone of their own to love and cherish?

Oh well.

Shaking her head, she shifted her thoughts away from Billy, turning her attention back to Chris and Jill. As she thought of the two, Claire's eyes drooped.

If only there was some sign that they were getting better.

Touching her pendant, Claire silently prayed, then planted an affectionate kiss on it.

Please protect them, God, Chris especially. He means the world to me.

Letting the pendant fall back down, Claire turned left around a corner when she heard a strange noise - a low, droning, throaty sound.

Puzzled, she followed the sound until she came upon Jago as he sat cross-legged on the ground, his eyes closed.

"...Jago?"

Hearing her voice, the Tibetan monk ceased making those strange sounds as he opened his eyes. "Ah. Hello, Claire," he warmly greeted.

Claire smiled. "Hi Jago. What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I was just meditating. It helps me think more clearly about things."

"Ah, I see." She then glanced around. "So, where is your room?"

He shrugged. "I sleep in the toolshed."

She reared back her head. "What?!"

Jago nodded. "It's true."

The girl clenched her mouth and fists. "Of all the cheap ways to save a buck..." She then looked back to meet Jago's eyes, "Have you seen the Baron about this? Because if you haven't, I'm going to make a complaint-"

"It's fine, Claire!" He raised a placating hand. "Really. It was I who had insisted on staying in the toolshed."

Claire blinked, her brow furrowing in bemusement. "Wait a second, you're the one who-"

"Yes," Jago nodded.

She blinked again, her confusion growing, "...Why?"

He adjusted his face-covering along with his robes, "It is forbidden for a Tibetan monk to sleep on a high bed, especially one so...luxurious. My customs probably seem strange to you, I'm sure, but you have to understand, we cannot pursue material comforts. A Tibetan monk's lifestyle is meant to be one of moderation."

The girl nodded. "I see." She then gave him a quizzical look, "Aren't you the least bit curious, though? Surely there must be some part of you that wonders what it would be like to go against the grain, if not just wants to experience it, if only just briefly."

Jago considered it, then shook his head. "No."

"Not even a teensy, weensy bit curious?"

She watched as Jago's eyes warmly lit up, a smile forming under his veil as he chuckled in amusement. "You are a persistent one, I will give you that. I'm afraid that my answer remains unchanged, though. The path of enlightenment is the only thing that I seek." He tilted his head slightly, "Is there anything else that you wish to discuss, Claire?"

Claire shrugged. "No, not really. I was just making my way back to my room. That's about it, to be honest."

Jago nodded. "Very well. If you don't mind, Claire, I would like to get back to meditating."

The girl blinked, a look of realization slowly dawning on her visage. "Oh. Oh! Ah, s-sorry!" She cleared her throat as she nervously looked aside, a blush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I'm-I'm SO sorry for interrupting, Jago."

The Tibetan monk smiled warmly, raising a placating hand. "It's alright! There is no need to apologize, Claire. Really. It is always a pleasure talking with you."

"Same here. Take care, Jago," Claire waved.

As the girl departed, the monk settled back down and resumed, closing his eyes as he continued to throat-sing.

'What a strange man,' Claire thought as she looked over her shoulder.

A nice one, to be sure, but still, a pretty odd duck, all things considered.

Giving Jago a small smile, Claire looked ahead as she made her way back to her room, wondering what the next day will bring.

He had fucked up.

Sweeping a hand through his long hair, Billy deeply exhaled as he paced around outside, his mind feeling restless, the urge to slam his head against the nearest wall growing more and more with each minute.

What on earth was he thinking?! Here he was, trying to get his problems sorted, and he nearly let his dick do the thinking for him!

Granted, he was able to keep things from getting too complicated, but still, he regretted what he said to Claire.

As he recalled the hurt look that she gave him, Billy felt pangs of regret and guilt gnaw at him.

He shouldn't have said that to her. If only-

Whatever thoughts he had were cut off as he felt himself slam into someone, causing him to stumble.

"Oh crap, sorry, buddy!" Billy quickly apologized.

The other man, a big Native American with long black hair, waved him off. "It's okay. I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings either." He wrinkled his brow in suspicion. "What brings you out here?"

Billy shrugged. "Ah, you know," he said simply. "Girl troubles."

The Native American tilted his head. "I gather you weren't able to find someone who was interested?"

Billy shook his head. "It's the other way around, actually," he stated in a matter-of-fact manner. "There is a girl. She's smart, funny, and very interested..."

"...But?"

The former Marine swept a hand through his hair, "But...life circumstances have given me a middle finger, and I'm trying to turn that around. I've ended up pushing her away because of it, without giving her all the details on why it's a bad idea, so right now I'm feeling like the biggest dickhead in the world."

The man thoughtfully digested his words, then grunted. "Perhaps it is for the best that this matter between you two is left unresolved."

Billy nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Yeah. Probably."

It made a lot of sense for him not to go down that road. If he had allowed it to continue, he would have dragged Claire down with him, and he couldn't do that. Not to her.

And yet...that still didn't make the regret nor the pain that he felt go away.

As the two men stood there in awkward silence, they shifted in discomfort, both struggling to find the words.

Finally, Billy cleared his throat, holding his out his hand, "I'm Billy. Billy Coen."

The big man accepted the offered limb and shook. "Hinmatoom. It means "Thunder" in Nez Perce."

A wry, lopsided grin rose upside Billy's face. "'Thunder', you say? I like it!" He then lifted a hand and pressed his index and ringer into his thumb, making devil horns with his index and pinky fingers. "You a heavy metal sort of dude, or are you more of a soft rock sort of fella?"

Thunder scoffed. "Please." Grinning, he made the devil horns with his fingers. "Hard rock all the way!"

Billy let out a laugh. "My man! Great minds think alike, eh? Let me guess - guitar player, right?"

The Native American winced. "Oof. No, unfortunately. Used to when I was a teenager, but I haven't played a guitar in years. I'm a college professor at the University of Idaho."

"No kidding! How long?"

"Oh, about twenty years. My area of specialty is Native Studies, traditional medicine more specifically."

Billy nodded thoughtfully, impressed. "Nice. So what made you want to join up with this circus?"

It was then that Thunder's smile fell.

Sensing that he overstepped his boundaries, the former Marine cleared his throat. "...I take it you don't want to talk about it," he stated rhetorically.

Thunder didn't answer, his features flat, and yet, he couldn't help sensing a tremendous sadness about the man.

Looking uncomfortably around, Billy then glanced around the buildings, tapping his right foot nervously on the stone floor. "So, uh, you looking forward to the tournament, big guy?"

The Native American harrumphed, shaking his head dismissively. "No," he answered, catching Billy by surprise, "but then again, I don't really have much choice in the matter, especially given my...current circumstances. I don't intend on being with this freakshow for long if I can help it, and if I were you, I would think about quitting this program while you're ahead."

Narrowing his eyes, Billy squared his shoulders and looked up at the big man, balling up his hands into fists.

"Dude, what the hell is your problem?!" Coen snapped. "You think just because you're a foot taller than me and that you look like you eat dinosaurs for breakfast means you think you can bully me out of the tournament?! Fuck that, I was Force Recon, dickhead!" Billy seethed. "I've fought for my country and fought tougher assholes than you-"

"You misunderstand me," Thunder said with a calm patience. "I was not threatening you, Billy - I'm trying to warn you. There is something wrong with this tournament, with this place, with these people, and the longer we all stay here, the more we are pulled in."

Puzzled by the response, Billy felt his anger cool, only to find it replaced with complete and utter confusion.

"'Pulled in'?" he repeated. "Pulled into what? What are you talking about?"

He watched as the Native American remained silent for a long time. Finally, the latter's great shoulder's sagged, the big man exhaling, "I don't know what brings you to the tournament, Billy, but..." The former Marine blinked in surprise as the big guy gave him a pleading look, "...please. Leave while you can, while you are still able. Leave this place, and never look back. What awaits isn't fame and glory, my friend, but despair, horror, and wickedness. Whatever promises this place offers is nothing but shadows, and if you aren't careful, it will consume you."

As Billy watched Thunder speak, the more he saw a change in the big man's demeanor, and it both startled and frightened him. He looked absolutely terrified about something, but about what was not clear.

For a brief moment, Billy was tempted to follow Thunder's advice; in retrospect, participating in a televised martial arts tournament was probably the most foolhardy thing a person could do, especially when his main priority should be to avoid drawing attention to himself.

However...while part of Billy wanted to follow the Native American's advice based on the urgent and grave tone alone, he couldn't.

Closing his eyes, Billy shook his head. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, big guy," he replied. "I'm in deep shit right now; I've been laying low for too long, and KI is my only ticket out of this mess for me. I need to win this tournament."

Hearing the urgency in his tone, Thunder gave him a curious yet steady look, his eyes lowered in thought as he seemed to digest the information. Billy watched as the large man then tilted his head to the side, "...How much trouble are you in, son?"

Billy shook his head again, "Believe me, a lot of trouble."

"That serious?"

"It's life or death for me, man. Literally. KI is my way out - I need to do this. If I don't...I'm completely fucked."

He watched as Thunder considered his words, a frown forming on the latter's face. "I see." Finally, the Native American dipped his head slightly. "In that case, I shall say no more. You have heard my warning. Good luck to you, my friend. I hope you are able to resolve your issues somehow. But walk with caution around here, Billy - be on your guard always, and be wary of everything on these lands, for evil lurks here."

And with that enigmatic response, Thunder departed, leaving Billy mystified and completely bemused, though with a slight, unexplained chill.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the former Marine slowly shook his head, "Weird fuckin' guy."

Pulling his hand away, Billy troubledly stared up at the moon and the overhanging stars, his mind pondering on his next course of action.

Sighing, he shook his head. 'I need a drink.'

Blood splattered along the arena floor as teeth rolled loose, but Claire found herself unbothered by the bloodshed as she moodily watched the fight.

T.J. whistled. "Damn, looks like he's gonna need some dental work after that one!"

The girl stared disinterestedly, barely registering his remark.

Turning his head, the boxer quirked a brow. "Everything alright, kid? You seem pretty quiet. Quieter than usual."

Claire sighed, waving him off. "It's fine. Just have some stuff on my mind, that's all."

T.J. stared at her curiously, tilting his head. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head. "No, no thanks. It's private stuff. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I think I'll be alright."

The boxer stared at her for a few moments. Finally, he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "If you say so."

Looking back to the arena, the two watched as personnel collected the defeated contender and picked up teeth from off the floor, the bloody stains standing out in all their gruesome glory.

"Hey, Claire!" Turning her head, Claire smiled as she saw Piers approaching her.

"Piers!" She greeted warmly. "Hey! How are you?"

"I'm good!" He smiled back. "How about you?"

She shrugged. "I'm okay, I guess."

"Looking forward to the next match?"

Claire shrugged a second time. "Honestly, I haven't been paying attention."

"Hey, Claire."

As Claire turned to see Billy, her eyes narrowed, the air becoming still. "Hello...Billy," she greeted coldly.

Piers and T.J. exchanged quizzical looks as they uncomfortably shifted, noticing the temperature drop.

Clearing his throat, Billy adjusted his collar. "So, uh...about last night-"

Claire harrumphed as she turned away, looking back to the arena with her arms crossed, giving him the cold shoulder.

Billy frowned. "Claire..."

She continued to ignore him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Billy's shoulders drooped.

"Is...everything okay, man?" Piers asked.

"No, it's nothing, Piers," Billy replied, his tone telling his friend to leave it alone.

Piers gave him a questioning look, then looked up as the speaker went off.

"And now for the next match!" One of the announcers said into the microphone, drawing everyone's attention.

Hearing the loud iconic and ominous clanging thump of the select theme as it struck her eardrums, Claire looked back to the arena, letting out a shaky nervous breath, watching on the holographic jumbotron as it shined over the arena in flashing neon.

"STEVE BURNSIDE!" The menacing voice of Chris Sutherland roared.

Claire watched as the spotlight illuminated the dork from the bar, the girl frowning.

"Oh joy!" She muttered. As the boy glanced in her direction, he blew a kiss toward her, causing her to roll her eyes.

Dickhead.

"BILLY COEN!"

Glancing over to the Marine, she watched Billy as he turned to face her. "Well, here goes nothing. Take care of yourself, Claire."

Claire harrumphed a second time, watching from the corner of her eye as the Marine stepped forward.

"FIGHT ON!"

Stepping into the arena, Billy watched as the young punk from the bar bounced around on the matt, doing some quick jabs in practice.

"I see your "girlfriend" isn't too impressed with you today!" Steve cockily replied.

Billy placed his hands on his hips, standing akimbo style. "My love life isn't any of your business, kid. Besides, she's not interested in a munchkin like you."

Steve huffed. "We'll see about that!" He then jabbed the air. "Once I beat you and win that million-dollar prize, she'll forget all about you. She'll be my girlfriend!"

The Marine sneered, baring his teeth. "Counting your chickens before they've hatched, junior" he replied. "Besides, last time I checked, it's still her choice and decision, pal. I would bet every last dollar I got that she would turn you down even if you had a hundred million."

The boy's face reddened as he stood there looking flustered, as if struggling to find some witty comeback. "S-Shut up! I'll-I'll show you!"

Billy quietly regarded the kid, looking him up and down, shaking his head. "No offence, kid," he began slowly, "but...I don't think you're cut out for this. Like...at all."

The boy arrogantly smirked. "You're just afraid that I'm going to beat you!"

Billy scoffed in derision, "Oh, rub a fuckin' lamp! It's not a question of who's gonna win, junior - between us, I know my chances. The question you should be asking yourself right now, kid, is how you are gonna leave." He then crossed his arms. "I'm gonna give you a chance to surrender. Just leave. Either you quit, or I knock you on your ass. Which do you want it to be?"

Tightening his hand into a fist, Steve punched his palm in answer, glaring hatefully at the Marine.

Shrugging, Billy cracked his knuckles. "I warned you, kid."

"READY!"

No sooner had those words echoed when both fighters lunged toward one another...when the church door suddenly opened.

"STOP THE FIGHT!" Sabrewulf's voice suddenly cut in over the speakers, causing them both to skid to a halt and look around in confusion.

"Huh?" Claire's brow furrowed at the monitor, then at the other fighters around her, a murmur growing among the crowd.

Claire watched in confusion as Baron Von Sabrewulf was wheeled into the building by his bodyguard Dieter, the two escorted by a group of guards along with two other unidentified people, a Caucasian man and a woman.

"Who are they?" Piers wondered.

Looking to the other two people beside Sabrewulf, Claire carefully studied them, starting with the man.

He didn't seem to be an executive or security guard; nothing about him stood out. Dressed in a green shirt and baggy olive pants, the man appeared to be in his mid to late thirties, with a heavy "dad-bod" sort of build. His hair was very short, reddish brown in color, his eyes framed by a pair of thick squarish glasses, almost reminding Claire of Hank Hill from "King of the Hill".

The woman, by contrast, was of a much thinner build and pretty, with short, wavy blonde hair, dressed in a pink sweater and blue jeans.

Both the man and woman looked angry, their attentions fixed in a tight glare at someone.

Following their gazes, Claire turned to the arena, where she noticed one of the fighters - more specifically Steve - grow very still and pale, his face etched with worry.

"Mr. Burnside," Sabrewulf called through the microphone. "Please come down from the arena. Your parents are here to pick you up."

Laughter erupted from the other fighters as Steve looked around in embarrassment, the young man trying to cover his face, pretending to not hear what was being said.

"Mr. Burnside, please come down from the arena, or security will escort you off the premises."

As the boy continued to play dumb, Claire watched as Steve's mother suddenly pointed to the ground in front of her, shouting, "STEVEN SAMUEL BURNSIDE, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"

Wincing, the boy whipped around, calling back, "BUT MOM-"

"YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO GET DOWN HERE, YOUNG MAN! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE!"

"I'M NOT COMING DOWN! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

"YES I CAN, I'M YOUR MOTHER! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Claire watched as Steve's shoulders sagged in resignation. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stared to the ground as he made his way out from the arena, walking dejectedly toward his parents. Stopping in front of them, the boy flinched as his parents said something to him, probably the biggest scolding of his life, the latter looking very, very angry. A tear fell from his eyes as he tried to conceal his shame and embarrassment.

Everyone in the building was howling with laughter. Everyone except Claire, who could only watch with pitying eyes as the boy was escorted.

'Poor Steve,' she thought sympathetically.

Even though he seemed to be something of a dink, it was hard not to feel sympathy for the kid.

As the boy left the building with his family, Claire watched as Sabrewulf and Dieter spoke with the announcers, the latter frowning.

"Uh, our apologies, ladies and gentlemen," one of the announcers began slowly, "but uh...it has been brought to our attention that Mr. Burnside has been disqualified from the tournament. It would, uh, seem that a...slight adjustment will have to be made to the schedule. As such, Billy Coen has been declared the winner of this match by default."

Looking over to the Marine's face, Claire suddenly giggled at the bemused look that he gave as he stepped out from the arena, then quickly tried stifling it, doing everything to hide her smile.

"Hey Billy!" Piers greeted his friend. "Congratulations, man!"

Billy scratched his head, "Uh, thanks, I guess. Not exactly how I thought it would turn out, to be honest." He muttered the last part, almost to himself. "In a way, I can't help feeling like I've been cheated."

Piers shrugged. "Well, there's always the next one. If this keeps up, though, we'll be winning that million dollar prize in no time."

The Marine shrugged back. "Here's hoping, brother."

"Not if I beat you first," Claire spoke up with a wicked gleam in her eye, her mouth pulled into a disarming smile.

Blinking in surprise, Billy opened his mouth to respond when the speaker cut him off, causing her and everyone else to face the arena.

"And now for the next match."

Hearing the ominous select theme, Claire turned her head to the holographic jumbotron, the girl waiting eagerly to see who the next fighter would be. A series of portraits and names fluttered along the screen, until finally one was picked.

"ZUBAZ!"

Claire watched as the spotlight fell on a man that stood two rows away, drawing her attention to him. The crowd made it a little difficult to see who it was, but as he approached the arena, she got a clearer view of him.

The man was tall, muscular, and burly, with short blonde hair and a thick soup catcher beard. Clad mostly in black, his apparel was grungy, consisting of a torn black tank top and a pair of dark blue jeans, the latter held up by a thick brown belt. A brown leather harness was strapped around his broad chest, his arms clad in a pair of spiked wrist guards and black gauntlets, while long, knee-length brown motorcycle boots concealed his lower legs.

Painted around his eyes were a pair of black axehead designs, his eyes entirely white, almost seemingly devoid of either pupils or irises.

