Prologue: Dead On Time
Rain fell heavily from the opaque sky above, the fat droplets splashing repeatedly across the looming asphalt ahead and parched ground around it. The lone road ahead was shrouded in deep darkness, the thick dark clouds above hiding what little light the stars and moon could have provided, the unyielding rain further blackening the already oppressive shroud of this rainy, miserable night. No thunder heralded any lightning to even briefly relieve this bleak night.
Far back down the lone road, a thin light began to approach, just barely, feebly, cutting through the heavy rain and darkness of the night, the rumble of an engine accompanying it. Riding through the night and rain, a crimson blur shoots across the empty road, a single figure mounted on a sleek red motorcycle, their long matching coat flickering through the cold and wet wind, their face hidden under a black helmet, the dark visor set dead ahead, the eyes hidden behind them ignoring the cold and the unending rain drops that made visibility non-existent. Their hands gripped the handlebars tightly, the exposed knuckles of his fingers nearly bone white, his riding gloves along with the rest of his clothes soaked from the seemingly never-ending rain.
Ahead, the darkness began to give away just ever-so slightly, as a series of street lights begin to illuminate the road ahead. The rider's helmeted face turns just a fraction so towards the relief. There, to the right just off the lone road, a gas station, a Mizoil outlet, the logo glowing a bright neon blue.
The rider pulls into the station, slowing their bike to a crawl as they move under the canopy and towards one of the self-service pumps, the one closest to the lone phonebooth to just on the edge of the station. Their right black boot kicking down the stand to support their bike, the rider eased off the cycle, one leg over and they were standing under the canopy in the relatively dryer, if not still moist, air. The rider stood to their full height, rolling their shoulders slowly, a soft sigh issuing at the satisfying pop of his aching joints.
The rider was a tall man, dressed in a long red, twin-tailed leather coat, his pants a matching crimson. His high boots, riding gloves and belt were all black to match the long-sleeved shirt under his red vest. A hint of a silver chain flashed around his neck as his arms moved up, his hands clutching his helmet to ease it off, exposing his long platinum white hair and young, handsome face, his blue eyes partially open as he placed the helmet down on his bike's seat and ran his left hand through his hair, sweeping his bangs out of his line of vision.
The rider glanced down on his bike for a moment, his intense blue gaze wandering from it to the fuel pump, then towards the glass encased phone booth. His left hand slipping into his coat's pocket, the rider started towards the booth, his nose crinkling as his handsome face morphed into a sudden scowl. There was a foul odor in the air, like mildew mixed with spoiled food.
Stepping into the phone booth, closing the door behind him, mostly to cut out the stink from whatever it was rotting the air, the rider's right hand snatched the phone off the hook while his left emerged from his coat, his gloved hand palming a small handful of change. Moving his thumb to sort through the coins, the rider slips them into the payphone's slot and quickly punches in seven digits. Leaning on the payphone, the rider waits as the dial tone hums repeatedly.
"Come on, old timer, pick up." The rider mutters in exasperation.
Relief floods him as he hears a soft click, and a soft, childish voice answers, "Hello?"
"Tikki! Sweetie, is your dad home?" The rider asks jubilantly, his deeper voice somehow resonating the softer girl's childish aspect. "I gotta talk to him real quick."
"Tony? Yeah, Daddy's here. One second."
The line quiets, and Tony hears muffled voices and movement before a new voice answers from the phone, this one deeper than his own, gruffer and roughened with age.
"Tony? What the hell, kid? Why you callin' me so late after disappearing the other night?"
Grinning at the sound of the older man's voice, Tony's reply is easy and casual, "Yeah, sorry 'bout bailing on you before the Shibata job. Was Enzo able to get someone else to help you out, or did you try it solo?"
Grue scoffs on the other line, retorting, "Yeah. He lined me up with another kid with almost as bad an attitude as yours, though not nearly as skilled, 'course. Enzo tried to haggle with the pay, sayin' since you skipped, he should take a larger percentage for his finder's fee."
Tony snorted. "Same old Enzo. Well, I just wanted to say sorry for bailing on such short notice. Got some business to take care of. I'll be back as soon as I sort things out here."
Grue paused for a moment, and Tony wondered if his partner was just mulling over a response, or taking a drag off one of his god-awful cigarettes. Tony hated those things, and his one issue with his partner was being a damn chain-smoker.
"...This about Claire?" Grue finally asked.
Tony's smile dropped and he paused himself, his free fingers rapping the top of the payphone.
"You seemed pretty steamed the other night after you came back from her dorm. I knew you two had an argument, but you didn't say over what."
