The wild and desolate deserts of the United States spanned as far as Texas and all the way to the west in California. Once a climate that offered a varying amount of fertile land was now nothing but a hostile wasteland.

And yet, it was also a safe place.

Toiling the desert sun was just as deathly to the infected as it was for the living. At least, that's what they came to believe.

On the stretch of an asphalt road that was once part of the Las Vegas Beltway, a lone zombie feasted and gulped upon a fresh body.

Skin rotten, teeth broken, and its eyes foiled, the zombie soon turned to its back, only to be greeted by the sound of a roaring engine and a hummer that ran him over.

Body broken, and its bone crushed, the zombie was thrown to the side of the road. It gurgled, and raised its head in a sluggish movement, only for its life to end as a yellowed out school bus raced on forward, with sharp hooked spikes attached to its wheels.

The zombie's head was sliced into pieces, causing its blood and brain matter to explode against the rusted welded cages of metal hammered to the windows of the bus.

Kids inside the bus all yelled, exclaiming at the death of such a foul beast, as the bus driver himself chuckled and looked on back, smiling as he did.

"That was a juicy one, huh?"

The view panned out to reveal a convoy of vehicles. Each of them decked out in metal long since rusted, giving it a mad max look of sorts. At the end of the world, this group of survivors banded together, willing to work with each other to fight for a better tomorrow. And at the helm, leading the charge was their leader.

Claire Redfield.

"Hey, Carlos, this is Claire." She was a pretty woman, ginger locks of hair and fine blue eyes. Her voice focused on the radio in hand, she ruffled at her baseball cap atop her head, protecting her from the sun. "You got any smokes?"

Claire turned idly to her right, the young girl next to. She had blonde hair and the same eyes, her name was K-Mart.

Whether that was her real name or a nickname was anyone's guess.

"No."

Chuckling, Claire responded in kind, "Like I'm supposed to believe that."

Way in the back, Carlos Olivera, a man that had been tested and tried in this Hell, was situated, radio in hand. The years had been kind to him, as young as the day he had left Raccoon City.

"Would I ever lie to you, Claire?"

Scoffing, Claire turned her attention to the rest via radio, hell bent on getting her much needed anxiety relievers.

"LJ?"

Tittering, LJ Wade Jefferson picked up his radio with a smile at his lips. "Claire Redfield, how can I help you?"

"Got any smokes?"

LJ laughed in response, "No can do."

"How about an alternative?"

"Sorry to say," LJ looked to his companion in the shotgun next to him, an older man in a cowboy hat. "We're out of that too."

Everyone on the radio chuckled or giggled in a way, a friendly camaraderie had risen between them all. With so many years on the road, it was hard not to get attached.

"You gotta be shitting me. Otto?"

The man driving the school bus shook his head, lips biting as hard as the desert winds, "Sorry, campers. Smoked the last of it back in Salt Lake."

Claire felt her eyes roll, "Oh, c'mon. Terri?"

In the rear of the convoy, Terri Morales picked up her radio, her black bangs had grown to her shoulders, and her face remained as clear as it had been since her reporter days.

"Sorry, Claire. I'm fresh out."

Pushing a stray ginger hair from her face, Claire sighed, with mock humor in her voice, "Yeah, people it really is the end of the world." She threw out the empty carton of smokes onto the asphalt, leaving it behind as another zombie appeared.

The convoy itself never stopped continuing onwards with their journey across the western United States. Looking for a place of safety, away from Umbrella, the elements, infected, and even more distressing, their own species.

Not everyone was as friendly as these.

Some of them found that out the hard way...

—

I am a man who walks alone, and when I'm walking a dark road.

Situated upon a natural barrier of rocks and sand, Y/N was camped out. It was a good defensive position, with the natural rock formations that formed high, and a single dirt road that spanned south providing a natural choke point.

At night or strolling through the park, when the light begins to change.

He was currently tending a campfire, while his blue-semi truck blasted out the heavy metal of Iron Maiden. To distract his wandering thoughts, he found it helped him relax, if not for a little while.

