Resident Evil and all its content is not my propery, it belongs to Capcom. ((last time i checked)) This story is a fanfiction about a man who was rejected of the Nemesis Project, and has been dumped into the asuburban town, during the time of Resident Evil 3. Please read it and reveiw.
He hurried along the dark alleyway a sawed off benelli shotgun in his left hand, He looked left and right, checking for the infected, he had dispatched three since he had awoken. He wasted a shell on an infected carrier five minutes ago. He had carelessly ran from two of the 121s not wanting to waste the three shots to put them down, but had ran into the arms of two slow witted virus carriers. He had taken the first one out without thinking carelessly wasting the shell. He then was so angry he drove his fist into the seconds face until there was nothing left of it.
He had the stench all over him and he knew that the m18s were close and each one were difficult to take on with even the best martial arts, and strength. He looked down the next alley way again, he would have to kill every carrier and mutant in this damn city. Then he would find the one who did this to him, Birkin. He had burned that name into his skull over and over again, cursing him to death, and even after the no talent hack and failed him in the Nemesis project. He looked down the right again and decided that birkin wasn't coming to him.
He stopped a few steps into the alley, stupid, he had been stupid. He turned and saw it, tyrant was standing behind him, he turned to the lurching demon, and smiled pulling a small vial from his vest. "you want this I bet, " he gigled the vial, the G-virus was in his hands, "well you can't have it!" he tucked the vial into the vest again. The tyrant charged, he ducked and slid, Tyrant flying above him landing on it's head. He pointed his bernelli at the creature, as it rose to its feet and began to charge. He waited until it was right in front of him and pulled the trigger, the shrapnel shattering its head. The creature fell backward, dying, and he smiled a smile of the damned simply saying, "four more left."
He had walked for about five more minutes, looking into his canvas bag, pulling out a rather expensive looking PDA, and tapped at the screen, which then erupted in a glow of brightness, is eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Kendo's, Emmy's, the RPD, and there it is." he had hardly realized that he had spoken aloud, but it didn't matter if anyone had heard it would have been a carrier, no intelligence and not conscience, "And no pity from me." he slipped the PDA back into his bag, and walked down the street.
He saw the Newspaper office and looked around at the archives, the spenser estate incident showing the most promise, but the ones who where involved are gone, dead or escaped. He looked around his gaze finding nothing in the archives, not surprising, organization isn't a necessity when your family and friends are dying. He stood up to leave, his gaze falling on a newspaper, the headline read "dead walk the streets" it was in its pre-mass production form, but there was a date September 26, 1998, he was pretty sure that it was October second or third. He looked around for something else, the last dated archive was the September 22, which meant the newspaper office was either very inefficient or the attacks were gradual.
He looked at a random paper, and noticed a name, Jonathan Keltz. He took a final look around before heading downstairs, he would have probably had noticed earlier but now that he had to go that way, the gate to the west way was closed, obviously another puzzle lock. He looked around, there were no infected or mutants, he ran, then jumped his hands found there place as he fly over the spiked gate. He landed a few feet away from a group of crows, he reached his hand into his bag pulling a glock 9mm out he moved slow as to not alert the birds, I startle, they attack, I get infected. He counted the birds and took a one handed shooters stance lowering his bernelli, and targeted the one looking directly at him, then again and again, he fired, and five more times, each bullet taking out a bird. They never got off the ground, and he loved it, he dropped the glock back into his bag. and continued down the silent street, towards the train station.
He had been running down the track for about an hour when he finally saw his destination, the clock tower. He continued to the vacant clock tower, a few AR12s flew about, he never did like crows but these ones were worse. He moved silently across the peppled walkway silently avoided two carriers and nailing four MA7s before he could get close to the door. He played the shadows and managed to kill a 121 by sneaking up on it and snaping its amphibian heck, though he was distressed as to why they would travel halfway up town to fest when most of the populaion lived in the southern part, the rural area. He crouched down and half walked to the door, he reached into his pocket to retreive his lockpick when the door creaked open, adding to his fears, the clock tower was overrun with carriers.
His gaze was unfailing as six carriers trudged he pulled out his glock he had nine shots left he fired two shots into the closest, the corpse of a young woman probably mid 20s. The second was taken down by a bullet to the left brow. The fourth and fifth shots found there mark in the third carriers left eye and forehead. He fired again into the fourth, the first shot obliterated his throat and the second tore his right ear off, he turned and delivered the final two shots to the fifth one on his temple and the second blew the top of his decaying skull away. He walked down the stairs and faced the final carrier, a young kid no more then 17 from the looks of him, reaching out to him like a sleepwalker.
