Al's Rabbit Hole
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Tie the Noose 12
🕑 Added 2025-09-20 02:14:41 +0000 UTCThe first thing Daniel became aware of was the ache. Not the sharp, jarring pain of overwork or injury, but a slow-burning, all-encompassing soreness that hummed deep in every muscle. His shoulders throbbed with the weight of her pulling him close over and over again. His thighs protested slightly as he shifted under the covers, each movement a reminder of just how enthusiastically the night had gone. His lower back gave a faint twinge of exhaustion, his arms heavy, hands still faintly tingling where they'd clutched sheets and skin alike. It wasn’t pain, not really, not in the way one thinks of it, as satisfied as he was. It was the ghost of pleasure, the kind that lingered after being used up in the best possible way. He felt wrung out, the tank empty but the engine warm, content to idle. It was the kind of ache that didn’t ask for relief, only more time to bask in what caused it.
Warmth pressed into his side. The kind that radiated from skin to skin, shared beneath a tangled sheet and quilt, clung to by bodies reluctant to separate. He didn’t need to look to know it was her. The weight of Rebecca’s smaller frame stretched across his chest, one leg hooked over his, her arm looped beneath his, her breath soft against his collarbone. But he looked anyway.
She looked completely at peace in the morning light. Her face, usually so expressive, so quick to grin or roll her eyes, now softened into a quiet, content stillness. The wild girl from the night before, the one who had kissed him like she was starving, laughed into his neck, moaned his name until her voice broke, was still there, but she was wrapped in something gentler now. Her lashes fluttered faintly against her cheeks, her lips parted just slightly in sleep, and her brow relaxed in a way that made her look... not younger, but more innocent. Her hair was a mess, dark strands fanned across the pillow and his chest in a wild tangle, still carrying the faint scent of that floral shampoo he couldn’t quite name. Her skin was warm and bare against his, her fingers curled loosely against his ribs, like letting go wasn’t an option.
Daniel felt a tug in his chest he didn’t quite know how to name. It was more than the usual flutter of attraction, deeper than simple gratitude. It was something warm and full and terrifying in its own way; the quiet, anchoring weight of someone choosing to be there, to stay. Not just anyone either. Her. Rebecca. Brilliant, bold, strange Rebecca, whose laugh still echoed in his ears from the night before, who had touched him with a kind of reckless tenderness he hadn’t expected. She clung to him even in sleep, her breath soft, her body warm and trusting, and something about that made his chest feel tight in the best possible way. It had been so long since he'd been with anyone like this. He let his hand drift up to the back of her shoulder, feeling the curve of it, the calm rise and fall of her breath. He held her there, grounding himself in the weight of her body curled into his. In the reality of her presence. In the fact that he wasn’t alone.
He let his head rest against the pillow, eyes half-lidded as he took in the ceiling above, watching the play of early sunlight against the uneven plaster. The air was thick with the lingering scent of the night before; a blend of heat and shared breath, of warm skin and faint perfume, floral and sharp with a touch of spice. It mingled with the subtle sweetness of sweat and the unmistakable intimacy of bodies spent, wrapped in tangled sheets. The room was humid in that quiet, comfortable way, like a blanket not yet pulled back, the mattress beneath him still cradling the imprint of their movements. Every breath drew in the evidence of her presence, the scent of her hair, the barest hint of shampoo, a note of something clean threaded through the aftermath. It smelled like her. Like them. He let it settle in his chest before his eyes drifted down.
Her room was a riot of color and personality, layered in pieces of a life lived boldly. One wall was a fortress of bookshelves packed to the edges, bursting with every genre he could name, hardcover classics beside bent crime thrillers, sci-fi paperbacks bleeding into academic texts, and half-melted horror novels whose covers looked like they'd survived a house fire. Opposite that stood a massive TV mounted on a reinforced bracket, a game console nestled beneath, the nearby table scattered with jewel cases and band flyers- mostly industrial metal and punk bands he barely recognized. Scratched CDs jostled for space with coiled headphone cables and black-and-white stickers. The remaining space between it all was wallpapered in posters of movie monsters in various stages of attack: fangs bared, claws out, limbs contorted in dramatic mid-lunge. The whole wall felt like a shrine to the bizarre and theatrical, equal parts horror and humor.
But it was the third wall that made him pause. A photo wall. It shifted the tone instantly, grounding all the chaos with something quietly human. There were family snapshots pinned up with thumbtacks and tape, overlapping images from what had to be years of her life. Hiking trails, crowded beach days, a few stills in medical gear with what looked like hospital staff. One graduation photo stood out- she looked barely out of middle school, sandwiched between two younger girls and a woman with the same dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Off to one side, a tired-looking man in a crooked tie and thick glasses held up a weathered banner for a science fair. Each image added another layer to her, peeling back the punk edge to reveal something more intricate, something anchored in memory and meaning.
There was life in every square inch of the place. Cluttered, lived in, unmistakably hers. The apartment outside this room was tasteful and quiet, almost surgical in its organization, but this space, this cave of color and memory and sound, was where Rebecca truly lived. It felt intimate in a way the rest of her home didn't. It wasn't just decorated, it was claimed. Every poster, photo, and haphazard pile was a declaration: this is who I am. And she had brought him into it. Welcomed him into this cocoon of private chaos, a place so fundamentally her that he felt like a stranger just being in it. The realization settled on him with a kind of quiet humility. She had let him in, not just into her bed, but into this, the part of her she didn’t show just anyone.
And then there was her.
Rebecca stirred slightly against him. She wasn’t asleep. Not really. Just dozing, in that quiet half-aware state where movement softened but intention remained. Her breath deepened, shifted rhythm, and she pulled herself closer, her hand sliding down his stomach as if confirming he was still there.
Lying there, held in her arms, Daniel felt something unspoken settle into him. This room was hers, every inch of it steeped in her identity, from the horror posters and band flyers to the overstuffed bookshelf and everything in between. But the way she curled into him now, without shame or pretense, made him feel like he’d become part of that world too. Like she'd added him to her little hoard of strange and wonderful things and decided he belonged there. It was... a lot, and yet it felt good. Right. He didn’t know what he had expected the morning to feel like, but it hadn’t been this. Not this warmth. Not this peace. Not this quiet, subtle sense that someone wanted him close and saw nothing wrong in keeping him there.