Sighing, Tony leaned back against the glass wall of the booth, muttering, "She left earlier today. Something about going to see her brother in the next town over. Didn't even take her gear; Elza'd been borrowing it. I just, uh... Just wanna talk to her, y'know? Try to smooth over whatever it is she's upset about."
"You said something stupid again, didn't you? And that's what really set her off," Grue deduced with a deadpan, and Tony found himself scowling as he imagined the older man's smirk, picturing it as easily as he heard it in his words.
"Like hell I did!" Tony snapped back, wincing at the small angry whine he heard in his own voice.
"Uh-huh," replied Grue, sounding as smug as a damn cat with the canary. "Look, Tony, whatever happened's strictly between you two, and none of my business, but here's some advice: apologize."
Tony blinked, looking at the phone incredulously before snapping back, "'Apologize'?! For what?! She's the one that blew up at me over whatever's goin' on with her cop brother!"
"And knowing how you're a 'sensitive and compassionate' young man, you were able to alleviate her worries, weren't you?" Grue asked, and Tony opened his mouth to snap back, but found no words, leaving him gaping like a fish for a split-second before he closed his mouth, eyes narrowed in annoyance.
"Tony, you're a great partner, but you grate on people, getting under their skin and on their nerves. Everybody's. Even me. Claire's a damn saint for putting up with you for as long as she did, but it's not hard to imagine that this thing with her brother, mixed with your natural charm, probably set her off."
"Bite me," Tony snapped, and Grue's silence was even more infuriating, because he knew the older man was smirking again as he took a long drag off his cigarette again.
"Figured as much. Anyway, when you meet up with Claire, try to act like even half as mature as you pretend to be, and apologize to her. It may not cool her off entirely, but it'll cool some of that steam off for you to work that other part of your charm that makes people like you…until they get to know you, that is. She's probably immune to it by now, so if I were you, I'd throw in a gift for her while you're at it."
Tony wanted to snap something clever back at Grue, but when the older man mentioned a gift, his temper cooled. Reaching into his coat with his free hand, Tony pulled out a small package wrapped in red wrapping paper, just a bit wider than his palm. Eyeing the item for a moment, Tony slipped it back into his coat and returned his attention to the phone.
"Already beat you to the punch on that one, Grue. Look, like I said, I don't have a clue how long I'll be gone, so you might need to find a new partner for those jobs Enzo had lined up. Maybe that Gilbert guy? He seemed pretty good."
Grue made an unimpressed "Hrumph" across the line.
"Gilver. Yeah, he made quite the impression when you and him tore Bobby's up."
Smirking at the memory of his and Gilver's impromptu brawl, Tony replied, "Well, have him work off the damages. And mine, too, while you're at it. I'll give you a call as soon as I can, Grue. Take it easy."
Without waiting for Grue's reply, Tony hung the phone back up, sighing heavily and rubbing the back of his aching neck. He wasn't too far from where Claire said she was going, but five hours on a motorcycle, the last hour or so in the pouring rain, didn't really help. He wanted to stretch his legs, get a bite from the station, then tank up and finish his trek.
Stepping out of the phone booth and back into the cold, wet, and stinking air, Tony scowled again, resisting the urge to pinch his nose.
"Ugh!... What, did a skunk throw up on itself before dying?" he mused aloud, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he moved towards the station's door. Tony's eyes wandered around the lot, spotting a sign advertising a new burger they were carrying, which sounded a hell of a lot more appealing then the typical fried chicken gas stations always seemed to carry-
Tony's train of thought and growling stomach both came to a halt, along with him, when his wandering eyes spotted a large splattering across the concrete ground just a few feet away from the station's door. It wasn't rain water, but a much brighter, shinier substance. Inhaling through his nose, despite the foul smell, Tony caught just a familiar, faint scent of copper.
Blood. And a lot of it. Too much.
Tracing the spatters, Tony finally noticed the only other vehicle in the lot, a half-haphazardly parked police car, the headlights still on, illuminating the station's store in bright light, allowing the blood splatter to reflect a bright red sheen. Following the spatters, Tony saw they continued into the station itself.
Peering through the glass door, the interior of the station was cloaked in shadows.
Tony sighed again, resuming his walk towards the door. "Looks like I missed a party."
Right hand reaching out, Tony pushed the door open, stepping inside the station. The door bumped into something on the floor, and quickly glancing down, Tony saw it was a long, black tubular flashlight, the bulb burning bright, enlightening everything in front of it in a thin beam. Following its path, Tony saw more blood on the floor and overturned products off a blood-stained shelf.
