Face-Off

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Crime

Disclaimer: "Time Crisis" and "Resident Evil" are properties belonging to Capcom and Namco Entertainment respectively. I do not own these games nor any of their characters.

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

"Evil draws men together."

- Aristotle

The warehouse hangar was bustling with activity as various differently colored uniformed soldiers carried crates full of weapons in various directions, moving past immobile jets.

"Alright, fellas, put that over there," a red-uniformed soldier waved, urging blue-uniformed soldiers down an aisle while being observed from adjacent catwalks and crow's nests by armed guards.

On the main floor, Wild Dog stood in silence, watching with his arms folded behind his back, clutching his distinctive Mauser C-96 pistol with one hand in both anticipation and readiness, his well-kept brown trench coat fluttering over his black pants.

Slicking one fingerless gloved hand through his short tidy black hair, Wild Dog pushed his circular gray-tinted sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, then adjusted his red tie and the collar of his dark navy blue shirt, his trigger finger twitching.

Checking the watch on his wrist, the mercenary frowned in a mixture of annoyance, displeasure and impatience.

"Where is he?" Wild Dog muttered.

If there was one thing that Wild Dog hated, it was having his time wasted.

After all, time was money, and there were far better things he would have preferred to do in his spare time than just twiddle his thumbs.

Many within the black market would kill to get their hands on his merchandise, which hadn't been easy to come by.

If there was one thing he could count Ada on, it was the fact that she knew how to cover her tracks, something that he respected from one professional to another.

Of course, now that he had the package, all bets were off - if all went well, the Wild Dog Organization would be getting one hell of a payday.

Behind him, he heard someone approach, their step slow yet cautious, as if afraid of potentially incurring his wrath.

Without even turning, Wild Dog spoke, "What do you want?"

"Sir, there's someone here to see you," the soldier answered.

Wild Dog gave an annoyed growl.

'What now?' he thought, turning to face the soldier.

"Did he say who he was?" the former pressed.

"He wouldn't say," the soldier shook his head. "He was very insistent on seeing you."

Staring at the soldier, a young kid barely older than twenty, Wild Dog was completely still as his hand twitched, gripping his Mauser as he considered wasting him right then and there.

Silence followed as he tapped the barrel of his trusted Mauser against his hip, seconds turning to minutes before finally uttering, "Let him through."

Nodding nervously, the blue soldier scrambled away, leaving the vicious head of the Wild Dogs to his thoughts, his lips pursing.

'Whoever it is, he better be worth my time,' Wild Dog thought, folding his arms behind his back.

If he wasn't, someone was gonna die.

Painfully.

A few moments later, several soldiers nervously approached, surrounding a single individual as they escorted him to their leader - a black-clad figure with striking features.

Turning his attention over to the latter, Wild Dog raised a brow slightly, tilting his head as he regarded the man with a mixture of surprise, curiosity and interest.

After all, it was not everyday that Albert Wesker made his presence known to just anyone.

Intrigued, Wild Dog folded his arms, taking the former Umbrella scientist's features in.

Six feet tall, clean-shaven, with peroxide blonde hair and black reflective sunglasses concealing his eyes, Wesker was a hundred and eighty-six pounds of lean muscle, a man who moved with cold and calculating calm that belied his lethal nature.

Turning his attention over the black-clad figure, Wild Dog stiffened in alert, not so much out of fear, but rather in readiness, like a predator encountering another crossing into its own territory.

Impeccably dressed in a long black trench coat that swished with each movement made, at a glance, it would have been easy for anyone to have dismissed it as some type of faux leather, but Wild Dog was familiar enough with carbon fiber to instantly recognize that the man meant business.

After all, carbon fiber was a very strong fabric with great heat resistance, which was why Umbrella had often opted to have many of their Tyrant combat models dressed in such coats before their collapse.

Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, Wild Dog widely grinned.

"Well, well, well! Isn't this a surprise! Albert Wesker in the flesh!" He said, spreading out his arms in a theatrically grand gesture. Turning to his men, Wild Dog gestured to Wesker. "Looks like we got ourselves a real celebrity here, fellas!"

Various soldiers shouted, cheered, clapped and hollered, some of them laughing and excitedly whooping.

