Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own Resident Evil. Most of the characters in this story are 'original', though not all of my own creation - They belong to a truly brilliant group of people from whom permission has been sought and granted for their use. For this, the writer is thankful.
We Will Never Die
(Umbrella White Division)
"Fuck! Mother fucking--!"
It had been going on for a few minutes: Profanity accompanied by general rummaging and the occasional grunt. It was not the sort of language Mrs. Lewis appreciated at the best of times. She was pressed to the door, straining her ears to hear what was going on in the hallway. Mr. Lewis had disappeared back into the living room in the hopes of acquiring a weapon with which to arm himself after Mrs. Lewis insisted he investigate.
"They'll kill us in our sleep!" She had squealed. "Murder us in our beds!"
After quiet agreement from Mr. Lewis who muttered something about Communists, she had also added "Make sure it's blunt!" as an afterthought –The law was so specific these days.
The commotion stopped abruptly, or at least subsided to a volume inaudible through two inches of solid oak.
Mr. Lewis joined his wife at the door, a fire poker quivering in the air between them, held by a hand that could have registered on the Richter Scale. He had contemplated a quick whiskey to steady his nerve but the thought of Mrs. Lewis catching him at it had not been an easy one to dismiss.
As bad as his hearing was, the man was quite certain "they" were gone. He sighed inwardly, allowing the poker to drop to a less threatening angle.
"They're still out there." Mrs. Lewis mouthed insistently, reading the relief on his face and having none of it.
Faced with his duty as a loyal husband – Ie: Not arguing – Mr. Lewis raised the poker once more in a very theatrical movement that shifted attention from his other trembling hand wonderfully as it reached for the door knob.
There was only one way to do this: Quickly.
He yanked the door open, flinging it aside with the careless abandon of a Viking warrior!
He stepped through, raising the poker high above his head!
With a war cry that would've made Aries himself glow with pride, he brought the steel poker down on--
"Oh. Hello Mr. Spade."
Mr. Lewis was stood frozen in mid-attack, poker in the air, facing a rather shaken-looking Mr. Spade, who lived next door.
Silence lingered for a few long moments. Mr. Lewis' brain, faced with the unfamiliar territory of never having attacked a neighbour before, instructed his eyes to dart around wildly in search of social escape.
Mr. Spade's terrified eyes hadn't yet left the poker.
"Muriel, it's just Mr. Spade." Mr. Lewis called back into the apartment, lowering his makeshift weapon.
Mrs. Lewis stepped out from the apartment doorway and stood immediately behind Mr. Lewis. Sheepish would have been an understatement.
"We, uh, heard noises…" Began Mr. Lewis, venturing out into the land of uncomfortable silence, where he felt suddenly alone. He gestured with the poker by way of explanation.
Mr. Spade's face seemed reluctant to contort out of it's petrified expression. He was clutching a rather large aluminium briefcase to his suited chest. Strewn across the floor around him seemed to be the contents of it. Papers, mostly. And a ring of keys that was visible in the column of light that emanated from the Lewis' doorway.
Without taking his eyes from Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Spade snatched up his keys and began to open his door.
"You're looking well," Observed Mrs. Lewis from somewhere behind her husband, who was not confident the current behaviour of Mr. Spade ranked anywhere near the realms of "well".
The door creaked open and Mr. Spade disappeared into his apartment, closing it behind him. Left in the hallway were a dozen or so sheets of typed documents.
"I do hope he cleans up before the morning." Said Mrs. Lewis, shuffling back towards her apartment.
Mr. Lewis took a last look around the dim hallway before following. He had met Mr. Spade before and never had he acted so..."Inappropriately", as Mrs. Lewis would put it. There was the undeniable fact that during their previous encounters, neither party had threatened the other with utensils, but still. He couldn't shake the feeling.
Closing the door behind him, he headed off to join his wife in a more reflective mood. Downtown Raccoon City was not, perhaps, the best environment for a couple who had more years between them than the Rolling Stones.
Seth Spade staggered into his dim apartment, knocking over several items of the decorative variety. During his journey across the room, he acquired several bruises on his shins as well as the view that turning on a light may have been a good idea. He retraced his steps making a few familiar bumps, felt along the wall and found the switch.
Click.
There was light.
It was only now, when he stopped to breathe, that Seth registered a certain jackhammer-esk sensation within his chest. The encounter with the Lewis' had not been conducive to the day he had been having.
"Damned morons!" He hissed between deep breaths, sagging against the wall. "And it's Doctor! Doctor Spade!" He added to the world in general.
