Torn Wings
Chapter I — Hearts ripped off their chests.
March 15th, 2017.
She deeply stares into her reflection, her brown eyes distill doubt as they land in a folder stuffed with vague documents, photographs and her own notes. It held all she could gather about her target: agent Leon Scott Kennedy.
The woman slowly stands up, giving one last look at the image before her: an identity nobody was allowed to know about. With sour affection, she quietly whispers her name, a ritual made to assure she does not forget.
Once her young features are covered by a detailed golden mask, she knows it's time. A long black coat conceals her silhouette, the suitcase in her right hand carries everything she needs for the encounter.
She looks one last time at the mirror, this time as Seven, the mercenary.
Half past eight in the afternoon, the shy mantle of night kindly covered the sky of a drizzly Wednesday. Under the cold of rainwater sat the now 39 years old agent and beside him, two empty bottles; its glass engraved with an expensive brand name.
Soaked in bitterness, with coppery locks sticking to his aging face, Leon S. Kennedy spends his last vacation week by drinking on his own; a habit he cultivated over the past 19 years. He stares at the greenery around him with resentment; after a week of frequenting the park, he had already grown tired of it.
To his right lays a third bottle, its last quarter of liquor waves as he lifts it; Leon gives the drink a long stare, wrinkles his nose and swallows it in one go.
—Three bottles in and still far from passing out… great —he growls, his voice drags seasoned with frustration. Without any alcohol remaining, all he is left to drown in is his sorrow.
Tossing the frail bottle from one hand to the other, Leon centers his gaze on the nearest trash can and, filled with confidence, throws it in. A scoff bursts through his lips as he watches it perfectly land inside, glass shattering as it hit the metal bottom of the bin.
—Pretty sober if you ask me! —he fakes a laugh and searches for the phone stored on his back pocket —Call me already… —his voice cracks, no messages left for him to read.
He bobs his head sideways, and contemplates the scenery; seemingly immune to the cold rain. Leon taps his nails against the wooden seat, his left hand still holding the silent phone. He looks at it once more and sighs, putting the device back on his pocket and bending forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
—Fuck this… fuck having nothing else to do than failing at wasting myself. Just get me back to work… —he whines, dragging his heavy hand down his face.
His cries echoed through the park to find no answer; there were no cars or distant voices… nothing for background to his laments. A cold statement of his loneliness.
Leon put himself back on his feet, stumbling slightly as he reached for his car keys.
«I'll just sleep in the car until I sober up, I guess.» he thinks to himself, unknowingly heading towards a twist of fate.
Posed on a sturdy tree hid a small and dark figure; she centers the crosshairs on his neck and holds her breath, this is not a job she was sure about taking, but there was no going back now. Pulling the trigger at the right time, the mercenary lands her shot. At the feel of a needle, Leon turns his head on her direction, his blue eyes find hers as he attempts to reach for his handgun. His field of view shrinks quickly, he can't hear anything as he falls face down: darkness takes over.
The masked female rushes in his direction. Placing his arm around her shoulders, she swiftly picks up and hides Leon's keys inside a tree. Under the adrenaline rush, she hastily heads to her van and places the heavy man on the passenger's seat; once he's buckled up she releases herself from mask and coat. Seven sits beside the unconscious agent, giving herself the time to catch her breath, still shaken by the man's ability to locate her despite being drunk.
«Wasn't his handgun holstered, he could have shot me » She takes away his two pistols and phone, despite looking so calm on his sleep he was a force to reckon.
—Target successfully secured, proceed to cover up —she informs through the radio and her car vanishes into the night.
It took awhile for Leon to wake up, only to find himself restrained on a metallic chair. The blonde rolls his eyes and scans the place: a set of stairs laid five meters in front of him, there were no windows and the room was heavily illuminated; a round table with various items sat at the center of the room between him and the stairs; finally, he could see wires of electrodes stuck to sensitive spots of his entire body.
«Great, they put these everywhere» he glowers at the sight of a wire entering through his pants' zipper.
Coming to terms with the situation, Leon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. In an attempt to empty his mind and prevent himself to succumb to both alcohol and torture, he reviews his current options.
«I can't break these restraints, if it was some worn off chain I'd be back on my feet, but it's a metal chair with bracelets holding even my neck and waist in place. If they did so much as to pick a good way to keep me from escaping, it's obvious to imagine this whole place was made for interrogation.»