“Mmm... morning,” she murmured without opening her eyes. Her voice was low, scratchy, and unmistakably content. Her cheek still pressed warm against his chest, her breath rolling across his skin in a steady, unhurried rhythm that matched the slow rise and fall of her bare body wrapped around his.
“Hey, sunshine. Morning to you too.” He said, his voice low and rough with sleep, but laced with something gentler beneath it, like he was tasting the words.
She smiled against his chest, eyes finally opening just enough to squint up at him. “I like this.” Her voice was soft, filled with sleepy contentment, and something warmer under the surface.
He glanced down with a quiet grin. “The cuddling or the blanket?”
She poked him in the ribs, her fingers playful but lingering. “You. This. Us.”
The stillness in the room returned, quiet but comfortable, broken only by the slow rhythm of their breathing. Then, in a smaller voice, she added, “I’ve never done this before. Not like this. First date and all. But... it’s okay, right?”
Daniel’s mouth curled slightly, the warmth in his chest deepening. “Well, I like to think I was pretty okay.”
She groaned and nudged him harder with her elbow, a little embarrassed and a lot amused. “Not like that, you dingus.”
He chuckled. “I’m flattered either way.”
There was a beat, then Daniel gave her a sly glance. “Though, gotta say... your dirty talk kind of had a... let’s say, cinematic quality.”
Rebecca lifted her head, her cheeks already starting to redden. “Oh my god,” she groaned, burying her face in his chest. “I knew it. I knew it sounded dumb.”
He grinned, rubbing her back gently. “Didn’t say that. Even if it sounded like something out of a Skinemax flick.”
She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a wounded whine. “Shut up.”
“Hey,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “It was cute. And kind of hot. And very you.”
She grumbled again, voice muffled. “I was just... nervous. And... I may have kind of, sort of... borrowed a few lines.”
Daniel chuckled. “Noted.”
Rebecca shifted to rest her chin just under his shoulder, her fingers tightening slightly against his side as she looked up at him. The smile on her lips was still playful, but softer now, tinged with a hesitation that hadn’t been there a moment before. It didn’t quite reach her eyes the same way, not because it lacked warmth, but because it carried something more fragile. There was a question behind it, unspoken but clear, as if she was feeling her way forward, uncertain but willing. Something in her gaze turned inward, searching him not just for amusement, but for reassurance. Like she was trying to figure out how to say something.
“I’m smart, you know.”
Daniel blinked at her, surprised by the shift in her tone. “Yeah. I figured that one out.”
“No, I mean… really smart. Genius level.” Her voice had lost its teasing lilt, replaced by something steadier. A quiet need to be understood.
He gave her a small smirk, trying to lighten the weight that had crept into her words. “Also humble.”
That earned him a grin, but she didn’t let go of the thread. “Graduated high school at eleven. College degree at fifteen. Two more by seventeen. I was lining up for grad school before I could vote. Then the offers started coming in. Tricell. Umbrella. Government labs. Big salaries. Crazy perks. But I didn’t want that.”
He nodded, listening.
“I wanted something that felt... worth it.” Her voice thinned, quieter now, less certain than before. She gave a small shrug, her fingers curling slightly against his chest like she needed the contact to anchor her. “STARS didn’t have a lot to offer. No money, no prestige, but what they did have... well, they had a purpose. They were doing something that mattered. And I needed that. I needed to matter.”
Her gaze drifted away. “Mom didn’t get it. She thought I was throwing everything away. We fought, bad. The kind of fight that ended with her kicking me out, and we haven’t spoken since. She wanted me safe, successful, respectable. Doing something stable and clean... and I was walking away from all of that, walking into something she couldn’t understand or accept. It was ugly, and it still hurts, because she made it clear she thought I was wasting everything.”
Rebecca’s voice dipped further, her breath catching slightly. “Dad had passed by then. He was brilliant, too, in his way. A science type, all lab coats and cluttered desks. But he always told me to chase what made me happy, not what looked good on paper. They didn’t always agree, him and Mom. They almost never agreed about me.”
She gave a small, shaky breath. “But neither of them really saw me. Not really. I was the little prodigy, the trophy, the one they bragged about. I got used to being the brilliant kid. But I was never just Rebecca.”
Her fingers curled a little tighter against his chest. “I needed to stop being that. I needed to be someone. Someone I chose. Someone real.”
Her voice dropped further. “I got used to people humoring me. Liking my brain, not me. College was worse. I was a child to them, or a threat. Never really fit in. And boys... boys were always too intimidated or too weird about it. I tried subcultures, scenes where nobody cared how old or smart I was. Made friends, had flings, but I never really clicked with anyone.”
Rebecca turned her face slightly, cheek now pressed against his chest. “Then I met you.”
Daniel’s brows lifted slightly.
“You’re dense sometimes,” she said, teasing, but her voice was soft. “You flirt like an old man sometimes. But... you never talk down to me. You never make me feel like I’m too much. Or not enough. You just see me. And I like that. I like you. I like... this.”
Daniel didn’t speak right away. The silence stretched between them, charged with the weight of everything she had just given him. He could see how much it cost her to say it, and how much she wanted to believe he would hold it gently. She looked up again, eyes open wide now, the last of the sleepy haze gone, and for the first time he felt like she was showing him the core of herself rather than the mask she put on for the world.
He saw it, the vulnerability, the nervous energy tucked behind her small smile, the fear that he might retreat instead of stay. She was giving him the choice to accept her or let go.
Daniel’s chest tightened at the simple, startling realization that he wanted this too. That he was willing to take what she had given him, heavy as it might be for her, and her along with it. He leaned in and kissed her, slow, steady, hot and real. A meeting of need and reassurance, his hand sliding up her back, fingers brushing along her spine as if to anchor her in place and tell her without words that he wasn’t going anywhere.
When they parted, he looked into her eyes. “I wasn’t looking for anything. Not really. Committing to anything... It's never been easy for me. Keeping a distance from people is just simpler. Safer. Being apart makes it easier not to get hurt. Easier not to disappoint.”
She didn’t interrupt, only watched him quietly.
“But people... they confuse me. I struggle with understanding them, deeper than just the surface you see at the top. I’ve always struggled with it, and I don’t really have the words for how. Trust comes slow for me, and it’s almost impossible for me to put faith in anyone else. If I do, they might...”