I sometimes feel a little strange, a little anxious when it's dark.

Turning up from his gaze from the fire, Y/N settled the lone wooden stick onto the flames and left it to burn, as his senses had picked up the faint hum of engines approaching.

The smoke had signaled them, he was sure...

Fear of the dark, fear of the dark. I have a constant fear that something's always near.

If he was bothered by it, he didn't show. Not as the engines got louder, or when the sight of a trio of dune buggies entered his vision, clambering up the forbidden path, and right to his doorstep.

He was disgruntled, in a way, but nothing he hadn't dealt with before. Rising up from the fire, he cracked his neck to free himself of the kinks, and awaited whatever gang of misfortunes approached him now.

Rusted from the elements, the buggies showed extreme damage as they parked just ways from his spot. No more than a dozen exited, all each sharing an equal amount of hunger, dirtiness, and all around look in their eyes that Y/N immediately knew.

Coldness.

"Well, look what we have here." The man, who Y/N assumed was their leader, stepped forward. He was a tall man, with dark eyes, broad shoulders, and a cruel smile. "A lonesome sheep separated from his flock."

Y/N snorted, his face passive and calm. "What do you want?" His voice was rough and cold. He returned to stoking the fire, kneeling down at it without a care.

"A great many of things, I imagine." The leader was put off by his idleness, yet they he approached, as his buddies stood back. "But you, you look lost. Are you lost, friend?"

Scoffing, Y/N made sure the fire was well kept, his eyes not even bothering to raise to meet them. Instead, he listened to the thumping of the Iron Maiden.

"No."

Licking at his lips, the man stepped forward, "No?" He was a few meters away. "I disagree, drifter. You see, I'd hazard a guess you don't know whose territory you're sleeping in, friend."

Y/N rose to meet his gaze, "Your territory, is it?" He gave away a cold smile while his eyes darkened under the hot evening sky.

"Aye. Aye, it is." The man shuffled on his feet, his gaze flickering to the truck and music that followed every now and again. It distracted him, annoyed him even. "You have to pay a toll to get through here, 'Tis only fair, is our land after all." He walked on over to Y/N's truck, the driver's side already open. "And this belongs to us now."

"...Fuck off."

The lead raider raised an eyebrow, his face full of humor, "Not much for kindness, are you, friend?"

"I'm sorry." Y/N's smile only widened.

"You will be," He turned his gaze up at him, stepping towards the truck and placing a hand on the hood. "Besides, you'll be fortunate to know once we've taken what we're owed, we'll be on our way."

Y/N titled his head towards the road in a nod, "You can kindly fuck off then." He got up, causing the other men of the gang to react.

They all raised crossbows, and makeshift melee weapons that served no better than a butter knife. They were nothing but a scrap of vermin to him.

"I think I'll take it." The man smiled, reaching into the truck and switching the radio off. "Call it a... protection fee."

Hand clenching at his side, Y/N took his steps towards the truck. And only stopped when he was spitting distance between the raider. If the man was scared, he didn't show it. He was either really brave, or really fucking stupid.

"Protection fee." Y/N repeated, drawing out the words. "Protection... Fee." He nodded, and smiled. "You'll need it, you understand, after what I'll put you through—" He gestured to the buggies. "—If you don't get back into your clown cars, round up all your little bitty friends, and. Fuck. Off."

The man stared at him, gazing at his face, his body, and finally he made his choice, as his gang behind him watched with intent.

"No."

Y/N merely let out a small chuckle in his face, and unclenched his hand at his side, before reaching out into the truck and hitting play on the radio.

"Okay."

You take my life but I'll take yours too!

Immediately Y/N reacted with an inhuman speed not thought possible, as he reached out and grabbed the man by his throat and smashed his head into the side of the truck, crushing his skull.

You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through!

The gang of raiders reacted as fast as they could. One of them fired off a bolt at him, but Y/N quickly caught it in his hand and stabbed the lead man in the neck.

So when you're waiting for the next attack!