As he kept his mind busy with the details of the room, the sound of heels against the concrete stairs announce the entrance of his captor. It was a woman of small frame wearing a short black dress, her face hidden behind a golden, ornamented mask. She stands before him, his eyes nonchalantly examine what's visible of her.
—'Bout time you showed up. Thought you were all touch 'n go after placing these—he mocks, immediately shaken by a painful jolt of electricity.
«Bitch» he shoots a glare at her.
—It looked like you craved company, so why the long face Mr. Kennedy? —the acute ring to her voice surprised him, he'd expect her to sound older. Contrast to the innocent tone, her words were clearly aiming for his heart.
—Sorry baby, but I've got my heart toyed with before, your "mind tricks" won't work. Now, be a good girl and let me go? I was in the middle of my vacations —he jokes, his voice was calm but clearly rubbed with alcohol.
«Smartass» she frowns under her facade.
—You're quite confident with words I see… However, I doubt you'd want to be back to doing nothing except killing neurons with alcohol so, let's get you some… action, shall we? —Seven chuckles, pressing a button, Leon jerks his body within the restraints and lets out a grunt.
«She's also shocking my dick for fuck's sake!» he gasps for air, trying to recover from the pain.
—What the hell do you want?! —Leon growls, his patience quickly washed away. The woman sits on the table and looks down on him.
—Oh, you're angry? —she teases, satisfied by her small revenge —Do you not like electricity?
—Cut the bullshit! Who sent you?!
Seven lets out a cruel chuckle, the agent looked fiercely into her brown eyes. Out of everything, it had to be yet another woman. He knew them to be deceitful, dangerous and worst of all: his weakness. Under the influence of alcohol as he was, Leon could still tell her dress was made to seduce.
As she walked away, he gives her one last glare and, before he could proceed to perhaps sleep, an electrical shock scoots him back to consciousness.
—It's gonna be a loooong night…
Upstairs, the mercenary rid herself of the mask. Long hair waved freely as she took a seat at her bed; the cozy cabin facade contrasted heavily with the basement's gray and cold atmosphere. On a night table beside her sat Leon's phone, a gadget connected to it read "Hacking — 0,5% complete". Its constant beeping became ambience for the woman's thoughts.
«His records indicate the missions he's sent to have a high casualty rate, but I was unable to find anything on where and what he's been doing for the government. Target 2 is a similar case, I've got nothing but name and picture on him. Maybe they're spies?»
Seven sighs in defeat and walks towards the cabin's small kitchen. She had supplied herself only with junk, perhaps accustomed lived commissions.
Unlike past contracts, she had to deal with someone whose intentions weren't clear: Kennedy wasn't a big black market dealer, nor was he a mercenary, he was an agent. He could be anything from an asset to society to a global menace, and because of his relationship to the government, everything about him was carefully protected.
«Wasn't it for the pictures they gave me, I'd have nothing on him. And even those were quite old.»
Numbers were the operation's only appeal. With such amount, plenty of the issues with the asylum she was a contributor of could be quickly fixed. It was a modest place for survivors of biological experimentation who had no way of reintegrating with society due to physical deformation, but were human enough to retain consciousness. Because of legislation, their existence is kept secret, and being only a dozen of them made matters easier to conceal. Tragically, most of those who fall victim to illegal activities like bioengineering, never make it back to a decent human life, whether researcher, guinea pig or soldier, they were all the same under the eyes of the leaders behind these organizations.
Numbers were also the reason Seven's work was protected from the government despite her suspicious activities. As long as she kept her identity concealed and silenced those who could filter information about the asylum, their higher ups would turn a blind eye on her
«My contractors are currently based somewhere in Europe, yet their targets are both american. Little information is public about them, and plenty of it comes directly from them… all they needed was someone to get their hands dirty for them, but they didn't order me to kill...»
The young woman lightly bites her thumb, squinting her eyes as she looks through the kitchen's window. A green forest surrounds the cabin, the gentle drizzle softly distillates over the landscape, filling the air with the fresh aroma of earth. It eases Seven's mind and sharpens her thoughts.
«If they're related to any form of bioterrorism… this might be a way to have me as a scapegoat. But why choose me?»
While in thought, the mercenary slowly prepares her dinner: a simple burger. The crackling of oil mixes with the sound of distant thunders, Seven lifts her eyes for a second and sees her face again, her chest tightens.
«What goes around, comes around…»
She smiles, pained, the beeping of her radio making her jump out of her thoughts. A male voice on the other side greets her, a hint of spanish accent leaks through his words.
—Status on the target? —he asks.