Blinking at the sight of him, Claire tilted her head. "Really? He's a contestant?"

Billy shrugged. "Honestly, that's a surprise. I thought the guy was a hobo, in all honesty. I had no idea that he was part of the tournament."

"THUNDER!"

Widening her eyes, Claire straightened as the spotlight fell on the tall Native American. Dressed in a black tank top with military fatigue pants and combat boots, she watched as he made his way into the ring with a pair of tomahawks in hand, his eyes hard and filled with determination.

Waving her hand wildly in the air, the girl smiled as she called out, "GOOD LUCK, THUNDER!"

Pausing midway up the step, she watched as Thunder turned to face her, his features softening as he offered a wide smile and an assured wave back before proceeding onto the ramp.

Stepping into the cage, Thunder took in his opponent, the man tilting his head from side to side as he stared back.

"Huh," the latter muttered. "Interesting. You an Indian?"

Hinmatoom brow twitched at the offensive remark. "It's 'Native American'," he said pointedly.

The man shrugged. "Meh, potato, pottatto, it's all the same to me." Zubaz's mouth formed a wide grin as his white orbs narrowed. "Tell me, little man - CAN YOU FEEL THE STORM?!" Letting out a boisterous laugh, Zubaz spread his arms out in a grand gesture. "Born under a blood-red moon, I am manliness incarnate!"

Kneeling low, he then started to flex his biceps, getting into a series of over-the-top muscle poses in demonstration, causing Hinmatoom to blink in bewilderment and looked around at the crew and at his fellow fighters with uncertainty, partially questioning his own sanity, if not the man's.

Was this some sort of joke?

Part of him wondered if the showrunners were having a laugh at his expense, just because...who in their right mind would let this guy in?!

Konrad sat alone in his office as flatly stared at the monitor, watching the man doing his macho man crap.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, he exasperatedly shook his head in dismay. "What an asshole."

Once he finished, Hinmatoom watched Zubaz as he took his rope whip off from his broad chest and spun it wildly in a looping vertical arc, the latter getting into a stance. "Let's. Go!"

"READY!"

The moment the words were uttered, Zubaz swung the rope upward, where it latched securely around the top bar of the cage.

Hinmatoom barely had time to think as the strange man swiftly lifted himself upward from the floor and swung forward, using the momentum of the swing to drive his booted feet into the Nez Perce fighter's chest, catching him by surprise.

Letting out a grunt, Hinmatoom let out a sharp gasp as the impact drove all the air from his lungs, his powerful form crashing to the ground.

Hearing a roar, he quickly rolled to the side upon catching sight of Zubaz charging toward him like a maniac, his heavy boots narrowly missing his head, stomping brutally down on where he had lain.

Recovering, Thunder violently swung his tomahawks at his opponent, his body twisting around on his heels with agility and grace despite his large size, forcing his opponent to back off, if only momentarily.

Upon completing his first arc, Hinmatoom caught a fleeting glimpse of his opponent's rope as it spun around its wielder again when the latter suddenly whipped it in his direction. Dodging left, he felt a slight displacement of air as it narrowly snapped past his face, the rope drawn back to its owner with a sharp "thwip".

Spinning the rope wildly around again, Zubaz offered him a yellow-stained smile, his eyes gleaming with maniacal intent as he let out a laugh before lashing out again with it.

Hinmatoom ducked his head as the rope whipped past him, the Native American feeling it snap against his left cheek, making him wince as he felt the sharp sting.

Stumbling, Hinmatoom touched the spot where he felt the rope made contact, then pulled his fingers away to reveal slight traces of blood.

Looking up from his blood-stained fingers, he narrowed his eyes at Zubaz as the latter continued dicking around with his rope.

"Heh heh heh. Care to turn the other cheek, buddy?" His opponent taunted.

Clenching his jaw, Hinmatoom adjusted the grip on his tomahawks as he straightened himself, staring with fierce hard eyes at Zubaz.

"Oh yeah! Let's boogie, my friend! That million bucks is as good as mine!" As Zubaz reared his rope whip back, Hinmatoom watched as the rope inadvertently latched onto an overhead crane-mounted camera.

Looking up in confusion, Zubaz tugged on the rope. "Oh no." He then started to tug again, then a third and fourth time. "Oh come on!" Gritting his teeth, Zubaz violently yanked on the rope, causing the overhead camera to come crashing down. "Oh shit."

Glass cracked against the floor, the impact making everyone flinch, causing smoke to rise up.

A stunned silence fell across the arena, the camera sparking and smoking. Hinmatoom watched as Zubaz sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, the Nez Perce fighter lifting his brow.

"Umm...whoops!" Zubaz chuckled, looking somewhat embarrassed. He raised a hand, "Sorry, my bad!"

Elsewhere, Sabrewulf facepalmed, letting out a weary sigh. "Dummkopf."

Once Zubaz managed to untangle his rope from the wreckage, the two fighters resumed their match as the blonde snapped his rope again, only this time, Hinmatoom was prepared to meet his opponent's attack.

Raising up his arm, Hinmatoom quickly snatched the rope out of the air, preventing it from wrapping around his neck.

Letting out a rumbling growl, he yanked hard on the rope, the two men straining on both ends as they struggled for dominance.

"Got some strength on you, boy!" Zubaz grinned.

"You're not too shabby yourself," Thunder nodded in acknowledgement before jerking it violently, catching his foe off-guard as it caused him to stumble forward.

Grabbing him by the arm, Thunder then swung his opponent into the bar walls, slamming hard into the cage's frame, the impact making it tremble before wrapping his arm around Zubaz's neck, holding the latter in a chokehold.

Gritting his teeth, Thunder felt Zubaz twist violently in his arms as his foe sought to remove himself from the Native American fighter's iron grip.

"You fight well," Thunder complimented, "but I'm afraid that this fight must end. Surrender."

Zubaz barked out a laugh, "In yer dreams, pal!"

Hinmatoom let out a grunt as the blonde slammed the back of his head into the bridge of his nose, producing an audible crack.

Stumbling backwards, the Native American regained his balance as he felt blood and snot running down his face. Grabbing the bridge of his nose, Hinmatoom snapped it back into place, letting out a groan.

Both men stood their ground, their challenging gazes never wavering, the two men panting in both exhaustion and excitement.

Tilting his head to the side, Zubaz gave Hinmatoom a questioning look, "You never used your tomahawks on me."

Hinmatoom lifted a brow. "Why, are you disappointed?"

Zubaz shrugged. "Not really. Just curious as to why you won't use them. What gives?"

The Native American remained silent for a long while, deliberating whether to answer. Finally, he gave a casual shrug, "These are family heirlooms that have been passed down through my family for generations. They are of a spiritual nature and mean a great deal to me."

"So why haven't you cut me already? Don't tell me that you're scared of a little blood."

Hinmatoom tiredly shook his head, "Please, I'm a trained hunter - I've seen plenty of blood. It's just I have no desire to either hurt or maim you."

Zubaz dryly chuckled. "Well, ain't that awfully considerate." He then started to spin the rope again. "Too bad I have to plow through ya, though. Don't take this personally, buddy, but there's a million dollars on the line with my name on it, and this cowboy ain't leavin' 'til the fat lady sings and you are hogtied on the ground."

Letting out a loud roar, Zubaz charged forward, prompting Hinmatoom to meet his opponent head on as he leapt up and delivered a powerful dropkick, his boots planted firmly into the blonde's face.

Both men crashed hard to the floor, but only Hinmatoom recovered to his feet, the Native American panting as he looked down upon the unconscious form of Zubaz.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he approached the body, then kneeled down, checking his pulse. Once he was certain that Zubaz was still breathing, Hinmatoom respectfully gave a nod of acknowledgment to his fallen opponent. "Thank you for the battle. You have fought well, but I'm afraid that this is where we must part ways." He dipped his head, "Take care, and may you recover quickly."

Turning on his heel, Hinmatoom started to make his way toward the exit.

"AWESOME VICTORY!"

Claire whooped loudly as she saw Thunder stepping away from the cage. "WHOO! YEAH, THUNDER!"

She watched as the Native American glanced in her direction and gave her a slight laugh and a small wave before disappearing into the throng of fighters.

"So, you know him too, huh?"

Claire's smile disappeared. "We talked for a bit," the girl replied coolly, not facing Billy. "He had wanted me to leave the tournament."

Billy folded his arms. "You too, huh? Guy said the same thing to me last night as well. Bit of a weirdo, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well," Claire spoke as she continued to avert her eyes, "I think I'll just head on out. I'd like to be alone." She uttered the last few words with venom.

She sensed the Marine reaching out to her. "Claire..."

"Save it." With that, Claire stormed off to the church exit.

Author Notes: This had been a pretty fun chapter to write, although a bit of a pain in the behind. Fun fact - the song featured, called "Only A Dream", was performed by Kev Bayliss, who was the original artist responsible for KI1 and KI2, and it's worth checking out.

Additionally, this chapter also features Zubaz, a rejected "Street Fighter 2" character who has since gone on to be featured in other games such as "Shovel Knight", "Divekick", "The Takeover" and other titles, with him gaining something of a cult following. I kind of figured, given how his punkish appearance sort of mirrored Chief Thunder's look from the original 1994 game (sans the mohawk) that it would be a kind of fun match-up. I hope everyone enjoyed this, and I'm sorry for the lengthy delay. Things have been pretty complicated for me, and I'm slowly getting back into writing. 

Stay safe and healthy, everyone. :)

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Thirteen: Questions

"How did this happen?"

Konrad felt the temperature in his office drop, the oppressive hood clinging onto him like Creeping Charlie as he burned with embarrassment, the air unnervingly quiet and still, his concealed face flushed and warm underneath his scarf, the uncomfortable question lingering.

On his laptop, which sat on his brown Italian maple desk, he saw the grimly intense, almost accusatory glares that David and the other members of the Board on the screen were giving him, making the Baron shift in discomfort.

"Well?" David said expectantly.

Konrad frowned, carefully considering his words.

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke. "My staff and I are looking into the matter," Konrad answered slowly. "Rest assured, though, we are doing everything that we can to clear this issue up." He shook his head. "That child had no business whatsoever being on these premises."

Beside David, he saw Sergei Vladimir give a dismissive snort. "You were lucky that the Burnside child hadn't gotten hurt!" He retorted in a deep baritone, his voice possessing a strong Russian accent, making the Baron wince. "Had he been allowed to proceed in the match, who knows what sort of damage he would have sustained. The company would have most certainly been faced with a potential lawsuit, along with criminal charges for child endangerment. To be quite frank with you, Baron, I'm beginning to wonder if we should feel concerned about the way you are managing this company."

Gritting his teeth beneath his scarf, Konrad bristled, his gloved hands tightening into fists. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Sergei crossed his arms on the screen, "The fact that a mere child has managed to infiltrate the tournament on your watch," he smirked, "is alarming, if not laughable. Your estate houses a number of highly sensitive company projects, your castle supposedly boasting the most top-of-the line security within Colorado...and yet, nobody was able to catch this troublesome brat earlier?" He shook his head slowly in contempt, "Your incompetence at running this company is nothing short of staggering, Baron. Lord Spencer would have had a fit were he alive. The fact that you sit as chairman is an insult to his memory. Even I would have been a better candidate for your position!"

Konrad repressed a growl, watching on the screen as David adjusted his glasses. "Colonel, this is completely-"

"Please," Konrad interrupted, speaking slowly as he grinded his teeth. "The only thing that Spencer would have lead this company to was to complete and utter ruin. You know it. I know it. David knows it. If it wasn't for his untimely demise and my acquiring Umbrella, only God knows how bad things would have been. I will admit, things are not perfect, but Spencer's handling was far worse than mine." He then tilted his head. "Then again, I can't help wonder if some of his companies' mistakes were due to your involvement, Sergei."

He watched Sergei smirked, waving dismissively. "Redirecting the blame isn't going to help you, Baron, let alone the company. It still doesn't change the fact this mess was the result of your incompetence. Were I in charge, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

Beside Sergei, Konrad watched as David spoke, his voice laced with annoyance, "Alright, alright, that's quite enough, Sergei. I ask that everyone here refrain from using insults, including you. This has gone for long enough and is wasting precious company time. This is neither a kindergarten nor a playground - this is where adults come to work."

Konrad felt some measure of satisfaction at the sight of the Russian flinching as he was addressed like a naughty child. Harrumphing, Sergei leaned back into his chair with both arms folded, his mouth tightly clenched.

Prick.

It was hard for Konrad to believe that there could be anyone as insufferable as Sergei, and he had met a number of people throughout the years to fill that category all too well.

Sergei Vladimir, in his experience, had always been an unpleasant bastard to deal with. Cold and arrogant, Vladimir was a former Spetnaz Colonel and a long-time friend of the late Oswald E. Spencer. Konrad had no idea what the full story behind the two men was, and it was a subject of much conjecture among those within Ultratech itself and by his own bodyguard Dieter.

Some suggested that Spencer and Vladimir were distant family members, while Dieter eloquently suggested that they were secretly "fuck buddies", a notion that made Konrad laugh on occasion. A few alluded to some sort of shared Cold War connection, but to Konrad, Sergei's devotion was truly bizarre; from the way he spoke at length about Spencer, Sergei's fervorous dedication almost bordered on obsessive, if not religious zealotry.

There were a number of occasions where Sergei seemed to allude to Umbrella having some deeper significance or destiny, but he had never elaborated any further than that. He seemed to worship Spencer and the very ground that he had walked on, as if Spencer were Jesus Christ himself.

Whatever the truth of the matter was, Vladimir was unlikely to elaborate with anyone that he doesn't view as an equal Spencer's views or his vision for the company, and as far Konrad was concerned, good riddance. Sergei was as insufferable as they came, looking at everyone that he deemed unworthy with nothing but contempt, including the Baron himself.

What was certain, though, was the surprisingly deep-seated respect and loyalty that Vladimir had for Spencer - even years after his death, Sergei was just as dedicated to his old friend's wishes as he were then, something that Konrad appreciated to an extent.

The Baron sat still as he pondered to himself, tilting his head slightly in retrospection.

In a way, he was almost reminded of his deceased friend and butler Jurgen, albeit if he were much colder and militaristic, and to a certain extent, Konrad sympathized with the Russian.

Like Sergei, Konrad too had trouble dealing with loss - even years after his death, the pain of losing Jurgen was still fresh on his mind, forever haunting the Baron.

As the memory of Jurgen's tragic final moments came back with horrible clarity, Konrad used every ounce of his will to drive the memory back, the Baron clenching his jaw.

Poor man. He had deserved so much better than that.

Turning his thoughts back to Sergei, Konrad exhaled in annoyance, his mood darkening.

While he had admired Sergei's steadfast loyalty to his deceased friend, it was this loyalty to Spencer that has proven to be rather troublesome to the Baron. Although Jurgen had his moments of irritability, albeit for justifiable reasons, Sergei in contrast was far nastier than his old friend; he was quick to criticize everything that Konrad did as CEO, always sneering and openly mocking his efforts at running the company whenever given the opportunity. Always looking down at him.

Part of Konrad morbidly wondered just what kind of person Spencer was in life to have been friends with such a miserable bastard.

Then again, given the nature of Umbrella, he supposed that it shouldn't have surprised him that Spencer had been a piece of shit, if not a bigger one.

Hope you're burning in hell, you mangy old scrotum.

Turning his thoughts back to the meeting, Konrad watched the monitor as everyone, including Sergei, stonily stared in silence.

Finally, David started to resume speaking as he pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, "I realize this is a sensitive issue and everyone here is concerned for the well being of the corporation, but it is important to not lose sight of the point of this meeting, which is to focus on the problems at hand. Now then, you were saying, Mr. Chairman?"

Inhaling deeply, the hooded figure reigned in as much of his anger as he could, letting out a deep breath before speaking. "Ja. Thank you, David. As I was trying to tell all of you," Konrad said slowly, "I was also concerned about what happened. Like all of you, I was equally surprised - security should have picked up on the Burnside matter and notified me earlier, if not someone from my staff. I can confirm with the Board, however, that the Burnside boy was not among those contestants whom I have personally interviewed with and selected in Raccoon City. From what we have gathered, Mr. Burnside had registered with the office located in the New Orleans branch, and that he used fake ID supplied by a relative. My staff and I are still looking into the matter, but we should be able to resolve this matter soon without further complications or detriments."

David nodded in approval. "That is good news."

"Is there anything else?"

He watched as David pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose again. "Yes, actually. Could you provide us with an update regarding the status of the Spencer facility and its assets?"

Konrad sighed. "Disposal is underway," he explained. "My staff and I are being very careful not to miss anything vital, so we're being as thorough as possible. The problem that we're facing at the moment is the sheer volume left over by Umbrella. However, we should be able to be rid of the damn things soon enough."

"I gather that there is nothing potentially salvageable amongst that lot?"

Konrad sat back in his wheelchair as he considered what to say. Finally, he spoke.

"In terms of equipment," he said slowly, "maybe. In terms of all the files and data, though, I'm not holding out much hope. We're making an inventory of everything that we find, so I'll keep you updated."

He heard David hum thoughtfully, the bald man dipping his head low in thought.

"Very well," David conceded. "Finally, our Chief Financial Officer, Mr. Sacket, wishes to have a word. Mr. Sacket, the floor is now open for you."

Konrad frowned as he spotted the mousy, bespectacled figure sitting in the corner. "Um, yes. I've been going over some of the financial figures for the company, and I've come across some, uh, rather unusual expenditures, mainly from your Arklay facility, Mr. Chairman."

The Baron sat still, his heart stopping for a moment. Have they caught on to what was going on?

"What about it?" he said slowly, using every ounce of willpower to hide the anxiousness that he felt from his voice.

He watched as Sacket pushed up his glasses. "There have been some noticeable expansions to your facility, plus, some of the figures for R&D have been unusually high."

Konrad nodded. "Ja, the expansions were needed in order to accommodate the staff for Project Fulgore and Project Odyssey."

"And for Project R.I.P.T.O.R.?"

Konrad winced at the name. "Project R.I.P.T.O.R. as well," he said slowly.

'Goddamned Gupte,' he mentally growled.

Who would have thought that his very own genes would have inexplicably created such a monstrous creature?

But even more, who would have guessed that the Board would approve of its use for both military applications and for the fucking pet market, of all things?

And the fact that Gupte went behind Konrad's back to "save" the creature from destruction only infuriated him further.

Of course, the fact that he had featured said-beast in his Killer Instinct program had brought no shortage of complications and questions, especially from the Board, but he had effortlessly explained it away as a marketing ploy for its eventual announcement.

