Disclaimer: Resident Evil is the property of Capcom. I own only the OC I created, and his gun. Hope is mine, and you can't have it.

Author's Note: I took this story down once because my only review was from a flamer who caught me in a weak moment. Never again. I write for myself, and myself alone. No one else shall hold sway over my decisions ever again. This, writing, is my passion, my happiness. I shouldn't let talent-less, bitter, childish flamers ruin my joy in life, and neither should any of you. We don't write for others, for we as writers are undoubtedly selfish creatures.

Anyway, a friend dared me to write a Resident Evil story that was either a Self-insert, or an OC. The catch was, it actually had to be good. I hope it is, but I would value some good, constructive opinions from my peers. Flamers can just piss off, since nobody cares what they think.

Resident Evil: The Remake

Chapter 1:

For The Sake of Survival

It was a cold day in September when it all began. Fall had just arrived, and the world around me was steadily dying, in a beautiful yet morbid sort of way. It was September 27th, and being what I am, I was out at night.

I suppose you wish to know my name? I am Joseph, Joseph Kingsley. I am a very successful thief, and a smuggler of illicit material in Raccoon City, all by the age of 25. Not the job most parents desire for their children, but I wouldn't know anything about what my parents wish.

Anyways, back to my story. From here on out, you'll be seeing things from my point of view, so to speak. I will endeavor to write things exactly as I remember them, with complete honesty. Now, step into the mind of the greatest criminal in Raccoon City.

I gazed cautiously through the window, searching for movement in the darkness. I then press my ear against it, and listen. Complete silence greets me. Relief floods my body, easing much of my tension. Swiftly, I pop open the lock on the window, setting the window and screen gently down. I drop, landing silently on carpeted floor. I rise up, still cautious, scanning the room. To my left, and several meters away, is a large couch. In front of this couch is a massive plasma screen TV.

A table sits between them, a comfortable chair resting silently to the right, at an angle to the TV. This is the living room, dark and gloomy in the absence of the light of day. To my right is the kitchen, with a bar style counter and a small door separating the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is cloaked in darkness impenetrable even to my experienced eyes. Connected to the living room is a hallway, leading deeper into the house. A window at the end of the hallway spills light from a street lamp outside. The main reason I entered from the window I did, it possessing no means of illumination. And through the door to the kitchen is a dining room, which the family I am robbing eats dinner at every night.

They, the Robinsons, are gone tonight. I watched their house for the last week; just to be sure they would be gone tonight. The daughter, from what I overheard, is deathly ill at the moment. The father is gone at work, the son staying at a friend's house, and the mother visiting family in the neighboring city of Lincoln Park. This is perfect for me. The Robinsons are a well off family, with a healthy distrust of the bank. There's bound to be a collection of money somewhere in the house.

I glide, figuratively, across the floor, keeping low. My steps make no discernible sound on the carpet, as I head for the hallway. John Robinson wouldn't trust his money far from him, which means it'd probably be in the master bedroom. I lope, speeding up, still careful to not make any noise. I don't like being in my targets house any longer than I have to be. Just as I'm passing what I know to be the daughter's room, a low thump issues from within. I pause, confusion, fear, and anger warring within me.

I know she isn't supposed to be home! She should be in the hospital, getting treatment right now. I grip the handle of her door, my heart beating violently against my ribs. I'll just take a quick peek, to see if she's awake or not. If she is, I have a drug, which should knock her out and wipe the last hours' worth of memories.

The door opens softly on well-oiled hinges, swinging to gently rest against the wall. I peer into the darkness of her room curiously, easily picking her out against the blackness. She's standing in the corner of her room farthest from the door, by her closet. Clad in a white t-shirt and panties, she is easy to see in this darkness. Only her face is unseen, cloaked in shadow. Knowing that she has to have seen me by now, I step forward, reaching into my pocket for the drug. I pause, however, at a strange noise.

I take another step forward, curious, and the girl snarls! It is a deep, guttural sound, coming from her chest, rather than her throat. I notice that she is holding something up to her face, and realize with some horror that it is her cat, a get well present she received several days ago. Horror fills me, for I can hear a terrible, voracious chewing emanating from her. She is eating that cat!