Turning back to Wesker, Wild Dog placed his hands on his hips, standing akimbo style, circling around the former researcher. "I have to say, I'm honored! It's not everyday we find ourselves visited by one of INTERPOL and BSAA's most wanted. Your Umbrella days were stuff of legend. Shame about what happened to Javier Hidalgo."

Intrigued, Wesker inclined his head an inch, a subtle gesture that Wild Dog picked up on. "You are familiar with him?"

Wild Dog barked out a laugh. "Familiar? Ha! Who do ya think helped him and his Sacred Snakes get to where they were? I did a lot of things for him. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. I know a lotta people, and now Spencer's little Golden-Boy has decided to make his presence known!" Stopping just in front of Wesker, the mercenary tilted his head. "I gather this isn't a social visit."

Pushing up his sunglasses, Wesker stoically and silently stepped forward.

"No. It isn't," he stated flatly, his voice a harsh purring baritone, his tone cold and uncompromising.

Humming, the mercenary tilted his head.

"And I suppose you are also the reason why my potential client hasn't turned up yet," he noted, his tone neither accusatory nor threatening, but merely neutral and observant.

Wesker brushed the lapel of his coat. "I'm afraid Mr. Chen from the Saurian Corporation will be unavailable for this meeting. He offers his condolences, but he has agreed for me to take his place."

Pursing his lips, Wild Dog grinned. "Then business it is! Granted, you could have reached out beforehand, but I am always open for negotiations, provided that the price is right. My boys and I offer no shortage of services and products - you name it, we got it." Crossing his arms, Wild Dog expectantly looked at him. "So, what brings the world-famous Albert Wesker to my doorstep? You in need of private security? Intel? Transport? Weapons? Wetworks? Black Ops?"

"No, actually," Wesker dismissively replied. "I am here to retrieve my property."

Blinking, Wild Dog casually lowered the arm carrying the Mauser down the side, the other arm remaining on his hip. "I can't say that I know what you're talkin' about, fella. You mind bein' a little more specific?"

"A large silver case that had been stolen from me," Wesker answered. "One carrying five Dominant Las Plagas samples from Spain."

Lifting his head in understanding, the mercenary hummed. "Ahh, that! Yeah, we got that around here. Of course, you have to understand that we can't just give the case to you for free now - my boys and I are mercenaries, not a charity, after all. So," Wild Dog leaned forward, "what are you offering as compensation then?"

Wild Dog watched Wesker as the latter hummed.

"How much are you willing to part with it for?" Wesker questioned.

"Nine hundred and fifty million," Wild Dog answered without missing a beat.

He watched as Wesker wrinkled his nose, the only noticeable crack in his stoicism. "Get serious."

"I am serious, Al," Wild Dog nonchalantly shrugged. "What can I say? Tons of interested parties have been reaching out to me. Animal collectors, mob bosses, militias, intelligence agencies - everyone wants the Plagas for themselves. The question you should ask yourself, friend, is how much are you willing to pay for it?"

The former Umbrella researcher's eyes glowed slightly behind his glasses, but it lasted only a second as he seemed to recollect himself.

"I can pay you," he said slowly,"...five hundred thousand in installments."

Scoffing in derision, Wild Dog pushed up his sunglasses. "Five hundred grand? Is that a joke? Give me a break. I wipe my ass with five hundred thou! And don't give me that installment garbage - I shoot people on principle whenever they'd suggest such a thing!" He gave a reassuring smile. "Now, because you're a pal, I'm gonna assume you meant no offense by that."

Even with the pleasantness in his tone, the threat lingered, sharp and pointed, challenging even.

But Wesker's face betrayed no emotion whatsoever, a stoic mask of pure calm, looking unbothered by the threat.

"Alright," Wesker replied. "I'll offer you two hundred million in addition to a number of containers holding live Lickers and Hunters."

Tossing back his head, Wild Dog barked out a loud laugh. "Lickers?! Seriously, Al?! What do you take me for, a chump?! Don't make me laugh! I've got crates full of those suckers - I don't need more!"

Wesker's mouth tightened, his eyes visibly shining, revealing slitted snake-like orbs beneath.

"I can offer you...six hundred million, along with four Tyrant pods."

Scoffing, Wild Dog rolled his eyes in derision. "I got plenty of those too. Very popular with the ragheads and Ruskies."