No, he assured the Board, the creature in the show was not the same one as Gupte's creature - it was just a convincing man in a suit and animatronic.

Him, having such a dangerous creature fight in the tournament? What was he, crazy? Perish the thought!

"After all," he had said at the time, mustering up a fake smile underneath his scarf, "who doesn't love dinosaurs?"

David didn't seem convinced, but if he had suspected otherwise, he didn't make it known either to Konrad nor the Board.

Part of Konrad felt a little relieved, while another part of him, however, felt wary - even though the two of them have been friends for a very, very long time, Konrad wouldn't doubt that friendship lasted only so long as it served David's interests.

Of course, the fact that David never said anything about R.I.P.T.O.R. had only made Konrad wonder what he was up to. Whatever it was, it wasn't good for him, and if given the chance, Konrad had no doubt that David would do anything to fuck him over.

"I understand that two Fulgore prototypes are being developed," Sacket noted.

Konrad nodded. "That is correct, ja, although one has considerably more advanced hardware and features than its predecessor. That could explain the high figures."

Sacket pushed up his glasses. "Some of it perhaps, Mr. Chairman, but I don't think it covers the whole of said-expenses. Along with some questionable purchases, there have been periodic withdrawals of the tens and twenty thousand dollars from company accounts. As far as I'm aware, those withdrawals have remained unaccounted for."

Konrad frowned, watching the members of the Board murmur amongst themselves. "That can't be right. Are you certain this hasn't been some sort of error in the calculations?"

"I've checked twice. While it may be possible some sort of mistake was made, so far I can't find anything."

The Baron heard the murmurs grow.

Sergei leaned forward from his seat, leaning on his left knuckles. "I would like a copy of those financial figures for review."

Oh I bet you would, you arrogant Ruskie fuck.

"Me as well," Konrad spoke into the microphone, his heart racing as he tried to hide his nervousness. "The sooner we figure out the calculations, the better."

Sacket nodded while David jotted something into his notepad.

"Right," the latter said as he wiped his glasses with a cloth. "Now then, regarding the tournament, I understand that with Mr. Burnside's departure that there would have to be a revision to the schedule."

The Baron nodded, conceding, "Ja, that is correct. I'm still going over the list of contestants. It shouldn't take long. Again, I'll provide you with the updated version once the revision has been made."

"Very well. For our next meeting, we'll be covering license fee agreements for our new television stations. Also, as a reminder, we have upcoming negotiations with both Arasaka and Militech on the 27th, so please ensure that those are marked on your calendars. Now that the matter is concluded, our meeting is adjourned. Please confirm when you would all be available via email. Once the dates have been selected, we will provide you all a confirmation along with a secure meeting link. Have a good evening, everyone."

"Auf wiedersehen, David."

With that, Konrad exited the meeting, then shut down his laptop. Once it was off, he closed it, slumping back into his wheelchair.

"Fucking terrific."

Already things were starting to unfold. If this kept up, an auditor would be called in, and then he'd really be fucked.

Just what he needed. As if he weren't fucked in the ass enough already.

Konrad massaged his forehead as he started to feel a migraine coming on.

Christ, I need a drink.

Claire sat alone in the bar, watching everyone with envy as they all chatted, sang and danced with one another, all of them seemingly merry.

Looking down at her glass of coke, her eyes drooped at the sight of her own reflection, the girl stirring her drink in slow, drawn-out circles with her straw as she sat, deep in thought.

Was her decision to enter the Killer Instinct tournament the right choice? Was she fighting to help her family, or had it all been done out of her own selfish desires?

Stopping, she gloomily took a sip from her glass, the girl tilting her head as she contemplated the troubling question.

While part of her had joined the tournament in order to pay for the hospital bills of both her brother and his partner, Claire would be hard-pressed to say that it was entirely out of altruism.

'And now look where it's brought me,' she guiltily thought.

While she was living here on the Sabrewulf estate in a castle, both Jill and Chris were helplessly lying in the hospital.

I should be there visiting them. Comforting them.

Sure, Leon and Rebecca would visit them, but as Chris' sister...her being in this place felt so...wrong.

Claire's eyes teared up slightly, her shoulders drooping as she stared into her drink.

"Hey."

Startled, Claire quickly brushed her eyes, wiping them as she lifted her head in surprise as she turned to her left, her orbs widening at the sight of Piers.

"Oh! Um, hey," she greeted, feeling a little self-conscious.

"Is anyone sitting here?" Piers asked, gesturing to a seat beside her.

Claire waved dismissively, "No, it's all yours."

She watched as he slipped into the chair, drawing the attention of the barkeeper, a heavyset man with a dense beard like Santa Claus.

"So what'll it be?" he asked, his voice craggy.

"One beer, thanks," Piers answered.

Nodding, the bartender went away, leaving the two alone.

"So," Piers began, "how are you holding up?"

Claire blinked, surprised at the question. "Oh, well...things are...okay, I guess?"

He raised a brow. "Are you sure?"

Claire shrugged. "Yeah." She cast a curious glance around. "Billy isn't here with you by any chance, is he?"

Piers shook his head. "Nah, it's just me. Billy's working out at the gym."

"Oh," the girl said, feeling somewhat relieved, watching as the bartender returned with Piers' drink.

"Thanks," the latter nodded.

"No prob, chief," the bartender nodded before departing.

Taking his glass, Piers sipped his beer.

"I take it Billy did something stupid?" he commented. Claire gave him a questioning glance, unsure how to respond until he shrugged, "He's usually a dumbass with women. Trust me, I know."

Claire shook her head. "He's a dumbass, alright."

Piers took another sip of his drink. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She cleared her throat. "Um, no offence, Piers, but...why do you care? Uh, not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but it's just...kind of personal, you know?"

Claire watched as the soldier nodded slightly, "Yeah, sorry about that. I shouldn't have pried." Sweeping his hand anxiously through his short brown hair, Piers started to get up with his drink in hand, "I'll leave you alone. Sorry to have bothered you."

As Piers turned away, Claire raised a hand, "Wait. Um...sorry. Would-Would it be alright if you stayed for a bit? I...uh..." She cleared her throat, feeling embarrassed for making such an admission, "I...could use a friend."

He blinked in surprise, staring at her quietly. Finally, he gave a single nod. "Okay."

The two of them sat at the bar counter in silence, watching people dancing and doing karaoke.

Piers scoffed. "Man, I can't help feeling sorry for poor ol' Bobby Darin," he commented, sipping his beer. "From the racket they're making, they're really butchering his work."

Claire laughed slightly in agreement. "You can say that again." As the two of them sat there by the bar, the girl then cleared her throat. "So, uh, how long have you known Billy for?"

He chuckled. "Ever since we were kids," he answered. "He has a tendency of getting himself into trouble." Piers smiled, "The stories I could tell! He has his rough spots, but Billy's a good guy."

She tilted her head. "Funny, Billy mentioned that he was in trouble."

Piers blinked, giving a look of surprise. "That right?"

"Yeah," Claire nodded. "He said something about getting himself out of a bad spot. He looked kind of...well...scared."

He frowned. "Scared, you say?"

"Yeah." She then shifted in her seat, "You...wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

His frown deepened, his brow furrowing as he stared up to the ceiling. "Weird, he had never mentioned anything to me. I wonder if something had happened during his deployment. I think might he have been on a mission in Africa or something?"

Claire perked up. "A mission?"

"I think so."

"Did he say anything about what happened?"

Piers shook his head. "No. To be honest, I don't really know much. I had bumped into him on the way to Raccoon City and suggested the two of us teaming up for the tournament. He seemed pretty eager to join." He thoughtfully leaned to the side as he sipped his glass. "Come to think of it, actually, Billy has been uncharacteristically...distant, for lack of a better word, since we've met up."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. It's a little weird."

Claire lifted her hand to her chin, leaning thoughtfully on her palm.

The girl then shifted in her seat. "...You...wouldn't know if he has a drug habit, would you?" she asked.

Piers gave an incredulous scoff. "Are you kidding? Billy, a druggie? He may have used a joint years back, but he's no junkie or dealer if that's what you're worried about."

"Gambling debts?"

He shook his head. "Nah, he doesn't go for that kind of thing either."

Claire thoughtfully hummed.

So it wasn't drugs nor gambling debts. If so, then what was it?

"...I don't suppose he has a partner? Maybe children?" she hesitantly suggested.

Piers blinked in surprise, then frowned. "As far as I'm aware, no." He raised a brow, "Why do you ask?"

Claire shrugged. "I was...just considering some possibilities."

Piers gave her a steady look, then tilted his head.

"...You fancy him, huh?"

She averted her eyesm trying to hide her blush.

"...Am I that obvious?" she muttered.

He shrugged halfheartedly, gulping down his beer.

The girl brushed her bangs back. "God, I feel like an idiot for saying anything."

"No no no," Piers waved. "It's perfectly fine. There's no reason to feel embarrassed. Guess that explains why you seemed pretty sore with him lately."

Claire was silent for a while, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Closing her eyes, she then let out a defeated sigh.

"...Yeah," she said slowly. "I guess I..." Her shoulders slumped, her cheeks growing warmer as she admitted, "I probably shouldn't have been so hard on Billy. It was my fault for expecting too much, especially since I have more important things to worry about such as my brother and the damn hospital bills."

Piers grunted. "Yeah, hospitals are a bitch to deal with. Trust me, I know."

Claire shifted uncomfortably. "I guess the reason for why I had such a reaction is...well..." The girl stuttered and stammered, her cheeks growing warmer. "Back home...um..."

"Yes?"

Claire bit her lip, wondering if she should say anything more.

'Fuck it,' she thought as she exhaled softly.

"Back home," she began, "...I...didn't have a lot of friends. Normally, I had my brother Chris to talk to, and sometimes my classmates Leon and Rebecca, but right now...I...I just can't help feeling so...alone."

As the words left her mouth, Claire felt herself become even smaller underneath Piers' gaze, the girl fidgeting slightly as she did everything not to meet his stare, her cheeks burning furiously.

"It's-It's stupid that I feel the way I do, I know. Plenty of people have it far worse than I do, with even worse hardships. And yet...part of me can't really help it sometimes. I sometimes look around at the couples walking around, wondering what it's...what it's like to...be...well...loved like that. To hold another person's hand. Sometimes I can't help wondering why it was that everyone else was able to find someone of their own, while I myself remained miserable and alone. When I signed up for the tournament, I...I thought that I was doing it for Chris. But..." She shook her head ever so slowly, "thinking about it...I can't help feeling..." Her shoulders slumped, "...ashamed. For being here. Am I really doing this for Chris? Or am I...am I just using him as an excuse in order to justify my coming here?"

As she made the painful admission, Claire felt herself shrink even more, feeling alone in a way that she never thought possible. Never before had she ever felt so completely and utterly helpless.

Beside her, she sensed Piers shifting in discomfort. "So, what do you think?"

Claire thought about it, carefully considering her answer.

"I..." She sighed, "I don't know. Honestly, I have no idea. What bothers me even more, though, is...I don't know what to do."

The two sat quietly at the bar, listening to the bad karaoke being sung in the background.

Taking a sip from his glass, Piers leaned back in thought. "Well," he said slowly, "the way I see it, you and I are faced with two choices. Option one, you quit, at which point you'll have to pack up and go back home. It'll be good for me in the sense that it means one less competitor for me to deal with, but on the other hand, though, it will also mean that you'll be back at square one, if not worse off since you'll be leaving emptyhanded. As far as I can tell about you, Claire, that's not who you are, nor should you leave - you have people counting on you, just as I do. If we quit now, we'd only be letting down the people that we care about."

Claire absorbed his words, then glanced back to him. "And option two?"

Piers downed the rest of his beer.

"Option two, you muscle your way forward regardless." His eyes softened, "Now, I realize that is asking a lot out of you, and that it's easier said than done. Not a lot of people can handle the stress. But...you have to remember everyone here is fighting for something, Claire - you, me, Billy. Everyone. There's nothing wrong with feeling scared or lonely...but...don't lose sight of why you're here. Otherwise, who else does your brother have?"

She watched as Piers narrowed his eyes. "Right now, Claire," he said slowly, "you gotta ask yourself: are you a quitter? Are you gonna quit over some stupid guy?"

The question reverberated in Claire's mind, the words echoing.

Exhaling, the girl let out a sigh. "No."

Piers then offered an encouraging smile, nodding. "There's your answer," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "Be strong for your brother, Claire. No matter what. He is relying on you, just like Pete is relying on me. And I intend on fighting with everything I've got for him."

Placing the empty glass down on the counter, Piers than gave a slight wave. "Have a good night, Claire."

She smiled. "You too, Piers. And thank you for the talk."

He smiled back, giving her a thumbs up.

As she watched Piers leave the bar, Claire turned back to her drink, her mood improving.

The clock's ticking was getting louder.

As he sat alone in his office with a stack of documents in front of him, his mood made sour by current events, Konrad's sensitive ears twitched at the monotonously repetitive sound.

Clenching his mouth, he fumed.

Was it too much for Konrad to have a little peace and quiet?

He frowned.

'Just ignore it,' he told himself.

Konrad resumed reviewing the papers in front of him, carefully examining the expenditures...only for the damned noise to break his concentration.

Wringing the papers in his gloved hands, Konrad felt a building fury deep within him, a raging storm begging for release, to be unleashed, his sharp teeth clenching beneath his scarf as a growl started to build in the back of his throat.

Hearing a knock at the door, he suddenly caught himself, though his voice was tinged with annoyance, "Come in."

Lifting his concealed eyes from his desk, he watched as his bodyguard Dieter poked his head through. "You wanted to see me, boss?"

Sighing, Konrad waved him inside, urging the grey-suited figure into the room, the door securely closed behind him.

"Sit down."

Complying, Dieter sat comfortably down in front of the Baron's desk, eying Konrad carefully. "Everything okay?"

Konrad roughly grunted as he leaned back in his wheelchair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Things could have been better," he replied.

"What's this?" Dieter asked, gesturing to the collection of pages and file folders on Konrad's desk.

"Participant files and company expenditures," the Baron growled. "I've been getting trouble from David and the Board following today's little incident with that Burnside boy. Even more, Sacket has been going over the financial figures and has been noticing some discrepancies, so now I'm trying to figure out where these amounts are going, if not how to explain some of them. If I don't, Sergei will be quick in having me removed."

The bodyguard frowned. "Damn, Konrad. Sounds serious."

"Misappropriation of funds is a criminal offence, Dieter, and a good reason to have me removed as chairman - of course it's serious!" He shook his hooded head in exasperation, "This is exactly the kind of ammunition that pricks like Sergei would love to use against me to get what they want." He suddenly paused, then looked over at Dieter suspiciously, "...You wouldn't know anything about these monies being withdrawn, would you, Dieter?"

He carefully studied the bodyguard's face, watching it harden.

"Konrad," the latter spoke slowly, "I will gladly admit that I'm a scoundrel, and that I have what you would call a rather...colorful past. But stealing money from my friends?" He shook his head. "To be honest, Baron, I'm fuckin' offended that you of all people would ask me that."

The Baron winced, tensing his jaw as he dipped his head low with regret. "My apologies, Dieter. It was wrong of me to suspect you. I was only just trying to-"

"I know," Dieter nodded, his eyes softening. "I understand. We'll get this figured out."

Konrad then sighed. "I hope so. But even more importantly, what I want to know is just how the fuck a seventeen-year-old, snot-nosed, pimple-faced brat managed to get into the tournament in the first place?! And under our watch?"

Dieter shook his head. "Could just be a simple case of human error."

"No shit, Sherlock!" Konrad retorted, "But whose?! This was a fuck-up that should have been nipped in the bud long before that little shit was able to make his way onto these premises!"

Frowning, Dieter leaned back into his chair in thought, folding his arms together. "You know, now that you mentioned it, it's kind of weird that A.R.I.A. hadn't detected the slip-up."

Konrad opened his mouth to make another retort...only to find himself faltering.

"Ja," he agreed, his brows wrinkling perplexedly. Now that Dieter mentioned it, A.R.I.A. should have been the first one to have picked up on the error.

If so...why hadn't she?

His brows furrowed.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dieter shifted in his seat. "What are you thinking, boss?"

Konrad leaned back into his chair. "I don't like this, Dieter. Something is wrong."

The computer lab was silent as Orchid sat still in front of the monitor, not paying any mind to the guard standing directly behind her.

She waited until the vid connection was made, watching the screen as her contact Krauser appeared on camera.

"Hello, honey!" Krauser greeted with a partial smile.

"Heyyyy, baby!" Orchid cooed, offering an exaggerated smooch.

"How are things going?"

"Ohh, you know," she shrugged nonchalantly, playing up the dumb girlfriend part. "Things are, like, a little slow around here, but progress is being made. My fight will be coming up soon."

Krauser perked up. "Izzat right? Any idea who you're fighting?"

Orchid then wagged her finger. "Nah ah ah, darling. I can't talk about that, I'm afraid." She then rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she leaned on her elbow. "How are things with you, sugar-bumps?"

He shrugged. "Been doing some overtime on the construction job."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Security's tighter than a nun's asshole."

She gave a mock gasp of mortification, clicking her tongue. "John!"

"Oops, sorry, honey!" He said. "Anyway, how long are you gonna be down there for?"

"Awww, you really miss me, don't you?" Orchid shrugged. "It shouldn't be long. I will need some time to adjust and see how things are around here before I can make any decisions. There are a few obstacles in the way so far, but I don't think it's anything that I can't handle."

"Are you sure?"

The woman in green raised a questioning brow. "Are you doubting me?"

Krauser raised a placating hand. "Uh, no. Me and, uh, the rest of the family are just a little concerned, that's all."

"How considerate," she replied. "It will be a little while. I can't say how long I will be here for, but I should be able to get what I need without any complications."

He smirked. "Good girl. Always figured you would, baby. Let me know if you want to come home."

She smirked back, shimmying her shoulders slightly as she teased, "Ooh, sounds like you want be badly."

"Hey, what can I say?" Krauser shrugged, raising his hands up. "It's a little lonesome around here, darlin'."

"Unfortunately, you'll have to make due without me," Orchid said with a drippy voice, giving a mock pout.

"Shame. I hope this place is keeping you entertained."

She tucked some bangs behind her ear. "It's pretty busy around here. Security is pretty tight, and there are a lot of fighters to go through. The latter are pretty boring, to be honest, though. I shouldn't have any problems."

"Just so long as you behave," Krauser reminded.

A partial smirk rose up one corner of her mouth. "Oh please. You make me sound as if I'm bad."

"That's because you are," he said knowingly.