I reach for my silenced handgun, a CZ75 I bought on the black market. A suppressor muffles the barrel, and thus the shot, while a laser sight rest comfortably on the bottom of the barrel. The grip is leather, with a modified slide enabling rapid, three round bursts, and an extended clip to ensure I don't burn through my ammo. My gun is heavy, weighing three times what it should, I having replaced the plastic parts with more durable titanium. My bullets are also something special. They go by many names, but the most common one is Cop Killers. They are specially modified rounds, with explosive tips, designed to tear right through Kevlar body armor. Nothing I shoot ever gets up again.

My gun's name is Hope, and that's exactly what it gives me as I line the barrel up with the girl's head. Whatever is wrong with her, if she attacks, she won't make it far. Still, to be sure, I decide to attempt communication with her, even though this room reeks of blood and death. The stench of decay is nearly overwhelming, now that I actually take notice.

"Hey, are you alright?" My voice is dry, and the words are nearly a croak. Still, my concern and caution is quite evident. For the first time, the girl looks up. Her eyes are a sickly blue green, with yellow streaks running through them. There is nothing human in those eyes; only an intense hunger remains. Her face is stained with blood, flesh caking her cheeks and strung between her teeth.

She lets out a blood-curdling snarl. I feel my very bones chilling, even as the girl lunges at me, fingers extended like claws. The cat hits the floor with a meaty, sickening thump. I pull the trigger, and Hope roars, the suppressor muffling it. A single shot blasts out, gouts of flame seemingly escaping the barrel behind it. My aim is dead on, and the bullet blows right through her fore head, tearing its way violently out of the back of her head in a spray of blood and brains. Blood and gray matter splatter on the wall, even as she is blasted backwards, slamming into the wall with a dull thump.

I keep Hope trained on the girl, even as I move forward. She doesn't move, lying still as a corpse. On her arm is a bite mark; the exposed flesh a horrible, infected green, leaking yellow pus. Used bandages lie on the floor; fresh, clean bandages sit on the bed, telling me that she was changing her bandages when she transformed. Suddenly, I hear the sound of something dragging across the floor. I look down, and am nearly sick. The cat is crawling towards the girl's leg, intestines and blood left in its wake.

I switch aim to the cat, which looks up, as if just realizing that I'm there. Its eyes are the same, horrible color as the girls. It bares its teeth at me, attempting to yowl at me. It instead makes a strange whistling sound, the girl having torn into its lungs earlier in her devouring of its chest cavity. I fire once more, putting the animal down permanently. It's time to leave. Something is going on, and I have an idea what.

My business, being what it is, brings me into contact with many of the unsavory elements of the world. One such element is the international company, Umbrella Inc. I recognize one of their products, and this just screams of the T-virus to me. I was once brought in to negotiate a business deal with Umbrella; a case of T-virus samples was my package. They showed me one of their lab rats, a convicted criminal Umbrella 'borrowed' from the local prison. He had been infected with the virus, and was nothing more than a mindless monster now.

This, I realized at the time, was their warning. I was extra careful with my package that time, not wanting to become a lab rat or cause a massive outbreak. It seems the T-virus has somehow leaked, and there's only one person in the entire city who has survived an infestation of the infected. It was time to track down Jill Valentine. It's ironic that my survival would depend upon her of all people. I turned, and left the room, making my way to the front door. It was time to find a certain cop.

I stared at the door in front of me for what felt like an eternity. The number 318 stared back at me; 318 of the Clearwater Apartments are Jill Valentine's apartment. I could hear her moving around in the room beyond; the clanking of a pan and the sizzling of meat told me she was cooking dinner.

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. Slowly, I reached up and knocked. Three times my fist met her door; it sounded like the death knoll of a bell, strangely enough. For a second, all sound beyond the cooking meat ceased; in the next second, I could hear her walking towards me. I took another deep breath, as the sound of her deadbolt sliding reached my ears. I placed a carefully crafted smile on my face, just before the door opened.