—Target 1 restrained, target 2's location still unknown. Give it some days.
—The clock is ticking, Seven. Try getting that answer fast.
—We have a contract, don't tell me how to do my job —she groans, angrily shutting the radio off.
The mercenary bites her thumb again, the sound of boiling oil and frying meat become distant as she sinks back in thought, a growing concern haunts her, as if Death's claws curled around her neck. She hadn't been able to shake off the sensation for the past two days, ever since she began following Leon's movements. His location already determined by her contractor, a bother no employer had ever taken when hiring her.
«As soon as I have the intel… do I become a target?»
With her meal ready, the woman goes back to her bed. Beside the cold pillow rests an old newspaper. She takes it with delicacy, her coffee gaze hovering over the text. Every printed word triggers a memory, a pain in her chest she could never let go. It was the poison of guilt, her way to pay for her sins and a grim reminder that she had no right to happiness.
«While I'd deserve to die… » she holds her handgun, pointing it at her chest, her heart pounds loudly under the muzzle, afraid of the bullet within its barrel «Why do I want to live?»
The mere idea of being involved in something bigger than her underdog job terrified her. The slight chance of being exposed to the justice system haunted her ever since; yet she was never able to shoot, and so she puts her weapon on a night table, taps her leg to check for her knives and resigns herself to eat. The sound of rain was her only companion.
March 16th, 2017.
The next morning comes, rain pours outside while Leon, roughly able to tell how long he had been sitting there, kept his eyes locked in a blank spot. The headaches and nausea from yesterday's bottles made themselves home in his tired body, tingling in unison to the painful burns from the electric shocks. His training proves useful as he maintains any hopes of escaping or surviving at zero, giving him all the tools to withstand torture and hold the valuable information in his brain.
Suddenly the door to his chamber opens, the familiar sound of heels approaching tests his nerves, he chooses to remain in control.
—Good morning —he greets, lifting his eyes in her direction. She stops in her tracks, almost with surprise, her masked face stares back at him, no emotions can be read through its thick material.
—...You counted the seconds for the shocks, I see —she observes, impressed.
«To make him loose sense of time I need a heavier distraction.»
—Yeah, you know, not much to do here after all, had to find myself a little game.
The woman walks towards the device and makes some adjustments before pausing it. Leon's sore muscles relax for a minute. She sits on the table and holds her long fingers over the trigger button, the agent scans her movements, trying to read through the dress' tight fabric and the mask' thick ceramic. While curves shaped her figure, she wasn't built lightly, making it clear she was a fighter. On the other hand, the intricate decorations and stones on her mask gave it an expensive and personalized look. He notices a sheathed knife on her right thigh, it sat silently at the top of her long legs. Perhaps betraying concerns about her personal safety, which weren't enough for her to bring a gun.
«She has a bit of an accent… perhaps a latina, for what I can see of her skin» he analyzes his opponent, experience exudates from his thought process as the woman crosses her left leg over the other. «She's unlikely to be american, then… is she willingly cooperating or… forced to? Which one...»
—Michael Black —she says, Leon's eyes shoot a glare at hers —two weeks ago it was your mission to escort him back to safety.
The agent remains silent, blood boiling under his skin. His mind travels back in time and hammers him with the solid image of his comrades falling one by one, until only the two of them stand. Seven jumps down from the table and places a hand under Leon's chin, he maintains his silence as their eyes meet. Both of them trying to read the other's mind in a race for truth.
—I was wondering what it takes to make an experienced man lose his mind, and I think I have the answer —she lets her hand trail the skin of his neck, Leon makes no efforts to resist her doing. Instead, he empties his mind, or so he thinks before feeling her small hand occluding his trachea.
Their eyes don't drift away from the other's, as she makes an effort to make it hurt Leon stands his ground. The intense exchange finishes, making the blonde cough and gasp for air, moaning in pain as the woman took a few steps back.
—Is that all? —Leon teases, his voice strained. She begins pacing around him, unsheathing her knife. The mercenary stops behind him, one hand crawls through his chest, her masked face sits beside his as her other hand holds the knife parallel to his yugular.
—I was told to retrieve information on his whereabouts… —she whispers, the blade slowly lays on his skin, Leon swallows heavily, his senses seemingly dulled by alcohol.
He listens to her attentively and realizes her cold hand dives lower. His heart jumps and his muscles shrink under her touch, soon he feels the blade cut through his skin, and the tingling sensation alongside it puts the agent in full alert.
«Poison?!»
