Leon checked his custom made flask and grimaced. Empty, thanks to the hairline crack visible at the base and the telltale sign of a ricocheted bullet if the small dent was any indication. He knew he should have just ducked behind the ol' Shop 'n Save instead of gallantly rolling out into the middle of the street and busting up BOWs with his trusty Silver Ghost. Now he had no alcohol to mask the physical pain from nearly taking a bullet to the gut and no impending hangover to numb the angst from living day to day in a nightmare. Chris was an idiot. There was no silver lining. Speaking of Chris...
"Hey, Alpha whatever, you there?" Silence. He cursed. It was bad enough they were unofficially partners after the New York fiasco, but now he was stuck fighting the military's battle. Again. "Chris, answer me right now or I'm marching my butt back to civilization and catching the next plane to Fiji." No matter that Fiji was a hotspot for Chimeras right now. He'd made his point.
Chris had half a mind to leave Leon and his drunken butt in the outdoor strip mall. Besides, JC Penney's was having a sale and he knew how much the guy loved his pleather jackets. The former STARS member sighed. No matter how tempting it would be to dump Mr. Perfect Windswept Hair in some Chimera infested hellhole, he had a mission to complete. And he never failed a mission.
"I hear you loud and clear, Bravo Two." Unfortunately. "We've got more bogeys headed north. Cut through the Fantastic Sams parking lot and I'll rendezvous with you in the square. Don't even THINK about zipping in and buying any hair gel on the way. And for the love of the BSAA, find yourself a shotgun. I'm sure if you look in one of the dozens of conveniently placed breakable boxes every few feet you'll find something better than that Golden Gun of yours."
"SILVER GHOST!" came the slurred response through the comms. "And you can't tell me what to do, Redfield!" Chris rolled his eyes.
"Since my call sign is Bravo One and I freakin' outrank you, YEAH. I think I can." He was about to cut communication and make for the square, when Leon's grating voice sputtered in his ear through the static.
"Who was the one who saved the President's daughter?" **hiccup**
"You're also the one who killed her dad, so..."
"Who was the one who went from mall cop to Secret Service agent in the span of one month?" Leon continued. Chris rubbed his temples to rid himself of the growing headache.
"Leon, cut the crap. We all know you're not a real agent. You bought that badge from a Halloween store."
"Who was the one who defeated the Illumidabados?"
"You mean Los Illuminados."
"FINE THEN!" Leon huffed and the muscular operative could hear the clink of metal on metal, as though he'd thrown his trusty flask. Another rustling sound confirmed that Leon was probably stomping through a discarded pile of gross trash bags to retrieve it.
"Remember, the square. 1400 hours." Before the moron could refute his direct order, Chris muted the line with a scowl. Leon was an idiot. There was no silver lining.
Stupid Chris and his stupid orders. Leon skipped the Fantastic Sam's and headed straight to the liquor store, which was miraculously still partially stocked given the looting and fighting. He drained a couple whiskey bottles dry before grabbing a new flask and filling it to the brim for later. Although he wasn't very sentimental and generally liked to travel light, he couldn't bear to part with his cracked flask. He eventually stuffed it in the breast pocket of his jacket; it had clearly stopped one bullet, and could do so again. At least, he hoped this was the case because he never wore bullet proof vests. Too bulky under the pleather.
His comm sputtered to life and he dimly heard Chris's plea to hurry up to the square and what sounded like a barrage of bullets and ominous growls.
"UGH FINE I'm coming, sheesh," he groaned and lurched back out into the street. Oh, crap. Now he was turned around. Which way was the square...? He cast about drunkenly and finally located a bogey smashing buildings in its wake to the north. Some smaller but no less annoying BOWs skittered across its back. Leon gagged. "How's about NO," he said aloud and ran due south as fast as his athletic bod would carry him.
Chris skidded to a halt beside a crumbling concrete structure and secured the charge. He worked efficiently, wading through debris and carnage as he fastened the remaining explosives in place. He'd transformed a single block radius into a ticking land mine with enough firepower packed within the circular charges to lay the entire vicinity to waste. The soldier wiped the beads of sweat from his brow as he surveyed his handiwork. The operation was moving like clockwork. He'd rescued ten adults, two babies, and five puppies from burning buildings, single handedly decimated a small army of rabid split-faced mongrels, and led the bogeys directly into the heart of his trap. Chris scrambled to a nearby rooftop and held the detonator aloft in his hand. Only thirty more seconds until he could blow those BOW scumbags straight to hell. Chris smirked to himself, watching the creatures trot merrily to their fated resting place down the street. A lesser man might've ran away and headed south, someone like—
"Oh crap," Chris moaned out loud. He'd forgotten about his douchewad partner. A part of him wondered if Bravo Two had even made it out of those trash bags. No matter. He could just write Leon off as an unfortunate casualty of war, and have the bum find his own way to Fiji or Hawaii or whatever tropical zombie infested island caught his fancy. Chris gripped the detonator tighter. Ten more seconds until the bogeys entered the danger zone. Five. Four. Three. Two...
"HEEEYYYYYYY...LEON TO THE RESCUEEEEEE." A helicopter-and not a very nice one-careened drunkenly through the air, flown by the equally drunken pilot at its helm. The bogey entourage turned from Chris's carefully laid trap to follow the piece of junk barely maintaining altitude. He yelled into his earpiece, all formalities forgotten.
"DAMMIT LEON!"