Jill stood there, and the look of surprise on her face was mildly amusing. The glare that followed, unfortunately, was not. Jill could be downright frigid when she wanted to be. I placed my hand cautiously on her door, to keep her from slamming it in my face. The glare she directed briefly at my hand made me think, momentarily, that she might slam the door on it anyway. I met her eyes, holding her gaze evenly, and my fake smile firmly in place. Being polite, even when we both know it is false geniality, will get me so much farther.

"Good evening, Officer Valentine." My voice was even and calm something I really had to try for. Asking any cop, especially Valentine, for help just rankled me horribly. Still, I need her help, and if being polite will get me that, then so be it. Besides, all true criminals are genial with the cops, whether they like them or not.

"What do you want, Kingsley." Unfortunately, nobody ever said the cop had to return this behavior. Added to that, Jill Valentine has always been a passionate, emotional woman, with a fiery temper. Her scowl, no doubt due to the fact I even exist, let alone the fact that I'm on her doorstep, is quite vicious.

"Well, Officer Valentine, I seem to have a slight problem. I thought you might be able to help me. I was, well, babysitting my friends' fourteen year old daughter, who was deathly ill." My lie is smoother than silk, all the usual signs having long since been trained away. Still, I know that she knows I'm lying, and she knows that I know. This is just how the game is played. I even added a bit of embarrassment that the average 25 year old would feel at having to babysit a teenager. It's entirely false, I assure you.

"And this has anything to do with me, why?" Well, at least she's playing along, somewhat. This is better than the last time we met, but that's a story for another time.

"Well, you see, I went to check on her about an hour ago, see if she had changed her bandages and taken her medicine. Imagine my surprise when I discover a seemingly healthy girl, who instead of lying in bed, was standing in the corner; a girl who was eating her cat alive." The horror on her face, followed shortly by suspicion, is quite gratifying. I can't wait to see her face when she realizes the truth.

"That's horrible! What kind of medicine was she taking?" Curious, her hatred of me is strangely forgotten in this moment. She looks quite beautiful without that scowl on her face. A thought for later I suppose.

"Dear Officer Valentine, I'm quite sure you'll recognize this 'medicine'. You see, she attacked me, and her eyes, which were formerly brown, were blue. A blue I'm quite sure you recognize." Her eyes widened in terrified horror, a realization of this truth. I was right; it was even more gratifying to see her face when she learned the truth.

"Yes, Valentine. The T-virus has leaked into the city, and those monsters are roaming the streets, breaking into houses. I drove past the police station on the way here, and it has fallen, Valentine. All of the cops inside are dead. A few may yet survive, but the station is surrounded, and they are trapped inside. The last Bastion of Justice in Raccoon City has fallen." It actually hurts, seeing the pain in her eyes at this last bit of news. Many of the police in that building were her friends, and now they're all dead or damned. Not a fate I would wish on even a cop.

"I'm sorry, Jill Valentine. If they had known what was coming, they might have been able to survive, but from what I could see, the infected were coming from inside the building. They probably had several infected in the holding cells." For once, my emotions are sincere. I truly feel for her, losing so many people she cared about. Her reaction is a little strange, being both comforted by my pity, and hating me for pitying her. Not surprising, though I don't actually pity her. Concern might be a better word for it. Silently, she opens the door fully, inviting me in. I step past her, the door closing swiftly behind me. The deadbolt slides back into place.

I stride forward several steps, before turning to face her. Instead of crying like most women would, she is locking it away. I wouldn't expect someone like her to cry in front of someone like me. Her eyes are filled with unshed tears, and for now, they will remain unshed. Still, her posture tells me all that I need to know. Her shoulders are slumped, head drooping, in her despair. Her hands and jaw, however, are clenched in her rage. It is hatred so cold it burns. Slowly, this anger takes over her eyes, hardening them into twin gems. I decide now is the time to speak.