Wesker let out a growl of annoyance.

"So what is it that you want then?!" he all but demanded.

Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, Wild Dog hummed as he tilted his head and stroked his chin.

"...How about," he said slowly, pretending to think it over, "...nine hundred million, along with all of the G samples?"

"Out of the question," Wesker briskly answered.

Scoffing Wild Dog crossed his arms. "What's the matter? Don't tell me that the great Albert Wesker is not rich enough to even afford that!"

He noticed the flare in Wesker's eyes, his grin widening as the jab seemed to have done its work.

"Don't patronize me, Dog - I am not one for games," Wesker warned, a growl edging its way into his voice. "I came here in good faith and am willing to do business with you. Don't. Test. My. Patience."

For several moments, the air was tense as the two stood at a standstill.

Letting the glow die down in his eyes, Wesker adjusted his coat.

"Now, what else can I offer you in exchange for the Plagas?"

Pursing his lips, Wild Dog pretended to think it over, humming before letting his signature smirk.

"Alright," he said. "Cards on the table. I heard about your little base of operations in Africa."

He noticed the former Umbrella researcher stiffen at its mention.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Wesker replied.

The mercenary chuckled. "Oh, I think you do, Al. I know all about the Stairway to Heaven flowers and Progenitor. I also know about your Ouroboros project. I'll tell ya what - you give me and my boys access to the facility, and I'll give ya the Plagas in exchange."

Wild Dog felt the aura around Wesker darken, the latter's eyes glowing dangerously.

Pulling his mouth into a smile, Wesker chuckled. "You know," he said slowly, "it is a rare thing to find one so daring. No one has ever dared to cross me and lived."

"Yeah? Well, Ada says hi."

Wild Dog noticed the imperceptible twitch in Wesker's facial muscles, the latter's smile dropping in displeasure, as if annoyed by the reminder, perhaps insulted.

"You really have a bad habit of crossing lines, Dog," Wesker noted, his form straightening.

Wild Dog let out a scoff. "Heh. Comes with the territory, Al. In my line of work, you can't make an omelet without smashing an egg or two."

Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, Wesker's eyes menacingly glowed behind the lenses.

"Final offer," he spoke, his eyes narrowing. "You give me the Plagas samples...and I let you and your men live."

Exchanging amused looks with the soldiers around them, Wild Dog laughed in the former Umbrella researcher's face.

"You got balls, Al," he dismissively waved, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Here's my counteroffer."

With a loud crack, the Mauser fired.

Disappearing in a black blur, Wesker dodged and weaved as the warehouse came alive with gunfire, his form vanishing and reappearing instantly in a puff of black smoke in different locations as he returned fire, his shots hitting several blue-uniformed soldiers with pinpoint accuracy.

Letting out an exhilarated cackle, Wild Dog whipped off his brown trench coat with a dramatic flourish, discharging several rounds from his Mauser.

"Looks like we're gonna be having some fun, boys!" he crowed, his automated left arm splitting in half, transforming into a minigun. "Get 'im!"

* * * * *

Gunfire echoed throughout the warehouse as hundreds of soldiers emerged from every corner.

Dodging and weaving through all the shots, Wesker backflipped and cartwheeled with graceful and terrifying ease, almost seemingly defying gravity before effortlessly thrusting his arm forward, punching an approaching blue-uniformed enemy in the chest, the blow sending them flying into a crate with an audible crack.

Every movement was quick, deliberate and precise, not a single one wasted, every shot and strike carefully calculated and executed.

Sidestepping out of the way from an axe as it barely grazed past his hairline, Wesker thrusted his arm forward and delivered a Cobra Strike, his palm connecting with a bald man's chest, sending them screaming into a trio of soldiers, knocking them down.

Shooting two armed guards, Wesker carefully prioritized his targets, mostly double-tapping each soldier in the head before swiftly moving onto the next individual.

Occasionally he would change tactics when it came to the more heavily armored soldiers by targeting their limbs and knees, allowing him to get up close and personal.

Striking one with an open-handed hook, Wesker felt a tinge of satisfaction as he hit them across the face with his Panther Fang before delivering a vicious Jaguar Kick to another goon's stomach, slamming them backward into a wall with a loud crunch.