Orchid let out a light laugh. "Touché." She then leaned forward, catching the muscular blonde by surprise as she gave him a clear view of her cleavage. Running one hand up her along the side of her body, from her stomach upward, she started to whisper sultrily, "Tell me, big boy...what are you wearing?"

Swallowing, Krauser opened his mouth to respond, only for the guard behind her to let out a disgusted groan. "Oh for fuck's sakes, not this shit again! Lady, can you knock it off?! This call is being monitored!"

"Alright, alright!" She raised her hands, sitting back down into her seat. "Sorry, honey, but I'm afraid I've got to go. I'll try to get back to you as soon as I am able. It shouldn't be long before I get my prize."

"Don't keep us waiting, sugar-tits."

Orchid's eye twitched slightly at the nickname as she forced on a smile, breathing deeply. "See you soon." She then blew a kiss at the screen, watching as Krauser disconnected. Once he was gone, she then turned to face the security guard. "All finished."

The guard then nodded. "Okay, just follow me to the desk and sign yourself out, miss."

Following him to the desk, Orchid quietly started to apply her signature, writing her name and the time that she finished her call, her mind laser-focused on her next objective.

For any spy, corporate or otherwise, infiltration of Sabrewulf Castle would have been next to impossible, but her little gamble had so far paid off; none of the security nor the staff suspected anything, nor had any alarm been raised.

At least, so far.

Orchid checked her watch as she exited the computer lab.

While her infiltration of the castle facility had managed to go off without a hitch, the next part of her plan would prove difficult - the waiting.

Any self-respecting spy worth their salt knew that only an imbecile would rush headlong into danger without knowing all of the details; it paid being prepared, which was why Orchid had opted to remain low.

At least, for the time being.

Stepping outside, Orchid took in the castle grounds in their entirety, her intense eyes scanning every section as carefully as she could, not wanting to miss anything important, no matter how trivial.

Every section of Sabrewulf Castle was loaded to the brim with security, many of it near impossible to bypass, with plenty of guards, security cameras, and wandering androids on patrol obstructing her path, and that was barely scratching the surface.

Even more, it was hard to determine how long she had until she was eventually discovered, meaning that there was a ticking clock counting down over her head, causing her to frown in irritation.

If she was lucky, she would have a couple of weeks, if not days.

'Here's hoping that Lady Luck is on my side,' she thought wistfully.

In the meantime, she would play it safe. Fortune favored the bold, but there was a time and place, and it was clear to the spy that the smartest path to take was to be patient in her approach.

Now, let's see what we're dealing with.

Exhaling, Orchid adjusted her short green jacket as she silently roamed along the castle grounds by herself, carefully scanning her environment as she made note of the camera and sensor positions along with the various potential blind spots for them. She observed the guards on patrol, carefully noting their rotations and individual habits and movements, her eyes not missing anything as she checked for hiding spots and potential exits, everything carefully measured.

"Well, it looks like you are really in the thick of it now, girl," she murmured to herself, taking it all in. "How are you gonna get out of this one?"

She stared off in silence, the question lingering.

Finally, a feral smirk, hungry with anticipation, slowly crept up her face. "I love a challenge."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Fifteen: Shattered Dreams

She hated waiting.

Tapping her foot on the white floor, Claire leaned back against her chair as she fidgeted, watching Dr. Gupte's door with all the alertness of a cat.

God, come on already!

Squirming, she crossed one leg over the other, blowing her bangs from her forehead with an anxious though irritated huff.

What was taking so long?!

Closing her eyes, Claire pinched the bridge of her nose.

'Patience, Claire,' she told herself. 'You'll get your turn soon.'

The girl leaned back, staring upward at the ceiling in boredom.

God, if only she had a Gameboy or something to play with, maybe even a magazine or newspaper.

Anything to distract her from how nervous she was.

Following Orchid's match, the fights after had become much more frantic and aggressive, some lasting between mere minutes to mere seconds depending on skill level, and Claire was really beginning to feel the intensity in the air as one by one the number of contestants started to whittle down.

She couldn't believe how quickly the number of fighters had dropped with the passage of time, and she hoped - well, prayed, to put it more bluntly - that she would be able to keep on participating.

Two contestants had to leave due to health problems, with one sporting a bad stomach flu, while another fighter - a woman in her twenties with long and thick curly brown hair - had to drop out after getting herself pregnant.

One contestant in particular had gotten into a heap of trouble with security after he had drunkenly wandered into the sealed-off Spencer Estate, though curiously, he had made claims stating that he had no idea how he had even gotten there in the first place.

Whether or not there had been any truth to his claims, nobody knew; the only thing that everyone was certain of was the growing pressure that was felt amongst all, and with it, a greater sense of uncertainty.

Whereas the early period of the tournament had started off relatively light, with some combatants engaging in friendly banter and interactions, even in some cases drawing up the odd friendship or romance, more recently, there was an abrupt change, and now everyone was on edge.

Sitting quietly in the waiting area of Dr. Gupte's office, Claire glanced around as she lazily swung her legs, adjusting herself on the chair, her bottom feeling sore.

God, if only she could talk to someone!

Ever since Piers had left, everything felt...colder, for lack of a better word.

Lonelier.

Both Billy and T.J. largely kept to themselves following Piers' departure, although the latter became increasingly more morose compared to earlier; by all indications, Piers' words had deeply affected the boxer, and now he seemed to be struggling with that.

Claire had tried to get T.J. to open up on one or two occasions, but he would either just shrug her off or flat-out ignore her, at one point bluntly telling her to mind her own business and to "get lost."

Since then, she had tried giving the boxer space, although she did let T.J. know that she would always welcome an opportunity to talk with him if he ever saw fit to speak with her.

As she turned in Billy's direction, Claire let out a breath.

With Billy, things were somewhat...complicated, for lack of a better word, and a little bit tense.

Where Claire had tried to lend an ear to T.J., by contrast, she found herself unwilling to do the same for the former Marine.

There were a few times where he had tried to speak with her, but Claire would find herself putting some distance between them.

Perhaps it was pettiness on her part that kept her from completely forgiving Billy, but the truth was that part of Claire was a little worried about the hinted troubles that Orchid had alluded to.

After all, did she really want to know what dark secrets he had, even when she had her own matters to worry about?

Looking in the former Marine's direction, Claire watched as Billy leaned back against a wall, his arms tucked behind the back of his head while he stared up at the ceiling, his expression troubled.

More than once Claire had found herself tempted to reach out, only to find herself refraining from doing anything.

Orchid's words suggestively lingered at the back of her mind, making the girl hesitant and wary, if not conflicted.

Part of her wanted to know just how bad Billy's situation was.

On the other hand, perhaps it was for the best that she didn't know the details; people's lives were complicated enough, and God knows, Claire's troubles were more than enough to take on by herself.

It was one thing to lend an ear and comfort someone at their most sad and vulnerable, but how much would one want to know until they find themselves neck-deep in the other person's problems?

As sympathetic as she was, even she had to admit that there were limits in what she could do and would be able to do for anyone, which made it all the more sad to think about.

Squirming in her seat, Claire guiltily glanced away from Billy, slumping in her chair.

No matter the decision she made, someone was going to get hurt regardless, and she felt terrible about it.

Claire glanced up as Billy ran his hand through his dark hair, sweeping it back, his fingers straightening it, his eyes no longer looking in her direction.

A feeling of gloom hung over the girl, her shoulders drooping.

Since their last meeting, Billy became reluctant to continue speaking with her, and whenever she saw him, he would have a dejected look on his face, which made the pain that she felt even worse.

Closing her eyes, Claire raised a hand to her face, her fingers massaging her forehead.

God, why did things have to be so complicated?!

Try to help someone, and she would potentially run the risk of getting involved with someone's legal troubles.

Try to ignore them, and then one becomes the biggest bastard in the universe.

No matter who won, someone would lose.

As Claire sat in the waiting area, she deliberated on whether or not to approach Billy.

Scrunching her brow up indecisively, the girl bit her lip as she wrestled with her conscience.

Finally, her shoulders drooped.

Perhaps it was for the best that she ended up minimizing contact with him as much as possible, that way she could focus on the tournament ahead and who she might have to face in the future.

And yet, the guilt remained.

Pulling her hand away, Claire let out a tired sigh.

God, she really hated waiting.

Glancing around the waiting area, Claire allowed her eyes to roam, taking in all the other fighters one by one.

Orchid was patiently seated alone, separate from all the other contestants, ignoring everyone, her face coldly composed.

Watching her, Claire's brows furrowed as she tried making sense of the woman in green.

Aside from her one or two interactions with Claire, Orchid never made any efforts to socialize with any of the fighters, if at all; she was cold and distant, and from the looks that she would offer on occasion, Orchid regarded them all as if they were mere annoyances to be dealt with.

Like buzzing flies, or like gum sticking to the bottom of her shoe.

Orchid rarely spoke a word, her brown eyes possessing a sharpness that made the teenager reluctant to even engage with her, even on a friendly note.

Part of Claire was put off by the cold yet quiet arrogance that the older woman exuded, and more than once she felt annoyed by her presence.

'Still,' Claire thought, 'Orchid can't be all that bad, right?'

At least, she hoped that was the case.

Allowing her eyes to roam again, the girl continued to observe the other fighters.

Jago was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed, looking as if he were asleep, while Thunder was silently reading a National Geographic, focused on some article within.

Letting her gaze linger on the former, Claire recalled Orchid's warning about him, her curiosity growing.

Out of all the people that she had interacted with, Jago had always been the friendliest of the bunch, so soft-spoken and kind that the idea that he had killed anyone, even if perhaps unintentionally, seemed at odds with the type of person that he was.

It was possible that Orchid was just filling her head with bullshit in order to turn her against him, but why would she have such animosity toward him if that were the case?

What purpose was there in spreading potentially poisonous lies about someone that, as far as Claire was aware, had done nothing to provoke said-individual?

Then again, it was always hard to know what a person was truly like; some people were masters at hiding their true selves, even their monstrous sides, and because of that, it was easy for anyone to be fooled by a person's facade.

More than once Claire debated whether or not to broach the subject in private, and more than once she found herself feeling conflicted.

The last thing that she wanted was to alienate the monk and risk offending him...and yet...a part of her wanted to know.

Claire stared at Jago for a long time, then averted her eyes, turning her attention to the rest of the waiting room.

Glancing at the other fighters, Claire was struck by how different they all were from one another. Some looked so ridiculously over-the-top, while a few were just plain boring.

One guy looked like a grizzled biker, while another looked like a goth chick.

One figure in particular, however, drew Claire's immediate interest - a young boy that sat just about a foot away from her, wearing peculiarly old and anachronistic-looking clothing.

Turning in his direction, she studied the boy beside her, curious as she took in his features and clothing.

Lean and wiry, with some slight musculature, the youth looked to be around the same age as her, eighteen or nineteen-years-old, with long scruffy red hair that was all spiked up and pointing in several different directions. Nothing involving hair gel, as far as Claire were aware, but more of an unkempt bedhead sort of appearance.

A blue headband was wrapped around his forehead, the boy dressed in a unbuttoned short-sleeved green shirt that revealed a red top underneath, the fabric thin and silky, his pants an ugly orange, with a pair of buckles tightened around the hems.

Adorning his wrists were a pair of brown leather cuffs, though his most unusual features, however, were the outdated Cavalier boots that he wore, which were worn with age.

Taken together, the boy looked woefully out of place next to the other fighters, if not somewhat out of time, for in a lot of ways, he looked like a young pirate.

As if sensing something was amiss, if not that he was being watched, he turned to face her, allowing Claire to get a good luck at his eyes, which were bright green, full of mirth and kindness, though tinged with a hint of mischievousness.

"Hello," he greeted, his voice lacking any identifiable accent. "Can I help you?"

Blinking rapidly, Claire smiled, slightly blushing. "Uh, hi! Ah, s-sorry. I just couldn't help staring at your clothes."

The boy blinked. "My clothes?"

"Yeah," Claire nodded. "That's a cool outfit that you're wearing! I love the whole pirate theme you have going on."

Puzzled, the boy's eyes widened slightly before giving a shy smile, letting out a light laugh. "Ah, thanks, I guess," he said as he scratched the back of his head.

Claire then held out her hand. "I'm Claire. Claire Redfield."

The youth reached out, shaking the offered limb. "The name's Edson."

The girl blinked. "'Edson'?" she repeated.

"It was my Pa's name, and his Pa's before that. It means 'son of Edward'."

Claire thoughtfully digested the information, nodding as she pulled away. "Sounds like you have an interesting family."

Edson chuckled. "Not really." His features fell slightly as he continued, "He had passed on ages ago, so it's just me, my little sister Ellie, my dog Dinger, and my girlfriend Madeleine."

Claire felt a flicker of disappointment upon hearing about the latter, for in some ways, it almost felt as if fate was rubbing her nose in it.

A shame, to be honest; he looked cute.

Claire nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He smiled. "Thank you. It was long ago, but still, your condolences are appreciated."

Shifting in her seat, the girl turned to face him directly, surprised by how much more relaxed she felt in his presence. "So you have a dog?"

His smile brightened, the boy nodding. "Yeah!"

"What breed, if you don't mind my asking?"

"A German Shorthaired Pointer," he answered. "Very energetic, but he's a good boy." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cheap-looking brown wallet and extracted a photograph from it, handing it to her. "Here's a picture of him, along with my family."

Taking it, Claire studied the picture curiously.

In the photograph, Edson was standing with two girls. Wrapped around his midsection in a tight hug to his right was an adorable nine-year-old munchkin with curly dirty blonde hair, a cute little button nose, a huge smile, and a pair wide matching green eyes, the girl dressed in a pink skirt and yellow top.

The other girl to his left, Claire noted, was older, looking about the same age as Edson, if not a year younger, and pretty, with an oval face and long, shoulder-length peroxide blonde hair, wearing a white dress.

Seated in front of them, however, was the happiest-looking dog that Claire had ever seen, with an eagerly wagging tail and his tongue hanging out, his expression making her aweing as she cooed, "Awww! He's so adorable!"

"Thanks!"

Claire studied the picture for a long time.

'They look so happy together,' she winsomely thought.

"You have a beautiful family," Claire said as she handed the picture back to its owner.

"Thank you," Edson replied. "We sometimes get on each other's nerves, and God knows, I can be a handful sometimes, but we manage. Seeing Ellie and Madeleine's smiles always makes my day, and I can never get enough of them."

As he spoke, Claire noted the warmth in his tone, along with the unmistakable look in his eyes of pure adoration and love as he gazed upon the picture, the sight of which was so heartwarming that Claire couldn't help smiling herself.

"You are very lucky," she nodded.

He gave a charming laugh, causing her heart to flutter as he shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm more fortunate than most, I guess," he replied, putting his picture and wallet away. "How about you?"

Claire shifted in her seat as she took out out her wallet, pulling out a photograph.

"I live with my brother Chris," she replied, handing it to Edson. "He'd been looking after me ever since our parents died."

Edson glanced up from the photo in surprise. "They died?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Car accident. I was too young to remember it, though. What about your parents?"

"Ma had died shortly after giving birth to Ellie," Edson explained. "Pa died a few years later of cancer."

Wincing, Claire lowered her eyes to the floor. "I'm...I'm so sorry to hear that."

He shrugged again. "It'd been rough, but we'd managed." Edson studied the picture, nodding thoughtfully. "Looks like a handsome fella."

"He is," Claire nodded, her eyes lighting up in mischief, "though I do try to keep him humble by reminding of his shortcomings, along with his place."

"Yeah?" Edson chuckled.

She grinned. "It's a little sister's job, you know."

He scratched his cheek. "Don't know about that. Ellie's pretty well-behaved."

"Just give her a few years," she winked. "By then, I'm sure you'll need to fend off all the boys with a stick. She is sure to grow up into a real head-turner when she's older."

Edson leaned his head back and uttered a groan at the thought while Claire giggled at the boy's apparent dismay.

"God, I'm not looking forward to when that day comes." He glanced back at the photo, tilting his head slightly. "Your brother is a police officer?"

"Yep. He's a Point Man for S.T.A.R.S."

"'S.T.A.R.S.'?"

"Yeah. 'Special Tactics And Rescue Services'. It's an elite police unit here in Colorado."

"Ah." Handing the picture back to Claire, he pressed, "So what brings you to the tournament?"

Claire's smile fell. "My brother and his partner - ah, his police partner - ended up in a car accident."

"Another car accident?" he said in surprise.

"Yeah. A hit-and-run. The police are still looking into the matter."

"Are...are they okay?"

Claire shook her head. "They're alive, but...they're both unconscious. I've been doing what I can to support them, but between the hospital bills and all the other bills that keeps piling up, well..." She trailed off, feeling too exposed and vulnerable. Tucking some bangs behind her ear, she glanced up at the boy. "So, uh, what about you?"

Claire watched as the normally upbeat air dissipated in its entirety around the boy, a slight gloom coming over him as he spoke. "Times have been pretty rough for me and my family," he admitted.

"Really?" He nodded. "How...how bad is it?"

A sigh escaped from Edson's lips, looking like one who had the entire world on his shoulders, a feeling that Claire herself could relate to. "Pretty bad, to be honest. Madeleine and I are struggling to make ends meet, but all of the jobs that are available don't pay enough as it is. I had to drop out of school in order to pay for my little sister's school fees, and the bills are just growing more and more, so much so that the bank is threatening to take away our home."

Claire's eyes widened. "What?!"

He shrugged. "It's true. Even worse, Children's Protective Services are threatening to take my little sister away from me."

The girl stared pityingly at the boy, noticing the sag and strain in his shoulders, along with the weariness in his eyes. "Have you...have you tried contacting a lawyer?"

He shook his head in a slow arc. "I've been in contact with Colorado Legal Services, but I still need money in order to pay for everything. I saw an ad for this place on TV, so I kind of figured, why not give this place a shot."

Hearing his story made the girl's heart ache as she watched him.

"I...I'm sorry to hear about your troubles," Claire softly said.

He shrugged. "It is what it is, but still...thank you. For what it's worth, Claire, I'm sorry about your brother. I hope things go well for you."

Claire smiled. "You as well, Edson. Good luck."

"Good luck to you too."

As the two teenagers sat together in silence, Claire found her mood brightening.

She had no idea what would happen next, but hey, at least she had made a new friend.

An audible crack filled the arena as a man's nose was broken, staining the floor with blood as it gushed out from his nostrils.

Flinching at the sound and at the sight, Claire shifted uncomfortably as the fighter collapsed onto the floor, drawing the cheers from almost all of the fighters.

Standing along the sidelines waiting for her turn, she found, was an altogether different experience from watching from the safety from the audience seat, and part of her found herself regretting her decision to participate.