"What will you do, Jill Valentine? The city is lost, and with Umbrella in control, no help will be coming. They cannot have what is happening be connected to them, and you and I, being some of the few people left who know the truth, are in grave danger." She looks up, and our eyes meet. The hatred in them is potent, but for once, it isn't directed at me. Her blue eyes are dark now, and harder and clearer than any diamond. She wants revenge, plain and simple. And that is something I whole-heartedly approve of.

"We need to leave. Now, Kingsley!" I'm honestly stunned. I was expecting a bit more of a fight from her on whether we would be escaping together. After all, I'm not sure I could escape alone. I'm not sure anyone could; not even Jill. Compared to the scale of what she went through in the mansion, this is so much worse. But I'm still a criminal, and she's still a cop. I figured she wouldn't be able to even think of working with me, even for survival. I guess that shows just how much I actually know about Valentine.

I nod, face setting into grim determination. Across from me, Jill does the same. In tandem, we both head for her bedroom, with me following. She opens the door, immediately heading towards the closet and throwing it open. She tosses a hiking bag in my direction, which I catch. I leave her to get ready, heading for the kitchen.

I open the cupboards and fridge; packing anything I could get my hands on into the bag. There's no telling how long it could take us to escape, and we'll need supplies. I then open the front pocket on the backpack, stuffing my spare ammo boxes inside. I sling the bag on to my back, tightening the straps. No need for a loose backpack; it could just get me killed. A professional equipment strap goes across my chest, shoulders, back, and waist. Hope, a flashlight, and my survival knife are all buckled into holsters attached to the strap.

I turn at the sound of Jill returning from her room. She's dressed in her S.T.A.R.S uniform, which consists of black cargo pants, a blue, button up shirt with shoulder armor, and a blue beret. An equipment strap similar to my own is attached to her shoulders, back, and waist. Black combat boots, no doubt steel toed, finish this ensemble off.

Aside from the green Hiking Backpack and equipment strap, I'm also wearing combat boots, my own cargo pants, also black, and a green jacket. All of this, for both of us, has armor of one sort or another in it. Honestly, we're as ready as we'll ever be.

I switch out my special rounds for regular handgun ammo, and then we're off. I follow Jill, only a step behind her and to the right. Doors blur past as we race down the hallway, staying as silent as we possibly can at this pace. We take the stairs swiftly, heading to the ground floor. Above, a scream of fear and agony rings out, followed by moans of hunger and animalistic snarls of anger. I look to Jill, who looks about ready to rush back upstairs and help whoever it is.

"Jill, don't. They've already been bit; it's too late for them. We need to get moving." Despite what I said, and fully agreeing with me, Jill is torn. For five years she has been trained to help and protect the people of this city. It doesn't surprise me that her first instinct was to rush blindly in to help them. Still, eventually we get moving again. We reach the first floor, and I jerk back as we come into the lobby.

In the lobby/mail room there are at least five infected. And unfortunately, they're between the door and us. Jill and I both pause, unsure if we should waste the ammo taking them out, or just slip around them. Then, I notice something by the mailboxes on the left wall; a red barrel, filled with gasoline sits neatly beside the mailboxes. I gesture silently to it, drawing Jill's attention to the barrel. She is briefly confused, before her eyes widen in recognition. She smiles, and it is both mischievous and malicious; I feel a shiver run down my spine.

She raises her left hand, holding three fingers up, while her right hand quietly draws her pistol. It's a gun I recognize instantly. The Berretta 92FS; the model she's holding was something designed and modified by the Kendo gun shop, made especially for S.T.A.R.S. The Samurai Edge; a nasty, powerful handgun designed to be able to switch between police work and military work. It's capable of using the standard police 9mm parabellum rounds, designed to bring someone down alive, and the regular rounds designed for killing.

I tense, getting ready to run. As the first finger ticks down, I wonder about the sanity of this. Mere hours ago, I would have punched anyone stupid enough to inform me I would be working with a cop willingly. How this came about is still beyond me. As the second finger ticks down, I holster my gun, Hope. No need to lose it in what is to follow. As the final finger ticks down, I spring forward, crossing the entire lobby in five steps. Jill is right behind me, pivoting on one heel, gun coming up; all of this happens in one smooth motion. She squeezes a single shot off.