Double-tapping four more targets, Wesker then shot at a crate marked with explosives, the blast catching several men and equipment on fire, the former flailing around screaming as they ducked and rolled.

Wincing as several shots struck his back from behind, Wesker snarled as he whirled around, teleporting through the hail of machine gunfire that followed, returning fire with his Samurai Edge.

Groaning, a red soldier clutched his leg, allowing Wesker the opportunity to strike as he turned slightly to the side and did an open-handed uppercut, his Tiger Uppercut slamming into the man's jaw, shattering it along with his teeth.

Hearing a hum, Wesker barely had time to duck as he dashed around the warehouse, avoiding Wild Dog's minigun as it roared, his bullets cutting through personnel and crates like butter.

Cackling from the top of a catwalk, Wild Dog stood grinning as he open-fired, looking as if he were having time of his life.

Dodging left and right, Wesker danced through the chaos, watching and feeling crates explode around him, sending broken splinters in every direction.

All of Wesker's senses were ablaze - his enhanced vision, sense of smell and hearing assaulted from all directions by gunfire, smoke, blood, sweat, fire and explosions, a confusing cacophony of death and destruction.

Delivering a devastating Mustang side kick that sent a Clawman operative in his way flying, Wesker was caught off-guard as something exploded near his right side, causing his ears to ring and his eyes to see nothing but a bright light.

Groaning, Wesker stumbled, clutching his eyes and ears.

Somewhere through the chaos, someone had managed to use a flashbang, though whether it had been intentional or not, Wesker had been uncertain.

Wesker's head snapped to the side as something struck his head, his body riddled with countless bullets.

Looking up with a snarl, Wesker barely had time to see Wild Dog's sneering visage when a stray shot struck him in the eye, shattering the lens of his sunglasses.

Letting out an enraged howl, Wesker clawed the pieces of glass out of his face, his eyes a hellish blaze of hate and pure, uncontrolled fury.

Hearing a loud crack, Wesker's head jerked as he felt something strike it, knocking off his sunglasses entirely.

"Damn you!" He snarled, stumbling slightly before regaining his bearings, shaking off his stupor with renewed anger.

As a trio of Clawmen reared back their arms, Wesker retaliated with a vicious Windfall Axe Kick, lifting his leg high up above his head before slamming it down on the trio with a snap, crushing their visors and shattering their equipment with ease.

"EAT THIS!"

Looking up, Wesker strained himself as he caught a rocket with both hands, the former Umbrella operative growling as he dug his heels into the ground, his muscles tightening as he mustered up every ounce of strength to keep it from hitting him.

Clenching his jaw, Wesker roared as he struggled.

"Nice catch, Al!" Wild Dog called out, his Mauser letting out a crack.

The explosion that followed sent Wesker cascading along the ground and crash into a crate, the superhuman wincing as he rolled indelicately, his arm and side of his face filled with splinters, his coat shredded.

Pushing himself shakily onto his hands and knees, Wesker tore off the remnants of his coat, violently discarding it as he let out an angry snarl.

"You will pay for that, Dog!" He said with grit teeth.

From the catwalk, Wild Dog cackled, leaping several meters into the air before landing just a few feet away from him.

Looking him up and down, the mercenary grinned, letting out a low whistle as he circled around Wesker, watching as the latter pulled out the splinters from his face.

"Well, well, well!" Wild Dog said slowly. "So the rumors are true - ya do have special powers!"

Giving a low approving and appreciative whistle as the skin on Wesker's face healed instantly, the mercenary thoughtfully nodded, scratching his chin.

"Look at that! Not even a scar!"

Stopping directly in front of Wesker, Wild Dog placed a hand on his hip, looking down upon the former Umbrella researcher with a thoughtful yet calculating expression.

"I gotta admit, Al," Wild Dog spoke, "I'm impressed! I can't say that I ever met a fella that can take a rocket blast to the face like that and survive. The Wild Dogs are always lookin' for fresh talent and could use someone like you in our ranks, Wesker. What say we let bygones be bygones and put this behind us, hm?"

Wesker's eyes narrowed, flashing red as he became surrounded by hundreds of soldiers.

"Me? Join you?" Shaking his head with a dark disbelieving chuckle, Wesker rose. "I have not clawed my way to the top just so that I can take orders from the likes of you! I...am a god!" Baring his teeth, he snarled, "And I...will not....lose!"