"One helluva party…" he mused.
Reaching down, Tony picked up the flashlight, stepping into the store entirely, the door swinging closed behind him. Moving the beam light around the store, Tony called, "Hey! Anyone in here?!"
Silence. Heavy silence.
Tony crinkled his nose again. The smell of blood was stronger inside the store, but so was that rancid stank from outside somehow. Moving forward, sweeping the beam down an empty aisle, Tony moved towards the fridges in the back, sweeping the beam down.
His blue eyes widened when he saw he wasn't alone.
A large, heavy-set man was half-way collapsed on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. Blood covered almost his entire right side, even more staining the floor around him.
Moving quickly, his boots impacting heavily, Tony was beside the injured man in a split-second, crouching next to him. "Hey, what happened?! Who did this?!"
Even as the words came out in a rush, Tony saw the guy wasn't gonna be around much longer. The worker was holding his right hand over the junction where his neck met his shoulder, thick streams of blood seeping between his limp fingers, his skin a ghastly pallor and fading quickly. The amount of blood he was losing would kill him fast, but somehow, the guy managed to raise his shaking left hand, his index finger pointing behind him, his eyes glazed and half-lidded.
Following the guy's shaking hand, Tony saw the heavy metal door leading behind the fridges for the soft drinks and into the station's back was ajar. Rising, pointing the flashlight ahead, he gave the worker one last look, while saying, "I'll be right back. Keep your hand on that. Apply as much pressure as you can."
If the guy heard him, Tony couldn't tell, so he moved past him, pushing the heavy door open all the way. The air in the solitary corridor was even colder than the air outside, no doubt from the fridges lining the right side of the small hallway. Further down, he could see a faint overhead light illuminating a single door, slightly ajar.
Even from the opposite end of the hallway and over the faint buzz of the humming fridges, Tony could hear shuffling movement, punctuated by an occasional grunt.
"Looks like it's a private party," the pale-haired man mused, his right hand slipping under his coat, producing a sleek, dark handgun: a 92 Beretta. Tony would admit he preferred something with a little more stopping power, but it was all he could get from Nell before heading off. Moving quickly, boots scuffing the dirty floor, Tony found the smell was stronger than ever, almost overpowering him…but something else was tickling the back of his mind, the origin of the smell on the tip of his tongue.
Reaching the door, Tony pushed it open, sweeping the flashlight out while keeping the Beretta half-raised, ready at a moment's notice.
"Hey, I got a noise complaint! You wanna maybe keep it down?!" Tony called out, unable to resist the shit-eating smirk on his face. His eyes caught sight of two figures in the back, one wearing the brown and tan uniform of the local sheriff, the older man currently trying to pin the second person against the back wall.
The sheriff whirled his head around at the sound of the new interloper's words, shouting back, "Sir, stay back! I've got thi-"
Tony didn't even have a chance to warn the guy before the man he was trying to pin back suddenly lunged around, throwing themselves atop the sheriff and pushing him down onto the floor with a snarling growl more animal than human.
"Hey, get off him!" Tony exclaimed, snapping the Beretta up and trying to use the flashlight to line his sight-
-But Tony forgot all about his aim when the second man snatched his jaws around the back of the cop's neck, a slick, meaty 'crunch' issuing, the pinned man screaming in agony for a split-second before a horrible thick, tearing sounding out a second later as the man yanked his head back, taking a large chunk of the cop's neck with him, his eyes meeting Tony's as the piece of flesh hung between his bloody lips.
As he stared back into the man's strange, filmy eyes, Tony finally understood what the smell was. It was the stench of decay, of spoiled meat rotting away, and it was wafting off this man in waves, although 'man' was probably not the correct word to describe this thing. Oh it looked like a man, dressed in a dirty shirt and jeans, but that was where the resemblance ended, for the exposed flesh of his face and hands were an unhealthy looking gray, the skin looking like it was ready to slough off his bones at any second, his hair stringy matted clumps ready to fall off from the top of his skull, and his eyes were a strange, cloudy blue coated in thick film, glaring hungrily back at Tony as he chewed on the hunk of flesh dangling between his torn lips, rotting yellow teeth stained with blood and filth.
This wasn't a man.
Not anymore at least.
"The hell did I just walk into? A Romero flick?" Tony asked himself aloud in breathless disbelief.
Without breaking eye-contact, Tony snapped his arm out and squeezed the trigger once.