My right arm shoots out, grabbing Jill around the waist. I leap, pulling her with me, as her shot slams into the barrel. For just a second, time seems to freeze; and then we're flying through the front doors, and the world is burning. Fire licks at my entire body, heat searing my very bones; I can hear, for just a second, the sound of the bricks cracking under the pressure and heat they attempted to contain. And then the entire front of the Clearwater Apartment Complex explodes outward, and Jill and I are tumbling through the air, pulled apart.

We both hit the ground rolling, well-trained instincts telling us to soften the impact with the ground. I'm on my feet first, my 'occupation' granting me an unreal lightness on my feet. Jill is quick to follow my example. For a moment, we just stare at Jill's apartment. The entire building is on fire, and the moans of the undead ring out as they finally die. I'm glad not to hear any screams from the living. Killing innocent civilians might be what it takes to break Jill. And that, strangely enough, isn't something I want to see. The power and will that this woman exhibits intrigues me.

"Well, that went well." I inject a little brevity into my voice; humor might very well keep the both of us from breaking down. Jill just smiles, and there's a trace of sadness mixed with many other emotions in her gaze. Fire reflects from her eyes; the burning ruins of her home for the last 5 years. She turned to leave, and I followed after her. We walked for several minutes, and finally Jill shook herself out of her depression. I'm a little relieved. I could feel eyes on us, and it's an uncomfortable feeling. Especially when Jill is distracted and only one of us is in any real condition to fight off the monsters infesting this city.

A hungry moan rings out from behind us. I turn to put the monster down, when its keening moan is echoed by several others to our left and right. I look to Jill for just a moment, and then we're both running. The creatures howl, the thrill of the chase no doubt filling them. I can practically feel their anticipation of a meal. More and more creatures join in from the sides, spilling out of side allies into the main ally that Jill and I are in. Our feet beat a staccato beat as we flee, and I can hear my heart racing in my chest, the blood pounding through my body. And then I see it. A single door lies at the end of the alley. I pull ahead of Jill, lower my shoulder, and slam straight into the door at full speed. For just a second, the door holds, and fear strikes my heart like cold steel. In the next second, the shrieking of tearing metal rings out as the lock is ripped right from the door.

Neither Jill nor I pause to try to close the door. The lock is busted, and the monsters are right on our heels. We speed up, adrenaline pushing our bodies past their normal limits. We run, taking turn after turn, the entire world seemingly blurring. The monsters steadily fall back, rigor mortis having made them incapable of actually running. We finally find another door, leading into what appears to be a warehouse. We burst through, quickly shutting the door behind us. Jill leans against the door, panting. Beyond it, I can hear the monsters catching up.

"Jill! We need to barricade the door!" She catches on quickly, and together we lift a load of pallets, dropping them in front of the door. We steadily stack them higher, piling everything we can reach in front of the door. By this time the creatures are pounding on the door. It shivers, but the barricade doesn't even move. I sigh in relief, collapsing on the floor in exhaustion. Taking a look at my watch, my sigh turns to one of frustration and disbelief. It's only been ten minutes since we left Jill's apartment. I can't help but think that it's going to be a long night.

We eventually decided to stay the night in the warehouse we had escaped to. First, though, was checking for any problems. There are only two doors in this building, and no windows on the ground floor. The walls are sturdy and living or dead; we're the only ones here. It would be terrible to wake up with a monster chewing on me after finally getting to sleep.

Finally, we settle on sleeping in the office on the second floor. Going out at night wouldn't be a good idea. Or at least, that was the idea. For some reason, I can't seem to sleep. It's already been two hours, and I just gave up half an hour ago. Though from what I can see of Jill in the dark, she's having just as much trouble as I am. She actually got to sleep, but she seems to be suffering from nightmares. I glance around, deciding not to wake her. Troubled sleep is better than no sleep at all. The office is a dreary place, much like the warehouse it overlooks. The paint on the walls is old and faded, the tile floor is covered in a layerr of dirt and dust, and I can't see the original color of the tiles. Paperwork covers all the counters, and boxes litter the room. The place is a mess, but it's safe.