Letting out a shaky breath, Wesker vanished from view, startling everyone as he suddenly reappeared in front of the mercenary, lunging forward with his hand outstretched, aiming for Wild Dog's heart.

To Wesker's startled surprise, Wild Dog rolled to the side, the former Umbrella researcher's hand effortlessly embedding itself into a steel container as the mercenary quickly recovered with his Mauser drawn.

"Not bad, Al," Wild Dog commented. "Gotta admit, ya nearly had me there for a moment, but ya might want to try harder. Last chance, Al - stand down, or I'm gonna put you in a whole world of hurt."

Glaring at the mercenary, Wesker tore his hand out from the container, turning around to face him, his eyes a scorching hellish red, his features twisted and wrathful.

Cocking his head to the side, Wild Dog gave a cocky smirk, his blue sunglasses reflecting Wesker's visage.

"Guess we're gonna be doin' this the fun way then."

The air was still within the warehouse as the two adversaries stared each other down, seconds turning to minutes.

Two enemies of pure ruthlessness, cunning, and deadly skill stood face to face in a decisive standoff, their wills strong and unrelenting.

As the rest of the Wild Dogs gathered closer around the pair, the two men tightened their hands around their respective weapons, the leather of their gloves straining against their knuckles.

* * * * *

Ending One:

Bodies lined the floors of the warehouse as everything burned, the fire growing, filling the air with smoke.

As the last member of the Wild Dog Organization let out a cough, a shadow approached, his crimson glowing eyes cutting through the gloom.

"You should have cooperated with me when you had the chance," Wesker said as he approached the struggling form of Wild Dog.

Coughing up blood, Wild Dog weakly let out a laugh as he lifted up a detonator, his thumb ready and primed.

Just as he was about to press, Wesker suddenly kicked it out of his hand.

"Don't even think about it." With a swift jab, Wesker stabbed a needle into Wild Dog's neck, the latter yelling as the former's thumb pressed down into the syringe.

Pulling himself away, Wesker watched as the mercenary yanked the needle out from his neck, coughing as he shakily clutched the spot where he had been jabbed.

"W-What-What did you do to me?!" Wild Dog demanded.

Taking out a pair of sunglasses from his pocket, Wesker slowly slid them on.

"An experimental virus that I've been working on," he answered, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose as he observed the veins on the mercenary's neck bulging and blackening, the latter's skin pale and sweaty. "I've been meaning to begin human trials with this sample, but I never really got around to it." Pulling the corners of his lips back, Wesker gave a rare yet frighteningly predatory smile. "Since we are here, why not let you have the privilege of being the first test subject? The data should be most illuminating. Of course, if you tell me where the Plagas sample is, I can give you the cure."

Arching his back with a loud yell, Wild Dog writhed in agony, his face swelling up, turning red.

"It's...It's over there!" he winced, pointing to a crate marked with a biohazard symbol on the center, a red butterfly marking the top lefthand corner.

Approaching it, Wesker tore the lid away and felt around the straw, stopping as his hand made contact.

Grabbing it with one hand, he pulled out the handle, revealing a silver case as he yanked it out from the straw, brushing it off before opening it up, inspecting its contents.

"You got what you came for, Al," Wild Dog groaned. "Now give me the cure."

For a few seconds, Wesker was completely still.

Finally, he spoke.

"I'm afraid there is no cure, Dog. Not yet anyway."

Turning to face him fully, Wesker's eyes flashed behind the dark lenses as he offered a small grin, relishing the mercenary's growing terror.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

As Wild Dog writhed and shrieked at the top of his lungs, Wesker impassively took out a cellphone, pressing the record button, the burning bunker echoing with the hellish din of the mercenary's last screams as everything around the pair burned, leaving nothing behind but smoke and fire.

* * * * *

Ending Two:

Letting out a pained grunt, Wesker struggled to get back onto his feet when he suddenly felt a shoe plant itself into the side of his head, striking him hard enough to cause him to see stars.

Spitting out blood, Wesker weakly looked up to see Wild Dog victoriously sneering down at him, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, his lenses reflecting Wesker's bruised and bloodied visage.

