A/N - This story came about because Rain dying sucked! Rain is too badass to die like that! :P
SAWP follows the basic storyline of the first movie, with exception that Rain survives. "To Follow Her Own Path" is the sequel to this story. "What Floats Rain's Boat" is a collection of side-shots that expand on SAWP. "The Apocalypse Meets Rain" is a companion piece, set during RE: Apocalypse.
Standard disclaimers apply, I don't own Resident Evil, just borrowing for entertainment purposes only.
This is rated M for violence, horror, sexual themes, and the usual shit.
story revision complete!
Blue is the virus.
Green is the antivirus.
Red is the cure.
Her skull screamed, her mouth was full of cotton, and her body felt like old leather. Two gummy eyes focused on the floor next to her face. A sticky puddle of drool greeted her. Disgusted, she pulled back her upper lip and curled her tongue, rolling her eyes, and groaning. "Ugh, nasty."
Awful was a good start to describing how superbly wretched she felt. Comparing her current state to the slow, torturous death by salting defenseless, gooey slugs was a good second. Although she felt like shriveling up and turning into a salty puddle, the woman pulled herself to a sitting position, her pale hand scrubbing the drool from her round chin. Looking around, she blinked groggily and groaned, trying to figure out where she was. Pipes and tubes littered the floor, running between tall, reinforced steel containers. Steam rolled along the ground, exhaust vented from the containers. Ah, 'dining hall B'.
Jackhammers started pounding inside her skull, and she finally recognized the foul taste in her mouth. Rancid alcohol plus morning breath caked her tongue. Yummy. A bottle glinted in the low lighting near her foot. With a grunt, she kicked it maliciously, sending it clattering away. The sudden movement made her stomach flop. Grimacing to keep from gagging, she held her head with one hand and used the other to haul her woozy body up.
"Damned moronic idea I had." She complained. Standing turned out to be another bad idea. Her upset stomach rebelled and clenched, forcing up sour tequila and mostly digested goop. The mess splashed next to the puddle of drool and merged with it.
"Fucking gross." She spat to be rid of the lingering bits in her mouth. The hungover woman took a deep breath to calm her raging stomach. Her lungs filled and she took in the scents of the shadowy room. Machinery, warm metal and industrial lubricants, mildew, chemicals, cleaning solvents, organic fluids, and something other that came from the creepy things incubating in the steel and concrete cages. In other words, it was a fragrant bouquet that had the woman bent over and retching again.
Empty stomach syndrome led to dry heaves. Several moments of unpleasant heaving passed. Eventually, the muscle spasms ceased, allowing her to breathe without gagging. Her vomit had not improved the smell of the place and she grimaced.
"Why did it have to be tequila? The bastard could have brought me vodka. It's not as bad coming back up." She muttered to herself. Said bastard was her cohort in maintenance. Juan had smuggled her in a bottle of Patrón for her 25th birthday.
Smooth, but still tequila, awful, disgusting, nauseating tequila. She had accepted it gratefully, given her friend a swift hug and kiss on his cheek, then snuck off to enjoy her private party. Evading her keepers, an affectionate term for her team, with her birthday gift that would "inhibit her body's performance" was her idea of fun. Luckily, the spunky woman had managed to sneak away into 'dining hall B' without detection. It really wasn't such a hard feat. She still had that hacking program on her tablet, and people tended to avoid her when she wore her favorite 'mischief smile'. Too many of her coworkers had been victims of her and Juan's schemes and knew to avoid being collateral damage.
A smile touched her lips, the hangover and eventual discipline, probably several extra miles on the treadmill, would be worth the look on her keepers' faces. The image of Dr. Belst's livid, yet worried face made her chuckle. His waxed mustache twitched when he was mad. It never failed to amuse her, so she was constantly working to piss him off just to watch his mustache come alive.
Checking her watch, she gasped to realize she had managed to hide for a full six hours. The man should have found her drunkenly asleep and drooling hours ago. "Oh well, maybe he's getting some from that new assistant he's been slobbering over." She chuckled again, then grimaced at the ache in her head. "Stupid hyped up metabolism. Three hours of sleep is not long enough. I was hammered! I should still be hammered. I miss sleeping more than six hours at a time." She paused her self-pitying monologue to consider. "At least the hangover will be over soon too. But why couldn't I have slept my usual five?"