He looked down at the kid and grabbed both his arms while delivering a kick to the ribs, the arms ripped off and the carrier fell backwards to the ground, still moaning and slopering unti the man stomped his foot down on his forehead, instanly cutting off his frustrated moan. He simply walked away the smell of gunpowder now ceasing to the putrid smell of infected, he needed to take a vacation, Wesker wasn't paying him enough for this job.
He continued to the east wing, he needed to find a place to rest, he was tired. He looked through three rooms of the five in the east wing finally finding what he wanted, a large duffel bag, he opened it and looked through it. He was pretty depresses, no a very good selection, a shoulder mounted gernade launcher, seven buckshot gernades, a few papers that explained what he already knew, and a few shotgun shells.
And he managed to find the key to the center room, and a scientific diary. He walked out of the room and walked around the corner, the door was pretty close, he started to walk faster, until a few Ma7s hoped through a window between him and the door, which he expected. He simultaneously stopped and brought his new gernade launcher to his shoulder, firing as it touched his shoulder. Then the MA7s, three of them, were very messily scattered though the hall. He smiled and wiped the fragments of the dogs from his face, and whistled a little tune as he inserted the slender gold key into the lock.
Thanks to the scientific diary he had read he was already half asleep, until something slammed into the side of the clock tower. He jumped from his half asleep daze and ran moving a trunk away from the door, and he peeked out. He had continued to the side of the tower but ducked back inside as he heard a male and female voice, the male he was certain was spanish. The man ducked and swerved through the halls tackling one of th ecarriers he'd missed on his first purification, which he dispossed of with a simple neck crack.
"STTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSS!" the man froze, the feral voice echoing through his being, Project nemesis' pet. Ns-114d , the bitch he was so sure that he did better then. He grasped his SMG and decided that maybe he should destroy the precious multi-billion dollar Bio-weapon, but ultimatly deciding to forget about it, he knew that Umbrella wouldn't send there best out for him, stars. He was after the remaining s.t.a.r.s. the fools that got to close to the truth, the spenser estate survivors. Thoughts of trying to get in touch with the S.t.a.r.s. fluttered to his mind, but disapated upon the fact that the would probably try to 'save' him from the city, and really would want to know how he knows so much about umbrella's pet project.
He hurried along the dark alleyway a sawed off benelli shotgun in his left hand, He looked left and right, checking for the infected, he had dispatched three since he had awoken. He wasted a shell on an infected carrier five minutes ago. He had carelessly ran from two of the 121s not wanting to waste the three shots to put them down, but had ran into the arms of two slow witted virus carriers. He had taken the first one out without thinking carelessly wasting the shell. He then was so angry he drove his fist into the seconds face until there was nothing left of it.
He had the stench all over him and he knew that the m18s were close and each one were difficult to take on with even the best martial arts, and strength. He looked down the next alley way again, he would have to kill every carrier and mutant in this damn city. Then he would find the one who did this to him, Birkin. He had burned that name into his skull over and over again, cursing him to death, and even after the no talent hack and failed him in the Nemesis project. He looked down the right again and decided that birkin wasn't coming to him.
He stopped a few steps into the alley, stupid, he had been stupid. He turned and saw it, tyrant was standing behind him, he turned to the lurching demon, and smiled pulling a small vial from his vest. "you want this I bet, " he gigled the vial, the G-virus was in his hands, "well you can't have it!" he tucked the vial into the vest again. The tyrant charged, he ducked and slid, Tyrant flying above him landing on it's head. He pointed his bernelli at the creature, as it rose to its feet and began to charge. He waited until it was right in front of him and pulled the trigger, the shrapnel shattering its head. The creature fell backward, dying, and he smiled a smile of the damned simply saying, "four more left."
He had walked for about five more minutes, looking into his canvas bag, pulling out a rather expensive looking PDA, and tapped at the screen, which then erupted in a glow of brightness, is eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Kendo's, Emmy's, the RPD, and there it is." he had hardly realized that he had spoken aloud, but it didn't matter if anyone had heard it would have been a carrier, no intelligence and not conscience, "And no pity from me." he slipped the PDA back into his bag, and walked down the street.