“Get it wrong,” Rebecca finished softly.
He nodded, his eyes distant, not in a sleepy way but in the tired way of someone worn down by old patterns. “Yeah. I have my ghosts. My complications. Things I can’t, and don’t want to, talk about. And I’m sorry about that. You’ve been here, patient and kind and everything that matters, but I know I’m not an easy person. Not really.”
Rebecca’s expression softened. Her hand moved to his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. “You have your thing. I’ve got mine. But I want this to be something..." She hesitated a moment, as if finding the words, "When you said yes to dinner, I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy. And I’m greedy. I want more of that.”
She kissed him then, slow and steady.
The morning light poured in around them, and the world outside slowed down just enough for the bed to become a safe harbor.
Daniel wrapped his arms around her as she tucked her head beneath his chin. She shifted higher against him, sliding up until her legs looped comfortably around his waist, her chest pressing into his as if she had no intention of letting him go. For a while they just held one another, the heat of their bodies blending beneath the tangled sheets.
Then she tilted back, eyes glinting with sudden mischief, and a wicked grin tugged at her lips before she kissed him again. Daniel hummed against her mouth as she leaned close, her breath brushing hot against his ear.
“So,” she whispered, playful and conspiratorial, “any big plans for today?”
Whatever thoughts he might have had about the hours ahead scattered instantly, replaced by the warmth of her smile and the closeness of her embrace. They both laughed, the sound easy and unguarded, before the moment faded into the hush of the room and the sunlight spilling across the bed.
000
Steam clung to the air, curling against the tiled ceiling and drifting out through the vents. The RPD locker room echoed with the sound of running water, the metallic slap of locker doors, and the chatter of the women finishing their turn on the shower rota. Rebecca wasn’t usually fond of the routine, but today was different. She’d felt a little thrill at the thought of stepping into that room, and even more when she caught Jill’s glance in her direction as they toweled off side by side.
Jill paused mid-motion, a towel draped across her shoulders as she leaned against the bench. Her eyes narrowed slightly, then her lips curved into a half-smirk. “Is that a bite mark on your tit?”
Rebecca’s grin was instant and entirely smug, her chin tilting up as if she’d been waiting for someone to notice. “Maybe.”
Jill let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with a wicked glee that betrayed equal parts amusement and pride. “Well, looks like you got your man.”
Rebecca’s smugness only deepened. “Mmhm.”
“I told you,” Jill teased, sliding the towel through her hair with deliberate ease, “all you had to do was ask. And look at you now. Top marks, Chambers.”
Rebecca’s cheeks warmed, though her smile never faltered. “You’re not wrong. Worked out pretty well. Even if I need a new kitchen table.”
Jill straightened, eyebrows shooting up and lowering her voice but unable to hide the grin stretching across her face. “No. Right on the table?”
Rebecca, looking every bit like a satisfied cat stretching in the sun, gave a languid nod. “Front and back.”
Jill laughed outright, shaking her head again as she reached for her uniform shirt, her grin positively wicked now. “Damn, girl. No wonder you’re glowing.” Her tone carried a hint of voyeuristic glee, as if she was savoring Rebecca’s confession like a juicy secret she’d been hoping to hear.
Rebecca pulled on her own clothes slowly, still reveling in her mood, her movements unhurried while the rest of the room bustled with chatter and motion. “What can I say? He’s… very satisfying.”
Jill glanced at her sideways. “I can tell.”
Rebecca smirked and shrugged, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed more than she intended. She was rough around the edges that morning, a little marked, a little sore, but she wore it proudly. Jill caught the look in her eye and chuckled again. “You like it that way, huh?”
Rebecca slipped into her jeans, tugging the waistband into place. “Yeah. I really do. And by a little rough, I mean extra rough.”
Jill’s eyes widened, her brows shooting up as a scandalized laugh bubbled out of her. “Rebecca!” she exclaimed, the faux-scandal giving way to amusement. “Well, I thought you were walking a little funny today.”
Rebecca only looked smugger, pulling her shirt over her head with the air of someone very pleased with herself. Jill leaned against the lockers, shaking her head with mock dismay but that Cheshire grin still in place. “So tell me then… just how ‘satisfying’ is he?”
Rebecca, if possible, looked even more self-satisfied. She adjusted her shirt, gave Jill a catlike smile, and said with supreme confidence, “He fills me up just right.”
Jill groaned and laughed at once, fanning herself dramatically. “God, girl, you’re going to kill me with this.”
The gossip didn’t take long to spread. By the afternoon, whispers had wound their way through every corner of the RPD, from the dispatch desk to the cafeteria. It wasn’t exactly a secret when half the locker room had seen the smug look on Rebecca’s face, and soon it seemed like everyone had their own embellished version of the story. By the time it reached the STARS office, the rumor mill was running at full tilt. Enrico and Barry ended up tucked into a corner of the room, voices lowered as they weighed what they’d heard, casting wary glances to make sure none of the others were listening in.
Enrico crossed his arms, frowning, his whole posture bristling. “She’s seeing a man twice her age? That can’t be right.” His voice carried more than disbelief; it was the raw edge of outrage, protective instinct bristling as though Rebecca were his own kid. “She’s eighteen, Barry. Eighteen. What the hell is a man like that doing with her? Sounds like some kind of groomer.”
Barry shifted uncomfortably, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “It’s true that he's... older than her, but that's going a little far, Enrico.” The admission sat heavy, and his eyes drifted to the floor, torn between loyalty to his friend and the gnawing sense of unease. He trusted Daniel, he really did, but this wasn’t a normal relationship. “Look, Daniel’s a good guy. I can promise you that. But…” he exhaled slowly, conflicted, “yeah, I’ve got my own concerns. I trust Rebecca, but I can’t help seeing her rushing headlong into something she might not be ready for. And that bothers me more than I want to admit.”
The two men exchanged a long look, the weight of it saying more than words. Enrico’s jaw tightened as he muttered, “So what, we just let it slide? No. Get the shovel, Barry. Guys like that don’t walk into a girl’s life without an angle.” His tone carried all the menace of an older brother about to put a stop to something he didn’t like.