Still he cradled the aluminium briefcase tightly to his torso – To say he had been through a lot since acquiring it would be grossly inaccurate: He had been shot at, stabbed, punched, beaten, run over, chased, and finally, attacked with a poker! All for the silver case he was holding.
But I've still got it, haven't I?
His lips moulded into a wry smirk that could've told of his victory on it's own. Yes, he still had it. They had tried to take it away again and again – And they had failed again and again.
Now he was home-free.
Just need to get some stuff together and I'll fly out. Tonight. Get out of the country. Out of their reach.
He span around from the wall and, in the tungsten glow, found more waiting for him than his collection of Swedish designer furniture. A man was sat back in his cream Lindstrom armchair on the other side of the room.
He was dressed casually: Jeans, t-shirt and jacket. He even had dark shades on that concealed his eyes. From where Seth was standing, it also looked as though the man's hair was not naturally blonde – He could see dark roots towards the centre of the guy's scalp. Blondie.
After taking in all the information, Seth found it a bit of a shock when the fact the man was holding a large handgun only registered subsequently to an analysis of the guy's clinical habits. He froze at the sight of it.
Any hopes that Seth harboured towards the motionless Blondie having fell asleep at his post were smashed when the pistol jerked towards him.
"Wait--"
But Blondie didn't wait.
"Arrrrhhhh! Arrrrrrhhhhhh! Arrrrhhhhhhh!"
It wasn't so much a scream as a howl, fragmented where Doctor Spade deemed it necessary to take a breath.
Nick Delburton rose from where he had been seated, cocking back the hammer of his FN Five-SeveN in preparation for the final, inevitable shot.
The first two had been well-placed leg-shots that put the Doctor straight down. Unfortunately, while one round found its mark, shattering Spade's left femur – The other had only caught meat before continuing on through the front door. The Five-SeveN was a formidable weapon in this respect: It was just too damn easy to forget the power.
No matter. Nick planned on being out of there right away anyway. Nothing has changed. Stick to the plan.
"Is that it?" Nick asked the shrieking Doctor.
Spade was oblivious. His mind had quite rightly decided that a broken bone demanded immediate attention and put all other queries on hold. That was until Spade's eyes brought to his mind's attention that they were, in fact, staring down the length of a very familiar shape – A barrel.
Nick hoisted Spade up by the throat while his other hand kept the pistol steadily levelled at the bridge of his nose.
"Is that it?" He repeated, jerking his head toward the general direction of the metallic case that Spade had dropped post-gunshot.
"What are you…" Spade began his spiel of lies. Now, however, his mind was catching up to events. It wasn't the gun. Over the last few days, Spade had stared down more barrels than Sylvester Stallone. No. With Nick so close to Spade, the reflective effect of the shades was void. Spade could see his eyes.
It had thrown him. The guy's face, his manner, even his voice – All cool as ice. But the eyes. They were eyes a Vet would have recognised. They called it the thousand-yard-stare.
Something in them dared Spade to lie.
It was a battle of will.
"Here…" Spade lost. Taking extra care with his movements, he removed a cylindrical vial from the depths of his jacket. It glowed an alluring shade of purple.
Nick snatched it from Spade's reluctant hand and pocketed it. He was aware of tears forming in the Doctor's eyes. Enough time had been squandered.
"Thank you, Doctor. Now, there's just one more issue my employer would like to resolve."
Nick stepped back (as he'd been warned about putting dry cleaning on his expenses list previously), raised his pistol and--
"No! There's something else!"
Nick hesitated. It wasn't often that cries of "No!" met anything but the sound of gunfire, but Spade had talked fast. Something else? He lowered the gun.
Spade took the cue. With a permissible nod from his would-be executer, he produced, from the aluminium case, a video tape.
Nick sighed.
"Not a movie fan." He said evenly, raising the gun once more.
"Watch it!" Spade squealed, tossing the tape at Nick's feet.
The options ran through his head. Every eventuality in a split second. Such was the gift of a seasoned soldier. In the end, it all boiled down to why not? Well, that and a healthy dose of curiosity. What was so important that the Doctor believed he could prolong his life? He could be lying, of course, but given his record, he seemed like a smart man.
Decision made, Nick picked up the tape and inserted into the Doctor's set-top VCR that was sat quite prettily in the corner, next to the Malmo Coffee Table. He never took his eyes off Spade.
"Never" was a bit strong, perhaps. When the tape started, he couldn't help it. His eyes were drawn to it.
He watched. He listened. He…
Oh my God.
Beneath the cool exterior the shades afforded, Nick's eyes widened with horror.
"You see!" Wheezed the Doctor. "You see!"