Disclaimer:
This story is a work of fiction written by me. Any events in this story are fictional and any similarity to actual events is coincidental and unintentional. This story is is not intended to infringe on rights or properties and I receive no profit. The character of David Trafalgar and other characters created by me, along with this story, are mine.
Resident Evil and related characters are the property of and copyrighted by Capcom and the creators of Resident Evil.
All other properties are copyrighted by their respective owners.
Rated: M - For language and violence
Resident Evil - Return of Old Horrors
A story by David Wesker
South America, western Brazil
The sky was dark as David Trafalgar sat on the bench inside of the equally dark helicopter. Thick, patchy clouds obscured the light of the moon as the helicopter headed towards the intended destination. This was a stroke of luck for the visiting team. Their approach would be even less obvious than normal.
The journey here had been lengthy and circuitous. He had flown from DFW and a few other stops down to Bogota, Columbia. From there he had made his way, as a working vacationer, to Buenos Aires. There, he got a hotel room and set himself up as a photographer for a travel service and vacation-based magazine. He spent several days out of the hotel, coming back very late or not at all. After a week, Trafalgar made sure his bill was paid up for another two weeks and then quietly disappeared.
He made his way from Buenos Aires northwest toward La Paz, Bolivia. He travelled quietly by boat, jeep and his own two feet. Once in La Paz, he met a contact from the B.S.A.A. and now he was flying around in the dark. Shame about having to leave away from La Paz so soon, the contact was kind of cute. Maybe when he got back.
Trafalgar chuckled to himself, he said "when". My was he being cocky. Oh well, positive thinking never hurt anyway, right?
"Coming up on the LZ coordinates," came a voice in his headset. The pilot.
"Copy that," Trafalgar replied.
"Your call sign for this mission will be Fox," said another voice, the co-pilot this time. "This platform will be Black Cloud. Understood?"
"Affirmative."
"Ten minutes to LZ."
"Copy."
Once again alone with his thoughts, Trafalgar pondered on this whole scenario. Essentially he was a field operative that was sent in to kick over the rocks and expose the scum underneath. Then the more public-faced B.S.A.A. operatives would sweep in like the proverbial white knight. Take the pictures and video, make arrests and so on. There was one of those white knight teams preparing even now. Just waiting on his go-ahead.
The codename for this mission, for him, was Fox. An animal that survived mostly alone in the wild. Most likely a joke at his propensity for choosing missions that allowed him more latitude in the personnel department. He found it easier to manage the details when he was the only one to consider. Other people just got in the way. They were unpredictable. This was not the kind of lifestyle that tolerated variables.
On that note, the mission briefing was rather sketchy.
All that he was told by Jill Valentine was that a facility had been sighted and confirmed in the area. Random satellite pass picked up a group of structures. A crosscheck with old files from Umbrella's basement showed that the coordinates did coincide with a facility they had there. It was supposedly long abandoned.
When in operation, the facility had been used to manufacture and study the Progenitor virus. It had not been a major target due to it's remote location. The facility had been lost in the shuffle by both sides. Now the B.S.A.A. was interested and he was about to put his boots on the ground and go scope things out.
All of this to check out a supposedly abandoned site. Hey, he got into this job for the money and the travel. He was in South America getting paid. Could not beat that.
"Beginning descent," came a voice over the radio again.
The helicopter began to drop in altitude and Trafalgar ran a quick check of his gear. It was game time now. He was running out of the locker room and about to hit the field. In his hands he held a Mk 18 close quarters battle rifle. On his hip was a SIG 229R chambered in .357, a hold over from his former career with the Federal Air Marshal Service. Backing that up he had four M67 hand grenades, a KA-BAR knife, a multi-tool and another smaller knife.
"Touchdown!" came the voice of the co-pilot over the radio. "Go, go, go!"
Trafalgar exited the helicopter quickly and ducked down, making his way away from the vehicle and keeping close to the ground. Black Cloud barely touched the ground before it was in the air again.
Now he was on his own.