Barry winced, dragging a hand down his face. “Enrico, come on. I just… I want to make sure my friends aren’t doing something stupid. He’s older, yeah. And I can’t shake that she’s still so young, still figuring herself out. It doesn’t sit right with me, even if I know Danny isn’t a bad man.”
Enrico snorted. “Sounds like a pervert who needs an ass kicking to me. She’s still wet behind the ears, Barry. We protect our own.”
Neither man noticed the door open softly behind them, or the small footsteps drawing closer. Rebecca had stepped in, her face still bright from earlier, only for it to fall as their words hit her ears. The sting of it lit her blood hot, fury boiling up before she could stop it.
“Are you two seriously talking about who I’m fucking?”
She stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, eyes flashing with a heat that caught both men off guard. Her usual cheer was gone, replaced with something sharp and incandescent with anger. Enrico’s mouth opened, but she didn’t give him the chance.
"Jesus Rebecca!" Barry blinked, his brows furrowing, ready to scold her more like a father than a colleague. He barely got a word out before Rebecca cut him down with a crude slapback.
“Don’t you start trying to Dad me about how I talk. You can clutch your pearls over my phrasing all you want, but it doesn’t change a damn thing.” Her glare pinned him in place.
She jabbed a finger in Barry’s direction. “It’s none of your business. Not yours, and not his. For your information, Danny’s great, and you better not start any crap with him.”
Barry blinked, taken aback by the language and the steel in her tone. He had never heard Rebecca this sharp before.
“I’m a grown-ass woman,” she continued, her voice unwavering. “I can handle myself! I’m well equipped enough to do it, too. I didn’t get Chris’s size fourteen boots imprinted up and down my ass during training for nothing.”
With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out, the door swinging shut behind her with a sharp crack. The silence that followed hung heavy, broken only by the faint shuffle of Enrico shifting his stance. He glanced at Barry, eyes wide, and Barry looked just as stunned. The two men shared a confused, slightly terrified glance- this wasn’t the bright, cheery Rebecca they thought they knew. Any illusions they might have had about her softness or her reluctance to throw down were gone, replaced with the sharp memory of a young woman who could cut them to pieces without hesitation.
At her desk nearby, Jill was doubled over, one hand clamped over her mouth as she tried, and failed spectacularly, to stifle her laughter. She finally gave up, letting it spill out, full-throated and unrestrained, the sound echoing through the office like cannon fire. The look on Barry’s face, mortified and abashed, only made it worse.
“Shut up, Valentine,” Enrico snapped, his tone petulant and defensive.
That only set Jill off even more. She wheezed for breath, tears streaming down her face, delighting in their misery as her laughter filled the room.
In his office, Albert Wesker sat behind his desk, Jill’s laughter still faintly carrying through the door like an echo that refused to die. He adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the fluorescent light as he forced his gaze back to the report on his desk. His professional mask remained in place, calm and detached, but even he couldn’t deny the ripple that Rebecca Chambers of all people, had caused. The sheer vitriol she’d unleashed on two veteran officers had cut clean through the walls of the STARS office and, for a heartbeat, into his own composure.
He let the image replay in his mind: Rebecca’s voice, sharp and unflinching, her words flaying two men twice her age without hesitation. For so long he had catalogued her as cheerful, dutiful, relentlessly eager to please… an easily overlooked piece of the team. Yet what he had just witnessed forced him to amend that entry. There was steel under the smile, and a temper that burned hot enough to wound.
Slowly, a small smirk tugged at his lips, hidden beneath the tilt of his head as he turned back to his paperwork. It amused him more than he expected. Beneath the sunshine and the incessant cheer, Rebecca Chambers had bite, and he would remember that.
000
Setting up the hydroponics unit in his hideout had been a pain in the ass and a half. What was supposed to be a straightforward fit had become a sprawling project, cables running like veins across the concrete floor, grow lamps humming overhead with a faint buzz, and a reservoir that always seemed to need resealing. The unit was meant to be largely self-sustained, feeding and watering the plants on its own, needing only the occasional top-off of water and nutrients. On paper, it was efficient, tidy, simple.
In practice, Daniel had found himself jury-rigging pumps, re-soldering connections, and building makeshift braces to keep the whole thing upright. He still needed a couple more battery banks and a larger generator, but compared to this beast in front of him, those would be easy chores. This rig had eaten up days of his time, demanding endless tinkering and trial runs, never quite satisfied with the settings he gave it. The reservoir gurgled in protest, one of the lights flickered as if mocking him, and the smell of damp nutrient solution clung to the air. The work was frustrating, tedious, and messy, but it was the kind of task he threw himself into, because if it worked, it could mean the difference between literal life and death.
He had been distracted lately, admittedly, but he’d carved out the time to dig deeper. That meant long afternoons at the library, paging through whatever outdated botany journals he could get his hands on, and even a few quiet evenings asking Rebecca about the medical literature. She hadn’t minded; in fact, she seemed almost glad to have someone interested in the subject. It wasn’t unusual for people to keep a fresh stalk of green in their kitchens or on a windowsill for brewing teas, and she admitted that she’d grown up around the habit.
She answered his questions with her usual enthusiasm, breaking down the chemistry in ways he could actually follow, and he finally managed to piece together why his first attempt at using the strange, seemingly magical herbs had been so lackluster, while the second try had come much closer to what his memories of the games suggested they should be. The truth turned out to be both simpler and more complicated than he expected.
The plants themselves were impure, that was the best word for it. They were full of ordinary matter- fiber, water, cellulose, all bound up with the strange properties that promoted healing. Fresh leaves weren’t useless; they had caught on as a fad among health-conscious types, brewed into teas or chewed raw for a minor pick‑me‑up. But nothing about them suggested the miraculous effects he'd been expecting. That only appeared once someone thought to dry the leaves, curing them like tobacco. In that state, the true potency emerged, along with the dangerous side effects.
The herbs fell into five general categories: Green, Red, Blue, Yellow, and Purple. They were all believed to share a common genetic ancestor, though centuries of evolution had pushed them into wildly different directions. The divergence was significant enough that some experts argued they should be classified as entirely separate subspecies. What stopped that reclassification was the way they interacted: despite their differences, the plants worked together with uncanny compatibility.