A loud 'BANG!' issued from the handgun, flames flaring from the muzzle followed by smoke. The 9-milimeter slug slammed dead between the ghoul's eyes, its head snapping back, body following into a crumpled heap.
For a moment, Tony didn't dare to move, his smoking Beretta and the beam of the flashlight still trained on the now still corpse, his mind racing.
That thing was eating that cop, already took a chunk out of the clerk, and was looking at me for dessert. Shit, what the hell's going on? his thoughts screamed at him. He had to get out of here, away from this stinking corpse, away from whatever Night of the Living Dead ripoff he had just stumbled into.
Turning on his heels, coat tail flapping, Tony power-walked down the corridor, heading straight for the door-
-when he saw the heavy set of metal had shut closed somewhere in-between him arriving on the ghoul's dinner.
Shoving the flashlight into a pocket inside his coat, Tony snatched the door handle but found it taut, not budging no matter how hard he tugged.
"Hey! I'm still back here!" Tony called, gloved fist slamming on the door, harsh metallic rings issuing with each strike. Nothing, it wouldn't budge. The clerk must have passed out from blood loss and knocked the door closed.
Gotta be another way out. Another door in that office where the cop was getting munched on, he quickly concluded. Tony turned back towards the still open door at the end of the hall-
-And his icy eyes widened as he saw something shuffling out of the shadows.
"Ok, this ain't funny anymore…" Tony muttered, handgun snapping back up as he watched the ghoul stagger towards him, groaning hungrily, its rotting eyes locked on him, black, sluggish blood oozing out from the fresh hole on its face like molasses on a tree's bark.
Headshots always work in the movies! What is this crap?!
"I hate it when people break the rules," Tony griped, squeezing the trigger twice. Two shots banged out, slamming home on the rotting monstrosity's forehead. The walking corpse stopped, head snapping back and stumbled backwards, but didn't fall, a long, rasping hiss issuing from between its bloody jaws, one of hunger and impotent anger.
Eyes narrowing in annoyance more than anything else, Tony marched towards the staggering stiff, shoving his handgun back into his coat while easily dodging around its sudden lunge, and as soon as he was directly behind it, Tony snatched the ghoul by its head and gave a quick, strong twist. A hideous 'crack' of breaking bone issued, and the corpse crumbled into a heap. Tony kicked it once, but it only rolled with the hit lifelessly, truly dead for good.
"Figured that would work. Rule-breaking cheat." Tony snapped before turning and quickly moving back into the office, his eyes lingering on the cop's corpse, blood staining most of the back of his shirt, but this corpse seemed to have no interest standing back up. Moving through some rows of canned goods and generic food brand boxes, Tony found the only other door out of the office next to a line of lockers.
Hand snatching the handle, his disbelief skyrocketed when he found it locked, his brow furrowing as he ground his jaw in unrestrained fury.
"To Hell with this!" Tony raged, booted foot kicking out, the sudden kick nearly knocking the cheap wood off its hinges, the broken lock clattering onto the floor. Tony stomped back out into the station's market-
-and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw another ghoul, this one missing its nose, blood all over its face and hands, staggering against a metal rack of chips and snacks. Up ahead, Tony saw the store clerk was stumbling back up against the door to the fridge corridor, only now his pallor was an unearthly white, no fresh blood seeping from the ragged bite mark on his neck any longer, his eyes clouded over, his jaws open as he groaned in hunger. Up by the front of the store, another ghoul shuffled against a shelf of boxed goods, moaning loudly.
"Man, I never thought I'd see the day that I'd actually bail on a party…" Tony muttered while his mind raced.
He couldn't kill them all, he didn't have the ammo, and if even one of them managed to get on him while he was trying to break another neck, he might lose a chunk of himself to their nasty teeth and if the fact the clerk was now among the dead men walking, he definitely didn't need to get bit. Tony hated gunning and running, it wasn't his style, but pragmatism won out for once.
"Sorry to dine and dash, fellas, but I'm strictly off the menu!" the white-haired man quipped, dodging past the rather rotund and freshly undead clerk, who groaned hungrily after him, large arms raising up like a sleepwalkers.
As he dashed for the front door, the zombie closest to him knocked over a shelf of food stuff in its desperate lunge, missing him by bare inches.
"Clean-up, aisle five!" Tony cackled, his humor somehow surviving despite the sheer terror he should have felt confronting the very real, very undead walking corpses around him.
Not that this isn't my first time dealing with weird shit, he reminded himself, charging for the front door-
-when a flash of hot-pink suddenly slammed it open, and the last person he expected to see stood in front of him, her familiar grey-blue eyes wide with equal disbelief as they met his icy orbs.