Shoving him to the ground, Y/N didn't care to watch him fall as he focused on the rest, nor was he phased at the blood that sprayed his face. He reached into his holster and pulled out his Remington 870 Sawed-off with one hand, raised it and fired.

You'd better stand there's no turning back!

Two men fell to the ground, buckshot in their torsos, blood and guts stained the sand, as the other half sprung to action, no more than five left.

The bugle sounds, the charge begins!

Cursing, Y/N dropped the empty gun, and reached for his knife, right as one charged him with a hook blade. He immediately blocked the strike and braced his elbow up against the man's swinging arm, before disarming him and twisting him around, and ending his life with a snap of his neck.

But on this battlefield no one wins!

The body limp in his arms, Y/N discarded him to the ground, and turned on the rest. They came one at a time, brandishing axes, knives and baseball bats. He almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

"Motherfucker!—"

The cursing of the raider was silenced when Y/N grabbed the man's hand, and plunged his own knife into his throat. Gurgling on blood, Y/N kicked him away, and pulled out the knife.

"Get him!"

Two of them charged right towards him, causing Y/N to brace himself. One swung wild with a blade to which he quickly dodged, but was caught by the other's blow to the face, a baseball bat cracking against his cheek.

The smell of acrid smoke and horse's breath!

Cursing, Y/N waited for the hitter to attack first, he ducked the man with the blade. And when the second went to attack, he blocked, causing the bat to shatter against his left forearm. It gave him a window, and he stabbed his knife into the raider's chest.

Quickly turning, Y/N turned and ducked at another swing, stepped out of the man's reach, he ducked again when he swung a wild attack, he had overshot the arch, and tired himself. Seeing him open up, Y/N spun him around with a push of his hand and cut his throat with a single slice.

As I plunge on into certain death!

Red blood gushing out on the sand, his own body painted the same, he looked to the last raider. He was petrified, scared. The man tried to turn and run, but Y/N lazily reached for one of the crossbows on the ground and picked it up, before aiming true.

The last raider fell to the ground, a bolt through his heart before he could even reach the vehicles. Dropping the crossbow, Y/N looked around at the bodies, and the blood that stained him.

The humming of Iron Maiden transcended into its chorus, as he scoffed, and picked up his sawed-off. It was done and dusted, he decided as he emptied out the spent shells, cocking the gun back, before placing into his holster.

Raising his hands at his side, the music drowning out as a ringing noise penetrated his ears, blood stained his hands. His soul, and in a way, his mind. He wanted to be left alone. The world wouldn't have it. He spent the time pulling the bodies into a mess of a pile, all clumped up and discarded like waste.

It flared something up in his mind, his vision swam and blurred, his ears ringed even more. Standing up as he dropped the last body, he stared down at the bodies, a feeling in his gut that had long since left, actually disturbed him.

Y/N sighed deeply, his hands shaking, and took to the ground. He nestled on the floor, his back pressed against the sand while his gaze looked up to the clear sky, watching the world go by, until he turned to one of the bodies to his left, covered in blood and already starting to rot.

His vision began to distort, colours that mismatched, torn and shredded mud brown was replaced by vibrant forest green uniforms. Names and faces he knew and would not leave him. He felt strangled, almost self inflicted, his hands roaming at his skin. Breathing out, he turned back to the sky, and let go of his neck, dropping his hands to the ground.

The sky was peaceful, elegant, a place of beauty and a sense of safety.

But all that Y/N knew of these past six years was nothing but a darkness that threatened to devour everything.

Including himself.

And the leftover light that was flickering further, and further away.

Each passing day.

—

Umbrella Facility — Nevada, U.S.

Out in the western dunes of Nevada, the Umbrella Corporation had a secret facility in the middle of nowhere. A cabin, one floor, alongside a shack surrounded by a large chain link fence, with infected snarling at the gates.

But deeper underground was the real prize. A blueprint deep scan of the facility appeared, a spiral that went further down and designed like a spider's web. Enough for a few hundred personnel, if not more.