Green was the most common, growing in almost any climate with little care. Its signature effect was healing, yet it came at a price. The compounds within caused a buildup of toxins in the blood, toxins that had to be filtered through the liver. Those toxins couldn’t be separated out, since they were the same ones preventing the cells from literally combusting from the rapid regeneration. That was why a user felt heat burning through their veins when a green was consumed. Hammer too many in quick succession, and the body would collapse under the toxic load, even if the injuries were healed. This was where the Red herbs became invaluable.
Red herbs acted like magnifiers. Useless on their own, when combined with any other herb their effectiveness multiplied several times over, and they helped mitigate the toxic side effects of the greens. But Reds were delicate, demanding constant attention. Climate, soil, temperature… all had to be carefully controlled. They were stubborn and finicky, hard to grow in bulk since they competed with each other when planted too close. Matured plants reached a plateau, no longer growing but refusing to die, hanging in an uneasy balance until harvested.
Blue herbs, on the other hand, were almost universal antitoxins. They countered venoms, chemical agents, and even allergic reactions, either used alone or in combination with others. Their effect was remarkable: a flood of harmless compounds binding to toxins and flushing them safely through the kidneys. They couldn’t, however, neutralize the toxins produced by green herbs. Generally speaking they grew almost anywhere as well as the green herbs, which made them much easier to cultivate.
The picture grew darker with Yellow and Purple. Both were highly regulated, considered dangerous, and neither worked without at least some green mixed in. The combinations produced powerful results, but carried equally serious risks.
Yellow herbs acted like powerful stimulants. The more ingested, the stronger the effect: numbed pain, hidden fatigue, adrenaline-like energy flooding the system. In the short term, they made the user feel unstoppable. But the crash two or three days later was brutal: extreme weakness, exhaustion, vomiting, diarrhea. The body sometimes broke under the strain, succumbing to heart attacks or organ hemorrhages. The only “solution” was to take more, which delayed the crash but made it worse when it came. Rebecca had warned him more than once that this wasn’t paranoia; the medical literature was damning.
Purple herbs were the strangest. They provided no healing or stimulant effects. Instead, they neutralized psychotropics, suppressing hallucinations and boosting focus and clarity. They worked by coating brain receptors, blocking signals from reaching them. Useful, but terrifying. Overdoses made the coating permanent, causing cumulative brain damage. Even proper dosing damaged tissue, the compound caustic to delicate neurons. Brains soaked in purple showed holes, Swiss cheese patterns eerily reminiscent of those old anti-drug PSAs.
Umbrella, of course, had monetized all of it. Their early profits had come from turning these herbs into something marketable, refining their potency and packaging them in pill or aerosol form. The famous First Aid Spray was born from this. The pills used a mix of concentrates and chemical neutralizers, balancing potency with reduced toxicity, though still dangerous in the long term. The sprays were different, binding the herb compounds in a solution that absorbed through the skin and dried clean on fabric. They were bulky and wasteful, requiring an entire can for full effect, but they worked fast. Militaries around the world adored both products, especially during the Cold War, and Umbrella’s influence had grown accordingly.
Daniel leaned back from the hydroponics unit, running a hand through his hair. The hum of the generator filled the hideout, the smell of damp earth and fresh sprouts mixing with machine oil. All the science, all the dangers, all the years of exploitation, and here he was, jury-rigging a stubborn grow system in the basement of an abandoned factory.
Of course, none of that was going to stop him from cultivating the whole spread. The coins he spent not only on the machine but the seed packets had locked him into it, but he'd need to be careful. He still had a gold, and a platinum burning a hole in his pocket, and maybe getting a pill press would be a good idea, but that didn't matter right now. He was at least a month and a half away from usable leaves, and another week of drying beyond that just to get the powder. The mixing kit he picked up in that bunker would be enough for now.
If only he could get the fucking thing running.
000
The workshop smelled of oil and metal, a rich mix that clung to the air and sank into the wood of the benches. It was an old-fashioned place, all hardwood floors and scarred worktops, the kind of shop that looked like it had been in use for generations. But the machines gave away its modern edge: lathes, drill presses, racks of bits and gauges, and drawers packed with hundreds of specialized tools, each polished from long use. It was a craftsman’s space, orderly but not pristine, every mark telling the story of work done well.
Daniel sat at one of the benches with his sleeves rolled up, a stripped pistol frame laid out in front of him. His fingers were stained dark with oil and cleaning fluid, the rag at his side already soaked through. He had been buried in the pistol primer Joseph had lent him after his first lesson, and now that he had the chance for hands-on work, he was determined not to waste it.
Joseph Kendo loomed nearby, a massive figure with shoulders like an ox and hands scarred from a lifetime of labor. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes flicked constantly from Daniel’s hands to the parts on the bench. When he spoke, it was in that low, steady tone of a man who had explained these things a thousand times but never lost sight of the importance.
“Spring tension,” Joseph said, picking up a recoil spring and holding it between two thick fingers. “This little bastard doesn’t look like much, does it? But you shave a pound or two off its resistance, and suddenly you’re stressing the receiver every time you pull the trigger. Enough times, the metal warps. Too much, and it fails outright. That’s the difference between a gun that runs and a gun that kills you.”
Daniel wiped his hands and leaned forward, studying the spring. “So it’s not just about whether it fits or not. It’s how it sits in the system.”
Joseph gave a short grunt of approval. “Exactly. The firearm isn’t just parts. It’s… relationships. Every pound of pressure, every fraction of an inch, every notch filed, it all adds up. If you don’t account for it, you’ll never understand the whole.”
Daniel nodded, carefully re-seating the spring into the frame. “How do you even measure something that small? A couple pounds of pressure doesn’t sound like much.”
Joseph moved to one of the drawers, pulled out a small scale, and dropped it onto the bench. “Tools. Precision ones. You’ll learn to trust them, but you’ll also learn to feel it. After long enough, your hands know. That’s when you stop being a hobbyist and start being a professional.”
Daniel smiled faintly, rubbing the oil between his fingers. “I’ve got a long way to go.”
“Everyone does at first,” Joseph said. “But you’re asking the right questions. It’s a step in the right direction, anyways.”
The door creaked open, and Robert Kendo stepped in, wiping his hands on a rag. His grin was already wide as he spotted his brother bent over the bench. “Look at you, Joe, lecturing the poor bastard like he’s back in school.”
