Chapter Text
The first three months in that lab in China were awful, but for Sherry it was a familiar, boring awful. She'd been through this exact brand of clinical dehumanization before and it was just as shitty the second time around. She found herself slipping into the distant numbness she'd perfected as a child as the scientists poked and prodded, as they took and took. It was the only way she'd made it through in one piece the first time around, and she was grateful that her body still remembered how to shield her.
There was only one feeling that really broke through that practiced shell and that was her worry for Jake. She hadn't seen him at all, nor had she overheard anything from the scientists or the techs. She dreaded to think what they were doing to him. She wished someone would tell her how he was doing. If he was even alive.
She tried her best to track the passage of time but in a place that only had an artificial day/night cycle that she wasn't even sure equaled 24 hours, it was almost impossible. Instead, she relied on her own body's cycle. When she felt hungry, when she felt tired, when her period came. One cycle, two, three. Three months, give or take a few days, that were measured in blood and cramping and the particular humiliation of sanitary products passed through a slot in the door.
Then, after what she estimated to be three and a half months, things changed. She'd been so worn down by the months of tests and isolation that it took her a few days for the change in routine to break through the dissociation.
Tests slowed, becoming routine blood tests and not much else. Then the injections started, always with pre-drawn syringes into her IV so she couldn't get a glimpse at the labels on the bottle.
Within hours of the first round of new injections, she started feeling odd. At first, she thought the pain in her stomach meant she was going to be sick, but then it settled lower, sharper. It almost felt like period cramps. Were they giving her hormones of some kind? Was it just a side effect of one of the medications?
Of course, no one would tell her what was going on. She asked the tech who strapped her into the chair for a second round of blood draws and injections that same evening. He ignored her, as they always did.
The next morning, there were more injections but no tests. Once they were done, the guards didn't escort her back to her room, but rather to a room she'd never seen before.
This new room was sterile and empty save for a single hospital bed in the center, bolted down to the floor. She sat when she was told to, because she'd long since learned that it was a waste of energy to fight before you knew what you were fighting.
Before long, the door hissed open and there he was. Jake, shirtless and wearing only scrub pants, was un-cuffed and shoved into the room by his guards. He barely managed to catch himself from face planting on the stark white tile, ending up on his hands and knees. He shot a glare over his shoulder as the door slammed shut and the electronic lock snapped into place.
"Jake!"
His head snapped up, eyes wide, and the anger melted into relief. She rushed over to him, helping him to his feet.
"You okay?" he asked, wincing and politely averting his eyes when he realized how little she was wearing.
"I'm fine, you?" She eyed the mottled bruise on the side of his jaw, the discoloration and dried blood in the bend of his elbow that said he'd been stuck and poked as many times as she had.
"Fine," he said, not letting go of her even as he busied himself with scanning the room for any weaknesses, doing the same sweep she had done just a few minutes ago to avoid looking at her or her body. His expression pinched with frustration and she knew he'd come to the same conclusion as her: they were stuck. There was nothing they could use. The bed didn't have any blankets or pillows and the observation window above them was too high to reach. When she was brought into the room, she had seen how thick the metal door was and knew there was no way they'd be able to bust through it.
"Do you know what's going on?" she asked. He shook his head.
"No. This is the first time anything new has happened in ages," he said.
"For me too. I think it's been about three months," she said. He blinked.
"Shit, three months?"
"About," she repeated.
Jake opened his mouth as if to say something else but then his eyes flicked past her shoulder. He went tense, reflexively pulling her closer and slightly behind himself protectively. The intercom crackled to life.
"The Prototype Recovery Project," a voice announced. Sherry's head snapped up, catching a vague silhouette outlined in the mostly opaque observation window above their heads. "Your G-Virus mutation, Miss Birkin, plus Mr. Muller's antibodies present us with a very unique opportunity, one we've been looking for quite some time."
"You want more fucking samples," Jake said, his voice tired and bitter. "Blood, tissue, whatever. Just take them and—"
"The initial directive is natural conception."
Her ears rang as the realization of how fucked they actually were finally broke through the numb detachment she'd shielded herself with over the past three months. Prototype recovery. Wesker's Prototype Virus. The source of Jake's antibodies. The Prototype Virus combined with the G-Virus into a single genetic line.
Jake's voice snapped her back to the present.
"What the fuck? We're not doing that," Jake said, his tone harsh and incredulous.
"You will," the scientist said, his voice gone flat. "Or we have authorization to escalate."
"Escalate?" Sherry asked weakly, her stomach churning.
"A C-Virus subject would be far more cooperative, more reliable too. I told the boss that from the start, but she wants to try the natural approach first. She thinks it's cleaner, fewer variables." A pause. Jake's hold on her arm was so tight it nearly cut off circulation but she could hardly feel it. "Orders are orders."
Sherry's hand found Jake's wrist, reflexively seeking some sort of anchor.
