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A girl goes on a quest to save her father

Like the previous post, I wrote this on request as well for my young kin. Only this one I wrote it in one sitting, trying to finish it before I left for an appointment. 

Post-Resident Evil 6: Sherry and Jake visit some old ruins in Raccoon City. 

A girl goes on a quest to save her father.

The broken glass crunched under Sherry’s boots, the debris crumbled to dust. The flashlight she wielded did little to illuminate the decayed chambers, though it did help her find a safe path amidst the dark ruins.

A little over ten years ago this had been the site where her family fell apart, the lab where her father stopped being her father and slowly, painfully turned into something else. Or so she thought––looking back now that she’s older and knew better, it must have happened long before that.

“So this is where it had happened,” said Jake, after a whistle of wonder while the beam from his flashlight lit on desks and tables that were sturdy enough to still stand in the aftermath of the explosion when nothing on their surface did.

“That’s where your–––where you got your superpowers.” He continued, displaying uncharacteristic tact in avoiding bringing up her father even though Sherry had been the one to invite him to explore the ruins of the underground lab. He wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find––what was even left here to find––but he had a hunch.

Sherry just smiled absent-mindedly, halfway between the present and the past.

“He––uh––wasn’t here at the time, was he?” asked Jake, rubbing the back of his shaved head. “Wesker I mean.”

“If he was, I didn’t see him,” answered Sherry, her eyes focused on a machine with a crane-like arm that must have been used to remove tubes from incubation chambers or the like. The machine did not interest her, she had seen her fill of such devices to last her a lifetime. Only it was a focal point just then, an inconsequential thing for her gaze to rest on while her mind combed through her memories.

“Claire and Leon later told me they haven’t encountered him either. Later I read reports that he somehow he got his hands on the G-Virus, but it must have been through an agent of his.”

There was silence on Jake’s end. So Sherry continued.

“They both had worked on it, your father and my father. The G-virus, amongst other things. You knew that, right?”

Jake scoffed. “I know they weren’t exactly singing camp songs and braiding each other’s hair.”

“What a different world it would have been if they did,” dimpled Sherry with a note of dryness.

A girl goes on a quest to save her father.

This was the story she had tried to write back when she was still in custody when the tests they ran and needles they jabbed had all been too much and she withdrew into her mind, into daydreams and What if… what if… what if…?

It was then that other memories of her father had surfaced––recollections of a grin that broke through a tired face; the newly-sprouted beard that marked days of uninterrupted work and that scratched her face when he hugged her close in his delight at having reached a breakthrough in his research; tender gestures and other such rare moments that sometimes blotted out the horrors of the last time she saw him, when he––when the virus–––but that was a different vault of memories she had closed years ago.  

A girl goes on a quest to save her father.

It was the self-same sentiment that possessed her when she ran through the hallways of R.P.D., looking for daddy, cowering from the shuffling monsters that moaned after her, haunted by the distant roars of an even bigger monster. Because father would be too busy working, too absorbed to pay attention and notice the monsters the way he sometimes forgot to eat or drink until his daughter dutifully brought in trays of his meals and carried out the leftovers––not stopping to ask if he liked the sandwiches or coffee because he ate and drank like a sleepwalker.

Daddy, I need to find daddy before the monster gets him.

Find him before the monster gets him, echoed grown-up Sherry, faintly smiling at her younger self’s naivety. She squatted near a spot where his workspace was, stirring the dust on the floor with a gloved hand, trying to find traces of where he was supposedly shot. But perhaps he wasn’t here when they shot him –– when he fell bleeding to the floor, the grimace turning into a smirk because they had missed the needle in his hand…

A few feet away, Jake stood watching her. He had an inkling that the whole trip here was the equivalent of visiting her parents grave. Or perhaps seeking closure, a chance to look the ghost of horrors past in the eye.

“There’s nothing left here,” she murmured, though Jake heard her clearly.

Never mind their crazy linked background––"my father knew your father" and all that; never mind that they got something from their respectable fathers that made them both biological freaks…

Or made her a super girl––he corrected himself mentally––and him some kind of biological savior.

Looking at the slight figure, squatting and huddled near one particular spot, Jake would have laughed––thrown his head back and laughed––if, just over a year ago, someone would have told him that his frail-looking young blonde, charitable as a saint and American as apple pie, would end up saving him.

Now, the least he owed her was his silent company. But he thought of apple pies just then…

“Know a good place that serves apple pie?” he asked offhand.

It took her a moment to register the question. “What?”

“Apple pie,” he repeated, putting a hand on his belly for effect. “Never had any before.”

“I–––don’t know. I never really liked apple pie,” she faltered.

“Ok. Let’s go for Apfelstrud then,” he said, jauntily linking his arm in hers.


Apfelstrud––Apple Strudel. Mein Gott! You never had apple strudel before?”

Her gaze softened as she smiled and shook her head. “Isn’t that just another name for apple pie?”

“Apple pi––!” scoffed Jake. “Oh, hey now, Supergirl. You can’t pretend to be a well-traveled agent when you can’t tell the difference between strudel and pie. No, no, no. We have to fix that!”