It was at this moment that Jill awoke, shooting up with a gasp. Her blue eyes darted around the room, searching for something. Sweat beaded her face, and her hair was soaked with it. Evidently, her nightmare became too much. I suspect she was dreaming of the Spencer Mansion. It wouldn't surprise me, this Outbreak bringing back memories of that cursed mansion.

"Jill, are you alright?" I decide to speak up, but I keep my concern from infecting my voice. My tone is cold, and lacks inflection. Just the way I like it. Somehow, Jill has managed to bring a little emotion out of me on several occasions tonight. It cannot be allowed to happen again.

"I'm fine!" Apparently she agrees, for her response is heated. Her eyes focus on me with a fiery glare. I offer up an icy smirk in response. We are polar opposites in every way, and that has never been more apparent to me than it is now. We are Cop and Criminal, Fire and Ice, Heaven and Hell. How we are going to get along long enough to escape is beyond me.

"Of course you are, Valentine." Her anger fades, and a strange curiosity seem to take its place.

"Why can't you decide what you want to call me?" Of all the questions she could have asked, that one caught me off guard. I stop to think about the question. Why can't I decide on one mode of address for her? I conclude that the way I address her changes with the situation. Now, should I answer her question?

"I do it because it confuses you." I answer, just as her impatience nearly overtakes her. Frustration fills its place at my answer. I decided to answer her question, but I don't have to be honest or polite about it.

"I hate talking to you, Criminal. You speak, always with the mockery and vague answers. Why can't you just tell me the truth for once in your retched life?" I scowl, anger flooding me. She would demand honesty from me? And to address me by that title! This woman has some nerve.

"You have guts, Officer; calling me criminal, with your history. You still have that title, Master of Unlocking? Of course you do." Now she's the one who's angry. Arctic satisfaction fills me at her volcanic rage. Dear Jill doesn't like the past being brought up, it would seem.

"Don't talk about that! It's in the past, where it belongs!" My smirk is frigid, even as cold hate fills me. Deny the past, will she? Maybe she needs a little reminder.

"You can't escape who you were, Valentine. The past is set in stone. Believe me, I wish it wasn't. Otherwise, I never would have confided in you!" Oh, such a delightful expression of hurt. Jill and I used to be friends, when we were children, you see. This carried on all the way to the age of 15. I had already been abandoned by my parents, and had turned to stealing. Well, Jill's father was a cop, and she inherited his moral system. She caught me at stealing, and reported me. Me! Her best friend!

Things were never the same after that. It's such a shame. We used to be such good friends, too. Not an easy task as a teenager. Unfortunately, upholding the law seemed to be more important to Jill than me eating. Some of us don't have parents looking out for us, even to this day! She doesn't even have to worry about their safety, since her parents have long since retired to their summer home in the mountains.

I take a deep breath, letting the rhythmic sound calm my rage. When I open my eyes, they are the same detached, blank slate that I see in the mirror every morning. I settle my face into a blank expression, allowing all emotion to seep out of me.

"I apologize for my harsh words, Officer Valentine. If we wish to escape with our lives, we must at the very least get along." My voice is cold and detached something I have long practiced. Talking with Jill has a habit of pissing me off in ways that nothing else can. I feel a small pang of guilt at the expression of hurt on Jill's face. I ignore it, as I always have. The past, as she so accurately stated, is the past. With that, and to perhaps escape my guilt, I rolled over. Sleep, unfortunately, would not claim me for several more hours. Still, we did not speak for the rest of the night.

The next morning

September 28, 1998

"Joseph!" I stirred. That sounded like Jill; the 15-year-old Jill, not 24 year old Jill. Her voice sounds so far away, though. She sounds like she's speaking through a long tunnel.

"Jill…" I groan. Why is Jill bothering me when I'm so tired? She knows not to wake me up so early.