"Tony?" she breathed, while behind her, something shuffled closely, a moan of hunger following.
Instantly, the Beretta was up.
"Claire, down!"
She heeded his shout, dropping low, and in that split-second the handgun fired again, this shot slamming into the blood filled left of the ghoul that had been lurching up right behind her, the back of its skull exploding in a shower of gore and bits of bone and brain matter. The zombie careened back with a raspy death-rattle, collapsing in a heap of blood and rainwater. Tony quickly moved out of the doorway of the station, the glass door slamming shut behind him, his eyes locked on Claire as she raised herself back up, her own orbs wide with disbelief at the sight of the formerly walking cadaver that had been moments away from chowing down on her.
"You alright?" he asked her, smoking Beretta still raised, his utter disbelief at both the walking dead and her timely arrival pushed down for the moment.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. But what are you even doing here?" she asked breathlessly, looking back up at him with equal disbelief.
Looking away from her for only a moment, Tony's eyes narrowed.
Well, it's official. My luck is pure garbage.
"Hold that thought for if we get out of here alive and intact." His tone was low, and Claire turned her gaze to follow his, her eyes widening once again to the size of saucers.
"Holy shit," she breathed, and that was a most apt summary of the situation at hand.
Dozens of rotting, shambling corpses, some missing parts of their faces, like the occasional eye, an ear, most of them without fully functional lips but plenty of blood around the torn flesh where they had been, with a little under half of the ghouls missing an arm or a hand. One zombie had its right leg horribly mangled, a long white shard of bone poking out of its kneecap, but other than dragging the limp limb in a stumbling shuffle, it didn't seem to mind would should have been an agonizing injury.
Tony raised his left arm protectively in front of Claire, gently ushering her back-
-when a loud 'SLAM' of flesh meeting glass issued behind them, making Claire jump and Tony snap his gaze around. Behind them, a nose-less, eyes filled with blood, ghoul slammed its decaying hands against the glass door between it and them, snarling with hungry fury, two more of its fellow walking corpses staggering behind it.
Tony returned his gaze forward, seeing the many zombies were less than thirty feet away and closing fast despite their slow shuffling. His mind raced, looking for a way out.
Can't get to my bike or Claire's. Goon' back in the store's a no-go, and I can't kill them all. I guess it's either die in the cold and rain, or the relative comfort of the store.
His mind flashed back to the cop, to his agonized screams as the hungry ghoul had torn into his neck-
Then it hit him.
Tony stole a glance to his right-
-and saw the cop's patrol vehicle, the passenger side open, headlights still burning.
"Claire, do as I say, and run for that car NOW!" he ordered.
And a split-second later, they were both making a mad dash for it. When one ghoul lunged for, its rotting hand grasping for her long auburn ponytail, Tony thrust his right hand out, squeezing off a round from the Beretta and taking a good chunk of the corpse's cheek and lower jaw off in a flash of fire and flesh, the zombie staggering back and giving Claire the chance to dive in the car and slam the door shut. As he reached the driver's side, yanking the door open, another ghoul lunged forwards with open jaws, a wailing moan of desperate hunger issuing forth.
The elbow of his right arm slammed into the ruin of its face and his right boot smacked into its gut, flooring the corpse flat on its back.
"No one ever teach you about personal space, asshole?!" he snapped, quickly slipping into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut. He dropped the Beretta into his lap, grabbing the steering wheel while his left hand reached for the ignition, very aware the walking flesh-eaters would surround the car in moments.
God, I will take back half of everything I've ever bitched at you about when I was sober if you'll let me have a break just this once, and let there be-
"Bingo, baby!" Tony exclaimed joyously when his hand found the keys in the ignition. Turning them, hearing the beautiful sound of a working engine, he snapped the patrol car into reverse, peeling back, the sound of squealing tires rising over the army of ghouls hungry groans.
Straightening the car out as they drove back onto the road, Tony slammed his boot down onto the gas and left the zombies in his dust, their shambling bodies quickly shrinking back, vanishing entirely in moments in the dark and rain. As the patrol car sped off, they passed a green sign that stated:
WELCOME TO RACCOON CITY, HOME OF THE UMBRELLA CORPORATION.
Tony let out a shuddering breath he hadn't known he was holding, while next to him Claire continued to look back, her eyes still filled with disbelief at what they had just seen.
Then she turned her grey-blue orbs back to him, looking at him both equal parts expectantly and confused.
Letting himself meet her gaze, Tony admitted, "Okay, this is not how I pictured this meeting going down."