Proceeding to the main level, a meeting room for the head of the facility was revealed. Filled to the brim with high ranking members, and Chairman Albert Wesker himself at the head of the table.

"Anyone else?"

"Paris facility. Food supplies down to 50%. Six casualties. Biohazard numbers increasing."

Wesker watched on, listening with his face covered by those black shades he so loved. None of them could read him, even without his glasses. The man still stuck to the same routine six years later, at the end of the world, it was all he had.

"London facility. Food supplies down to 28%. Seventeen casualties. Biozard numbers increasing."

The same report every month, for the last six years. Food supplies down. More casualties. Increasing biohazards. It was beginning to fester within like an infected wound left untreated.

It wouldn't do...

"Gentlemen."

Wesker looked up, the familiar voice and face of a man he took orders from, was now the one being ordered about. A phantom in his very own likeness.

"Dr. Issacs." Wesker welcomed him in, the door shutting behind him as one Michael Rodigro followed. "How good of the science division to join us."

"Chairman Wesker." Dr. J. Issacs responded, "I've been busy."

The high ranking member of the Paris facility turned his nose up at the doctor, shaking his head, "On the subject of the biohazard, what does the science division have to report?"

"Well, we now know conclusively that they have no real need for sustenance." Dr. Issacs reported as he paced the floor, his footsteps echoing through the room. "They hunger for flesh but do not require it. My research indicates they could remain active for decades."

That sparked some commotion among the meeting, while Wesker listened on. He was disappointed, perhaps even a little pissed, but scared like the rest? Never.

One of them however felt the need to air it out, particularly the one from the Cape Town facility, "We're to be trapped underground for decades?"

It only further fuelled the conflict among them. Bickering and arguing, like rats waiting to be slaughtered.

In the end, Wesker was the one that broke ice.

"What news of the projects, Alice and Y/N?"

Dr. Issacs turned to Wesker, "Using antibodies from their blood, I will develop a serum that will not just combat the effects of the T-virus, but potentially reverse it. Giving back these creatures a measure of their intelligence, their memories. Thus curbing their hunger for flesh."

He had to hand it to him, it was a sound idea, but an ambitious and perhaps fatal endeavor.

Still, he needed to be sure...

"You're confident you can domesticate them?"

Issacs simply smiled, "They're animals, essentially. We can train them, if we can take away their baser instincts. They'll never be human," Wesker was intrigued by the very idea. "But would provide the basis of a docile workforce. We can return to the surface."

The group seemed to calm down at that idea.

But one of them was not so easily dismissed by grand spectacle, he scoffed and voiced his thoughts, "After months of experiments, you have nothing to show. And we are left to rot underground."

Dr. Issacs grew tired of the doubt, "Without the original Project Alice and Y/N, progress has been difficult. I've been forced to replicate them using cloned genetic models. It's laborious. The results: unpredictable."

At least this version of him had a level of humility and passion towards a more lofty goal. With Alexander Issacs it was less about the scientific goal, and more to control all those around him.

But we're getting off track...

"The Projects and the subject of domestication are of the highest priority." Wesker informed, seemingly satisfied with his report. "You will concentrate on this to the exclusion of all other research. We expect an updated report within a week."

Dr. Issacs stopped himself from rolling his eyes, and instead chose to be level with the chairman, "Simply demanding results will not guarantee them."

Wesker turned to the doctor and the room suddenly became more cold and tense than it had ever been, "Then perhaps we should place someone else in charge. Someone who can give us the reassurances we require."

Michael stood firm in the room, guarding as he had been doing since he got here, but even he could not stop the smirk that made its way to his lips.

"Continue your research, doctor." Wesker ordered him, "While it still is your research." He turned to the center of the room and the others followed suit. "This meeting is adjourned."

Dr. Issacs moved to the door and stepped on out of the room, as the holograms of the Umbrella High Command cut their connections. Michael followed him almost immediately, giving one last look to the room, before exiting.

'Shiiiiit.'

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one and I'll see you in the next chapter!