As Ultratech medical personnel carried the defeated challenger off on a stretcher, Claire found herself drawn to the blood-stained floors, watching as personnel scrubbed and cleaned as much as they were able while also picking up broken teeth.

Averting her eyes, Claire wrung her hands, looking down at her feet and at the floor.

"Are you alright?"

"Huh?" Glancing up, Claire was surprised to see Jago beside, causing the former to smile. "Oh, hi Jago!"

He nodded. "Hello, Claire. Are you alright? I couldn't help noticing that you didn't look well."

She gave lopsided grin. "That obvious, huh? I'm okay, thanks for asking. I just can't stand the sight of blood."

The Tibetan monk cast his eyes over to the arena. "Understandable. It is never an easy thing to witness."

The teenager then gave him a curious look. "Does the sight of blood bother you as well?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I just have a stronger constitution compared to most."

"Lucky you." Claire then shifted her foot around, crossing her legs. "Out of curiosity, Jago," she began slowly, "would it be alright if I ask you something, well...personal?"

Claire noticed him tense slightly, his eyes puzzled yet wary as he slowly replied, "...You may."

The girl then brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "Why did you join? From what I know, you don't seem like the type of person that would want to be a part of something like this."

She watched as the monk thoughtfully considered the question, nodding as he crossed his arms.

"There are...many reasons," he spoke enigmatically. "Chief among them, however, is my desire to help others."

"How so?"

"By getting to know my opponents and getting them to question why they are fighting."

The girl blinked rapidly, confused by the answer. "But...how does fighting help with that? Isn't hurting people against the tenets of your religion?"

"It isn't about inflicting violence," Jago clarified. "It is about making a connection and fostering understanding and growth, in both yourself and in your opponent. True strength isn't just muscle and bone, Claire - in order to not fear the Tiger's bite, one needs control. Martial arts is a discipline as much about mastering the body as it is the mind and soul, about understanding. It is about discovering not only your own strength, but also helping your opponent discover theirs as well. Knowing your own limitations, learning where you went wrong, and learning how to transcend them."

Claire pondered his points, her ponytail swishing from side to side behind her. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess that makes sense." She gave him a questioning look. "Is it hard?"

"Of course," Jago nodded, looking over to the arena. "'Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.' Nothing is ever gained through doing nothing, Claire. Hardship is a part of life, and as such, it needs to be faced directly in order for one to progress and succeed."

Claire shrugged. "True, I suppose." She then gave the Tibetan monk a curious look, his eyes drifting along the various rows of fighters. "Is this your first time being in America?"

He nodded, keeping silent.

"How do you like it here?" she asked.

Jago remained quiet for a moment, his eyes roaming. Finally, he spoke up.

"It is certainly...different," he replied, seeming a little stiff and somewhat uncomfortable as he glanced at his cramped sides. "It is very noisy here compared to back home."

"I can imagine," Claire nodded. "The culture shock must be something else, huh?"

"It is a lot to take in," Jago admitted, nodding in agreement.

"Is this anything like how you imagined?"

He shrugged, eying the holographic jumbotron. "I had no expectations, really. That being said, there are...many wonderous things here. I can see why many come here, especially my countrymen." The Tibetan monk mournfully shook his head. "It is a great pity what is happening back home with the Chinese."

An air of melancholy surrounded him for a moment, an exhale escaping from his lips.

"Do you miss being there?" Claire gently asked.

The Tibetan monk gave a tentative nod. "A little, I suppose."

"Home is where the heart is, right?"

He gave a small chuckle. "I suppose that's true."

"I bet your family is cheering you on, right?" Claire winked with a smile.

The girl then sensed Jago tense slightly, looking uncomfortable.

Hesitating, Claire's smile fell. "Don't you have family waiting for you?"

Jago clicked his tongue, then let out a breath through his veil. "No. No, I'm afraid not."

As he looked back to the arena, Claire found herself watching the monk.

"So," she said slowly, drawing his attention, "you have no family? Like, at all?"

He nodded. "That's correct."

"None whatsoever?" As the monk shook his head, Claire gave him a sad look, reprimanding herself for crossing such a sensitive line. "I'm...I'm so sorry to hear."

Jago casually shrugged. "It is what it is," he said in acceptance, looking not at all offended by her questions. "None of us can dictate how we are conceived, nor what our parents have done in the past. We can, however, look ahead to the future and determine our own paths. Though I may not have either a mother nor a father, I am blessed to have been raised by my Order, and I will always be thankful for that."

Claire smiled. "I'm glad that you have such an optimistic view of things."

"It comes with perspective," Jago replied, looking ahead to the cage. "Many years ago, I was a troubled child with no family. I was often angry, confused, even at times bitter. There had been many times when I felt like black clouds were perpetually hanging over me. There have been...many times, where I was tested, and there were...many times where I found myself questioning my place in this world." His eyes softened as he continued, "But...in retrospect, I am more fortunate than most. Were it not for the Abbott of my Order, I would not have overcome that darkness that plagued me, and now I wish to help those who have been where I had used to be, and help them attain enlightenment."

Claire stared in wonder, taken by the steely determination that the monk possessed.

"That's incredible!" She complimented.

Jago hummed, politely nodding. "Thank you."

"I mean it! That's pretty badass!"

He gave her a curious glance, quirking a brow before giving an amused grunt. "...Interesting expression."

As Jago stared at the bloodied floor of the cage as it was cleaned, the girl then pointed to the golden teeth-like decorations on his light blue veil. "Out of curiosity, Jago, what is the story with those?"

"Hm?" Looking away from the cage, Jago gestured to his veil. "This?"

"Yeah!"

His eyes warmed, his veil concealing his smile. "These fangs that I wear symbolize the Tiger. In my Order, the Tiger is a dangerous animal, but it is also a symbol of awareness, kindness and confidence. These qualities are considered necessary for walking the sacred path, and for that reason, all practitioners must be willing to sacrifice all sense of self in order to follow the path of the Tiger. Only the path of the Tiger Spirit can guide us toward enlightenment by becoming one with it, in mind, body, and soul."

He then turned his attention back to the cage, his eyes and form taking on a more rigid and serious air. "And it has led me here."

Claire was silent as she absorbed his words, watching him with growing fascination.

Looking over to the far left, the teenager spotted Orchid and watched the older woman as she studied her nails.

'What is your deal?' Claire wondered.

Was there some history with Jago that she didn't know about?

Looking back and forth at the two standing figures, Claire silently regarded them both, her interest piqued.

Based on what little she knew, both Jago and Orchid were quiet individuals and excellent fighters, but in many ways, the two were polar opposites of one another.

Whereas the former seemed a very pleasant and sociable person to be around, Orchid by contrast seemed far more guarded and secretive.

Whereas Jago was modest and conservative in his appearance, Orchid was far flashier and bolder, more than comfortable with her own body and sexuality based on her clothing alone.

Whereas Jago exuded a sense of warmth, by contrast, Orchid exuded more of a sense of coldness, an aura of mystery surrounding her.

In many ways, the two of them couldn't be any more diametrically opposed.

And yet, Claire couldn't help noting, there did seem to be something more beneath the surface.

Something that she wasn't seeing that connected the two.

As Claire continued to compare and contrast the two fighters, she was suddenly struck by how similar their eyes were; not only were their eye colors the exact same shade of brown, but their very shapes were the same as well.

But even more, they both had the exact same dark intensity and inquisitiveness that suggested so much more going on beneath the surface.

Blinking rapidly, the girl's brows furrowed slightly, squinting, looking back and forth between Jago and Orchid.

It can't...are they...?

Looking down, Claire gave a slight scoff, shaking her head in dismissal.

She was overthinking things.

Looking back to Jago, Claire found herself wanting to know more about the mysterious monk. There were so many questions that she had, especially about this "Tiger Spirit" that he worshipped, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she unexpectedly heard the announcer call out her name.

"CLAIRE REDFIELD!" As the spotlight fell on her, Claire raised a hand, blocking out the light.

"Looks like you're up," Jago commented, placing his fist into the palm of his hand and respectfully bowing. "Good luck, Claire."

She smiled. "Thanks, Jago."

Looking ahead with a shaky breath, Claire pushed through the throng of people, making her way slowly toward the arena.

Upon entering the cage, the girl glanced at the bloodied floor, wincing.

Even though much effort had been made to clean it, the cleaning solution wasn't able to get the blood off.

Swallowing, Claire looked around the arena, her heart pounding in her ears as she found herself reflected on the screen of the hovering holographic jumbotron, the teenager looking like a startled deer caught in the headlights.

"EDSON DREAMS!"

As the name echoed across the aisles, a spotlight fell on an individual in the crowd, drawing Claire's attention.

It can't be! There's no way that it-

The thought was abruptly cut short as Edson moved his way through the crowd, moving toward the cage.

As he stepped inside, the boy froze, looking equally startled as he found himself staring at Claire.

"FIGHT ON!"

Swallowing, Claire shook her head. "I...I didn't know that this would happen."

"Neither did I," Edson admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I should have looked at the schedule." He looked meaningfully at her. "I don't...I don't want to fight you, Claire."

Claire shook her head. "I...I don't want to either." Looking conflictedly at the screen, then at the other contestants, the girl struggled to think of a solution to their predicament.

Finding nothing, Claire closed her eyes, exhaling as the realization of their situation sunk in - they had no choice.

"I...I'm sorry, Edson," she apologized, getting into a fighting stance, raising up her fists, feeling guilty as she did so, "but...I...I need to do this...for my brother..."

Part of her expected him to look taken aback, if not outraged.

Maybe offer some contempt-filled sneer or make some remark that would change her opinion of the young man, if only to somewhat justify her hitting him.

Instead, Edson gave her a kindly and gentle smile, his eyes showing no trace of either anger nor hurt, only sympathy and understanding.

"I get it," he nodded. "You have people depending on you, just as Ellie and Madeleine are depending on me. I don't want to fight you, Claire. You really seem like a nice person. But..." He let out a breath, squaring his shoulders, "I'm not backing down, either."

The two teenagers stood stock still in a standoff, both focused on one another.

Sighing, Claire shook her head. "I guess this is it."

Edson nodded. "Seems like it. May the best fighter win." In a gesture that caught Claire by surprise, he held out his hand.

Blinking dumbly, Claire relaxed a little, then obliged, taking his hand and shaking it. "Good luck, Edson."

Edson smiled, showing no malice whatsoever, his eyes kind and gentle. "Good luck, Claire."

Once the two of them finished, the teenagers took up their respective stances.

Claire heard the fabric of her fingerless gloves straining against her knuckles as she tightened her hands into fists, her heart beating loudly in her chest and ears.

Finally, the announcer uttered that one, fateful word with a resounding roar that echoed.

"READY!"

And with that fateful last call, Claire stepped forward with balled-up fists, meeting her opponent head-on.

A few hours later...

Claire sat beside the still form of Edson as he lied on the hospital bed, his heartrate monitor beeping, her heart aching at the sight of the bruised and battered figure.

Watching the boy stir, Claire straightened in her seat.

"Ugh." Opening his eyes, the boy winced, lifting a hand to block out the light. "...Claire?"

"You're awake!" She exclaimed, turning to face him. "Thank goodness. Are you okay?"

Edson sat up from the bed, massaging his forehead. "Ugh. What-where-?"

"You are in the recovery wing of the castle," Claire explained. "I am so sorry about what's happened! I swear I never meant to hurt you!"

Edson raised a placating hand. "It's okay. Honestly, it's alright." Groaning, he rubbed his bruised and swollen left eye. "I gotta hand it to you, Claire, you can hit pretty hard."

Claire rubbed the back of her head, sweat-dropping as she laughed lightly in embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that! My brother showed me a thing or two."

"Your brother, huh? What, does he punch cars as part of his training and eat engine parts?"

"Boulders, actually," Claire quipped.

The boy let out a light laugh, wincing. "Crap, I think you might have busted a rib with that kick of yours."

Flinching, Claire lowered her eyes. "God, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Edson adjusted himself on the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. "How long have you been here for?"

Claire shrugged. "Ever since you lost consciousness."

The words lingered, the teenager digesting the information.

"So I lost, huh?"

Claire fidgeted slightly, biting her lip as she averted her gaze, feeling uncomfortable.

Taking a deep breath, Edson's eyes drooped slightly as he exhaled. "I lost," he dejectedly spoke.

Hearing the defeat in his voice and seeing how Edson slumped in the hospital bed, Claire couldn't help feeling a churning in the pit of her stomach, her eyes tearing up.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Edson," she spoke, trying to keep the trembling out from her voice. "I know how much this fight meant to you. I...I didn't know that this..."

As Claire trailed off, she let a tear fall. "I'm so sorry."

Edson shook his head, his eyes not showing any anger nor envy at all, much to her incredulity, only filled with pity and sadness. "It's okay, Claire. It's not your fault. I'll just need to find another way, that's all."

Wiping her eyes, Claire swallowed, willing herself to meet his gaze. "What...what's going to happen now?"

Edson pondered the question. Exhaling, he gave a small shrug. "I don't know. Since I've lost, I'll have to go back home, I guess. In terms of what comes after, well..."

The words trailed off, his eyes empty and dejected.

Claire sniffled. "L-Listen, um," she said slowly, drawing his attention, "w-would...would it be okay if...if we could stay in touch? Do you...do you have...a phone number or email or-?"

The girl watched as Edson shook his head. "We had to cancel our internet and telephone this week."

Hearing that made Claire's heart break even more, the guilt of her victory over him overtaking any sense of triumph or joy she might have had.

"But," he said slowly, drawing her attention, "that being said, you are always welcome to send a letter."

Blinking in surprise, Claire then gave a small smile. "Okay." She then tucked her bangs behind her ear. "Listen, um...let's make a promise, alright? If I win the tournament, I'll-"

"Don't," Edson raised a hand, cutting her off.

"Huh?" Claire murmured, her eyes widening in shock, caught off-guard.

The boy shook his head. "Don't do this for me. Do it for your brother."

Claire stared, sputtering, "But...your sister and girlfriend-"

"We'll figure something out," Edson replied, his tone firm, his eyes softening. "Listen, Claire, I like you, but I don't like getting free handouts, nor do I like mooching off my friends."

"Are you sure?" Claire pressed. "I have no problem letting you borrow money."

"But I do," he interjected. "I'm sorry, Claire, but it's something that I must do, otherwise, how does that even make me a man? A man is supposed to look after and protect his family. If I cannot even do that, if I take from every pretty face that I meet, then what right do I have to call myself that?"

"You can always pay the money back-"

"That's not the issue, Claire," Edson cut her off. "It's the principle of the thing that matters. But even more, we barely know each other as it is - why would you want to lend money to someone that you've just met? Someone who, as far you as know, could be lying?"

Claire struggled to make a retort, only to find herself unable. Letting her shoulders droop, the girl glanced down to her gloved hands as they rested on her lap.

Edson sighed. "Look, I really appreciate the offer, Claire. Really, I do. But...I'm afraid that I'll need to figure this out on my own."

A moment of silence passed between the two teenagers, the words lingering.

"...Okay," Claire softly replied.

Even though she greatly disagreed with Edson, she would respect his decision.

Swallowing, Claire cleared her throat. "Listen, um...I-I know that you want to be the man of the house or whatever, but...if you ever need help...just know that you can always reach out, you know? You can't take on the world by yourself."

He nodded. "I know."

"So, um...if you...if you ever want to, say...send a letter or call, well...you have a friend here in Raccoon City, okay?"

Hearing the offer caused the boy to glance up in surprise. Giving her a soft smile, Edson nodded. "Okay."

Once the two of them finished exchanging addresses and contact information, the door opened, revealing Dr. Gupte as she entered with a clipboard.

"Ah, Mr. Dreams! I see you have company," Gupte noted, looking Claire up and down, the older woman giving her a quirk of her brow. "I'm not catching you at a bad time, am I?"

Claire cleared her throat. "Ah, no, Doctor. We were just finishing our talk."

"Oh good. Now, if you'll excuse me, but I need to do a check-up. Could you step outside please?"

"Okay."

As Claire was about to leave, Edson waved. "Goodbye, Claire. I hope the tournament goes well for you."

Blinking, Claire smiled back, offering a wave of her own. "Goodbye, Edson." She squirmed, looking uncomfortable. "N-No hard feelings, right?"

To Claire's surprise, Edson flashed back an honest and warm smile, his eyes kind and lacking any deception. "No hard feelings."

Feeling slightly relieved, Claire turned back to the door and exited the room, her eyes tearing up as she wondered what else this tournament had in store for her.

Author Notes: And that concludes this chapter! So, fun fact: the character of Edson was the protagonist of "Project Dream", which was a cancelled Rare game that was a precursor of sorts to "Banjo-Kazooei". The game was initially going to have a pirate theme in its design, but eventually Edson and co. were dropped in favor of Banjo. You can find information about that on some of the Rare Replay behind-the-scenes videos on YouTube, and I highly recommend checking it out. Kind of a shame, really, just because it looked like a potentially interesting game. I don't know if Edson would have been a popular character or not, but I think "Project Dream" could use a revisit imo, at least, someday. I wanted to include him, partially as a reference to Rare, but also because I kind of wanted someone as a sort of parallel to Claire and her journey without making him an antagonistic asshole. I don't know if I've succeeded, but I've tried.

I hope you all liked this chapter.

Stay safe and healthy, everyone! :D

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Sixteen: Sundown

"Ja. Ja. Uh huh. I see. Thank you for your time."

Standing in the office with his back leaning against the wall, Dieter lit up his cigarette with a match as he watched Konrad finished his telephone conversation with his accountant and hung up the phone.

"So, what's the verdict, boss?" he queried.

He heard a muffled growl coming from the Baron as the latter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing good, Dieter. Apparently, someone has been fucking me over with my back turned, taking small amounts from company funds and investing them into different shell companies, all without company approval no less."

"What sort of companies?" Dieter interestedly queried.

"I'll need to check, but one of them, Valkyrie Industries, has been verified to be a small robotics company that specializes in drones."

"Drones?" Dieter repeated, raising a brow as he scratched his head. "I don't get it. Why on earth would someone wanna invest in that?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" Konrad retorted. "I'll bet every dollar I've got it's Sergei, if not David. They're out there trying to make a fool out of me!"

"Calm down, Konrad," the bodyguard waved. "You think the two of them are working together?"

Konrad snorted. "Nein, they can't stand each other, as far as I can tell. That being said, I'd wager this has Sergei's fingerprints all over this, just because despite being a weasel, David is far too chickenshit to get his hands dirty. Still, it's possible he's built up a backbone without my knowing."

