Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evilor their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.
Description: Takes place during Resident Evil 6. The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective.When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.
Rating Information: Due to the fact that the game is for mature audiences, and this fiction is a bit less, I believe, in content than the game, it is rated at a high T. That said, the rating covers gore, violence, torture, possible swearing, and psychological trauma. Individual warnings may be set in place for additional sections and/or chapters if the story is not a one-shot (I decide this stuff while writing. It's an author's sense xP).
LEON POV (in case you didn't read the description ^^)
I turned the corner around the shipping containers and looked back, ready to hold out an arm to stop Helena. She wasn't there. I froze, listening for the sound of her gun or the bullets clanging off of metal and plastic, but there was a sudden, startling silence across the docks. A cold feeling of dread penetrated my stomach and I spun, heading back in the direction I had come from. She had been right behind me, hadn't she? We had just shot down the agents protecting Simmons, and suddenly I was alone. Worried that she had gotten shot, I went back out to the front area. Nothing. Just lots of bullet cases, and a few of Simmon's security's corpses. I backed away, tapping my headset, and frowned. Usually I could hear a steady buzz, even a distant static that told me it was on and connected to the Satellite. But it was dead. Completely. I tried speaking into it just in case, but there wasn't any reaction at all. My tablet was dead, too. What the hell had just happened?
"Helena?" I shouted, gun raised in case an agent was still alive and heard my scream, but aside from the distant echo across the choppy waves of the sea, there was no other sound. The train had passed. Simmons was nowhere in sight. Of course, now, he was far from my mind.
That was, until I heard a safety click off and felt cold metal at the back of my neck. I froze on instinct, wondering how I hadn't noticed the agent approach. I was off my game with the sudden loss of Helena and all of my connection with the outside world - I hadn't been paying attention what was around me. Especially not to someone walking as quietly and swiftly as a leopard, stepping delicately, until he was close enough to breathe hot, thick air beside my ear. I felt a shiver.
"I think I've changed my mind. You're too important to be killed - now anyway," Simmons whispered, and I felt a thread of alarm. What did that mean?
Swallowing thickly, I wondered how quickly I could grab the knife in its compartment at my thigh and drive it into the side of his neck. Probably not fast enough for the bullet that would surely sever my upper spinal cord - and that wouldn't be very useful for me at all, now would it?
"What do you want?" I asked, surprised by how steady my voice was. If there were still agents around, and alive, I was screwed. If not, then I might be able to worm my way out of this mess. And then find Helena. And after that, find out why my headset and other devices weren't working at all.
"Your partner has something that is important to me. Tell me where she is, and I will kill you quickly - and her, too. If not..." He let the words trail off into an afterthought that I didn't pursue, but instead thought about critically. What was important to him? Was it the data file that Sherry had given us? Was he looking for that? It was the cure to the virus, apparently. Perhaps it was his, or he wanted it for his research... or he wanted to destroy it, because it was a threat to his business. I swallowed hard. Helena had that - how had he known?
"And what makes you think I know where she is, seeing as I just spent the last few minutes trying to find her?" I growled, annoyed. For someone who planned out disasters, he was estranged to anything that involved critical thinking - or perhaps just thinking in general.
How ironic.
Simmons growled like an animal, and I felt my chance. Whether he was going to hit me across the head or shoot a limb, I wasn't sure, but the moment I felt the metal leave the edges of my skin, I struck. My elbow slammed back into the flesh between his ribs, and I heard his grunt of pain and felt his sharp exhale. I spun, bringing my knee up, and, dug it deep into his abdomen, as my other arm connected with his gun arm, jerking it to the side just as he fired. The gunshot deafened me and sent a ringing through my left ear, but I squeezed his arm hard enough to make him drop the weapon.
To my surprise, he wasn't all political waste. His fist socked me in the jaw before I could even see it coming, sending stars in front of my eyes. It wasn't a completely debilitating move, but it prevented me from seeing and preparing for the real strike.
The boot hit my kneecap and I felt a horrifying pain and fear sweep through me, as the fragile bones snapped and rocked inward, splitting, separating, crunching. I fell to the ground, an agonized howl tearing from my throat until pressure on my stomach punched the air from my lungs and I lay gasping and coughing, curled around myself, holding the useless joint. Training deserted me for a moment as my imagination took over. How easy would it be for a bone to pierce the blood vessels running behind the kneecap, severing it, making blood pour out of me like a fountain? A moment later I snapped back into focus, sucking in a breath, forcing the pain back.
Simmons. My knife. I grabbed it from my pocket and plunged it into his hip bone, and he let out a furious shout, wrenching me to my feet, slamming me against the container. That's when I saw, though my blurred and exhausted and pain-dimmed vision the dark people emerging in their suits and ties, guns drawn. I knew it was over. It was over the moment he broke my knee.