Joseph didn’t even look up. “Shut up, Rob. Some of us are trying to make sure he doesn’t blow his own hand off.”
Robert leaned against the wall, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “Kid’s smart enough. And if he isn’t, well, we’ll know when he comes back missing a few fingers.”
Daniel glanced between the two brothers, suppressing a grin. “I’ll try not to make you right.”
Robert barked a laugh. “See, he’s got spirit. I like him. Might just survive you yet, Joe.”
Joseph shot his brother a withering look but turned back to Daniel. “Ignore him. He’s been a pain in my ass since we were kids. Nothing’s changed.”
Robert grinned wider. “And you love me for it.”
“Debatable,” Joseph muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
The bickering continued in the background as Daniel worked through reassembly, following Joseph’s occasional corrections. Questions slipped out of him, some sharper than others, and Joseph answered them all with the patience of a man who had been doing this longer than Daniel had been alive. He explained the subtleties of pressure, of tolerances so small they were invisible to the naked eye, of how wear compounded over thousands of rounds. Each answer opened a new door, and Daniel did his best to keep up.
By the time the frame was back together, his hands ached from careful work, and his head buzzed with new knowledge. He wiped the worst of the oil from his palms, looking up as the door opened again.
A girl poked her head in, barely a teenager with dark hair pulled back. “Dad? Uncle Robert? Mom says dinner’s ready.”
Robert straightened. “Thanks, Emma.” He looked at Daniel and grinned. “You hungry? Come on, you can’t say no to Diane’s cooking.”
Daniel hesitated, but Joseph was already clapping a heavy hand onto his shoulder, nearly knocking him forward. “He’s coming. No excuses.”
Daniel chuckled. “Not that I’d say no. Thank you.”
The workshop gave way to the warm smells of the kitchen, the clutter of tools replaced with the clatter of plates and the sound of family chatter. It was a nice evening, the Kendo family a rambunctious lot. Robert kept the jokes coming, Joseph rolled his eyes but smiled more than once, and the food was hearty and comforting. For a while, the world outside didn’t seem so cold and heavy.
When he finally left, Joseph handed him a small stack of books, each thicker and denser than the last. “You studied the primer well enough. Time for the next step. Read these cover to cover, then we’ll see what you’ve really learned.”
Daniel accepted the books with both hands, their weight solid and promising. “I will. Thank you, Joseph. For everything.”
Joseph gave a curt nod, already turning back toward the shop. Robert just smirked, tossing him a wave. “See you around, Dan. Try not to set anything on fire before then.”
Daniel shot him a grin, tucking the books under his arm as he stepped out into the night. The cool air met him like a balm, sharp against his skin, and he drew it in with a long breath. Oil, metal, and the faint trace of warm food still clung to him, grounding him in the memory of the evening.
000
The bar was dim and smelled faintly of old beer, fried food, and wood polish. The jukebox in the corner rattled out a low blues tune, half-buried under the steady hum of conversation and the clink of glasses. Chris Redfield nursed a bottle of beer at the table by the window, his sleeves rolled up, his broad shoulders tense as he leaned forward. Across from him, Jill Valentine swirled her glass idly, the ice clinking, her blue eyes fixed on him with that sharp mix of patience and mischief she always carried.
“So,” Jill began, her tone casual but her grin betraying her, “you’ve heard about Rebecca and Danny, right?”
Chris groaned into his bottle, taking a long pull before setting it down harder than he meant to. “Yeah. Hard not to, with how fast gossip travels through the department.”
Jill leaned back, one boot propped on the leg of her chair, her smirk widening. “I think it’s great. About damn time, honestly. I’ve been telling her for months to make a move. And look at her now, walking around like the cat that caught the canary.”
Chris shook his head. “You say that like it’s just simple, but I don’t know, Jill. Guy’s… fine, I guess. Seems okay. We’ve spent some time together at the range, shot a few weekends. But I don’t know him well enough to say I trust him with her.”
“Rebecca isn’t stupid, Chris. Far from it,” Jill said firmly, tilting her glass and fixing him with a steady look. “You should trust her to make her own decisions.”
Chris hemmed and hawed, his mouth working but no words quite forming, the lines on his face deepening as he tried to protest.
Jill cut him off, her tone sharper now. “You already trust her with a gun at your back. That says plenty. So what’s the real hangup here?”
“That’s different.” Chris’s tone was flat, almost defensive. “This is this, that is that.”
Jill cocked her head, watching him. “What’s the issue then? Because from where I’m sitting, Danny isn’t a jackass, and Rebecca is head over heels. She’s an adult and she made her choice. End of story.”
Chris frowned, staring down into his beer. “She’s young enough to be his daughter. You don’t think that’s a little off?”
Jill snorted, shaking her head as she leaned back. “So that’s what’s eating you? The age thing. I mean, granted it's not the norm but-” she trailed off.
Chris exhaled, rubbing the side of his face. “Yeah. I know it sounds dumb out loud, but it just doesn’t sit right.” The words seemed to falter as he spoke them, but his unease was plain enough.
Jill studied him for a long moment, then leaned in. “You know, when I was in my Delta unit back in ’94, the guys on the team decided I needed to be taken care of. I hated every second of it. It didn’t matter that I was just as qualified, maybe more so… I got babied, coddled, and second-guessed constantly. It drove me insane. I swore I’d never do that to anyone else.” She tapped the rim of her glass for emphasis. “Rebecca’s not some kid you have to shepherd, Chris. She’s earned her place. Don’t treat her like less than that.”
Chris met her eyes, his jaw tightening. “What if he hurts her, Jill?”
Her face softened into something closer to exasperation. “Chris. She passed unarmed against both you and Forest. You of all people should know she can handle herself.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Chris said, his voice quieter now, but firmer. His fingers tightened around the neck of his bottle, knuckles pale as he stared into the amber liquid. “I’m not talking about a fight. I mean… what if he screws with her head, or her heart? That’s not something she can just shake off.” His words carried the heaviness of someone who’d seen what broken trust could do.
Jill sighed, staring into her half-full glass as if it held all the answers. “Then that’s her mistake to make. We can step in if we see something’s wrong, sure. But we can’t protect her from her own choices. She’s a grown-ass woman, as she so succinctly told Barry and Enrico the other day.”
