Title: Out of Dark Waters
Summary: It's 3 months after Tatchi and Chris Redfield is continuing his work with the BSAA; however, when Piers returns to the surface, Chris will do whatever it takes to get the young Lt back.
Author's Note: First RE fic, and sorry if there's any mistakes littered in there, I didn't have anyone edit it before posting. Thank you for reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil.
Chapter 1: Abyss
Rolling, darkly stormy clouds hovered low over the murky and turbulent waves of the Tatchi harbor as a small, white boat swung with the black waves. Labeled with enormous, red blocked letters, "BSAA", a young male clad in a blue and and black cream uniform leaned over the edge of the swaying vessel.
"You think we can pick up the speed any, Williams?" called the soldier as he threw his thumb towards the docks. "Headquarters is daydreaming if they think we can pull this off the way we're going!"
The scuba-diver tossed her hands in the air, sending frothy bubbles everywhere. "What do you think, Price?! We're going to need another ship if we want to get all this rubble outta here by tonight!"
The agent sighed; he knew this was going to happen. Even with helicopter support, the recovery operation was going at a snail's pace at best. The underwater complex hundreds of feet below was just too huge, too destroyed and too littered with toxins (besides the threat of the c-virus) to try and dismantle in one week. Even with the new vaccine, they had to be extremely careful being so close the mainland.
"I'll call it in!" he called back with a stout nod.
"Tell 'em also that we found Haos' carcass!" yelled the woman, cupping her hands to her mouth. Suddenly, she quirked her head to the right where her earpiece was located. Beneath the many, many yards of water, the other BSAA members were working hard to get everything done, staying connected to the surface as much as they could. Sometimes it was just checking up—sometimes it was because a huge piece of debris was about to float up to meet them.
Eyes widening, the agent in the boat waited for the sudden—and not necessarily good—news.
Starting, Williams cried out, "WHAT?!"
The male straightened. "What ha—?!"
"There's a B.O.W. heading for the surface right now!"
Gasping, Price lunged for the radio attached next to the steering wheel of the boat. White and blue bubbles surrounded the female as she spun in the grey waters, wondering where to move and having nowhere to go. Within a matter of seconds, a lump in the water broke and out shot a small, dark form into the sky ten or so yards above them. As quickly as it went up, it came crashing down on the very same boat Price was standing on. The young agent lost his grip on the radio, having to reach for whatever was close so he wasn't thrown into the sea. Taking a second to clear his head—and hearing Williams yell his name from below—Price stared at the B.O.W. in shock and horror. Frozen, he could only watch as cold water drained from the body of what looked like a BSAA member—perhaps the very one which had stayed behind to die just three months ago.
And he could see why.
Slowly, like time itself had ground to a halt, did the infected BSAA agent look up to stare at Price with a dark, fixed glare. His right arm, pumped with infected boils and rotted from seawater, twitched as though coming back to life...besides the tiny arcs of blue electricity curling off the sodden skin. In the water, Williams yelled for her co-worker, her friend, as she swam up to the vessel.
"Stay back, Williams!" yelled the male, despite knowing his disadvantage. Williams was the soldier—him, not so much. But he had to due with what he had.
Across from him, a low, rumbling growl resonated from the B.O.W., his greyed face creasing with aggravation as he took a step forward. Those three months underwater had certainly taken their toll; but all Price could think of was hoping to God that he would make this out alive.
"Are you…" started the male, reaching behind to his back for his pistol, "...are you...Piers Nivans?"
The growl cut short, the man across from him cocking his head. His eyes—or rather, his one working eye—flicked from the left, to the right, then back again as though hearing those words before and trying to place them.
Price squeezed the gun's handle, his eyebrows arching down in thought. The boat was still swinging back and forth like crazy, the sea just as frustrated as they were. He didn't want to shoot another BSAA member if he didn't damn well have to...but…!
Then, the B.O.W. whispered something, a sentence Price couldn't distinguish.
"What did you say…?" wondered the young agent as gently as possible.
"Wh...where is…" began Piers again (yes, that's who he was for certain), his remaining human hand reaching to his bloodied head.
There was a thick, strained pause. He could sense Williams was trying to figure out a way to get into the boat without being detected. Until then, the male had to buy time. "Where is what…?"
"Where...is…" Piers glared at Price, hunching down dangerously as he bared sharp fangs. "Where is Chris Redfield?!"
—
"Hey, Captain, wanna grab a beer tonight?" asked Dredd, leaning to one foot as her shoulder pressed against a crumbling wall next to them. "I hear the new bar in town has one good lookin' bartender…"
"Pay attention, would you?" snapped Cooper as she stood a little straighter, her question in a harsh whisper. "This training mission isn't just a game, it's to prepare us for real combat and you're not being serious about it is freaking annoying!"
"Don't get your panties in a bunch—staying calm is an important part of combat," claimed the larger female as she patted her M-16 lovingly to her chest, " and that's why my baby is close by just in case."
"I'm not satisfied with having your baby—which alone is disturbing that you call your rifle that—as a good enough reason to try and waste time hooking up with our superior officer," growled the blonde with bared teeth.