The brim of Dieter's fedora shadowed his features, the bodyguard crossing his arms while he smoked. "What do you think is Sergei's angle in getting these drones made?"

Konrad huffed, his breath causing his scarf to flutter. "Like I said, nothing good. We're already struggling to deal with Umbrella's shit, so this new development is going to give me no shortage of headaches. Best care scenario,"

"So why not clear this up with the Board and report Sergei?"

"That would be a great idea...if we actually had evidence that he was responsible."

"Hm." Dieter thoughtfully nodded as he smoked. "Yeah, that would be a problem." Letting out a puff, the bodyguard crossed his arms. "So what's your play going to be then?"

Konrad pressed his gloved hands together, his sunglasses-concealed eyes impossible to read. "Obviously we'll need to keep our ears low to the ground and get to the bottom of this. I pray that I'm wrong, but I have a feeling that the drones are merely the tip of a very ugly iceberg that we have yet to uncover."

The words lingered uncomfortably among the two men as they entertained the various possibilities, some more horrid than others.

Exhaling a thick grey cloud, Dieter hummed. "Well, isn't this dandy," he muttered before stubbing his cigarette out into an ashtray on Konrad's desk. "Any ideas on where you want to start?"

They didn't have to wait long until the phone rang.

Giving an annoyed grunt, Dieter watched as Konrad pressed onto the speaker. "Ja?"

"Good evening, Baron. There is a Captain James Malone waiting on the line," A.R.I.A. informed. "Shall I put him through?"

Hesitating, both Dieter and Konrad gave each other puzzled looks before looking back at the speaker.

"Did he say what this is about?"

"He says that it is urgent, but he has not elaborated. He is insistent on speaking with you directly."

"...Put him through." Picking up the phone from the receiver, the Baron held it to his ear. "Baron Von Sabrewulf speaking." Dieter watched as his employer hesitated. "Uh huh. Military police? From Regarthon Base, you say? What is this about?"

The bodyguard gave a quizzical glance at the Baron, who looked equally befuddled, watching as the latter suddenly straightened his seat. "What?! Are you sure?"

Even with his features concealed, Dieter was able to tell that the call put his boss in a bad mood.

"...I see," Konrad murmured. "Ja, thank you for your call. I will instruct security personnel immediately."

Hanging up the phone with a shaking hand, the Baron looked in Dieter's direction.

"We have a problem."

Fists rapidly met leather as T.J. delivered a swift flurry of punches to the punching bag, the boxer breathing through his teeth with each blow as it connected, his face damp and sweaty.

Focusing on the bag, he continued his combinations, watching it sway back and forth from the blows as he tried to work off his anger and frustration.

Clenching his teeth, T.J. struck it again and again, finishing with an uppercut, the force so strong that he had inadvertently punched straight through.

"Shit!" He swore, watching as the manager of the gym, the old gym manager, Zhou, approached with a broom and a dust pan. "Crap, I'm sorry, fella. I'll clean this-"

"No no no!" Zhou waved. "No trouble. I'll handle this."

"Are you sure, man? I feel pretty bad about-"

"No, it's okay! No worries!" The old man smiled. "Please feel free to use the weight machines in the meantime. I'll come back with a replacement bag."

"Alright." Gratefully nodding, T.J. moved toward the other end of the gym, seating himself down on a weight bench.

"Very impressive," a voice lightly commented.

Glancing to his right, he spotted the veil-wearing man, Jago if he recalled his name correctly, nearby in a meditative position, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Thanks," T.J. nodded. Lying down on the weight bench, T.J. then started to do some power lifting of his own, his pecks and biceps flexing as he lifted one hundred and fifty pounds upward and downward in a monotonously repetitive motion. "Didn't mean to hit it so hard, though."

Jago hummed. "You seemed troubled, mighty one," he commented. "Is everything alright?"

Pausing slightly, T.J. gave him a glance. "That obvious, huh?" The boxer then continued with his workout. "Admittedly I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"I gather it's about Nivans' brother?" Looking back at the monk, T.J. raised a brow, causing the former to shrug. "I was there during the confrontation."

T.J. scoffed. "Saw all of that, huh?" He exhaled, "Yeah, I guess everyone did that day." Looking back to the ceiling, he continued his weight-lifting. "Yet another thing to add to my bucket list, as if I don't have enough bullshit in my life to deal with."

"Do you not feel regret for what happened?"

Scowling, T.J. glanced back at Jago. "What are you, my father? It's none of your fuckin' business, Ninja Boy."

Jago then raised a placating hand in a calming gesture. "My apologies. I was only curious, that's all."

Staring at Jago for several seconds, T.J. then averted his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, his mouth feeling dry.

As the latter continued his weight training, the latter breathed. "...I gotta admit, I never expected that. I was a champ for twenty years, and not once have I ever killed anybody, either inside or outside of the ring. Shit, not even when I was on the streets or when I was high as a fuckin' kite with drugs had I ever killed nobody. Worst I ever did was bang somebody up, but this? Fuck, man."

"Does it scare you?"

Pausing midway through his lifting, T.J. scrunched up his brow in thought. "...A little," he admitted. "I'm not a smart man by any means, but even my dumb ass knows there are some lines a man should never cross. Shit, at this rate, I'm either going to jail, or face another fuckin' lawsuit." T.J. sighed, "What I would give to have it all taken back. Had I been smart, I wouldn't have associated with so many fake friends. I wouldn't have lost my title, I wouldn't have lost all those millions of dollars, nor would I have married the single most unpleasant woman in the world and owe support payments to said-bitch. And now this bullshit? Fuck, man. A motherfucker can only take so much shit."

Jago contemplatively sat on the floor, his eyes lowered.

"If it means anything, mighty one," he began, "...I know what it's like."

T.J. gave the Tibetan monk a glance. "You owe spousal support as well?"

Jago lightly chuckled. "No, I don't mean that. I mean killing a man."

T.J. stilled his movements, giving him a questioning and anxious look.

Lowering his eyes, Jago exhaled. "A few years ago, one of the monks in my temple had gone mad. I don't know what happened to him - one moment, everything was calm and quiet. The next, he just suddenly barged into the temple waving a sword around and started to attack everyone around him. He was like an animal, just ranting and raving in a language none of us were able to understand, slashing wildly at anyone and anything. Several within my Order ended up getting hurt trying to pacify him, and I had attempted to reason with him, but..." He shuddered, "his eyes were so wild. I've never seen such madness!"

From the bench, T.J. watched as the Tibetan monk shuddered. "So what happened?"

Sitting quietly for a moment, Jago stared down to the floor, as if reliving the memory. Letting his shoulders sag, he shook his head with remorse. "I...I had pushed him off of one of my brethren, but in doing so, he had tripped and fell down a flight of stairs. When I tried to save him...it was too late - his neck broke on the way down."

The gym was silent as the two men sat alone.

The boxer let out a breath. "Damn, man. That sucks. I'm sorry to hear, dude."

Jago gave a slight shrug. "It is what it is, unfortunately."

"How were you able to deal with that?"

"By accepting it," Jago answered. "In Buddhism, we are taught to live in the present moment rather than focus on the past, for that is where the future is created. Everyone can make mistakes, but ultimately, it is up to them to become better as both individuals and as people. Everyone has the ability to decide what kind of person they want to be going forward, including you, mighty one."

T.J. scoffed. Grunting, he placed with weights back onto the rack and sat right up, facing the Tibetan monk.

"Easier said than done, Ninja Boy," the former said as he wiped off his face with a white towel. "Some folks are incapable and just can't let go of the past. Some folks just can't be redeemed, no matter how hard they try. Hell, sometimes the past is never the past, so why even bother? Shit, I wouldn't be surprised if that Piers guy harbors a grudge against me for the rest of his life."

"He will be angry with you," Jago agreed. "At least, for a time. He and his family have suffered a loss, so they are understandably upset. However, I believe that in time he will eventually be able to move on from his anger - time has a way of healing old wounds and dulling the pain, and all he can do at the moment is heal."

The boxer scoffed. "Great. Well, that's great. I only have to wait a few years and hopefully he'll forget about little ole me," he drawled. "Assuming he doesn't hire a lawyer or hitman or somethin'. Very comforting."

Jago said nothing, his expression hard to read.

Cracking his neck, T.J. sighed. "Well, whatevs. So tell me, Ninja Boy - what's my fortune cookie say? Any words of wisdom that you want to share with the Main Man? Any advice on how I get out of the shit that I'm in?"

The boxer watched as Jago thoughtfully stared at him from the floor.

"Tell me, might one," the latter spoke slowly, "what is it that you fight for?"

T.J. blinked. "Is this rhetorical?"

"No, I'm actually asking. What do you fight for?"

T.J. shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? Money."

"That's all?"

"Afraid so. What can I say? I've got bills to pay, and the Main Man isn't gonna go down without a fight. I was a champ for twenty fuckin' years, and no motherfucker is gonna force me back down onto the streets and take that from me. Not after everything I sacrificed in order to be on top. I made a ton of mistakes, but things will be different this time."

"And what of the people that you've hurt along the way in order to get where you were?" Jago pressed. "What of the people that you will hurt in order to get that money? What if you don't? What then?"

T.J. opened his mouth to make a retort...only to find himself faltering.

Working his jaw, T.J. struggled to find the words to respond.

"...Things will be different this time," he said softly, as though he were trying to convince himself, though his voice lacked its conviction.

"So you claim," Jago nodded, "but words and actions are two very different things, mighty one."

Clenching his jaw, T.J. harshly breathed through his nostrils, his face feeling warm.

"...What do I do then?" he asked, his voice low. "Huh? What do you think I should do then? Tell me, what should I do?"

Jago shook his head. "All you can do, mighty one, is to accept what happened and hope for the best. Hope, and move forward. Where you go from there and how you go about your redemption, should you choose to seek it, you will have to decide for yourself."

Getting up from the floor, Jago then pressed his fist into his palm and bowed. "Good luck in the tournament, my friend."

As the Tibetan monk left, T.J. sat alone on the workout bench in the gym, pondering the former's words in silent contemplation.

"In today's news, conflict continues to escalate between G-Corporation and Mishima Zaibatsu as the newest line of "Jack" combat androids are deployed-"

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"HIIIIII! This is your girl Kila Streets speaking!" A high-pitched voice spoke in a singsong tone.

"Oh God!" Claire rolled her eyes, groaning at the annoying pop idol's face as it appeared with a smile. "Not her again!"

First Justin Bieber, now her?!

What's with these social media twerps?!

At least Pewdiepie was somewhat tolerable...and Claire used that phrase loosely.

She could think of many celebrities who would have been more suitable as the face of Ultratech's entertainment brand - Markiplier. George Clooney. Idris Elba. Henry Cavill.

Even a dead rat was more suitable than Kila freaking Streets, whose only notable accomplishment was singing the loathsome "Muskrat Love", appearing in horrible music videos which solely consisted of her twerking, and breathing.

And breathing was too much, even for Claire to handle.

"Whose dick did you suck for you to land such a cushy job?" The teenager muttered, glaring at the screen. "I bet you slept with the casting director or something. Maybe the producers."

"Be sure to subscribe to my channel on YouTube! Also, be sure to check out Blaster Fuel, which is brought to you by our sponsors over at BLASTER Fuel! Hashtag #KI4Life! Hashtag #KIFEELING!"

"Eat shit and die, you stupid bitch," Claire swiped, turning off the television with her remote. Laying back on her bed, she stared up at the ceiling, letting out a dissatisfied groan.

Shifting to one side, then the other, she gave a frustrated groan as she tried to find a more comfortable position.

"For God's sakes," she muttered, slapping her pillow.

Of all the times for her to be unable to fall asleep, it had to be now.

Granted, it was pretty early in the evening, barely five o'clock, but still, she just wanted to get a good night's sleep before the tournament tomorrow.

Was it too much to ask?

Sitting herself up, Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, giving an indignant huff.

"Goddamn it."

How was she supposed to get to sleep?

Taking a deep breath, Claire swept her hands through her auburn hair, brushing some bangs aside.

'Maybe a walk could help,' she reasoned.

Thinking it over, nodded thoughtfully before sitting up, grabbing her clothes.

T.J. let out a groan as he stretched out from the shower.

Once he finished getting dressed and gathered all of his belongings, he stepped out into the cool evening air, breathing it in before letting out a rumbling hum of approval.

"Enjoying the cold air?" he heard someone ask.

Turning to his right, he spotted a tall man step outside of the building beside him, his hair long and tied in a ponytail.

"Uh huh," T.J. nodded. "Nothin' better than enjoying a nice breeze after an intense training session." He then gave a the big man a quizzical look, his eyes widening in recognition. "I know you. You're Lightning, aren't you?"

The big man laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Thunder, actually. And you're T.J. Combo."

"The one and only. You a fan?"

Thunder shrugged. "Not really. I'm more of a wrestling fan myself, but my little brother Eagle was a huge fan of yours."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, he used to watch all your fights, including back when you used to participate in the KI tournament."

Smiling, T.J. nodded as he reminisced on those days. "Yeah, I remember those days. That was back when the tournament wasn't such a freakshow as it is now. Man, the sponsorship deals that I had, the babes..."

As he trailed off, Thunder shrugged. "Things change."

The boxer grunted. "They do. Not always for the better, though."

Humming thoughtfully, the Native American nodded. "That's true."

T.J. then gave the big man a side-glance. "So what is your brother doing nowadays?"

Thunder shrugged. "I don't know. The last time I saw him, he had been KI's champion a few years ago. We had a bit of a...falling out."

The boxer hummed. "Got into a fight, huh?"

"That obvious?" The Native American exhaled. "The Eagle that I knew was different from the one that I last saw. Far less mouthy, with less of an attitude problem. Our parents had died years ago, and I had been the one who had to raise and look after him."

T.J. let out a low whistle. "Sounds like you had a lot on your plate."

"He was a handful when he was a kid," Thunder admitted, "and God knows, I have tried. Granted, I was never the best brother or person. I'm not perfect, but I did my best to do right by him. We may have gotten on each others' nerves every once in a while, but we were brothers." As he stared out to the horizon for a long time, T.J. sensed an air of melancholy emanate from the big man, the latter's eyes filled with regret. "I have tried...so hard to be a role model for him. A role model for our community. I had tried to instill in him all of the values of our heritage...but it hadn't been enough. He became...hateful. And arrogant."

Thunder's eyes drooped along with his shoulders, slowly shaking his head. "I failed him, and the worst part is, I don't understand where I went wrong."

T.J. clicked his tongue, considering his words.

"Maybe it's not a failure on your part," he said slowly, drawing Thunder's attention. "Growing up, my daddy used to work as a dockworker. Back then, times were hard as shit, and God knows, my dumbass always got in trouble, both at school and with the law. He had always believed in me, though, and he had fought hard to make sure our family never went hungry. It was only when I became too much of a jackass in my teens that he decided to kick my punk ass out, and looking back, I don't blame him. I was pretty angry back then. Always blaming the white man for all my troubles and fuckups. The thing is?" The boxer let out a dry laugh. "It don't fuckin' matter. The white man didn't make me choose to get cybernetic implants, take drugs or cheat on my wife - that was all me."

T.J. crossed his arms as he continued, "Sometimes in order for one to grow the fuck up and mature, some guys need a good kick in the ass and fail every now. Some motherfuckers need to be reminded that the world don't revolve around them and that they don't know everything. We bitch, we moan, we cry, but the fact is? The world doesn't owe us shit, even though we would like to believe that it does. It's been turning since the beginning, and it will keep on turning once we're all dead and gone. Some motherfuckers could have everything - all the money in the world, all the support from their family, friends and community or whatever - but all it takes is one dumbass decision to lose it all, just like that."

For emphasis, he snapped his fingers.

"It's easy for folks to blame everyone else for what's gone wrong in their lives and play the perpetual victim, but at the end of the day, the person signing the cheque will be the one who cashed it. Sometimes motherfuckers just need to take responsibility and be accountable for shit. My daddy used to tell me all the time growin' up, 'Life isn't about winning, son. It's about losing and still keeping on. That's called grit.' Maybe if I had realized that sooner and showed my appreciation better I wouldn't be in this mess, I don't know. My daddy did what he could to do right by me, tried to give me a future, but my failures are the result of my own choices, not his, and the way I see it, the same is also true of your brother. You did what you could, but ultimately, the rest was up to him."

He watched as Thunder silently absorbed his words, the latter staring at the floor in thought.

Looking up, the Native American nodded. "Perhaps there's some truth in what you say." He quirked a brow. "You sure you are a dumbass?"

T.J. offered a lopsided grin. "Well, I may not be the most educated, but I like to think the Main Man does have his moments of pure awesome."

Letting out an amused scoff, Thunder shook his head. "You are something else, alright."

Nodding in agreement, T.J. chuckled. "That I am. Hey, what say we get a beer? I wouldn't mind hearing more about your brother's fights."

He watched as a dark look passed over Thunder's face as he eyed their surroundings.

"I appreciate the offer," the latter ominously replied. "Truly, I do. Perhaps some other time after the tournament I can take you up on it, but right now, my priority is on finding Eagle."

Blinking in confusion, T.J.'s brows wrinkled as the big man started to turn away. "'Find Eagle'? What are you talking about? Isn't he in the tournament?"

The boxer watched as Thunder looked uncertainly around, as if unsure whether or not to say anything.

Exhaling, the latter's shoulders sagged as he shook his head. "My brother's missing."

Frowning, T.J. raised a questioning brow. "'Missing'? What do you mean?"

He watched as Thunder stared out to the cluster of trees and buildings, his eyes darkly roaming along the latter.

"He hasn't appeared in any of the seasons following the earthquake in Munich back in 2013," the latter explained. "His last Twitter post stated that he was "retiring" from his position as champion and from social media due to stress, but I think that's bullshit. I haven't found a single update for him anywhere. Not on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, Twitch or YouTube. I have tried calling him, I have left countless emails and messages, and not once has he responded. It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth, and even though we parted on bad terms, I'm worried for him."

T.J. placed his hands on his hips. "Shit, that sounds serious. You haven't heard from your brother since that time?"

"Not even a "fuck you", and that has me worried."

The boxer ran a hand along his jaw, pausing. "You said that the two of you were on bad terms, right? You sure he's not just ghosting you or trying to avoid speaking to you?"

He watched the Native American considered his question, scratching his chin.

"It's...possible," he slowly admitted. "But still...it's unlike Eagle to not check in with his fans on Facebook. He loves social media."

"Does he have a girlfriend?" T.J. suggested.