He saw the Newspaper office and looked around at the archives, the spenser estate incident showing the most promise, but the ones who where involved are gone, dead or escaped. He looked around his gaze finding nothing in the archives, not surprising, organization isn't a necessity when your family and friends are dying. He stood up to leave, his gaze falling on a newspaper, the headline read "dead walk the streets" it was in its pre-mass production form, but there was a date September 26, 1998, he was pretty sure that it was October second or third. He looked around for something else, the last dated archive was the September 22, which meant the newspaper office was either very inefficient or the attacks were gradual.
He looked at a random paper, and noticed a name, Jonathan Keltz. He took a final look around before heading downstairs, he would have probably had noticed earlier but now that he had to go that way, the gate to the west way was closed, obviously another puzzle lock. He looked around, there were no infected or mutants, he ran, then jumped his hands found there place as he fly over the spiked gate. He landed a few feet away from a group of crows, he reached his hand into his bag pulling a glock 9mm out he moved slow as to not alert the birds, I startle, they attack, I get infected. He counted the birds and took a one handed shooters stance lowering his bernelli, and targeted the one looking directly at him, then again and again, he fired, and five more times, each bullet taking out a bird. They never got off the ground, and he loved it, he dropped the glock back into his bag. and continued down the silent street, towards the train station.
He had been running down the track for about an hour when he finally saw his destination, the clock tower. He continued to the vacant clock tower, a few AR12s flew about, he never did like crows but these ones were worse. He moved silently across the peppled walkway silently avoided two carriers and nailing four MA7s before he could get close to the door. He played the shadows and managed to kill a 121 by sneaking up on it and snaping its amphibian heck, though he was distressed as to why they would travel halfway up town to fest when most of the populaion lived in the southern part, the rural area. He crouched down and half walked to the door, he reached into his pocket to retreive his lockpick when the door creaked open, adding to his fears, the clock tower was overrun with carriers.
His gaze was unfailing as six carriers trudged he pulled out his glock he had nine shots left he fired two shots into the closest, the corpse of a young woman probably mid 20s. The second was taken down by a bullet to the left brow. The fourth and fifth shots found there mark in the third carriers left eye and forehead. He fired again into the fourth, the first shot obliterated his throat and the second tore his right ear off, he turned and delivered the final two shots to the fifth one on his temple and the second blew the top of his decaying skull away. He walked down the stairs and faced the final carrier, a young kid no more then 17 from the looks of him, reaching out to him like a sleepwalker.
He looked down at the kid and grabbed both his arms while delivering a kick to the ribs, the arms ripped off and the carrier fell backwards to the ground, still moaning and slopering unti the man stomped his foot down on his forehead, instanly cutting off his frustrated moan. He simply walked away the smell of gunpowder now ceasing to the putrid smell of infected, he needed to take a vacation, Wesker wasn't paying him enough for this job.
He continued to the east wing, he needed to find a place to rest, he was tired. He looked through three rooms of the five in the east wing finally finding what he wanted, a large duffel bag, he opened it and looked through it. He was pretty depresses, no a very good selection, a shoulder mounted gernade launcher, seven buckshot gernades, a few papers that explained what he already knew, and a few shotgun shells.
And he managed to find the key to the center room, and a scientific diary. He walked out of the room and walked around the corner, the door was pretty close, he started to walk faster, until a few Ma7s hoped through a window between him and the door, which he expected. He simultaneously stopped and brought his new gernade launcher to his shoulder, firing as it touched his shoulder. Then the MA7s, three of them, were very messily scattered though the hall. He smiled and wiped the fragments of the dogs from his face, and whistled a little tune as he inserted the slender gold key into the lock.
Thanks to the scientific diary he had read he was already half asleep, until something slammed into the side of the clock tower. He jumped from his half asleep daze and ran moving a trunk away from the door, and he peeked out. He had continued to the side of the tower but ducked back inside as he heard a male and female voice, the male he was certain was spanish. The man ducked and swerved through the halls tackling one of th ecarriers he'd missed on his first purification, which he dispossed of with a simple neck crack.
"STTTTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSS!" the man froze, the feral voice echoing through his being, Project nemesis' pet. Ns-114d , the bitch he was so sure that he did better then. He grasped his SMG and decided that maybe he should destroy the precious multi-billion dollar Bio-weapon, but ultimatly deciding to forget about it, he knew that Umbrella wouldn't send there best out for him, stars. He was after the remaining s.t.a.r.s. the fools that got to close to the truth, the spenser estate survivors. Thoughts of trying to get in touch with the S.t.a.r.s. fluttered to his mind, but disapated upon the fact that the would probably try to 'save' him from the city, and really would want to know how he knows so much about umbrella's pet project.