That earned a reluctant grin from Chris. He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “She really let them have it, huh?”
“Like a flamethrower,” Jill said, chuckling. “And they deserved it. Good on her.”
Chris leaned back, sighing. “If ever there was a warning not to go sticking my nose into it.”
“Yeah, and Danny’s not exactly some creep lurking in the shadows.” Jill leaned forward now, her tone lightening. “Barry likes him. Hell, you like him too. Admit it. Aside from being a little gormless, he hasn’t set off a single red flag." Her eyes lit up with a sly smile. "When Barry dragged him into the office weeks ago, he didn’t even check me out. And don’t think I didn’t notice you staring either, Mr. Eagle Eye.”
Chris snorted into his beer, nearly spilling it as he fought back a laugh. "Fuck, Jill, what the hell! I was not!"
"Mmmhmm, sure you weren't trying to stare a hole in my jeans." She teased back, before letting him off the hook. "I put some extra pep in my step too, just to see if I could. Guy didn't even glance a second time."
“That’s your standard now? He passed the Jill Valentine ogling test?” Chris said, a grin hiding behind his defeated sigh.
“Damn right,” Jill shot back, grinning. “Guy seems solid. Doesn’t have that vibe. You know the one.”
Chris nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I know the one.”
“Exactly.” Jill raised her glass. “So maybe let Rebecca be happy. And if Danny does hurt her… well, Rebecca’s a smart girl. She knows who to ask to help get rid of a body.”
Chris barked a laugh despite himself, shaking his head as he raised his beer in return. “Christ, Valentine. You’re insane.”
“Not insane,” Jill corrected, her grin wicked. “Prepared.”
The two sat for a while, letting the conversation drift into the background noise of the bar. A waitress passed by with a tray of wings, the sharp smell of hot sauce mingling with the tang of spilled beer. Chris found himself picking at the label of his bottle, peeling the paper into strips, while Jill drummed her fingers on the table in rhythm with the jukebox tune. The hum of chatter and the occasional burst of laughter from another booth gave the place a lazy, lived-in feel.
Chris swirled the last mouthful of his beer, breaking the quiet. “Speaking of, did you hear about what happened with Kevin? He bombed out his last Firearms Mastery." Chris sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I’ve run him through the drills myself, Barry too, and he just… keeps missing the mark. I know the guy’s got heart...”
“But heart doesn’t make someone STARS material, Chris. Some people just aren’t fit for this job, no matter how much they want it.” She set the glass down, fingers drumming lightly against the rim as if to underline the point.
Chris bristled at that, shifting forward in his seat, shoulders squaring. “He’s a good cop. Yeah, he stumbles on the quals, but he’s solid on patrol. I’ve seen him under pressure. He doesn’t fold.” He argued, glancing away, as he polished off his bottle. A new one found it's way to their table before Jill answered.
“Chris, I’m not saying he’s useless,” Jill said, her tone softening a notch. “Kevin’s fine. I even like the guy. But we’ve both seen his jacket. All those early mistakes when he was a rookie? They screwed his chances. Wesker won't ignore that kind of thing. STARS is supposed to be the elite of the elite. Passing a physical isn’t enough. Ryman just isn’t it.”
"It still feels like bullshit to me, Jill. The man works hard."
"Maybe, but you know how this works. Any team he winds up on would have to full okay him, just like Bravo did Rebecca, and like we did with Brad. If someone you didn't know personally had a jacket like Kevin's hit your desk, especially after having so much trouble with quals, would you greenlight him on your team?" Jill asked, flatly.
Chris stared at the empty bottle in his hand, jaw tight, before sighing. “Damn it, I hate to admit it, but... it just feels shitty to leave it like that.”
“Doesn’t mean he won’t make a decent career,” Jill offered. “Just not in the unit.”
Chris nodded slowly, conceding the point. They let the silence hang again, the jukebox humming and the low murmur of the bar wrapping around them.
000
Daniel pushed his door open to find the scent of tomatoes and garlic already filling the air. The clatter of pans from the kitchen made him pause, a smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to guess who had let herself in again. Sure enough, when he stepped inside, Rebecca Chambers was moving around his kitchen like she owned the place, her cropped pixie-cut hair mussed from the steam and her cheeks glowing pink from the stove’s heat.
“Surprise!” she called, glancing over her shoulder with a grin that could have lit the whole block. “Dinner’s ready.”
Daniel shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up, watching her with an amused tilt of his head. “You keep this up and I’m going to start expecting it.”
She gave him a mock glare before going back to stirring. “Don’t get used to it, Daniel. You just got lucky today.”
A few minutes later she carried the pot over and began dishing it out, the table already set, steam rising from a generous bowl of spaghetti, the sauce rich and thick. They ate together in the quiet rhythm that had become natural between them. Rebecca chattered about her day, how she’d finally found the time to visit that bookstore she had been meaning to check out and spent far too much money raiding the shelves. Daniel couldn’t help but laugh at her sheepish expression as she described hauling an entire stack of novels and science texts back to her apartment.
“You’ll need another apartment soon,” he teased, twirling pasta around his fork. “One just for the books.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes but smiled as she leaned back. “Worth it. Totally worth it. And what about you? Have fun with Barry and the guys?”
Daniel nodded, chewing before answering. “Club was good. Put a few boxes through the Jericho, and Barry’s always worth the time. Took a walk after, just to clear my head.”
She gave him a look, half skeptical, half amused. “You and your walks.”
Daniel gave a glib shrug. “Gotta keep my figure somehow,” he quipped, earning a roll of Rebecca’s eyes.
The meal passed with that same easy warmth. Afterward Rebecca packed the leftovers neatly, humming as she moved about his kitchen. Daniel leaned against the counter, watching her, struck by just how much joy she seemed to carry with her. His smile dimmed a bit, as his mind drifted back to that afternoon, when Barry stopped him on the way out of the club.
“Dan,” Barry had said, catching his arm just before he reached the door. His voice wasn’t stern, not exactly, but it was unusually heavy. “Got a minute?”
Daniel turned, eyebrows raised. “Sure.”
Barry folded his arms, almost awkwardly, as he seemed to chew on what he wanted to say. “I’m not here to give you grief. Don’t take it that way. But you and Rebecca… you’re seeing each other now, right?”