—Do you know about the "truth serum"? —her inquire startles him, he begins to feel as if alcohol was taking over his brain again.
«She drugged the blade?»
—Why do you work for people like them? —he hisses at the feel of the cold edge, she hovers it over the burning wound —In my experience, people like you are puppets. If there's at least a little bit of brains under that mask of yours, maybe you'd realize having the information I have puts you in the radar too.
In an attempt to throw the woman off he jerks his head sideways, making her pull back at the menace of losing her mask. She clicks her tongue and sheathes the blade.
—I know that, that's why I wear this —she replies, walking towards the table. Arms crossed, she rests her weight on it.
—Why are women like this… —he blabbers, the effects of the drug settle in —I don't-
—Michael Black —she interrupts, the agent lets out a laugh.
«The drug isn't that reliable if all it's gonna do is make him talk… but maybe there's some benefit in knowing who the hell are these people»
—Whatever Missy Masky. I don't want to give you that information so I won't, I'm tired of women using me to get whatever they want, go fuck another man's life and leave me alone.
Out of patience, the mercenary throws a heavy fist at his face, Leon moans in pain and frowns at the sight of her.
—That's not what I asked. Where's Michael Black, where is he hiding?
—I made a choice. Every time I've given what I was asked to give, a lot of people died. Is that what you want? People to die for your egoism? Kill me for all I care.
In the back of his mind, memories of Sherry, Claire, Ashley and Helena surface. Innocents he once swore to protect as a police officer, people he couldn't save from the evil within this world. They were fuel to his empty life of fighting. Preventing civilians to be trapped like him was everything he fought for, dreams were no longer a part of his daily life.
—Whatever made you take this kinda job, I don't care, but you're down for some hell if you get yourself involved with this shit. You wouldn't be the first young woman dragged into it either, just let go of this before it's too late.
«What gives, I'm supposed to be your enemy yet you're giving me advice?»
—I don't need too much information to know you're a 40 year old man hitting rock bottom after being used as the government's dog for over a decade.
—I'm 39 —he corrects, a light laugh escapes his captor's lips, making him flinch. For an instant, both of them stare at each other, the heavy air becomes light, Leon's voice softens —Don't do this to yourself.
—Do what? Kill people? Too late. I've killed many… I was paid to. You're here because of money as well, so, nothing personal.
—Yeah well I have something to say about how "personal" you've gotten here —he replies, alluding to the invasive electrodes planted on him.
—Don't you think I'm waist-deep already? —the genuinity of her words leave Leon confused. Under the effects of a drug that pushed for him to talk, the agent doesn't allow silence to settle.
—Well let's say I can pay you more than them. Do we have a deal? —he teases. Seven allows herself to laugh.
—Sadly, I have a reputation to maintain. I can't switch sides so easily, unless I've been betrayed.
—Well, I sure hope they betray you because I'm getting a little bit tired of this.
—You can always talk your way out of it.
«Does she ever give up?»
Pushing a button, the girl opens a console hidden within the table's surface. As it unfolds a set of controls Leon's attention gets caught by the sound of liquid circulating above him. He swallows in anticipation and locks his sight on her, getting hit by the freezing water he jerks his entire weight within the restraints and lets out a pained grunt. The shackles hurt his already bruised skin, the water resurrects the painful burns of the electric shocks he had received earlier. Water pours violently and heavily above him, vaguely leaving openings for him to catch his breath. Seven watches the liquid wash away through the drain under Leon's seat, mercilessly allowing the man to cough and choke before her. Minutes after, she stops, not before lowering the room's temperature.
—Yeah thanks for the bath, I needed it —he bluffs, clearly agitated.
—Why is Michael Black coveted by so many? —her inquire startles him.
«Does she… not know? And there's more after him? We're in danger...»
Leon remains silent for some minutes, the woman patiently awaits his answer.
—What do I get if I tell you?
—Information first, decisions later.
The blonde bites his lip, indecisive he finally settles with silence. It was quiet for some minutes, the mercenary shrank in her position, making it clear she was feeling cold too. Leon opens his mouth again.
—Not lending you my jacket—he says, the girl rolls her eyes and proceeds to walk away, probably pushed by the low temperature of the room.
As she reaches the top of the stairs, Leon makes one last comment.
—You're not bringing me a blanket, are you?
—Maybe if you ask nicely —she answers, the heavy door to the basement closes, and Leon is left alone to the sound of water dripping from his body. His mind filled with a wreckage of thoughts due to the drug's intense effect.
Upstairs, Seven receives another call. She answers without motivation, resting her back against the thick basement door.
