Title: A mercenary's tale (Prologue)
Author: Michael Dunbar
Summary: A personal vendetta takes Xander back to Sunnydale.
Disclaimer: Nothing, I own nothing. Joss owns Buffy. Whoever owns the resident evil tale owns that.
Timeline: After season 6
Spoilers: Season 6
Author's notes: () is thoughts "" is speech. If you spot a line from Res evil (The film) you get a chocolate cookie.
-------------------------------- (Fuck)
The gunshot wounds hurt; a few holes can be seen in his khaki trousers, blood seeps into the cream colour but Xander doesn't notice as he pulls himself back towards the wall, placing himself in a better fighting position. His left leg scrapes the floor and he winces in pain, but remains focused, and his hand remains steady as he takes aim, his index finger on his right hand resting gently over the trigger of his Glock 21.
BOOM
BOOM
The two .45 calibre shots rip through the night air, two of the creatures fall instantly, the top parts of their heads shown to be blown clear off. They follow the several over forms already laden about the solid concrete floor of the room; blood seems to be everywhere that Xander looks and makes him revile slightly.
Xander takes aim again but also clears his head with a shake as he feels dizziness sweep over him.
BOOM
BOOM
Two more of the creatures fall.
Before Xander even presses the trigger he knows that the gun chamber holds no bullets, his 13 rounds had been spent, his stakes are all gone, his holy water all but used up and his legs rendered useless from the buildings internal security system turrets.
Anger sweeps over him and Xander throws the gun as hard as he can, hitting one of the creatures on the head, doing little damage.
"Come on Xander." He whispers to himself "You've been in worse positions"
Xander barks out a laugh when he realises the truth, no he hadn't. He'd never been in as worse a position as he is now, and he'd gone through some serious shit in his time.
The bullet wounds hurt no more, that's one small triumph for him. It's more of a numb feeling he has now, a cold breeze sweeps across him and he shivers slightly as he sees the figures all moving in his direction.
That's one thing; Xander would have never thought he'd go out this way.
Eaten to death by a bunch of zombies.
(I wish I'd have never taken this damn job)
A mercenary's job is to do and obey, for a price. And when this job came along it seemed easy, penetrate the building and save a few vials of a virus, they had told him that a few workers had been contaminated; they just never told him the symptoms. One thing that they definitely forgot to leave out, the damn workers had all turned into mindless zombies wanting nothing more than to rip flesh from flesh and eat it.
One of the zombies is close, within reaching distance, and despite the pain that it causes Xander kicks out sending the beast sprawling into its "co- workers". Pain shoots up his right leg and he winces in response and he tries to ease his breathing somewhat, so he doesn't pass out from a panic attack.
"Wish I had old Stool with me now" he mutters with a smile.
Old stool, as Xander so fondly calls it, is a gun. An adapted MP5 with laser sight and magnesium rounds, they flare up inside whatever they hit and burn the target from the inside out.
A wave of nausea passes over Xander, his head lolls back onto the hard wall behind him and he feels the vomit wanting to rise from his stomach, but he holds it down and raises his head to stare at the creatures getting closer.
Xander reaches for a 6 inch blade in his belt, it might not do much but he wouldn't go out without a fight.
"You're going to have to fight for your lunch today, you bastards"
.
Author: Michael Dunbar
Summary: A personal vendetta takes Xander back to Sunnydale.
Disclaimer: Nothing, I own nothing. Joss owns Buffy. Whoever owns the resident evil tale owns that.
Timeline: After season 6
Spoilers: Season 6
Author's notes: () is thoughts "" is speech. If you spot a line from Res evil (The film) you get a chocolate cookie.
-------------------------------- (Fuck)
The gunshot wounds hurt; a few holes can be seen in his khaki trousers, blood seeps into the cream colour but Xander doesn't notice as he pulls himself back towards the wall, placing himself in a better fighting position. His left leg scrapes the floor and he winces in pain, but remains focused, and his hand remains steady as he takes aim, his index finger on his right hand resting gently over the trigger of his Glock 21.
BOOM
BOOM
The two .45 calibre shots rip through the night air, two of the creatures fall instantly, the top parts of their heads shown to be blown clear off. They follow the several over forms already laden about the solid concrete floor of the room; blood seems to be everywhere that Xander looks and makes him revile slightly.
Xander takes aim again but also clears his head with a shake as he feels dizziness sweep over him.
BOOM
BOOM
Two more of the creatures fall.
Before Xander even presses the trigger he knows that the gun chamber holds no bullets, his 13 rounds had been spent, his stakes are all gone, his holy water all but used up and his legs rendered useless from the buildings internal security system turrets.
Anger sweeps over him and Xander throws the gun as hard as he can, hitting one of the creatures on the head, doing little damage.
"Come on Xander." He whispers to himself "You've been in worse positions"
Xander barks out a laugh when he realises the truth, no he hadn't. He'd never been in as worse a position as he is now, and he'd gone through some serious shit in his time.
The bullet wounds hurt no more, that's one small triumph for him. It's more of a numb feeling he has now, a cold breeze sweeps across him and he shivers slightly as he sees the figures all moving in his direction.
That's one thing; Xander would have never thought he'd go out this way.
Eaten to death by a bunch of zombies.
(I wish I'd have never taken this damn job)
A mercenary's job is to do and obey, for a price. And when this job came along it seemed easy, penetrate the building and save a few vials of a virus, they had told him that a few workers had been contaminated; they just never told him the symptoms. One thing that they definitely forgot to leave out, the damn workers had all turned into mindless zombies wanting nothing more than to rip flesh from flesh and eat it.
One of the zombies is close, within reaching distance, and despite the pain that it causes Xander kicks out sending the beast sprawling into its "co- workers". Pain shoots up his right leg and he winces in response and he tries to ease his breathing somewhat, so he doesn't pass out from a panic attack.
"Wish I had old Stool with me now" he mutters with a smile.
Old stool, as Xander so fondly calls it, is a gun. An adapted MP5 with laser sight and magnesium rounds, they flare up inside whatever they hit and burn the target from the inside out.
A wave of nausea passes over Xander, his head lolls back onto the hard wall behind him and he feels the vomit wanting to rise from his stomach, but he holds it down and raises his head to stare at the creatures getting closer.
Xander reaches for a 6 inch blade in his belt, it might not do much but he wouldn't go out without a fight.
"You're going to have to fight for your lunch today, you bastards"
.