JUST SKIN DEEP

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines.  sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws. being tracked. fear of someone knowing your every movement. hunting down monsters.  hide and seek. running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you.  blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls.  focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstrous. perfecting your craft. peering into the dark and running after it.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed.  completely vacant streets. waking up to see everyone gone. fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles. a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows. isolation. not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you. need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realize they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter.     a game of tag.  senseless violence.  a true crime hobby.  improvised weapons. blinding rage.  intent to kill.  a horrific day in a quiet community.  a medal of bravery. holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers.  a knife block on the counter.  a pool of blood.  shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward.  unimaginable pain.  not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster.  an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.  kill or be killed.  unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral.  sleep deprivation.  corridors you can get lost in. maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions.  losing people.  losing your sanity.  corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality.  walking through the wrong door. delusions. not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallucinations.  wrong proportions.  a nameless thing.  a place that has never existed. doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.  loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger.   wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir. the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together.  the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings.  mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known. someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities. stolen skins.  a machine imitating humanity.  the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight. uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices. images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  the vast.   open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in an universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you.  staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control.  a fall that doesn’t end in death.  glass floor to the view below.  terminal velocity.  the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing. a jump from the top of the building.  falling into nothing.  feeling your feet let go of the ground.  a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate.  manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap.  never voicing discomfort.  outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realizing it.  red string across a cork board.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unreliability of chance. watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny legs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing.  suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victim hood. gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

+  the extinction.   the end of an era. apocalypse movies. the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism.  the last written history.  a changed world.  no survivors.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

she needs more time, needs more distance. room to lead him and double back. but claire isn’t running, isn’t leaving her, and the frustration chokes her; she’s just like her brother. 

for the moment alexia seems content to watch, to cause pain without lifting a finger, but jill’s terrified that, if this goes on long enough, she’ll take a more active role. the opportunity is wide open with jill tied up by this charging giant. 

it’s clear neither of them stand a chance against her, and claire’s heart is too soft to move against her old friend. running is the only option. but her bleeding heart won’t let her do that either, no matter how many times jill screams it. though even if she would, she doubts alexia would let her get far. 

she tries to pinpoint her red hair in the thick, darkening air, but a roar and the cracking of burning wood keeps her attention forward. jill can’t afford to look away.  

the twisted, hulking form barrels through the space between them as though there is nothing standing in his way. embers scatter as branches snap, and jill grits her teeth. waits. waits. 

she expects him to plow through the trunk she’s perched on, but instead he stops short, massive hand sinking into the earth. roots tug and whine and the tree tilts. 

before he can throw her with it, she’s pushing off with full force, grabbing the branch of another and swinging herself over his head. she can’t pause to see what he’s doing. can’t risk slowing for a second. 

jill needs every tiny fragment of a moment she can get. because her fingers are tugging at the straps of her gun, her eyes locked on alexia’s silhouette against the flames.

if not for the blazing fire that circles their make-shift arena of charring trees and fleeing animals, jill would be a shadow on the wall that steve couldn’t quite reach with each scraping of claw. the yawn of wide-spread talons that open up just barely catch the woman, slicing thin air, singing a chorus of missed opportunity in a nightmarish waltz of proportional size versus speed.

steve knows he can’t keep this up for long though. the game is treading heavy water. he can’t restrain the instinct and the call that cements his bones in place, forces them askew and roils a chant to kill jill through the very foundations of his DNA.

                     don’t look away. keep dodging.

                                                                  that’s it...!

but then jill is focused elsewhere, to the flames fanning out. to alexia. and the ashford woman’s grip intensifies over the boy. she can see through his eyes, watch the struggle, and while it may be an act from steve’s part-- the gun would not be allowed to part ways with its bullet for the heiress.

where you are heard

how badly does your throat ache? when was it that you started yelling? screaming for a split second of recognition in their eyes. i think i heard you last night, right before i fell asleep, an echo of some sorts. you remember everything and it has rightfully made you angry. there's a part of you that lost its trust in humanity. you've tried it. you've sat them down and explained it, you've written the poems and the stories, you've tried your hand at composing the tunes that match your inner worlds. you've drawn pretty pictures. you've tried, with every last bit of energy inside of you, to translate what you've been meaning to say. i want to ask you to tell me about it, to scream, to demand that i hear you. i wish i could be next to you. it's so simple, this thing you desire. to have someone just look at you, for once, and truly see you, see their eyes light up with all that you've been thinking. i hope you can look in the mirror and see yourself, as wonderful as you are, breathe in deeply, breathe out. know that you are here, that you are yours. that you will always be there to listen to yourself. be gentle with your heart, despite the anger oh please, be gentle. the day will come, when you will be holding yourself in your arms, the most beautiful love you'll have ever found, and i promise you people will come along and recognize the image you have painted. they will sit next to you. they'll hear you before you say a word. you'll be like art to them, the way you're art to yourself, the way even the river sees you walk by and silently sighs her admiration.