Thunder frowned. "No, not that I know of. Fighting's his life - ever since he was a kid, it was all that he was ever passionate about. The Eagle I knew was focused and driven, dedicated to honing his skills. Still, given the lout he became after achieving fame in the KI tournament, perhaps..." He hesitated, "...perhaps..."

As Thunder trailed off, T.J. noticed the big man deflating, and in that weakness, something in the latter broke. He looked lost, weary, and conflicted, his eyes filled with uncertainty, looking so utterly defeated.

T.J. tilted his head. "...You okay, guy?"

Letting his shoulders sag, Thunder stared down to the floor. "Have...Have I travelled all this way...for nothing? Have I been wasting my time coming here?"

The words he uttered were spoken so softly that they were barely even audible, and for a moment, T.J. had wondered if the big man were even conscious of the fact that he said those words aloud.

He had to admit, he admired Thunder's loyalty to his brother; not a lot of people would travel thousands of miles in order to try to find a sibling, especially in light of the fact that there was bad blood between them.

At least, not without good reason.

The fact that Thunder had taken the time and effort in order to get here was proof enough that he deeply cared about his brother.

The question, however, was was that also true in terms of Eagle himself?

T.J. pondered quietly, his thumb and index finger supporting his own chin.

It was hard to determine just what sort of person Eagle was based on Thunder's own comments alone, as it was always possible that the man he was now was significantly different from how he was before, something that T.J. could relate to on some level.

While it was true that people could change, sometimes it wasn't for the better, and if it were the case that Eagle was now on a path of ruin like T.J. had, then chances were high that he was going to be in a world of hurt, if he wasn't already.

Whatever the truth was, someone was going to get hurt regardless, making it all the more tragic.

Sighing, T.J. ran his hand over his mouth as he struggled to think of some way to comfort Thunder, even though he had no idea how to.

Clearing his throat, the former spoke, drawing the latter's attention. "Listen," T.J. said slowly, "have you tried contacting the police about this?"

Thunder exhaled, some of his resolve seeming to return, at least somewhat. "I've tried calling the police in Munich, even had my lawyer reach out to see if he could get in touch with Ultratech representatives, but I wasn't able to get anything. Ultratech knows something. I don't know if they're holding Eagle captive somewhere, I don't know if he's hurt...I don't even know if he had died in the earthquake and if they're covering up in order to avoid a scandal or payout, I don't know. All I know is that Ultratech knows what happened to my brother, and I'm not leaving until I find the truth."

T.J. stared at Thunder, studying the latter. "And what if they don't know? What if your brother left the grid because he's a junkie or drunk somewhere?"

The Native American's eyes harshly glared, his visage darkening. "How dare you suggest my little brother to be such a thing. What, just because we're Native American you expect us to be either a drunk or junkie? Is that it?"

"Oh don't give me that racism bullshit!" T.J. groaned. "Listen, dude, as unpleasant as it is to hear, we need to face facts - you and your brother had beef, and because of that, you stopped talking. Is it any wonder why he hasn't gotten in touch with you? You said it yourself - success went to his head, right?" He held out his arms in a grand gesture, "Well look who you are talking to! The washup who has lost everything after making it big and who has a PH.D. in making every bad fuckin' choice imaginable, so I know a thing or two. I lived it, brotha - I had partied hard, I had snorted up every drug I could find, drank every bottle of booze I could get my hands on, and tapped every piece of ass that I came across. Your brother is probably in my position as we speak."

Thunder clenched his mouth. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" T.J. then leaned toward him. "What guarantee do you have that your brother isn't either in a ditch or alley somewhere, getting wasted or high off his ass? Huh? What guarantee do you have that he's not with a hooker or blowing somebody on the street in order to get his fix?"

T.J. watched as the Native American curled his hand into a fist.

For a moment, he expected Thunder to use it to punch him in the face.

Instead, the big man turned and slammed it hard against the nearest wall, producing a loud bang.

T.J. waited with bated breath as Thunder exhaled, the latter appearing morose.

A dark gloom fell over the latter as the harsh lines on Thunder's face softened, the big man raising a hand to his own face as he shook his head from side to side, though whether it was in denial or not made T.J. uncertain.

Letting out a breath, the Native American's shoulders drooped.

"...You are right," he admitted, his voice low. "I don't know. And...that scares me. I...want to believe that that is not the case...but..." Closing his eyes, he shook his head again, "All these years, I haven't heard a single word from him. I have spent countless nights thinking about what happened. Always wondering about what he's doing. Always wondering if I was too harsh. Always wondering if things could have been different, if I...could have been more patient and forgiving with him. The last time we spoke..." He licked his dry lips, "I had turned my back on him."

Turning to face T.J., Thunder stared directly to him, his eyes haunted and regretful. "I am afraid for Eagle. I don't know if he's hurt, I don't know if he's quit, or if he's committed suicide somewhere...every day, I sit waiting for that phone call. Every time it rang, I constantly dreaded it. You cannot imagine how torturous it is to never know what is going on with your own flesh and blood. Of waiting for that one phone call from the police telling me that my brother is dead. I'm terrified of the possibility that I may have been the one who had inadvertently driven him to that point, that I pushed him away when he was at his most vulnerable. But even more? The thing that scares me more than anything...is being unable to reconcile with him, and...and that my last words to him...were that we were no longer family."

The big man ponderously shook his head. "Perhaps I am looking in the wrong place, but...I just don't know where else to look. He's all I have left."

T.J.'s eyes softened as he pityingly regarded Thunder, the latter's words filled with helplessness and despair.

"What will you do if it turns out that Ultratech doesn't have anything that you're looking for?" T.J. asked. "What if you end up emptyhanded?"

Tilting his head, Thunder thoughtfully considered the question, nodding to himself. Finally, he spoke. "Then I will leave and continue my search elsewhere," he answered. "There would be no point in my continuing with the tournament."

Thunder then turned and started to walk away, leaving T.J. alone in front of the gym.

Looking around in different directions, the boxer scratched the back of his head, his mind warring with itself.

'It's not my business,' he told himself.

Don't get involved. It's none of your business. Don't-

"Hey, uh, listen," T.J. spoke up, his words causing Thunder to halt and whirl back to face him, giving the boxer a puzzled look. "If you're gonna look for your brother, you're gonna need all the help you can get. I mean, a place this big, that's a lot of space to cover, and that's assuming Eagle is even here. So, uh, if you like, I can...help you out. Provided that we don't do anything too crazy that will end up with us either getting kicked out or arrested."

He watched as Thunder's eyebrows rose up in surprise, the big man seemingly taken aback by the gesture.

Smiling, the latter nodded, looking grateful. "That would be very much appreciated. Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem." Crossing his arms, T.J. expectantly lifted his chin. "So then, big man, where do you want to start?"

The pavement clacked beneath her boots as she strolled alone on the street, the cool breeze causing trees to flutter.

Shivering slightly, Claire blew on her cold hands, slipping them into the pockets of her shorts for warmth.

In retrospect, she should have gone outside with warmer clothing.

Overhead, the sky was a mixture of orange, gold and purple as the sun set, dimly coloring everything around her as the girl casually strolled.

As Claire walked alone, she heard a loud female wail somewhere ahead of her, followed by what sounded distinctly like...chains.

"Huh?"

Raising her head, Claire glanced in various directions, listening carefully before moving in the direction of the noises.

Blinking, the girl's brows furrowed in confusion as she spotted a silhouette of what appeared to be a hunchbacked figure wandering around the front of Spencer Mansion.

"What the hell?!"

Rubbing her eyes, she squinted, watching as the figure vanished into the once taped-up entrance, the caution tape fluttering loosely in the breeze.

Staring in stunned silence, Claire nervously swallowed as she took an anxious step back, her heart beating loudly in her ears.

...What was that?!

Backing away, Claire's brows scrunched up, unsure of what she just saw.

'Should I go out and check, if not call security?' she wondered.

Turning around, Claire barely walked two feet forward when someone bumped into her, grunting from the impact.

"Shit, I'm sorry-"

Recognizing the voice, Claire looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. "...Billy?"

Billy blinked, equally startled. "Claire? Jesus, you scared me!"

"Scared you? You scared the hell out of me!" Claire countered, causing Billy to wince.

"Sorry about that." He then gave her a puzzled look. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was going for a walk." Claire furrowed her brows, noticing the backpack that he carried on one shoulder. "What about you?"

Adjusting the strap of his backpack, Billy sighed. "I'm leaving, Claire."

Blinking in confusion, the girl hesitated, her confusion growing. "W-What? But...why?"

He shook his head. "I can't...I can't talk about it, Claire. Trust me, it's...it's for the best. It was a mistake coming here. I should have realized that sooner."

"What are you talking about? Billy, what's wrong? Please, talk to me."

The former Marine conflictedly looked at her, looking troubled, his eyes full of worry. Sighing, Billy then adjusted the bag over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Claire - I can't. I just can't. I wish things were different, but...I'm sorry."

As the words lingered, he turned his back to her and started to walk away, leaving her alone.

"Billy? Billy, come back!"

Claire watched as the former Marine continued onward until he took a right and disappeared around a corner, his form vanishing from view.

Looking around in all directions, the girl dejectedly slumped, her eyes staring down at her own boots in disappointment.

Well, there went yet another friend.

Sighing, the girl turned around and started to make her way back to her room when she suddenly became aware of hushed hurrying footsteps that were fast approaching, moving toward her.

"Huh?"

Claire barely had a chance to react, let alone had enough time to see who it was when she felt something strike her across the side of her head, the girl letting out a cry as she collapsed onto the pavement.

Billy stopped mid-step, looking over his shoulder as he heard Claire cry out.

"Claire?"

Wincing, Claire struggled to stay awake, pushing herself up from the ground.

"H-HELP!" She cried. "HELP! HELP! S-SOMEBODY! SOMEBODY HELP-"

The teenager shrieked as she was kicked, causing her to roll along the pavement, her head feeling hazy as bright lights filled her vision.

Disoriented, the last thing Claire saw before blacking out was a pair of thick brown boots that stood close to her head and a cruelly feminine laugh.

"CLAIRE?! CLAIRE?!"

Sweeping a hand through his hair, Billy let out a frustrated growl, looking conflictedly between the path he was going and back in Claire's direction.

He should keep going.

After all, why should he intervene? He was in enough trouble as it was.

But...the screams...Claire...

He swore.

Damn it, why now?!

"CLAIRE?! CLAIRE!"

"What's going on?" Turning to his left, he spotted T.J. and Thunder as they appeared from an intersecting path a few feet away, approaching him.

"I think Claire's in trouble!" Billy explained. "I heard her screaming for help just now! Come on!"

As the three of them headed back to where they came, the former Marine cursed his luck.

Of all the times for this to happen.

He had meant to get away quickly, but for this to happen now.

Exhaling, Billy quickened his pace, praying that he and the others weren't too late.

Once the three of them made it back to the spot where Claire had been, Billy looked around.

"Do you fellas see her anywhere?"

T.J. frowned. "I don't see nothin'."

"Look! Over there!" Thunder pointed, drawing their attention over to a dark figure dragging an unconscious Claire along the ground toward the front of the taped-off Spencer Mansion.

Billy's eyes widened, watching as the person dragged Claire up the stairs, disappearing inside. "CLAIRE!"

Rushing forward, Billy found himself stopped by T.J. as he grabbed onto his shoulder. "Whoa, hold on! We can't go in there!"

"But Claire's in there! You saw yourself, didn't you?"

"I saw, but the Baron has told us not to go inside. I think it would be better if we got in touch with security and get them to-"

Billy clenched his teeth together, growling, wrenching his arm free from the boxer's grasp. "We don't have time!" He retorted. "Are you coming or what?"

Thunder stepped forward. "I'm in." He then gave an expectant look over his shoulder at T.J. "How about you?"

Wrinkling his brows, T.J. exchanged looks between the two men, then looked in both directions to make sure nobody was around.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sore. "Ahh shit, alright." Reaching into his pockets, T.J. then put on his sunglasses. "Let's go."

Chapter Text

A Touch of Red

By evolution-500

Genres: Horror/Friendship/Romance

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: KILLER INSTINCT is a property belonging to Rare and Microsoft while RESIDENT EVIL is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own any of these characters.

Chapter Seventeen: Laughter In The Dark

Everything was set.

Zipping up her green jacket, Orchid finished getting dressed as she spared a glance at the naked security guard, watching as he peacefully slept on the bed, a big stupid-looking grin plastered on his face.

He wasn't the brightest of fellows, but he did make up for it with endurance.

All things considering, not an altogether unenjoyable time, she had to admit.

"Not bad, skippy," Orchid nodded, not caring that he couldn't hear her, confident that he wouldn't wake up. "You really know how to show a girl a good time."

The man snored, blissfully unaware of what was happening.

Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a needle from a secret compartment, then carefully injecting into him.

Pulling the needle away, she checked his pulse.

Relaxing a little, she pulled away, feeling slightly relieved.

If the sex hadn't worn him out before, the injection would certainly do its work and keep him knocked out for a few hours.

There would be a few minor side-effects such as some memory loss, but other than that, there shouldn't be anything more serious than that.

Putting the injector back into the hidden compartment, Orchid then quickly sifted through the guard's clothing before finally finding a keycard.

"Gotcha!" She smiled.

Now that she got what she wanted, it was time to get what she needed and get out of here.

After all, time was money, and she didn't want to stick around when her cover was finally blown.

Of course, she was going to need a distraction.

A very big distraction.

Slipping the keycard into her pocket, Orchid took out a small handheld device and touched the screen, flicking it on.

Hacking into the security cameras was no easy feat, but she managed just the same.

Flicking through the cameras, Orchid paused as she saw that girl, Redfield, as she was being dragged away by another woman.

"Well, well. Looks like you've gotten into some trouble, little mouse." She hummed thoughtfully. Flicking to another nearby camera, Orchid then spotted Billy along with T.J. and Thunder as they pointed and followed. "And it seems your knight in shining armor has also arrived."

Humming, she tilted her head from side to side, drumming her fingertips against her chin.

"Why don't we make things a little more interesting and get the whole cavalry over there?"

She tapped in a few buttons, her eyes focused on the screen the entire time.

"Annnd...done."

Slipping the device into her pocket, Orchid gave one final glance back to the sleeping security guard, blowing him a kiss.

"Kiss you later, handsome."

The front door to the Spencer Mansion opened.

Stepping inside along with T.J. and Thunder, Billy's eyes studied their surroundings, scrutinizing the room's contents.

A luxurious red carpet was laid out in front of the door, lining the white marble-tiled floor of a massive hallway to a grand staircase up ahead that divided up to two separate stairways, both of which in turn lead up to a walkway or landing.

Supported by twelve white round Tuscan stone columns along the sides, with a pair of white fluted Corinthian-styled columns prominently standing right beside the stairs itself, the landing overlooked the hall. Lit by an overhanging chandelier as well as various candles that were hung and mounted on nearby walls and tripods, the place looked like a Victorian dream, with all sorts of elaborate furnishings.

A few pieces of furniture were covered in sheets, while the windows were all boarded up.

"Man, what a mansion!" T.J. nodded, impressed. "I would have loved to have lived in a place like this! I wonder why this place had been sealed off." He suddenly paused, as if struck by a thought. "Didn't the Baron say that there was a gas leak here or something?"

Thunder nodded back. "He did, but I don't smell anything."

"Maybe it's more noticeable in the lower levels," Billy suggested, before shifting gears, "but right now our main priority is finding Claire."

T.J. frowned. "Any idea where to start, though? This place looks pretty big, so it's going to take a while."

"We should split up," Billy replied. "We'll cover more ground that way." He then pointed up the stairs, "I'll check the upper floors and see if she's up there."

As Billy went up the flight of steps, T.J. gave a deadpan look to Thunder.

"White folks," the former said simply.

Chuckling, Thunder patted the boxer on the shoulder. "Come on, let's check down here."

With that, the pair proceeded on in their search.

Claire groaned as she stirred.

"Owww, my head!" She winced. Reaching up with her hands, Claire paused, noticing that her legs and wrists bound, though thankfully the former were tied at the front. "Wha-? Where-?"

Sitting up from the floor, Claire looked around, puzzled at her surroundings.

"Where...where am I? What's going on?"

Softly lit by candle light, greeting the teenager were a pair of soot-covered marble cherubs on Ionian-styled column-like stands that mockingly regarded her, their eyes locked onto hers.

Averting her eyes, she looked past them, and saw a long, winding corridor through a rounded archway that was lined by spears, the brown curtains at the front dusty and covered in cobwebs.

At the far end, she saw a large canvas-covered mirror, while to her right, she saw some candle sconces and various canvas-covered furniture, along with a large door and another passage.

A thick layer of dust covered a lot of the pieces, some of it so thick that it made her sneeze.

Wiping her nose, Claire cleared her throat as she sniffled. "Um...HELLO?! IS ANYBODY THERE?! HELLO?!"

A soft, feminine yet sinister giggle answered from the shadows, causing Claire to nervously swallow.

Glancing feebly around for something to cut her bindings off with, she looked back to her legs, the girl struggling as she dug her fingernails into the knots.

"Come on, come on!" She murmured softly, pinching at them.

Biting her lower lip, she fidgeted and squirmed, until finally she loosened the knot on her legs.

Kicking the sheet off, Claire got onto her knees, pushing herself off the ground.

Looking indecisively in both directions, the teenager started to the corridor to her right, heading straight toward the door, only to hear the giggle again, this closer.

Hearing a creak, Claire was barely two feet away when a tiny, goth-looking girl with pale skin and long black hair stepped out from around a corner, blocking her path.

The girl's eyes were sickly olive in color, coldly aloof yet oddly flat, her clothing consisting of a short black skirt and a white long-sleeved top with a green corset around her stomach, her feet clad in thick brown boots.

Taking a half-step back, Claire watched the girl as she approached, the latter's arms hidden behind her back, as if trying to conceal something from her, a vicious, twisted and ugly sneer plastered on her face.

"So," the girl spoke, possessing a child-like quality, "you're finally awake, sleeping beauty. Good."

Claire wrinkled her brows, eying her suspiciously. "Who...Who are you?"

The girl giggled. "Call me Urchin," she meaningfully spoke. "Lilith Urchin."

Staring blankly at the girl, Claire blinked. "Umm...ooookay? What's going on? Where are we?"

"'What's going on? Where are we?'" Lilith childishly and mockingly imitated, cackling. "God you sound so dumb! Everything about you makes me sick. So pretty and perfect!"

Claire anxiously shifted on the ground, raising her tied up hands in a placating manner. "Listen, I...I don't know who you are, but why are you doing this? What did I do to you?"

