It Came From The Refrigerator

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Comedy/Parody

Disclaimer: "Resident Evil" is a property belonging to Capcom. I do not own this series nor its characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Another day, another experiment to work on.

Such was the typical routine for the researchers working in the R&D division of the Umbrella Corporation, something that Dave always enjoyed whenever he got up in the morning.

With coffee in hand, some Chinese takeout in the other, a clipboard neatly tucked beneath his armpit and a broad smile, thirty-six-year-old, potbellied Dave walked through the subterranean corridors of NEST, his blue and orange Hawaiian hanging over his blue jeans. Pushing up his thick black glasses up on his bald head, he hummed a tune, making his way to his office, eager to see what this day would bring.

Life was good, and Dave very much loved his job - every day always brought something new to the table, some new challenge and avenue to explore.

Viral pathogens, zombies, sharks, giant bugs, ten foot giants and countless other manmade terrors; for anyone with a scintilla of a conscience, they would be terrified by the sheer lack of ethical oversight, if not appalled by how genetics was being co-opted by the military industrial complex.

For Dave, though, it was the typical Tuesday.

"Hi Dave," John, a tall thin man in a lab coat, greeted as he passed by him.

"Hey John," Dave greeted back. "How's it going?"

"Oh, the usual," John nonchalantly shrugged. "Phyliss was eaten by Plant 43."

"Phyliss? The new intern?"

"Yeaahh, she got a little too close."

Dave clicked his tongue. "Well, there goes another intern. That's like, what, the fifth or sixth one this week?"

"Seventh, actually." Glancing down to the cardboard food container in his colleague's hands, John sniffed. "Mmm, that smells good! Is that from that new Chinese takeout place?"

"Mr. Chang's," Dave answered, shrugging. "I know it's morning, but I couldn't resist."

John raised his hands in a placating manner. "Hey, no complaint from me, brother! I've been meaning to check that place out for a while now. I hope it's good." He then checked his watch. "Anyway, I've got an experiment to run in a few minutes." He then patted Dave's shoulder. "See ya around, Dave!"

"Later, Bob. I hope the experiment goes well!"

Taking a left, he inserted his keycard into a panel beside a door, then typed in his password. Watching it flash green, Dave stepped into his lab, taking a sip of his coffee.

Fluorescent lights flashed on, illuminating the narrow and dimly lit lab. On a nearby wall filled with formaldehyde were several malformed subjects, their features twisted and gnarled, their skin dark grey, their eyes yellow. A black wooden desk sat in the corner along with a refrigerator and cabinet filled with various beakers.

"Hello, my darlings," Dave greeted, slipping his Chinese takeout into the fridge, placing it directly beside some vials of T-Virus. "Daddy's home."

The specimens said nothing in return.

Closing the fridge door, Dave took another drink of his coffee, humming Boogietronix's "Farting On The Dance Floor" aloud to himself as he made his way over to his desk.

"I farted on the dance floor," he sang,

"But y'all can't do a thang!

I farted on the dance floor,

And I don't give a dang.

No one heard me rippin' ass,

The music was too loud.

I blamed the fat guy behind meeee,

But inside, I'm real proud.

Fartin' in a crowd,

Not takin' blame,

That's what I do.

I have no shame!

Farting on the dance floor,

The stank is so severe!

The music we dancin' to

Ain't the only funk in here!"

Humming the song, Dave danced as he thumbed through the letters and documents on his desk, doing a moonwalk and a spin before stopping, a single envelope catching his attention.

"Hm? What's this?" Opening it up, Dave's eyes narrowed as he read the letter. "'Dear Dave, congratulations, you have won an all-expense paid trip to the Bahamas?!'" Whooping loudly, the researcher fist-pumped the air in excitement.

"YES!" Dave cheered. "Bahamas, here I come!"

As he rumbaed out of his office, he turned off his office lights, his Chinese takeout all but forgotten.

* * * * *

Nine.

Weeks.

Later...

Stepping into his private lab, Dave stretched, letting out a tired yawn, his round face sporting a strong tan.

"Goddamn jetlag," he complained, lifting up his thick glasses as he rubbed his eyes. Clapping his hands together, he rubbed them eagerly in anticipation. "Well, back to work for me! I should have a look and see our little spore sample."

Going to the refrigerator, Dave hummed as he grabbed the handle of the door and opened it, only to suddenly jerk back startled, his eyes widening in alarm.

"GOOD SWEET CHRIST!" He cried.

A long, fuzzy green tentacle with numerous googly eyes shot out from the refrigerator, grabbing hold of him.

Struggling in its grip, Dave wriggled back and forth, trying to pry himself free, his heels digging straight into the marble floor of his office, gritting his teeth as he grunted and shouted.

"HELP ME!" He called out to anyone who would listen. "HELP MEEEEEEEEE!"

With one final scream, the tentacle dragged him face-first into the refrigerator, his shrieks accompanied by the crunching of bone, his body and legs violently thrashing as he was slowly pulled inside, his limbs and torso unnaturally bending with a sickening snap, the refrigerator door slamming shut behind him.

Letting out a loud belch, the thing in the refrigerator basked in the afterglow of a freshly caught meal, breaking down its enzymes piece by piece, its form bubbling, frothing and expanding, its hunger growing.

It needed more sustenance, more food to satisfy its cravings.

The refrigerator violently shook and trembled as its lone occupant growled, the door bursting off its hinges as several long fuzzy tentacles lashed out in various directions, searching for more food, grabbing anything that seemed potentially edible.

It needed more! MORE!

Twenty-five yellow bulbous eyes glowed from within the fridge, its 'O'-shaped cavernous mouth lined with gnarled, sharp and crooked teeth protruding from every angle.

Taking in a deep breath, it bellowed, its hunger growing by the second, its cries echoing throughout the facility.

* * * * *

Klaxon alarms blared over the speakers, the lights flashing red as an automated voice sounded out.

"WARNING! HAZARDOUS ANOMALY DETECTED! QUARANTINE ACTIVATED!"

Researchers ran screaming down the hallways while black-suited Umbrella Security Service personnel armed to the teeth and wearing red-lensed gasmasks charged in the opposite direction, the air filled with a mixture of screams of bloody murder, machine gunfire, explosions and roars as they met their adversary head on.

"BULLETS AREN'T DOING ANYTHING! GET THE FLAMETHROWERS!" A USS soldier cried.

Letting out a deafening guttural roar, the mold monster continued its relentless assault, its eyes ablaze with rage and pure bloodlust.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Umbrella CEO Oswell E. Spencer calmly watched from the safety of his office the security feed, his eyes focused on the creature.

"Magnificent!" He exclaimed. Grabbing the phone from his desk, Oswell typed in a number, then waited until he got a response.

"Hello?"

"Sergei, I have an idea for a new bioweapons project," Oswell declared, returning his gaze back to the screen. "It is bound to make us a shit ton of money, and I need our best people on the job asap!"

As he filled Sergei on the details, he watched as the mold, now the size of a train, gulped down a shrieking security guard, letting out a loud belch.

* * * * *

Author's Note: And finished. Admittedly this was just meant to be a mindless drabble exploring the possible origins of the mold from RE7. I kind of figured why not lol.

...Yes, I know, I'm demented. :P

Stay safe and healthy, everyone, and thank you for taking the time to read this!