stolen from: @antimaterielrifle

jill’s heel cracks against his skull, but the boy doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t pull back as she rolls to a stop in the leaves and soil. she’s on her feet again in an instant, watching him, looking him over. at the back of her awareness she hears claire’s voice. 

isn’t sure if it’s real or in her head, but the words are clear all the same; don’t hurt him. 

not even sure if i can. 

but, as strong as he is and as fast as he is, she’s faster. a small target. his giant clawed fingers sweep through the air and she springs backwards, flipping, pushing off her hands to put even more distance between them. 

she knows that struggle straining his voice, his features, tense across his muscles. it’s a memory she feels in her own body like binds around her wrists. like a hand around her throat. 

jill had wished the people wesker sent her after were fast enough to avoid her grasp. 

he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, knows both from what claire has told her and from just watching him in this moment. in the brief glance she risks she can see that sadistic enjoyment on alexia’s face. 

reminds her of the faces leering over her at tricell, of wesker’s smirk when he watched her struggle to disobey. but she can’t let her hatred distract her. 

her feet carry her across the soft earth, nimbly between the twisted, curving roots of these ancient trees. stood here for so long only to succumb to the flames as though they’re already nothing but ash. 

she runs up the sturdy trunk of one yet untouched, other than the curling of leaves. and she waits for him to come after her.

                   its a game of CAT and MOUSE, isn’t it?

she’s going to make him chase her down, put distance between each other and the main event. it’s a good tactic, it’s what needs to happen - but what if alexia catches whiff of it? what if it’s not enough? jill needs to get to claire -- steve can’t do it right now. not like this. the rage swells in his chest, trickling from his viral mother’s yearning for revenge; clouds the mind.

a raw snarl rips loose and steve charges for her. the order still remains, anchoring with weights to drown him in a sea of guilt: KILL HER

dirt, stone, and moss cleave straight under the tyrant’s massive weight tearing through terrain for jill. the burning trees around them do little to stop him either, they roar just as loud as he does, burning out and choking what little air a regular human could survive in.

    When was it ever going to stop? Didn’t people ever get tired of trying to destroy the world and everyone in it? An outbreak here, a B.O.W. spotted there–Leon was honestly sick of it. There were days where he felt like it was pointless to keep fighting, to even keep living, but regardless of his lows he knew he couldn’t stop until he drew his final breath. For everyone that died, someone survived, and if he didn’t try to save just one life, then he would never be able to save anyone. The only thing that kept him going these days was the thought that someone would get home to their family because he was there.

     But he’d be damned if it didn’t take a toll on him.

     It had reached a point when even a ringing phone sent ice through Leon’s veins, and before he even answered it he knew what had happened. The ID alone might as well have spelled out that he had a mission waiting for him, and before he knew it he was geared up and on his way to the site in question. The city wasn’t bad yet, and so when the helicopter landed it was only Leon who stepped onto the helipad. A few reported incidents, possible B.O.W.–find and neutralize the threat before it got any worse. 

    Just like always.

This wasn’t his fault this time. This was ANYTHING but his fault. Someone got cocky -- someone got brave, too brave for their own good in the nightlife of the city. Overnight shootings, muggings, they don’t go over too well, do they? It was a low-crime rate in this neighborhood, so why was it so surprising? The man had a gun; Steve could have laughed it off, got shot in the face for what it’s worth and pick up where he left off in a few hours.

                                            you’re not normal anymore                                                    - you can take a hit like this, right?

But something shifted just right inside. Or wrong - with the sound of the hammer clicking back. Staring down the barrel of a gun brought Steve back to Rockfort where having guns pointed at you by the guards? Normal. And then Steve couldn’t see straight anymore. He just saw RED, and a fire lit up in his gut that he was dreadfully familiar with. The sounds of bones cracking while a body too big for the boy began to form right in front of the poor mugger.

It was quick. The gruesome crime scene was left behind with nothing but entrails and half a man flung into the front window of a pawn shop. By the time Steve came to, it was past midnight and everything had gone quiet, he was slumped between some dumpsters. What a fucking fantastic smell to wake up to. The forced tyrant form had long since burned away from his body - maybe he could crawl back to his shoddy apartment. . .

                 . . . and then a helicopter sounded off just a few streets down.

                                     Shit.

