Childhood Through Bars

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Author's Note: Hello! I'm so sorry for not updating in so long! Long story short! The week after I posted the last chapter my computer decided that it finally needed a new battery. So I had to send it in for repair lol writing revisions or new chapters on my phone was not cutting it. I had no choice but to wait, but I have my computer now and I'm hoping to write more as well as post more! ^^

Attention: Reminder, this story is rated M, there will be content that mentions mature or graphic topics just like how the game RE8 is for mature audience because of gore and violence. I wasn't sure if I needed a warning or a reminder since I did make it rated M, but just in case.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Resident Evil Franchise! All rights belong to Capcom! Any grammatical errors that you see I apologize and I hope you can forgive me. Happy reading everyone!

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When we were just children, stuck inside Mother Miranda's dark laboratory, I had asked Karl once what his first memory was. I was curious what other people would say or if they had similar responses...I even asked our siblings when we were introduced to them what they remembered. Though Donna had replied through Angie, each of them had brought up innocent memories from their childhood that they remembered with a nostalgic smile.

Karl said that he didn't have very fond memories of his childhood, being taken in by Mother Miranda at a young age...he was kept in a cell since his parents died. The constant exposure to the cadou, the incisions made to his skin, but if he were to think carefully he would answer just as the others did.

Karl remembered his mother fondly, what little memory he did retain, and he told me that he inherited her blue-gray eyes. Karl told me that he had missed her apfelstrudel...when I had asked what that was he said it was a warm, sweet, delicious sweet pastry dish. The caretakers would mostly do the cooking, but on special occasions when it meant celebrating something important, his mother would cook the family her famous apfelstrudels. The way he described the Heisenberg matriarch, she was stubborn to the core, never would allow anyone to cook on special occasions...even going so far as to reprimand the caretakers when they so much as even thought about helping.

Then, of course, the predictable response that came after I would ask my question was always to ask me the same thing: what was my first memory.

And I would respond truthfully: I had no memory of my family as he did...the first memory I ever had was waking up on that long table that was caked in dry blood with Mother Miranda's calculating blue eyes staring down at me.

But it was what followed after that I will always hold near and dear to my heart...and it always embarrassed Karl whenever I would retell the story.

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Below the village, there was an underground tunnel that stretched on toward the ceremony site, down below there was a makeshift lab that Mother Miranda had used for decades to conduct further research upon the Megamycete.

Today, on the same wooden medical table that the woman had conducted countless research upon lay a child whose golden, platinum blonde hair fanned around the child's head like a halo, standing out amongst the darkness. The eyes under the child's lids were restless, fingers twitching, and face scrunching up in discomfort as the little girl began to regain consciousness.

When the child finally opened her eyes, bright red orbs began to feverishly search the darkened room through half-lidded eyes. The girl blinked, and for a second the child thought that she hadn't initially opened her eyes due to how dark the room truly was. The child's head was foggy, she couldn't put her thoughts together, and couldn't register what was going on or why her body ached.

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