—Seven, Rogers is missing —informs one of her few subordinates, her heart stops for a second.
—Any theories? —she inquiries. Contrast to her heart's loud pounding, her voice sounds stern.
—Lawrence went to hunt him down, we believe he's been abducted. In any case, I'd recommend you take care from now on, I don't trust he'd stay quiet about your location, especially after what happened two weeks ago.
—Copy that, you too take care, we need to identify the root of this issue as soon as possible. To discard our contractors, try locating them.
—Roger. Forrest out.
As communication ceases, she rubs her temples with her left hand, letting out a loud sigh.
—Now what?
A beeping sound calls for her attention, she runs back to her dormitory to find Leon's phone unlocked. Her heart pounds loudly as she takes it, the feeling of being trapped slowly began to overwhelm her.
«If he didn't deserve this...» she closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath «I'll look through it tomorrow, I need my mind to stay clear»
Down at the basement, Leon battled to keep himself together. Relying on his training, the agent slowly empties his brain, his body trembling under the embrace of freezing air. He closes his eyes, trying to rest.
Washing the pain away he begins to dream, his heart aches.
March 17th, 2017.
He's alone, slowly turning the key to open his apartment's door. None is there to greet him: no children jumping at him while screaming "dad's home!", no wife's warm embrace. Leon stands there, looking at the ground, wondering when it all went wrong and asking himself why wasn't he given a chance at happiness. The sound of heels approaching make him turn around, and he wakes up.
His eyes slowly raise from her feet to her masked face, emotions and frustration bottle up inside him, consuming all of his patience. Pain throbs through the entirety of both his body and soul.
—Where's my blanket? —he mutters, his body, still drenched, trembled under the restraints.
—Maybe if you ask nicely…
—That blanket needs to lower her standards —he adds sarcastically, the girl lets out a laugh, once again the air felt warm between them.
Seven pulls the phone out of her pocket, a strange device attached to it finished hacking through the software's security. When Leon catches on what she's holding, he screams out a protest.
—Don't!
As information projects in the screen, he averts his gaze, regret floods his brain.
«Should have left it back home»
—As an agent you should always cleanse your phone, especially your work tablet —she comments, scrolling through some images.
There wasn't too much information, but it was enough to make the mercenary frown. All of the images and names remaining on his device were unknown to her, a trademark to the secrecy of Leon's operations. The scarcity of leaks were eating her from inside since the first day she began following Leon's trail, and it had finally caught up with her. Both were being surveilled from Europe, where she thought her contractors would be during her assignment.
The woman takes a deep breath and crosses her arms, resting her weight on the table behind her, Leon tilts his head, trying to peek at her mind.
—The only reason I accepted this job was the good pay, I've put the money to good use —she begins —.It's for an asylum with few residents, they're victims of clandestine biological experimentation under a private party's care. Some organizations experiment on survivors with no account for human rights, so with the excuse of "studied etiology" they're kept to live as normal of a life as they can.
Seven paces around the room, instinctively taping her leg to confirm the presence of her knife, Leon follows her with his eyes, his head was buzzing.
—I suspect they might have discovered my connection to the asylum, somehow —adds the woman, the mere idea made her blood run cold.
—You're not… looking for any research or samples…? —he mutters.
—I'm scum that kills for money, but my circle is full of scum like me whose life or death depends on who's got the thickest wallet. I'm a criminal hired to kill other criminals, I don't really find it appealing to collaborate with terrorists, I'm against the whole idea.
—Could've said that earlier and save me the trouble.
—Sorry, I can't just follow instincts. The fact of the matter is that I had an agent, believe me, the experiments they make on people are talked about a lot… it's not pretty. That's why the asylum is under a private party, as far as I'm aware of.
«Sherry...» memories of her own account about what she went through growing up haunted his mind. For awhile, he questioned the existence of justice.
Leon takes a deep breath, gathering his resolve to finally let go of the fear of betrayal.
—Michael Black is a researcher who worked undercover for Neo-Umbrella. He specializes in developing vaccines to prevent infection of civilians and antiserums for those infected. He also is responsible for biosecurity measures against these attacks, all to prevent Raccoon City from repeating itself. The reason he's wanted? He can single-handedly make the black market obsolete and delay development of new antigens and viruses, even parasites —he suddenly makes a pause, both of them stare at each other as if their thoughts were the same, but before any could talk, the basement's door breaks open with a loud bang. The mercenary pulls out her knife and slowly turns around...