Resident Evil: Degeneration
"To Hell in a...Hand Basket?"
Billy Coen allowed the stewardess to seat him, kicked back in the still mostly-empty cabin and waited for the cocktail peanuts and cute little bottles of vodka to start rolling in. The southern sun had leathered his skin to the point where his tattoo was a mere shadow against his arm—he wore a black Social Distortion t-shirt that had seen better days since that drunken bar fight in a Tijuana saloon and dusty jeans. He didn't think he'd aged badly, but found himself trying to avoid frowning as much as possible—dark stubble gave the impression of someone who spent most of his life working hard and long in open air.
"Excuse me..." a startlingly young, clear voice broke through his mental self-assessment. He glanced up to see a young woman with glittering brown eyes and red hair struggling with one of those ridiculously bulky carry-ons, trying to fit it into the rack above their heads.
"Oh, no problem," Billy took it and hauled it into place like a stubborn bale of hay. The young woman winced but smiled gratefully a second later.
"Thanks," she took her seat next to him, looking for all the world like she wanted nothing more than to dart back up the steady current of passengers and off the plane. Her fingers scrapped softly against a pair of snug, pale jeans.
"Um," she began again, "I know we've never met but...suppose you knew someone who was in a really dangerous position, and the only thing you could do to help that person was to get as far away from them as possible even though you still felt personally involved in that trouble...because I really need to know if I should get off this plane before I regret it for the rest of my life."
Billy blinked. Wasn't this the kind of crap that only happened in bad disaster movies? Where the one lucky sap decides not to go at the last minute and avoid a terrible, life-altering and or life-ending fate.
"Depends on how much you care about that person," Billy replied.
"He's my brother and he's all I have."
"Well, then if it means that much then you should honor his request." He laughed, "Sorry, I'm not really a follow your heart type of guy."
Yeah right. If he wasn't still a convicted murderer he wouldn't have left Rebecca on that cliff overlooking the Spencer Mansion. He'd heard rumors down south and if he was going to be honest with himself it was the rumors that were bringing him back. A desolate cove off of the Maryland coast massacred and stories of sea monsters; a government cover up in the Utah desert—they both screamed Umbrella and where they were, Rebecca was bound to be close behind. It was time he use his status as a dead man to someone's advantage other than his own.
"You're right," the girl sighed, "And I'm sorry, that was such a dramatic way to introduce myself. I'm Claire...Claire Redfeild." She held out a strangely calloused hand, although for the life of him, Billy couldn't place what was so strange about the patterning.
Ah, what the hell, Billy thought gaily, I'm never going to see this girl again, and she seems sweet enough. "Billy...Billy Coen. Pleased to meet you."