"Fuck that," Jake said, looking down at her. She tried to look less scared than she felt, but she wasn't sure it worked. "Sherry…"
"I don't want some thing to—" she choked and his throat worked around a swallow. He looked as nauseous as she felt.
"Fine," Jake said after a beat. "We'll do it, only as long as you keep those things away from her."
She knew they were both picturing Ustanak or any of those other C-Virus abominations they'd fought. The implication that they'd make one of those things with his DNA and force her to…
"As long as you both cooperate, we don't have any reason to deviate from the boss' plan. I thought you'd be grateful— all these tests must get boring. At least this round of testing protocol will be more… stimulating." His voice had changed slightly, like he was sharing a joke they weren't in on.
Jake visibly flinched at the implication that they somehow wanted this, but the man in the window wasn't done. There was a muffled sound over the intercom, like someone else further from the microphone had spoken.
"Understood," the scientist said. "The compounds have had sufficient time to bind to your receptors. Peak efficacy varies between subjects, but we have a narrow observation window. You have an hour before that window closes."
The intercom clicked off. The expectant silence that fell over the room threatened to suffocate her. She realized she still had his wrist in a death grip, clutching so tightly that her knuckles ached. She forced herself to loosen her hold but couldn't bring herself to fully let go of him. He glared up at the window, his jaw set.
An hour.
"It's okay," she said quietly. "We'll… we'll be okay."
She was trying her best not to cry, but she couldn't stop shaking as she fumbled with the ties of her top, not quite able to get her numb fingers to cooperate. She reached for that comfortable detachment and found only the sound of her heart in her ears. He caught her hands, stilling her. Her vision went blurry as she couldn't quite keep the tears from falling.
"Keep it on," he said. "It's fine. We can, you know, work around it."
"But—"
"I don't want them seeing you," he said firmly, angling his body so he was between her and the opaque observation window above them. "If we have to do this, they're not gonna get a show."
His palm was damp against hers, his grip a little too tight. He was staring at their joined hands like he didn't recognize them, then to the way the gap of her gown exposed the inner curve of her breasts even when it remained tied, then to her tear streaked face.
"I— I can't." He dropped her hands like he'd been burned, scrambling off the bed. She watched the color drain from his face, his throat working as if he was trying to swallow the urge to be sick.
Her expression crumpled further, guilt twisting with the fear, but underneath it was something worse: relief. She couldn't do it either, and she was almost glad he'd been the one to break first.
But the relief curdled in her chest as soon as it had bloomed. They hadn't even tried. The scientist had been clear: cooperate or they'd send something worse. Panic crept in, constricting her lungs until she couldn't breathe.
The intercom crackled to life: "Session terminated. Return them to their quarters."
The lock disengaged, the doors hissed open. Three guards entered with more waiting just outside, all armed. The closest one grabbed Sherry. The other two rushed forward as Jake lunged, grappling him back and away from her.
"Please, don't," Sherry pleaded, her eyes not leaving Jake as the first guard wrenched her arms behind her back, the cuffs clicking into place. The cold metal against her wrists was familiar by now.
Jake yanked against the guards holding him, but froze as the guard holding Sherry drew his gun, pressing it between her shoulder blades.
"Relax," the guard said, hauling her up and leaving her to scramble to get her feet underneath herself. "Doc says you'll get another shot tomorrow. The cells need a week to cook, or something."
She looked back at Jake, still pinned, his face twisted with helpless rage.
"Jake—"
They dragged her out of the room. She heard him shout her name once, the slam of the door, then silence.
The chair was cold. Her arms were fastened down to the arms of the chair, as they always were during these tests and exams. A scientist had already begun drawing blood for whatever tests they needed to run by the time she'd calmed enough to think clearly. A plan, she needed a plan.
"Please, we weren't trying to be difficult," she said. The scientist met her eyes for the briefest moment. He must be new— he was actually almost treating her like a person. "It was just… a shock."
"I said that you should've told them the plan before you threw them into it, didn't I?" the scientist said to a second, who was typing on a computer across the room.
"What's the point?" the second asked.
"What, you've never gotten performance anxiety?" the first asked and when he looked at her again, his eyes settled somewhere below her chin. "I would."
The thin cotton of the gown gaped at her chest no matter how tightly she'd tied it that morning. With her hands restrained, she couldn't even try to pull the neckline higher. She swallowed. Maybe he didn't see her as a person but he did, at least, see her as something alive. Maybe that would be enough.
"Maybe you could bring him to my room?" she asked. "If we're more comfortable, it might be easier to—" she stopped, swallowed. The first scientist made a considering noise but said nothing as he finished drawing her blood, setting the handful of vials aside in a tray before removing the tourniquet and needle.
"The doctor said you can try again tomorrow," he said, nodding for a guard to unstrap her from the chair to take her back to her room.
Tomorrow. If she could just prepare herself mentally instead of being dropped straight into it, maybe she could keep it together a little better.
She had to, for them both.