Looking around the room of concrete, strange containers, and pipes didn't reveal any new information. It looked as weird and horror-film-esque as usual. Sounded the same too. Pumps pushed fluids through tubes and piping, fans and ventilators hummed, electricity buzzed, the things breathed and twitched, yep, altogether normal. The woman shrugged and started to wobble her way to the exit.
She jumped, stumbled, and fell on her ass. "The hell?!" The noise had been distant but she'd still felt the vibration through the ground. Like something huge had fallen a long, long way and its crash had sent out tremors. The lights overhead flickered, once. She bolted to her feet, terrified of being trapped in this room in the dark. Her hangover forgotten the woman raced to the sealed exit. Trembling fingers punched in the code to leave and got the green approved light.
The massive double doors remained closed. She tried the code again. It flashed red this time. Whimpering in fear, she kept trying unsuccessfully until she heard the unmistakable voice of the AI of the Hive. The all powerful Red Queen. A young girl's voice that had a British accent, lightly lyrical and downright scary. "Ms. Barrows, opening this door would result in your certain death. I cannot allow that."
"Death? What the hell? Doc Belst can't be that pissed at me."
"Doctor Belst would not be the cause of your demise. Do not attempt to leave this area."
"Oh fuck that." The woman named Barrows reached into the shoulder bag that always accompanied her. From it, she drew a flat-head screwdriver that she jammed into the side of the panel and popped the keyplate off. Barrows traded her screwdriver for a tablet computer and adapter cables that she attached to the exposed wiring. Before she could even boot up her hacking program an electric charge traveled over the cables, fried the tablet, and shocked the hell out of Barrows.
"Ms. Barrows, I repeat, I cannot allow you to leave. Your death is not acceptable."
"Frying my ass isn't acceptable!" She screeched. The scent of burned plastic assaulted her sinuses. Unhappily, she gazed at the bubbled, blackened husk of her once-white iPad. Her fingers flexed, and she rubbed her hands together, testing the damage and trying to wipe away the sunburned-esque sensation of an electrical burn.
"That level of discharge was not enough to permanently injure you."
"Not enough to..." Barrows clenched her jaw and dug out her trusty flat-head again. She wedged the head between the door halves, attempting to pry the heavy steel doors apart. Red Queen was silent. All the woman heard was her own ragged breathing and the squeak of the wiggling tool. Sweat made her palms slick, and her grip was loose at best. Adrenaline and fear made her stomach twist and muscles ache. The pounding in her head was getting worse. The tool's tip suddenly slipped in about an inch, enough to bring out a little 'yes!'.
Barrows threw her weight against the tool to lever the doors open. She felt it shudder just before the stem snapped. The sudden lack of resistance threw the woman into the unforgiving wall where her head connected with concrete. "Owww." She mumbled crossly. The pounding in her head mutated into a feral dog barking and growling at every small movement. Feeling her stomach protest, she closed her eyes, and counted to ten before opening them. From her sitting position, she glared at the little bit of ragged metal still wedged in tight. Fucker was taunting her. Keeping her bleary eyes open was getting to be painful so she closed them again and concentrated on her breathing.
An eye opened to squint at the sound. When the broken metal wiggled, Barrows opened both eyelids to glare at it. Twin doors twitched and snapped together. The force flung the tool head to the floor, where it landed with a cheerful tink.
"I want a crowbar," she plaintively moaned.
"A crowbar would get you killed." If Barrows didn't know better, she would swear the AI sounded triumphant. "You are shaking, your metabolism requires you to consume nourishment."
Barrows flipped the bird at the camera in the corner. Her rebellious gesture shivered and so did her arm. The silicon bitch had a point. She sighed and dug into her bag to grab a canteen and a Snickers bar. With that to occupy her mouth, she contented herself with staring daggers at the Red Queen's optics. She listened to the familiar sounds of the dining hall, her own chewing, and the... The what?
"The hell?" She swallowed her mouthful and listened. Was that? No. Couldn't be. She pressed her ear against the cool steel. The sounds were faint, but her impressive ears still caught them floating down the stairs. It sounded like... No.
CLANG! Minute tremors vibrated through her legs and butt.
She flinched and cried out. "What the hell was that?"
"The second elevator collided with the bottom of the shaft. As of now, you are the only human within this facility still breathing."
Barrows gasped. Her sugary breakfast threatened to come back up. She choked it down along with a sob and skittered back from the door. Her eyes locked onto the little scratches made from her screwdriver. Beyond the doors, she had heard them. Screaming for their lives. And now, now she heard silence. She was alone. The Red Queen did not speak again.