"Joseph!" My eyes snap open. Jill is leaning over me. For just a moment, the younger Jill seems to overlap the older one. In this brief moment of weakness and incoherency, I reach up. My hand brushes Jill's bangs aside, just like old times. I favor her with my warmest smile, but my mind is slowly clearing up. The image of young Jill fades away, and my eyes behold older Jill, my enemy and ally of circumstance. Her blue eyes are wide in shock, and a faint blush paints her cheeks.

She jerks away, just as I jerk back. I shake my head, and it clears a little more. Dammit! Last night's argument is bringing back far too many memories! I briefly level a glare at Jill, but drop it just as quickly. There is no point in being angry with Jill; it's not like she did this on purpose. I sigh, standing up slowly. I glance over at Jill; she's standing on the other side of the room now, arms crossed over in some parody of a hug. Her cheeks are still red with blush, but her eyes are dull. I can tell she is reminiscing. Unfortunately, we don't have time for that.

"Jill." She looks up, almost startled. I resist the urge to frown; I seem to have begun referring to her by her first name again.

"Let's get ready to leave." She merely nods, her eyes still a little glazed. We prepare a small breakfast of canned foods and drink, or namely, junk. Soda and canned peaches are the order of the day, it would seem. We finish up, leaving the trash where it lays. Not like it really matters, considering what has happened to this city. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to straighten it and flatten it out simultaneously. I'm only partially successful. I brush this off; we don't have time for such trivial things as hair care right now. Jill seems to have given up as well, I observe. I lift the hiking bag, which carries most of our supplies, and strap it on tightly. It's time to leave.

We leave the Office, Jill grabbing a key to the back door on our way out. I glance at our barricade, which has actually held all throughout the night. The door, above the barricade, has a hole in it. An arm, bloody and torn, hangs limply in the door. The remains of a brown jacket cover it. I don't point this out to Jill. I suspect that to be the arm of a survivor.

Jill unlocks the back door, opening it silently. She draws her gun, and I follow suit. We move cautiously, setting off down a narrow back alley. We step carefully over the body of a young woman; she appears to have died sometime in the night. Blond hair is matted with blood, and her clothes are torn. Bite marks litter her entire body. Just as I'm stepping over her, her arm shoots up and grabs my leg! I prepare to shoot just as she looks up; her eyes are green, and still human. I frown, just as Jill turns around to see what's going on.

"Please…kill me." Her breath rattles, her voice quavering. Tears leak from her eyes. Jill gasps, and even I'm a little shocked. But a part of me understands. This girl wants the pain to end. She wants to die a human, rather than live as an undead monster. I favor her with my gentlest, most melancholy smile. Her lips twitch into something vaguely resembling a relieved smile.

"I'll do anything for a pretty girl." I say, lining Hope up with her head. She closes her eyes, and I pull the trigger. She drops silently back to the ground, blood leaking from her head. I absently replace the spent bullet, turning to face Jill. Jill looks as if she wants to cry, but I can see that she to understand. Silently, we move on, mourning the woman we left behind.

I shake myself, placing what happened into the back of my mind. I can dwell on this later, when I don't have monsters trying to eat me. We are in a side alley now. To my left is a dead end, with a single door in the wall. To my right is a street. The alley is filled with corpses, some leaning against walls, others on the ground. The stench or rot and death hang heavily in the air.

Jill brings her gun in, pulling it up close. She is tense, ready to spring. I take the hint, bringing Hope up. We pass two of the corpses, and nothing happens. Jill is still tense, so I keep myself at the ready. Jill has survived through something like this before, so I'll trust her instincts.

A moan filled with unholy hunger rings out ahead of us. The corpses behind us answer, rising stiffly to their feet. I spin around, putting my back to Jill's. The two monsters, Infected, are on their feet, and have already focused on me. I take aim at the closest one, which is on my left. It, previously a he, is already in at an advanced stage of rot. Its lips are torn, exposing its teeth, which are jagged and broken. They are stained with blood. It lets out a snarl of predatory rage, lunging with hands outstretched, fingers curled like claws. Absently, I notice that all of the monsters I've met so far attack in the exact same manner. Hope lets out a muffled roar, a single shot singing as it tears through the air, piercing through the Infected. As it drops, I let a second shot loose, putting another hole in its head. It smacks against the ground with a meaty thump. Behind me, Jill lets off two shots in rapid succession. I turn to focus on the other monster, even as the one Jill killed crashes limply against the ground. I squeeze out two more shots, both tearing through the Infected. I scan the alleyway, noticing that it is empty.