"'Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you? Boohoo!'" Lilith shrilly mocked, raising her hands to her face as she pretended to snivel and cry before laughing at Claire. "You really are an idiot, ya know? You didn't do anything to me, sweetie - you didn't even need to. Y'see, my big brother is in jail servin' a life sentence, and that old kraut is my ticket to springin' him outta there."

Furrowing her brows, Claire gave her a confused look.

A life sentence?

From what she recalled from Chris, life sentences in Colorado were usually reserved for Class One felonies, which were the most serious offences that would include first-degree murder, first-degree kidnapping, assault while escaping incarceration, and treason. The fact Lilith's brother was serving hard time in prison left no doubt that he did something bad, but why on earth would Lilith even think that Baron Von Sabrewulf would be able to free him?

Swallowing, Claire eyed the girl. "Listen, we don't have to do this."

Lilith hummed, shrugging as she spoke in a deceptively sweet honey-dipped voice, "Sorry, Claire Bear, but I'm gonna have ta. There's too many people as it is in the tournament, and I don't need the competition, honey."

"There's no way that the Baron is going to let your brother go free," Claire shook her head. "You do know that, right? I'm pretty sure that his tournament doesn't apply to convicted felons."

She watched as the smile on Lilith's face grew even wider, reminding the former of the Cheshire Cat. "Then I'll make him. Once I've killed the others, I'll take him hostage. In the meantime, LET'S PLAY!"

With that last exclamation, Lilith suddenly lunged at Claire with a large broken shard of glass, causing the latter to reach up and grab the former by the wrists.

"GET OFF ME!" Claire yelled. "GET OFF!"

Struggling against her opponent, the teenager let out a shout as she felt the glass cut her shoulder, causing Lilith to laugh.

Stumbling away, Claire winced as she inspected the damage, watching as a trickle of blood fell from her arm.

Looking back to Lilith, Claire's mouth curled in disgust as the former started to lewdly and suggestively slide her tongue along the glass, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy as she let out a sensual moan.

Once she finished licking the glass clean, Lilith offered a sickening grin. "Hm. You taste good, Claire Bear - too bad my brother isn't here to enjoy you with me. I wonder what the rest of you will feel like in my mouth."

Twisting her face in revulsion, Claire flinched. "You're sick!" She spat.

Lilith tossed her head back and laughed. "Sticks and stones, Claire Bear," she taunted, her eyes possessing a wild demented shine that Claire didn't like at all. "I bet you'll cut up real nice. I'm gonna have so much fun with you!"

"No no no NO!" Raising her hands, Claire grabbed hold of Lilith's wrists, keeping the little psycho from stabbing her.

Straining against her opponent, the former suddenly reared her head back and slammed her forehead as hard as she could into her assailant's face. Claire heard a satisfying crack, watching as the psychopath stumbled and fell backward, clutching her head as she let out a feral scream.

"YOU BITCH!" Lilith snarled, massaging the spot where Claire struck. "I'M GONNA DO YOU NICE AND SLOW!"

Twisting around, Claire hurried down a corridor, screaming, "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP!"

"READY OR NOT, BITCH, HERE I COME!" She heard the psychopathic scream behind her.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"

Billy lifted his head. "CLAIRE?!"

He heard a clatter and a crash.

Approaching the stairway railing, he called down to the others. "HEY FELLAS, UP HERE! CLAIRE'S IN TROUBLE, COME ON!"

"ON OUR WAY!" Thunder called as he and T.J. hurried up the steps.

Hold on, Claire, we're almost there! Just stay alive. Please stay alive.

Claire huffed as she rounded corner after corner, trying to evade her pursuer.

To her chagrin, all of the doors were locked; no matter how hard she slammed or kicked, none of the doors in this damn place budged, forcing her to fend for herself.

Ducking away, Claire had barely avoided being stabbed in the head as Lilith impaled the glass knife into the door.

The two kept up their game of cat-and-mouse for ten minutes, running in endless loops down the corridors over and over again before running in reverse.

Cursing her luck, the girl hustled through the archway a second time, a third, fourth and fifth before going the other way, fumbling at the knot on her wrist.

Of all the goddamn times to be in this position!

Here she was, trapped in God knew where, being forced to do ring-around-the-goddamned-rosie with a psycho bitch in an endless series of mirror-filled corridors.

'Ain't life grand?' Claire mused as she panted, her face warm and slick with sweat.

Swallowing, the girl slowed her steps, noticing how unusually quiet it had become, her heart pounding loudly in her ears, her head thumping.

Where are you hiding?

Wiping her face clean of sweat, Claire strained her ears as she listened for the slightest noise, looking in both directions.

'Oh, so that's how you're going to play it,' she thought.

The little bitch couldn't run, so obviously there was now a change in tactics.

Fidgeting with the knot, Claire finally loosened the sheet, freeing her wrists of her bindings.

Massaging them, she felt the wound on her shoulder, wincing slightly.

The cut wasn't too deep, but it did sting, unfortunately.

Clenching onto the sheet, she carefully tied it around her arm, sealing up the injury as best she could.

She wasn't a doctor or anything like that, but it should suffice for now, but first, she had a psychopath to deal with.

It was obvious that Lilith had sealed them both in here, though why, Claire could hardly even fathom.

'Perhaps she just liked the thrill of the chase,' part of her morbidly reflected, her mouth clenching.

The girl shuddered.

How was it possible for such a person to have snuck their way into KI of all places?

As soon as she got out of this, Claire was going to seriously give whoever was in charge a piece of her mind.

A piece of her mind, followed by the Redfield boulder-punching-

Claire suddenly froze.

Something clinked somewhere in the dark corridors, what sounded like heavy chains.

'What the hell?' Claire wondered. 'Don't tell me that that psychopath has found some new toys to play with!'

She heard the chains rattling, followed by a loud scraping.

'Well, isn't this dandy,' Claire sourly thought.

It would seem that Lilith was trying to scare her.

Bitch.

Tiptoeing down a corridor, Claire kept her footsteps light, her eyes searching around, wandering along the various aisles of mirrors, checking each and every single door.

From all indications, it would seem that Lilith locked Claire in, and the only way out would be for her to go through Lilith herself.

Great.

Turning a corner to her left, the girl let out a muffled gasp, startled by her own reflection.

Jesus, that scared me!

Whose bright idea was it to put so many goddamn mirrors in here?!

Looking at her reflection, Claire tidied up her hair and adjusted her clothes.

Pushing the mirror slightly, she adjusted its position when she suddenly became aware of a dark figure hanging from the upper corner a few meters behind her.

Letting out a slight gasp, Claire quickly looked behind her where she saw the shape, only for it to swiftly vanish.

What the hell was that?!

She heard the clinks of chains and something climbing around on the wall and ceiling, followed by an unusually deep, rumbling and menacing laugh that made every hair on Claire's arm stand on end.

God, that laugh!

Never in her life had Claire ever heard anything so bone-chilling!

Looking anxiously around, her eyes and ears scanned the environment, looking for the slightest movement, listening for the slightest sound.

A door loudly knocked from the other side of the maze, causing Claire to flinch.

"CLAIRE?! CLAIRE!" She heard Billy's muffled voice. "CLAIRE ARE YOU OKAY?!"

Billy...

Swallowing, Claire hurried down a corridor, holding her hand out.

"HELP! BILLY HELP-" The girl was cut off as Lilith tackled into her, the latter laughing maniacally as she attempted to stab her with the shard.

"DIE, YOU LITTLE TEASING SLUT!" The psychopath spat, her eyes wild, looking completely and utterly unhinged.

Grabbing her wrists, Claire struggled against her attacker. "GET OFF OF ME! BILLY HELP!"

Punching her in the face, Claire struck her attacker with everything she had, shoving her violently backward.

Recovering on her feet, Lilith rubbed the bruise on her face. "You fucking whore. You fucking dirty slut. I'm gonna-"

Something warm struck Claire in her face, causing the girl to reflexively recoil, her eyes stinging.

Wiping them with the back of her wrists, Claire's mouth parted, her eyes widening as she spotted a large hook with a chain attached at the end protruded out from Lilith's throat.

Coughing out blood, the latter weakly touched the blade, as if in disbelief, before looking up at Claire herself, lifting up a trembling hand, her eyes pleading and filled with fear.

"H-Help...me..."

Claire watched as the chain straightened, the girl yanked violently backward into the shadows, flying off her feet with a startled yelp.

Letting out a trembling breath, Claire slowly backed away, listening to Lilith as she struggled, her screams mixed with what sounded awfully like something...eating.

Looking down at her shaking bloodied hands, her fingers warm and wet, the auburn-haired teen let out a whimper, wiping her hands on her clothes as she silently tried to back away without drawing attention to herself.

Hurrying quietly away, she headed down to the door at the end, the girl letting out a loud, shrill and terrified shriek as a strong arm grabbed her and dragged her into darkness.

He and the others heard Claire's scream even from outside the hallway. "CLAIRE!"

The three men rammed their shoulders into the door, slamming over and over into it before kicking it wide open with a crack.

"CLAIRE!" Billy shouted, rushing inside. "CLAIRE?!" As he stepped into the room, he looked around. "...Claire?"

T.J. frowned. "Shit, she's gone."

"I see blood here," Thunder grimly noted as he knelt down on the floor and examined it.

Billy hurried down one corridor, then another, and another, before finally looping around back to T.J. and Thunder.

"Where'd she go?"

Claire's head rang as she winced, pushing herself off of a grimy floor.

"God...damn it," she groaned. Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, the girl sniffed the air, wincing. "Oh! God, what is that smell-?"

Clare barely finished her sentence when her hand made contact with something, causing her to look up and let out a startled yelp and crawl backwards.

Various bones of all shapes and sizes lined the floors, while a few skulls grinned directly at her.

Scrambling from off the floor, Claire hastily wiped her hands and dusted herself. Lifting her head up, the girl froze, her features paling, her eyes widening in fright as she finally took stock of her surroundings.

From her position, she was in the middle of a massive, spacious grey room or chamber that must have been over a hundred meters long on all four sides and fifteen feet high, all of it sparsely lit and made of a mixture of concrete and stainless steel. Three lines of fluorescent lights distantly lined the top, middle and bottom sections of enormous walls that encircled the entire room, all of them far from where Claire was currently standing, while the vast majority of those that lined the ceiling were either dead, broken or flickering.

Counting the lights that remained, Claire estimated that a good seventy to eighty percent of the room was unlit, resulting in a thick veil of darkness that blanketed over everything, the shimmering lights distant and taunting.

Searching around, the girl raised a hand to block out the glare of the lights, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She couldn't see much admittedly, but from what little that she was able discern, there were a number of large overhead vents with fans along the ceiling, but the fans themselves were turned off, resulting in foul unfiltered air.

Claire coughed in spite of her self, gagging as she attempted to cover her nose with the collar of her own shirt.

Speaking of unfiltered air, good God, when was the last time this place was ventilated?!

Jesus Christ, the smell was so overpowering! Never in her life had she ever smelled anything so pungent and awful, a horrible mixture of rotting flesh, freshly spilled blood and feces all combined into a disgusting cocktail, so thick and overwhelming that she could practically taste it all in the air.

'Don't throw up, Claire,' she told herself.

Don't throw up, please don't throw up. Please don't-

Parting her mouth, Claire vomited to the side, retching loudly as the smell became too much for her to handle.

Gasping and panting, she spat and wiped her mouth clean with the back of her gloved hand as flies buzzed everywhere, some of them so damned large that they seemed almost as large as her thumb, their incessant buzzing so loud and overbearing that it almost sounded like an entire hive down here.

Various industrial concrete pillars and columns lined the center in rows of nine, all of them stretching all the way back to a great veil of pure darkness. A few had fans built into them, but as far as Claire could discern, the turbines were not operating.

Occasionally a light bulb or two would flicker in that veil, and what Claire saw through the brief glimpses of light afforded to her turned her insides to ice.

Through the intermittent flickers, she saw bodies - dozens of horribly mauled and mangled corpses, some of them whole, some in pieces, and some stripped down to the very bone.

Many cadavers hung from chained hooks from the ceiling, while in other sections of this hellhole, Claire was able to make out various bloodied gurneys, restraining tables, surgical tools and chemical bottles, along with several different three-foot box-like containers of transparent plexiglass, torture devices and chainsaws.

In some sections, she spotted a series of drum winches on the floor, some used to suspend carcasses and limbs as if they were twisted trophies or decorations, while those yet unraveled remained untouched, as if waiting for the next victim to be strung up.

'What the fuck is all this?' she sickly wondered.

Just what sort of fresh hell did she just step into?

This was like a serial killer's wet dream come to life!

But even worse, from a nearby hook, Claire saw the remains of Lilith as she lifelessly hung like a freshly slaughtered animal, her face and torso all but stripped clean of clothing and flesh.

'Couldn't have happened to a nicer person,' came the bitter thought.

Granted, it was a horrible way to die, let alone think, but still, considering not too long ago Lilith tried to kill her, well...

Looking wildly around, Claire carefully considered her options.

She couldn't see any doorway anywhere in this place, and based on Lilith's body, she wasn't alone, meaning that whoever...or whatever...had attacked her was still here.

Meaning she was next on the menu.

Swallowing, Claire looked around for a weapon, preferably a gun or a knife that wasn't covered in so much blood.

Finding nothing, the girl swept her anxious hands through her auburn hair, pacing furiously back and forth.

Not good, not good...

'There has to be a weapon around here that I can use,' she reasoned.

Approaching a table near a swinging torso that hung from a nearby hook, Claire shrieked as the body suddenly came to life and grabbed at her with its singular arm, the girl leaping out of the way as it clawed at the air and snarled.

Staring wide-eyed at the body as it swung back and forth, Claire watched in horror and disbelief as it writhed around, undulating on the chains, its eyes pale and empty, its lipless mouth glistening with saliva.

'That body...it's alive!' She thought.

There was a horribly mangled body with just the barest strips of flesh holding it together, and it was still alive somehow, its singular eye dead and staring directly at her.

How was that even possible?!

To Claire's ever growing horror, the chamber itself suddenly came alive with laughter, moans and growls, a hellish choir punctuated with the sounds of rattling chains and cracking limbs as every body spiked and hooked up started to twist, writhe and move.

Looking all around her, Claire beheld horror from every angle as she anxiously wrung her own hands, the whole room spinning around as she was assaulted from every direction at once with all the twisted sights, smells and sounds.

Laughter, moans, snarls, growls and buzzing struck her from every position, distant and near.

Running blindingly through the columns, the girl feebly whimpered as she searched for a door or weapon, looking for a way out.

'It's not real,' she told herself. 'It's not real.'

It was just a horrible nightmare, and any moment now, she was going to wake up in her bed with Chris standing over her.

This isn't real. This is all a dream, isn't it? That's right! It's all a bad dream-

An unexpectedly deep, rumbling and sinister laugh called from the shadows, accompanied by the clinking of chains, as if announcing its presence to her, causing Claire to tense and slowly turn toward where she heard the sound.

In the distance, Claire spotted a massive dark silhouette approaching, every wet footstep it made punctuated by chains.

Stepping underneath a flickering set of fluorescent lights that were on the ceiling, Claire's eyes widened in alarm as she got her first look at the figure as it stopped a few feet away from her, leering at her, as if it were enjoying her terror.

Though the thing looked like a man, it clearly wasn't. More like a twisted bastardization of a man.

The creature was tall, about six-foot four, broad in shoulder and ripped, looking as if he weighed over two hundred and thirty-five pounds of muscle. Dressed in a grey one-piece boilersuit, it stood barefoot, with one sleeve torn, revealing heavily muscled muscled biceps and deltoids. Wrapped around part of its torso and its left shoulder, along with both arms, were long thick chains, its hands clenched around a pair of what appeared to be enormous chained hooks.

Swallowing at the sight of the latter, Claire warily eyed them, the hooks so thick and sharp that part of her couldn't help wondering if they had been anchors from a boat or something.

The creature's face was largely concealed by a strange mask held by a string, looking like it had been fashioned from the corner of a broken, dirty metallic box. The only eye openings that Claire was able to make out were eight curiously tiny little holes or vents, four for each side side, almost looking as if the creature had jabbed pencils into it or something.

The one part of its face that was exposed, however, was its mouth, which was its most noticeable and distinctive, if not the most disturbing, feature; a wide, lipless, blood-covered grin flashed at her in a terrifyingly horrific manner, revealing sharp stained yellow teeth, making her shudder in revulsion.

Letting out a maniacal chuckle, the being worked its bloodied mouth in a wordless manner as saliva spilled down its filthy boilersuit, eying Claire as if she were meat.

Taking a threatening step toward her, the chuckle grew as it thumbed the hooks in its hands in horrible anticipation before suddenly rushing toward her with wild swinging arms with a burst of speed that startled Claire.

Twisting around, Claire ran as fast as she could as she tried to place distance between herself and the creature, the latter's maniacal laugh bludgeoning her like a sledgehammer.

Stepping behind a table, the girl carefully used it as a way to keep her attacker at bay, keeping the table between them as it mimicked and followed her movements, no matter the direction, much to her frustration.

Springing up onto the table with a surprising level of agility, the creature laughed as it bounded after her, forcing Claire to flee as she dodged its frantically waving arms as it attempted to cut her.

"HELP!" She screamed. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

Dodging to the left, Claire duck and weaved as it slashed into a pillar, leaving a long gash in the grey concrete.

Claire's face and legs burned, her teeth tightly clenched as she ran all the way down with the massive laughing brute in pursuit behind her.

Pushing into the side of a swinging limb, she swung it toward her attacker, then swung another, all the while blindly running ahead.

A legless torso with one arm let out a growl as it grabbed Claire by the hair, causing her to shriek as she fought to keep it from biting her.

Socking it in the face, Claire struck as hard as she could before flinging it toward her attacker, watching as it latched onto him, the two biting and clawing at one another.

Using its distraction as an opening, the teenager frantically ran and checked all the tables, looking for something, anything!

A key, a gun, a pipe, a bazooka, anything to help her!

Hearing a wet snap, Claire turned to see the masked creature rip the bodiless torso effortlessly with its bare hands, its grinning visage turning in her direction.

Grabbing beakers and jars, the girl threw everything that she could find at the creature, screaming at it in fury.

Potted plants, chairs, cups - anything small and not covered in blood she threw regardless, including various folders and papers before turning around and fleeing.

Claire screamed bloody murder as she flung body parts, hands, dismembered feet, and heads, swung struggling cadavers still attached to chains, doing anything she could to slow her pursuer down.

A few of the creatures managed to wrench themselves free from their chains, even started to crawl and lumber toward her in spite of the various horrific and most certainly fatal wounds on their being.