#fandom crackfic

Nemesis grunted approvingly.

INT. CRYO-WING – 16:00 HOURS

You took a deep breath, letting the icy silence settle before dramatically stepping forward, mic outstretched like you were hosting a true crime documentary.

“This,” you whispered dramatically, “is where they keep the emotionally repressed. It’s giving ‘ex-boyfriend energy.’”

Rows of cryo-pods lined the hallway, glowing pale blue. The hum of the generators was the only sound—until your boots squeaked with every step. You leaned in to a frosted pod, mic activated.

“Sir,” you asked the frozen Tyrant inside, “do you feel trapped by your conditioning, or is your cold shoulder just metaphorical?”

A crack ran up the glass like a bad omen.

HUNK was at your side in an instant, hand gripping your collar as he yanked you backward. “Touch anything else and I’ll personally freeze you myself.”

You adjusted your scarf with dignity. “Wow, okay, hostile environment.”

Nemesis silently draped a thermal blanket over your shoulders like a gentle yet horrifying nanny.

“See?” you said, beaming. “At least one of you cares about my wellness.”

INT. TEST LAB – 21:07 HOURS

You sat cross-legged on a dusty workbench, sipping hot chocolate from a mug labeled ‘Cryo-Queen’, while flipping switches with reckless confidence.

“Update,” you whispered into the mic. “Our emotional support mutant has adapted to the tundra. Our field commander is plotting my murder. I’ve found the good marshmallows in the supply closet.”

HUNK was in the corner trying to hotwire a panel with an expression that could curdle milk. Sparks danced behind him.

“Stop. Talking,” he barked.

You gave him a thumbs-up and sipped. “Too late. This is canon now.”

Nemesis stood in the background like a gothic statue, the glitter bat strapped across his back with pride, which you had gifted it to him before this mission. Occasionally, he shuffled snow into corners with surprising tidiness. You made a mental note to recommend him for janitorial MVP. “He’s the backbone of this operation,” you whispered proudly to your mic.

“Also,” you added, “I’ve nominated him for hallway maintenance duty. He’s very organized.”

INT. MAIN REACTOR CORE – 02:00 HOURS

It was supposed to be a routine sweep: check structural integrity, record data, leave. Instead, the facility alarms went off. The room was on fire. A mutant worm had launched itself at the ceiling.

Nemesis swung a steel pipe like Babe Ruth reincarnated. A screech echoed off the walls. HUNK was beside him, mag dump steady, eyes calculating every angle.

You? You were crouched behind a crate with your mic, narrating like you were hosting a wildlife documentary on fast-forward. You imagined David Attenborough quietly judging you from heaven—or wherever he spectated chaos.

“Here we see two natural predators in their element,” you whispered, crouched low and peeking over the crate with wide-eyed awe. “One is tactical, silent, deadly—he hasn’t blinked in an hour.” You zoomed in on HUNK with your mic like you were documenting a rare species. “The other is... covered in glitter. And rage. And I love him.”

The mutant launched again. You threw your clipboard at it like an Olympic discus.

“Note to self,” you muttered, “bring throwing stars next time.”

Nemesis roared like a freight train with hurt feelings. Something exploded behind you—possibly the mutant, possibly the cafeteria. You ducked instinctively as flaming debris flew past.

HUNK, covered in soot and visibly out of patience, kicked open an escape panel so hard it screeched like it owed him rent. “MOVE!” he barked, his voice cracking for the first time ever.

You dove through the opening with the mic still recording. “That concludes today’s field report,” you wheezed. “We rate this experience: 10 out of 10 emotional breakdowns.”

INT. OBSERVATION DECK – 04:00 HOURS

You laid on a bench wrapped in three blankets, mic still recording. Nemesis sat nearby, re-braiding your scarf because the wind messed it up. HUNK paced, checking his gear like he could will himself out of this narrative.

“You okay, team?” you asked, voice muffled by marshmallow breath.

HUNK stopped pacing. “No.”

You grinned. “Perfect. Let’s do this again sometime.”

Nemesis nodded solemnly.

EXT. ANTARCTIC SURFACE – EVAC POINT – 05:30 HOURS

Snow whipped around you with vengeance. The evac chopper’s blades churned the sky like it owed them money.

You were curled in your parka, eating a granola bar and broadcasting into the mic. “Mission complete. Ice broken. Literal and emotional. Results: fiery.”

HUNK sat slumped beside the bird, bruised, silent, recalculating every life choice that brought him here. Nemesis stared at the sun like he was pondering poetry. He offered HUNK a blanket. HUNK declined with a grunt, recoiling slightly like the warmth might infect him with feelings. Nemesis then offered you one. You accepted and tucked it over both of them.

“We are a team,” you said. “The worst team. But still.”

Post-Mission Debrief – Wesker’s Desk, Somewhere Warm

Wesker stared at the screen, stone-faced.

You feeding Nemesis soup.

HUNK manually rebooting a reactor while muttering death threats.

You trying to knit them matching beanies labeled “Cryo Bros.”

Nemesis doing yoga.

He closed the laptop with a click that echoed like the crushing of distant dreams. For a long moment, he just stared at the blank screen, expression unreadable—but one vein in his temple visibly throbbed.

“She survived Antarctica,” he muttered, eyes narrowing like the words physically pained him to say aloud.

He opened a new file:

SUBJECT: Assistant Termination Attempts – Failed (5x)

Then scribbled one final note:

Consider sending her to space.

End Log.