Letting out a cold laugh, he mockingly clapped his hands. "Not bad, Al! You sure gave me a good workout and all, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm top dog around here, pal." He lunged forward with a kick, striking directly into the side of Wesker's head, drawing blood. "And no stinkin' pretentious wannabe rat with a God complex is gonna change that!"

Following up with another kick, then another, and another, and another, Wild Dog sneered as he planted several blows into Wesker's head, chest and stomach, not even giving him a chance.

Gritting his teeth, Wesker's slitted eyes flashed a dangerously hellish red, his teeth bared as the mercenary planted his shoe directly onto his back.

"Idiot! You think you can kill me?!" Wesker snarled, struggling furiously underneath.

Tossing his head back, Wild Dog gave a raucous laugh, jabbing him with an injector.

"Kill you?" he repeated. "Who said anything about killing you, Al? Are you joking? I ain't gonna kill ya - I have no reason to. You're too fun!" Once he finished injecting him with the syringe, Wild Dog then lifted his chin, offering a cold smile. "Of course, that's not the only reason, mind you...you're much more valuable alive. See, word on the grapevine is that there are a number of interested parties out in the world, Al, and they're all willing to pay top dollar for ya. SinTEK, DBR, Horzine, Ultratech, a few cartels from Columbia, the Iranian Regime...everyone wants a piece of ya, buddy. It's like the man said - 'the customer is always right.'"

He then gestured to the syringe in his hand. "This little cocktail that I've just injected ya with is something to help take the edge off, so get some rest, Al. We got a big day ahead of us."

He watched as Wesker struggled to stay awake.

Sneering down at him, Wild Dog patted his shoulder. "Oh Al, no need for that look, buddy! We're gonna take very good care of ya - you can count on that! Doc is gonna be examining you from head to toe so that we can figure out how to replicate your abilities. Sure, we may have to cut you open here and there and see how you work, and for all I know, it may take a lot of time before we make any progress, so you're gonna have to bear with us while we work."

His smile grew.

"Of course, those healing abilities of yours are gonna be real handy. Heart, lungs, brain, kidneys, liver - even whatever brats we get from you is gonna make us money. You'd be surprised how many women and families are willin' to pay to have a brat of their own, especially one with your good looks and with your abilities. I don't care about kids myself, nor do I see the appeal, but whatever. I can't complain, I guess - money is money."

Wild Dog leaned forward. "You are gonna be my personal piggy bank from now on, Al. I plan on harvesting every one of your organs over, and over, and over again for years to come, and I'm gonna have a lot of fun doin' it. And the best part? With your healing abilities and Doc's cloning tech, I can do it again, and again, and again, and again. And again."

Cackling, his smile widened as he dug his heel deeper into Wesker's back, watching the blonde cry out and weakly struggle beneath his foot.

"Pleasant dreams, cupcake."

With that, Wild Dog delivered a vicious kick that struck Wesker directly into his head, the blow knocking him out.

As the bunker fell back into silence, Wild Dog gestured to the fallen Umbrella researcher.

"Alright, fellas, show's over! Restrain this fucker in the thickest chains we've got and dope him up to the gills - I wanna get him to the lab ASAP!" Wild Dog ordered. "Tell Doc I got a little present for him."

"Roger," a collection of blue soldiers nodded, picking up Wesker's unconscious form.

Brushing his shirt with his gloved hand, Wild Dog's eyes shined with a wicked gleam as he watched Wesker unceremoniously dragged away like garbage with dozens of armed men surrounding him.

Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, Wild Dog cackled as he adjusted his tie.

"Damn I love this job!"

* * * * *

Author's Notes: So, the idea for this story came from thinking about the similarities between Wesker and Wild Dog as far as villains are concerned.

Both have a great sense of style, both are deadly and skilled combatants, even somewhat superhuman, and both have a tendency of returning back from the dead...although technically speaking Wild Dog kind of has Wesker beat in that department since he blew himself up six times lol.

I just found myself sort of wondering, 'what if these two characters were to meet?'

Thus, this story was born.

Of course, determining how the story would end was something of an issue. Thus, I kind of opted to have one of two endings that readers would be able to choose from depending on their preferences.

Shout-out to Egyptianmaus for her help - thank you so much, my friend! :D

Stay safe and healthy, everyone! :D