I couldn't find with a wound like that. I couldn't run either. The knife was an act of rage and fleeting adrenaline, wanting to cause him pain too. It had worked. But now I felt dread, because I could see, quite clearly, the hate in his eyes - and knew that I was completely at his mercy.
Any aggressive movement would get me shot.
He was holding me by collar of my jacket, one fist pressed rather hard against my throat, making me cough reflexively and try to twist my head away. He grabbed me harder, and suddenly gave me a violent shake, making my teeth rattle and sending hot pain through my entire lower leg. I grunted, fury rampaging through me. If I could just kick him away, I might have the leverage to... fall on my ass and get my brains blown out.
No, bad idea.
I just had to wait.
"I'll give you one more chance. Where is your partner?" Simmons literally hissed in my ear, and I took a moment to wonder when this calm, steady and proper government agent had turned into this snarling, hissing beast.
"I don't know," I said, bracing myself.
I had expected to get hit in the face. I had not, however, expected him to suddenly grab my broken knee and squeeze, all the while holding me up by my throat by one hand. I would have screamed in pain if I hadn't have been choking and gagging, unable to draw in the air for the scream. Cringing, I felt my body recoiling in extreme pain, and I managed only to let out a whimper, lights in my eyes that were different from before.
I had learned over the years that there were many different levels of pain.
A dull pain, like bumping an elbow into a wall. A stinging pain, like being slapped in the face. A biting pain... like being bit. And then three extremes. Hot pain, like getting spat on by the zombies with boiling liquid. White hot pain, like someone pressing a hot iron on skin - hard. Red hot pain, like having broken bones get ground together, turning my vision into a spotted field of bright red. Fortunately the pain didn't last, because my lungs had expended all the air I possibly had, and my consciousness faded.
I woke to cold, bright lights, and a passive ache. Shivering, I curled into myself, closing my eyes and wishing I could go back into unconsciousness, where the pain couldn't reach. The lights burned through my eyelids, blazing through my senses, and I couldn't get myself to go back. So I opened them, forcing myself into the world to observe and figure out where I am and how to get out.
It was a white room, no windows, and impossibly small. Tiny. How could there possibly be air in this room? I breathed heavily, gulping air like it was going out of style - and who the hell knew if there was enough in there to sustain me?
I wasn't sure how long I lay there, limp with pain, when the door suddenly opened.
I peered blearily for a moment, holding back the headache that came with being choked into unconsciousness. While I couldn't focus, someone had crossed the room in two easy strides and grabbed me by the arm, hauling me to my feet. I cried out, pain lancing through my broken bones, and I almost stumbled over myself. None-too-gently the person dragged me from the room to a white hall. I wasn't going to let this scientist drag me around so he could experiment on me, or anything of that sort.
So I twisted, ramming my elbow violently into the man's side, and he snarled in pain, dropping me - quite literally. He had taken most of my weight, and now I was sprawling to the ground, unable to support myself on one leg. Scrabbling backwards, I raised one arm defensively and sought for a weapon with the other. A foot planted on my chest and I coughed painfully, squinting up at the smug man smiling above me. His expression was satisfied. Simmons had the look on his face of a master teaching its pet to behave in order.
"How do you suppose I beat this defiance out of you?" He said, a hint of a sneer in his voice, leaning more of his weight onto me.
I coughed hard, then snarled up at him. "You're a pathetic excuse for a man!" The weight somehow increased, and I groaned.
"And look whose on the floor, looking up at me," Simmons hissed. I was kicked in the ribs, rolled onto my back, and something like a zip-tie bound my wrists together. "In a few days, we'll see what kind of man you are," he whispered in my ear. Then I was hauled, blinded for a moment by a stunning wave of pain, and shoved into another room. I had enough time to take a breath before I was shoved face first to the ground before teeth gnashed dangerously close to my face, and rotten flesh snarled and wailed ravenously at me. The zombie wailed again, sending pure terror shuddering down my spine as I jolted backwards towards the door. It slammed shut behind me, sealing me into the room with the infected, who wailed, moaned, and cried out in hunger and a piteous, animal sadness.
In pitch darkness, I huddled as close to the wall as I could, shivering uncontrollably - and not just from the cold this time - as hands grabbed at me and tried to drag me towards their hungry mouths. This couldn't be happening. Locked in a room, bound, curled into a ball and cowering against a door, with zombies all around me, ready to turn me. I couldn't stop the fear threatening to bust a new hole in my heart, couldn't prevent the terror from making me cry out...
And I couldn't stop the infected from crawling slowly up my legs.