As amusing as it was to watch the two agents (and friends, as much as they denied it) start delving into when it was the right time to ask Chris on a date, the Captain said, "Stop talking, you two. The other team is about to come bursting in and you're both about to be knocked out."
"Yessir," they both muttered, the dark, concrete walls settling into silence again.
Of course, Redfield didn't really mind all the chatter—and to him, these simple training missions were more like time off from his usual orders from HQ—but, the young cadets also looked up to him. To slack and to joke was all good in the classroom from time to time, but they had to pay attention during these…"training sessions" (which were more like school games with paintball guns, to be honest). They were on the defensive, half of their team going for the enemy's "flag", while the enemy was coming for theirs. About twenty feet away, behind them, sat the rubber chicken dusted with white concrete debris and years worth of wear and tear. But, to them and for this purpose, it was as precious as gold.
About ten minutes had passed since the session began...things would begin to heat up soon. Fortunately, the sun was beginning to rise and the world would be soaked with warmth again...and these walls wouldn't remind him so much of certain other places. Dark, cold and cramped. He hated it.
Another five minutes of pressing quiet, and Chris was beginning to wonder. They were utilizing an abandoned (and safe) electrical power plant to play out their war games, but the building wasn't that big. Unless the enemy was going for a surprise attack (which wasn't altogether surprising), he should've at least heard from his own team members that they'd gotten the enemy's chicken. Or cursing. There was a lot of that with the American cadets.
Pressing his ear piece to his head with two fingers, the Captain murmured, "Spencer, what's your location?"
There was a pause, the crackle of static. Then, 'The roof, sir.'
"The roof?" asked Chris, his jaw tightening with annoyance. "I thought I made it clear the roof was—"
'There's something here, Captain,' responded Spencer, a slight tremble to his voice.
Stopping, the senior officer took in a breath and felt his entire being tighten with dread. Spencer was considered the cocky and ambitious cadet leader of his small platoon—the fact that he even seemed remotely frightened was a bad sign.
"What did you see?" asked Chris seriously as he removed the "dummy" magazine from his rifle and replaced it with live ammo. He'd been smart enough, and maybe a little paranoid, to bring some form of proper defense...just in case.
'I dunno, it looked like...' whispered Spencer, when his radio suddenly cut to static.
"Spencer!" snapped the Captain, his eyes widening.
No. No, no, no! Not the cadets!
"Sir?" asked Cooper, gripping her own weapon tighter to her flack jacket.
Glancing at the other members in the small room, he instructed, "Stay here. Do not leave this room for any other reason other than evacuation, am I clear?"
The rest of the young agents jerked straight. "Yessir!"
"I'll be right back," he growled, turning to exit into the dark hallway. Getting onto a different link with their "home base", Chris checked his weapons as he said, "Anders. I need these cadets evacuated."
'What, why—?'
"We have a problem. Just do it."
'Uh...yes Captain!'
Back on the link with the in-training agents, Chris instructed both teams to get down and shut up until they were instructed to safely exit the building. These were just young BSAA members, and even though they were well-trained and almost ready to take on real missions, paintballs were not enough. As a matter of fact, two clips of AR ammo and one of pistol ammo and a large Bowie knife wasn't enough, either, but he'd gone against ridiculous odds before. At any rate, he couldn't let those under him get hurt...especially not when this was suppose to just be an exercise.
Turning from relaxed instructor to hardass Captain in a matter of seconds, Chris fed the ammo into the chamber and lurked through the winding hallways, following his digital map to get to the exit to the roof. His heart was thundering in his ears, worse than usual based on the circumstances, his body tightened like a knot.
Dammit, please, please, just—
Suddenly, the clatter and boom echoed through the hallway, as though the roof had collapsed only a couple rooms away. Yelling out Spencer's name, Chris lunged into an all-out sprint as he tore through one corner, then the next, then—
"Captain!"
A shadow came over Chris as something heavy and solid collided into him.
Slamming into the wall to his left, the breath stolen from his lungs, the Captain stumbled, dazed, for a couple seconds too long. There were shots fired as Spencer assaulted the B.O.W. with useless paintball pellets—but that didn't stop the menacing snarl of pain to erupt from the creature anyway. Meanwhile, Chris shook his head of the lingering fog, lifting his weapon as he did so.
The B.O.W. screamed, then, and took off—something the Captain didn't expect.
Bursting through the opposite concrete wall like tissue paper, the B.O.W. disappeared further into the building. Redfield only paused briefly to hurriedly check over Spencer, commanding him to leave the building as fast and as safely as possible before racing after the creature. With clenched teeth, Chris pumped his legs as fast as he could go, charging the tail end of the infected as the thing tried to escape the building. He couldn't imagine why and how the B.O.W. got here in the first place—was it after him only because he was the (now infamous) Chris Redfield? It wouldn't be a big of a surprise as any.