"We should get moving, Joseph." I nod, following after Jill. I stick close, not wanting to end up separated. That's the last thing I need happening, after all. Surviving on my own might very well is impossible. I practically walk on Jill's heels as we move through the city; killing several more infected that get in our way. We come across a pair of zombies, feeding on the body of a man. His body is still shaking; he has died very recently. Jill notices this as well, and takes aim at the pair. I can see the anger in her eyes as she takes aim. She squeezes the trigger twice and the infected drop where they kneel.

We approach the fallen man, even as blood pools under the Infected that Jill killed. He is middle aged, with balding gray hair and a paunch. His mouth is open, the scream contained within long gone. His face is frozen in an expression of horror and agony. Huge chunks of his flesh are torn off, blood gushing from his still twitching body. Even as we watch, the twitches begin to fade, his body stilling in death. Jill closes her eyes in grief, placing her gun to his head. She pulls the trigger, splattering his brains all over the concrete beneath him, ensuring he never rises in undeath. She slides her hand over his faces, closing his eyes and mouth.

We move on, silent. Several more infected cross our path, but they are easily dealt with. Finally, we reach a small back alley. It forks, one path heading forward. This path will take us back to the warehouse we spent the night in. The second path heads to the right, in the direction of the police station. And on our left, is a door. It is this that draws my attention. Behind the door, the sound of scuffling emanates. Jill and I share a glance, an entire conversation passing between us. We move to the door, Jill taking up position on the right side and I on the left. Our eyes meet, and she nods. I grasp the handle, turning it. The door bursts open! I leap back in shock and surprise, Jill doing the same across from me. A man in a yellow vest comes tearing out of the now open door, not even pausing to take note of us. He flees down the second path, his face twisted in fear and pain. I notice, even as he grows more distant, the bloodstains marring his yellow vest and camouflage cargo pants.

The groans of the Infected draw my attention back to the door. Out of the open door, multiple Infected spill forth, the stench of rot preceding them. I swallow down my revulsion, taking careful aim. The Infected never know what hit them, as Jill and I cautiously unload on them in crossfire from both sides, careful to not hit each other in the process. As I count, seven fresh corpses lie on the ground, blood pooling under them, the blood dark and thick. The blood has already coagulated.

I cautiously step over them, heading into the room they appeared from. My gun is drawn as I turn right, walking down the dank, mold covered staircase. The lighting is poor, and I feel my paranoia increase even as I reach the bottom. The reassuring sound of Jill's boots behind and above me soothes my nerves slightly. I tread lightly, turning through the arch like door on my left.

I'm lucky my gun is already drawn, because an Infected latches onto me, its hands gripping me with bruising force on my upper arms. It's rotten, rank breath washes over my face even as I pull the trigger, shooting it straight in the heart. The bullet tears clean through and exits in a bloody, violent torrent from the Infecteds back. It staggers back from the force, but comes right back at me. I feel, for a single moment, the despair of fighting a monster who doesn't die even when shot through the heart. 'I'm going to die,' I can't help but think.

The Infecteds head explodes in a splatter of blood and brains, and I know now that Jill has literally saved my life from certain death. A rush of gratitude and affection fills me, but I bite back on it. I turn to thank her, and some of what I'm feeling must be showing through my emotional mask, because her expression softens.

"Thank you, Jill." A simple sentence, but the emotion and meaning behind it is as immense and deep as the ocean. She favors me with a smile that is blinding in its beauty, and I'm reminded all over again of things I would rather forget. This is why I've avoided her over the years. She makes me human.

"You're welcome, Joseph."

Author's notes: I decided to end things here. Honestly, while I know where I'm going with this story, I'm having a little trouble typing it up. This is the first story I've really shown to other people in years. Anyway, please leave a review. Thank you!