Several eye-witnesses only managed to report creature climbing up the city’s taller establishments like a freak-Spiderman drop out. Far too fast and large to be anything but a B.O.W.. Claw marks and tears in the side of stone and brick gave way to evidence beyond carnage. Steve was in fucking trouble.  He wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion to go sauntering off either; caked in some asshole’s blood and clothes tattered? - choice material if you wanna get caught. ‘Guess I need to stick to the shadows.’

before tricell, steve was just a story. a ghost that haunted claire, a wound that couldn’t ever quite heal over no matter how well she covered it. everyone had thought he was dead. but then she caught a glimpse, his appearance giving him away, but the name on his cryotank solidifying it completely. steve burnside was alive and wesker had him. 

jill would’ve freed him right then and there, but her body, her words, all of it was beyond her. she could barely even keep her gaze on steve long enough to get a half decent look before wesker was forcing her attention on him once more. 

every day after she escaped she regretted not going back for him. but there was no time. she wasn’t even sure it was the same facility. so as soon as the quarantine loosened and freedoms began to slowly, conditionally open up around her, she started to look. pulling at every resource she could to just track the boy down and set right what she’d once failed to. for him. for claire. 

after so long searching, after his existence as a friend’s painful memory and a face in her own, it feels surreal to actually find him. even moreso to find him in such rough condition. 

her gaze drops to the hole in his side, his hand feverish hot even against her unnaturally warm skin. he may look human, but she knows the truth. with her own state she better. 

“ advanced regeneration or not, things can heal back wrong if you don’t treat a wound. “ 

the steadiness of her voice leaves little room for arguing.

how many times had she passed him? how many times did the tank marked [0267] plague her memory? it was the only physical identifying statement that umbrella managed to immortalize on his body. wesker knew the boy’s name, his files were all there - his father was a pathetic excuse for a rat. selling secrets on the black market to whatever greedy corporation paid most; what a fate it is to have your only son become just another skeleton in the closet.

the experiments and facilities varied. when they finally released him to start live-processing tests, steve was nothing but a husk. a shell of his former self, so much like jill had been when she was under forced under wesker’s command. time had shattered into a blurring illusion, there’s no telling just how many decades he wasn’t himself. and it all but took the snap of a finger from the very monster that turned him into one to drag the memories back out. as much as he hates to admit it, alexia had been both damnation and salvation.

            but none of it was ever a mercy.

more of that sick, familiar snapping, the arm above her twisting, bones shifting beneath the rough skin that presses into her palm. it would make her nauseous if not for everything she’s seen. 

the force grows, her shoes sinking further into soil. his teeth bare and she mirrors him, her own jaw clenched, lip pulled back, a low growl rising in her throat. even through the acrid smoke that rises around them, she can smell the infection on him. 

this close she can see the fight in his eyes, like a reflection of her past- though her own gaze refused to betray even that as wesker’s commands crawled like worms through her mind. 

it’s something she already knew from claire’s stories, but it’s different to face it like this. 

like drowning in a memory. 

she knows all too well what it’s like to have your own body be your prison. a puppet to someone else. a weapon against someone you love. 

at least alexia is forcing him to attack her and not claire, though it’s impossible to take comfort in the fact. even from his claws around her arm she can tell he’s enough of a challenge that, if the woman decides to attack her sister, jill might not be able to step in. 

the talons dig in, slicing through the top layer of her skin, blood beginning to drip slowly down to the earth below. she grits her teeth, bracing herself only just in time for the sudden lifting force that shoves her back through the air. 

there’s a dizzying second of weightlessness, but then she’s twisting, righting herself. by the time she hits the tree, her feet are under her and she pushes off, splintering the wood and sending ash and embers scattering. 

in midair she flips, coming down towards his head with her heel.

he wants her to run away.       he needs her to; ( but i know you won’t ).

understanding how alexia works to basic a extent has primarily kept the boy alive so far, that and she still NEEDS him. to damage, to destroy everything that claire loves. it would be too easy to just kill the woman and call it revenge, steve knows that better than anyone. you have to make the wound ooze, you have to drag out the pain, you have to break someone down from the inside out. take everything from them.

and why wouldn’t he think this is what she’s doing? the ashford’s legacy already took everything from him; mother, father, his home -- a life.

the chains rattle and tighten; the monster bellows out an enraged noise that makes the ground vibrate the roots. jill’s kick hits home, smashing into the side of his head with enough force to snap most people’s necks. but this hulking mass of twisted bones and virus was anything but; its thick carapace - like hitting a steel door.

“-- get.. away--!” it’s a rasp that hardly breaks loose, warning and wavering. he can’t hold alexia back forever. the dissonance of her song puppeteers a dance for carnage.