Snatching his pistol from his side, Redfield lifted his arm to aim—only for the creature to snap to the left, avoiding his sight altogether. Growling, Chris hauled ass after it, realizing the thing heavily resembled a human being. That meant this B.O.W. wasn't lab-bred, but rather a person who'd gotten infected and essentially wasn't the source. In addition, the said infected somehow knew this was a BSAA training facility—there'd been no reports on sighted B.O.W.'s in the area, otherwise they would've been warned before the things even reached Chris' small platoon.
It looks heavy on one side, he continued to think, its arm looks like—
The floor beneath the rushing infected suddenly gave way, opening a hole that was too large for the Captain to avoid as he tumbled into the pit with the creature. Landing hard on the person, his pistol shot from his grip, bouncing away into the falling rubble as dust sprinkled over them. Before Chris could react, the creature rolled with him, landing directly on top as his other hand—a human hand—latched onto Redfield's throat. A growl ripped from the B.O.W.'s lips as Chris grabbed the choking hand, his eyes widening when he saw—
Piers.
Then suddenly, it didn't matter that he was being choked.
Memories, like a riptide, flooded back unceremoniously with all the dark and painful emotions to accompany them. Piers. Piers Nivans. The one I left behind.
Chris strangled to whisper his name, his fingers still weakly trying to pry the sniper's grip from his neck. Watery eyes stared up at the younger agent for a couple moments before Piers' enraged expression cooled and his grasp slowly loosened. Panting, his remaining (good) eye blinked in startled recognition, Nivans settling back on his haunches so Redfield could sit up.
"Piers," gasped the Captain, rubbing his neck dolefully, "Piers...do you...do you recognize me?"
The sniper didn't answer right away, looking lost and uncertain in his sudden predicament.
"Piers, looks at me," said Chris softly, reaching out to touch his mangled shoulder.
Nivans snarled as he lunged back with bared teeth, snapping, "Don't touch me!"
Lifting his open hands, Redfield said, "It's okay, it's okay." Slowly, he managed to get to his feet without startling the younger (if not water logged) male, trying to look as open as humanly possible. "It's okay, Piers. Do you remember me?"
"I…" he started, his breaths rolling out dismally, "I...just…"
Despite the situation, Chris' heart was practically singing. Piers is still alive. He couldn't help but feeling overly hopeful, knowing they had the vaccine for the c-virus, knowing that he could still be saved.
"Piers," murmured Chris again, taking a small step towards him, "look at me, lieutenant."
With a displaced look, Nivans' neck and shoulder twitched as he glanced at the Captain. His arm was still sparking with the electricity Chris remembered from all those months ago—really, how could he forget?—and it was sticky with blood, as though it was trying to heal itself from the beating it got from being underwater for so long. As a matter of fact, the virus coursing through Piers' veins was returning the life at him, one pore at a time, some blue and red flushing against his skin.
"Do you remember me…?" asked Redfield again.
Piers stared at him, his mouth slightly open, as his left eye took in Chris' details. Releasing a short breath, he replied, "C...Captain…?"
"That's right," answered the other male, a small smile breaking across his lips as he continued to approach the sniper. "That's absolutely right. I know it seems a little strange, you might not remember what happened, but...well...but I'm here to help you."
Glancing down, Piers glanced at his infected arm and, as though seeing it for the first time, revolted in disgust. "Captain!" he exclaimed, lifting the mangled limb in horror.
"It's okay!" yelled Chris, jerking to a stop before stepping forward again. "It's okay, Piers, don't worry about it, don't even look at it."
Swinging his attention towards Redfield again, lines of fear drawn across his features, Nivans said, "I'm...I'm infected, I'm—!"
"It's okay, we got a vaccine," said the Captain hastily. His stomach was tied into a thousand knots; he had to do this right, otherwise Piers might take off and never show back up on the radar again until it was too late. "Don't even worry about that, okay? Just…" he swallowed, hard. "Just come here…"
Awareness returning to him, the sniper clutched his stomach with his good arm as a stifled, frightful sound escaped him. Chris could see his eye gleam over with tears, still gaping in terror at his own blighted limb. Using the distraction to his advantage, the Captain stopped and leaned forward, ever so slowly, to grab Piers' trembling human hand. Snapping his spooked gaze down, Nivans watched with an ounce of hesitation as Redfield gradually brought the sniper's cold hand into his own.
"See? It's okay," whispered Chris, offering his friend a smile, "everything's going to be alright."
Continuing to be as gradual as possible—he was already this far, he only had a little further to go—he tugged Piers closer to him. He knew if he could just get the boy under the shelter of his shoulder, he could—
"Captain!"
Gasping, the quiet mood shattered, both Redfield and Nivans jerked their attention to the right where Anders popped out from the shadows with an aimed M-16. Yanking his hand from Chris' grip, the sniper roared with discontent before lunging upwards, again and again until he broke through onto the roof.
"No, Piers!"
Anders tackled Chris out of the way from the cascading rubble, just in time before a large chunk of concrete cracked against the floor. A minute passed as they waited for the dust to settle, before the Captain stood up with a growl. Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!
Clamoring back to his feet, Anders said, "Captain, are you—?"
"I almost fucking had him," hissed Redfield as he patted his face free from the dust, spinning on his heel with frustration, "I almost had him!"
—