Daniel kept his tone even. “Yeah. We are.”
Barry nodded slowly, looking off toward the range before meeting his eyes again. “I’m not here to tell you how to live your life. You’re a grown man. She’s an adult... But she’s also young, Daniel. Younger than you by a lot. That comes with things you might not think about right away.”
Daniel shifted his weight, resisting the urge to bristle. “You think I haven’t thought about that?”
“I know you have.” Barry’s voice softened, but there was steel under it. “That’s why I’m saying this now. I don’t doubt Rebecca’s tough. She’s proven herself more times than most, but being with someone older? With baggage?” He shook his head. “That can get heavy. Fast. Especially with… your family situation.”
Daniel went quiet at that, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. The lie sat heavy in his chest, sour and uncomfortable, leaving him distinctly uneasy. His pulse ticked at his temple, the weight of the falsehood pressing harder with each second. He forced a slow breath, swallowing it down, willing his features to stay neutral as he pushed himself back into the moment.
Daniel finally answered, voice low. “If I was in your shoes, and she was seeing a guy like me, I’d be worried too. I won't let her get caught up in anything.”
Barry gave a half-smile at that, more a weary expression than anything else. “That’s all I needed to hear. Look, I trust you. I do. Just… don’t forget she’s got a hell of a career ahead of her. Don’t be the reason she loses sight of it.”
Daniel gave a short nod, the kind that carried more weight than words. Barry didn’t push. He just clapped him once on the shoulder and left it at that. Barry made his points. He didn’t harp on about it, didn’t make it a thing.
It was just… just a quiet word. But one that made Daniel think, his mind running in circles as he hunched over the next project in the hideout.
Each stroke of the file, each measured twist of a screwdriver, only drew him deeper into thought. His stomach knotted tighter with every motion, a steady reminder of what he kept buried. Truthfully, he didn’t want to consider what might happen when the truth finally came out. He dreaded it with a gnawing sense of trepidation, the kind that hollowed out his chest and left him restless. It would come, eventually. There was no avoiding it, and that inevitability weighed on him heavier than any tool in his hand.
For a brief, insane moment he even thought about bringing Rebecca in on it, telling her everything. He pictured her face across from him, imagined the words leaving his mouth, and the world tilting in the aftermath. For a few heartbeats it almost felt possible, almost felt like a relief. But then the weight of what that would mean came crashing down, and the thought withered before it could take root. The risk was too great, the consequences too final.
It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to force her into choosing between her badge and him. What gnawed at him more was the fear of admitting all of this to her, laying bare the pieces of himself he kept hidden. He didn’t even know how to begin. Hell, in her shoes, he wouldn’t believe it himself unless there was a snapping zombie in a box right in front of him.
It was just… too big, too complicated. Rebecca would end up facing it eventually, but he didn’t know how he wanted to handle it, didn’t know if there was even a way that ended well. The uncertainty made his stomach churn, his hands tightening around the tools until the metal bit into his skin.
Part of him wanted to tell her to run and get out of the city, to beg her to put distance between herself and the storm that was building. He could almost hear her answer though, calm, stubborn, unyielding. Even in the best of possible outcomes, she would want to push it up the chain, to take it to her superiors, and Daniel had nothing more to stand on than a gut feeling. What was he supposed to say, that he knew how corrupt the whole system was because he played a video game a couple decades ago? It sounded embarrassingly stupid even as he thought it.
And then what? Both of them, and anyone else not owned by Umbrella, would end up with a sudden case of lead poisoning. That was assuming she didn’t turn on him first, bust him for the wall of illegal gear he had hidden away, or worse, decide he was some kind of lunatic in need of a padded cell. The thought left a cold pit in his chest that no amount of rationalizing could ease.
His mind drifted back to his apartment, back to the present. Daniel leaned against the counter, the memory lingering like a bad taste. He knew Barry wasn’t wrong. Hell, he’d be asking the same questions if their places were swapped. Dating Rebecca meant opening the door to complications he’d had no answer for. The whole operation, the shadows he couldn’t shake, and the truth buried under all of it.
Daniel let out a slow breath. He hated keeping secrets from her, secrets that had he had an ounce of sense, he wouldn't have put himself at risk of exposure to begin with. But they were his all the same. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t walk away, no matter what she decided. Not Rebecca. She’d fight, and she’d do it with every ounce of stubborn fire in her, but if she found out everything, she might fight on the wrong side. She might be fighting him.
The thought twisted in his gut as he imagined her standing in front of him, asking why he hadn’t told her sooner. He pictured her face if she learned the truth from someone else, the disappointment in her eyes. He couldn’t reconcile the warmth she brought into his life with the cold certainty that one day, this wall he had built would crack, and she’d see everything he had been hiding. And he didn’t know if she’d ever forgive him for it.
He blinked back to the present at the sound of her voice.
“Earth to Daniel,” Rebecca said, snapping her fingers at him as she slid the leftovers into his fridge. “You went quiet on me again. Everything okay?”
Daniel managed a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
She gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press. “You’re always thinking,” she teased lightly, before padding into his bedroom, leaving the popcorn on his table. “You’d be lost without me to distract you.”
When she came back, it was in the thinnest top she owned and a pair of panties that left nothing to imagination. She plopped herself into his lap with a mischievous grin, holding out the popcorn like an offering.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.
“Mm, and you like it,” Rebecca shot back before kissing him.
Daniel wrapped an arm around her, even though the weight of everything sat in the back of his mind like a splinter. But as the opening credits of yet another B-rated monster flick rolled across the screen and Rebecca’s laughter filled his apartment, he decided those thoughts could wait. Just a little longer. Tonight, all that mattered was the woman in his lap, and the warmth she brought into the quiet spaces he hadn’t realized were empty until she filled them.
Comments
Alex Piskura
Good catch! Thank you.
DatCameraMON
Great to see the herb and relationship fallout. One correction though, it is Bravo team - not Beta.
Mrburgerdon
Good to see our man finally got into the world of herbs and nice of you to make them balanced via the side effects. Also always nice to see the relationships he's making and the doubts he having. Gonna be interesting to see how he will explain the next time he sees "family".
Alex Piskura
Very much so.
Ichigo Bladekiller
One of those things where it's so easy to say talk bout and get over with but to do it is so much harder to do.
