Resident Evil: Coen Chronicles
By: J-mo1992
(Prolouge)
Billy Coen had been in hiding since 1998. He was an Ex-Marine, who was supposed to be, and assumed to be dead. According to the authorities, he had killed twenty-three people. Truth is, the twenty-three people were his marine squadron, and were ordered to mercilessly slaughter an entire village of innocents. Coen, seeing the wrong in this order, tried to stop his fellow marines. However, he was ultimately forced to kill them, single-handedly.
After a few years, he had been put on death row, and was being escorted by a convoy of police when they were attacked by zombies. He escaped to a crashed train, where he met S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team Agent Rebecca Chambers, along with a slew of ghastly beasts in the result of superhuman experimenting.
They managed to fight their way through, escaping the mansion, and the laboratory, and Rebecca told him that she would pronounce him dead when she reported back to head quarters. Since then, Billy had lived in peace in a small town a few miles from the Arklay Mountains. Well, "peace" may not be the correct term for how he was living.
(Chapter 1)
Billy waited amongst the limbs of a tree. He held him knife in his right hand. He knew they were coming. He could smell the rotten flesh on the wind. It was a possible contender for the most terrible, rancid smell in the world. He tried not to breath through his nose, but when he opened his mouth, the bitter taste clenched to his tongue, and made him gag.
He tried desperately to shake it away from him. He needed to focus. He had, many a times, been attacked by Cerberuses. They were fast, vicious, and traveled in groups of two to five. Since Umbrella had had the outbreak, monsters roamed the Arklay Forest freely. Nobody ever entered the forest, but constantly, town among the out skirts were attacked by zombies, and hunters, and Cerberuses.
He had tried to settle down and have a normal life, but Billy could not stand the slow times. Fighting was what he had always enjoyed. As a kid, he would fight people 3 grades over him, just for fun. Unprovoked violence had always been his thing, as a kid.
Billy snapped back into the current times. He again, tried to focus, but the smell of rot mixed with the anticipation of action kept him on edge.
Nowadays, Billy killed monsters for protection of his village, and money, but mainly for sport. Many people had jumped on the opportunity for easy cash. The bounty hunter business had thrived a few years ago. Many skilled marksmen could drop a deer from 200 yards away, or more, but they underestimated the mutated Dobermans. One shot to the chest could not down it. They were infected with the T Virus, which gives unconditional life to the cerebellum.
The Cerebellum is the part of the brain that controls involuntary actions, such as breathing, and pumping blood. The only ways to kill an infected monster of Arklay, was to destroy the cerebellum, or to sever the spinal chord. This was very different than deer hunting.
Eventually, the bounty hunter population died down from around 150 to around 15. Many towns paid a lot for a zombie head, because the protection was high in demand. Billy needed the money. This was what he was good at, and used to, but sometimes, like now, it became tedious.
Billy sat there, and started playing with his knife. He knew it was about time to use it. The horrid smell had intensified. All of a sudden, a pack of three Cerberus strode out from behind a nearby tree. They looked around for something. A meal was all they cared about. Infected organisms did not care to interact, or for breeding, or bathing. Food was the only priority on a mutant's mind. That's what made them so ruthless, and murderous.
The Cerberuses were some of the most terribly gruesome things one could ever come across. One had a large part of it's face ripped off. The infected and decayed skin was a crusty yellow and red. Another had tears in each of it's legs. Most of the muscle was gone, probably due to chewing on it. It made you question how they were so agile without any muscle to use.
The third was the most ghastly. Apparently, this one had died in a fire-related incident. All of the skin was charred, and the skin was ripped around the eyes. He seemed to jeer about with a sense of taunting. His side was ripped open, where he had become a meal until he resurrected. A few rips, and pieces of stone were seen inside.
Billy clenched his knife in a downward-stab position. He waited for the opportune moment to jump. As soon as the pack prowled underneath of him, he jumped down from the tree. As soon as he did that, all three looked up. He sunk the knife into the back of one of them. He had missed the spine, though, so the Cerberus just growled demonically. Before the others had a chance to lunge at him, he ripped out the knife, and flung it at another. It hit the second in the neck. It stumbled backwards, and lost it's balance. It fell, but was up in a heartbeat.
At this moment, Billy felt screwed. He was supposed to have killed the first one with the drop-stab, but, he had missed. Billy reached for the sidearm in his pocket. It was a military issue handgun. He quickly whipped it up, and shot at the third Cerberus. It hit in the front of the skull, and the dog fell with a yelp. It thrashed around for a few seconds and stopped. Billy was covered in the thick, saucy blood. It smelled as bad as the dogs, if not worse, and tasted gut-wrenching.
The other two Cerberuses were already up and charging. Billy fired a round into the front knee of one, and it tumbled down. The other leapt forward in an attempt to bite Billy's face. Once a Cerberus latched on, it would not let go, even if the head was taken from the body. The jaw had to be sawed off, unless the dog let go.
Billy quickly dodged by falling onto his back. As he landed, he lost his breath. However, he still managed to kick the dog in the bottom of the jaw as it sailed over. He hear a sickening crunch, and the Doberman landed, and did not get up.
He tried to scramble to his feet, but the blow to his lungs kept him writhing on the ground. He had had the wind knocked out of him. The last Cerberus, however, was charging with some difficulty towards where Billy lay. Gasping for air, he pointed the gun at the beast, and shot the remaining rounds into the dog's face. It stumbled, but kept running a few more steps, until it tumbled down.
Billy lay there. That was the closest he had been, yet, to his life's end. He'd fought many things, but that was the first time something had gone wrong. Eventually, he got up. He spat, trying to get the simplified blood out of his mouth. He was infected, and he knew it. He had been for several years, but he hadn't died yet, so the virus had not taken effect. He was somewhat immune to it, so the effects were also shielded by that.
He found his knife in the chest of one of them. He sheathed it, and fished out a handsaw from his pack. He started to cut off the heads of the beasts; proof that he had killed them. As he cut, more rancid blood spilled out onto him. He shuddered as he felt it's warmth run onto his hands.
Finally, he was finished. With the heads tied together by the jaws, he started to walk towards the town for his pay, and his shower.
