Author's note: The storyling in this is very RE like, however the mutants,
the virus, and the characters I came up with on my own. The plotline I give
credit to Capcom to, enjoy. This is for your own enjoyment, have fun.
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Danger Rising
Chapter 1
He watched as the bead of sweat slowly dripped down his hostage's forehead and onto the chrome barrel of his forty-five-caliber pistol. The total look of hopelessness and fear evident in his hostage's eyes caused Zander to blink his own Crystal blue eyes in self-loathing. What had become of him? A terrorist? No. A mercenary-lap-dog? It seemed so? Or, a man willing to do almost anything for fame and money? Bingo. Zander watched with a kind of curiosity, as the sweat of the embassy worker's fear slowly dripped into, an ever growing, microscopic pool on the tip of the barrel, of what would probably become the same man's death in a short time. How where the negotiations going anyway? Zander cast a glance over at his teammate nearest to him; the comrade merely mimicked his gaze, but remained silent. Zander's dirty blond spiky crew cut was now clinging to his forehead, Zander saw the red dot tracer on his own chest, the New York S.W.A.T. sniper was probably waiting for Zander to screw up, panic and pull the trigger, or for a split second take the gun off of the hostage's forehead. In either scenario the sniper would end Zander's eighteen-year- old life in a heartbeat. Zander breathed nervously. Looked at the grunt he had just looked at and asked the disgruntled terrorist: "Hey, Robinson, How the hell much longer until Bragand gets back from negotiating?" there was no reply, "Fine. Fuck you too!" Zander finished off, and ended the conversation. There was whimpering in the corner as a beautiful young secretary, around Zander's age was crying; she was soon silenced however by a swift cold-cock to the back of the head from Vanderall, who Zander really hated. "Vanderall, what the fuck are you doing? Leave the poor girl alone. It's not her fault she was here for this, crying might actually keep her from doing something rash, you fucking moron. So smarten up and stop being such a dickhead all the time, before I come over there and stick my combat knife so far up your ass....", Zander was cut off by Bragand coming into the room carrying a mid sized gym bag. Bragand's shifty dark brown eyes overlooked the situation as he played with his bushy upper lip hair. A 44. Magnum was strapped to his side, the glinting chrome reflecting the envy in Zander's eyes. "Treeze, Are you causing trouble again?", Bragand asked with a knowing look to his shifty eyes. Zander tensed a bit. "No sir; I was just..." Zander started but was cut off. "I honestly don't care what it was Treeze. I have much bigger fish to fry right now than team squabbles. The negotiations have failed. It seems the New York PD needs a more convincing form of persuasion." The look of total self satisfaction on Bragand's face totally sickened Zander on an internal level, this guy was really as sadistic as the stories some of Zander's old fighting buddies warned Zander. Was Bragand really willing to kill so many people including himself just to make a few government officials quiver at the thought that people like Bragand still walked freely in the streets. "Bragand, you've got to be kidding me! You're not seriously gonna use that weapon, are ya?" Zander asked in a state of total disbelief and shock. Bragand merely replied with a knowing look at the teenage mercenary. {Oh, shit.} Zander thought. Bragand lowered the gym bag on the floor, reached down and unzipped. The device he pulled out was an odd one. It had to hourglass shaped tubes on either side of a keypad, with wires going in and coming out the top. Inside the hourglasses was a murky greenish yellow liquid. There was a small square of C4 in the bag as well. Zander's eyes widened "Chemical explosive!" He hissed in a raspy voice, "I did not sign up for this mother fucking bullshit. The fucking paycheck is no good to me if I'm a fucking corpse." "Oh, and just what are you going to do Zander, Walk out the front door, or jump out the window?" Bragand asked with a kind of quizzical amusement in his voice. "No," Zander said, "I've got something a little more Antonio Banderas up my sleeve." Zander said as he began. The first thing he did was kick off the hostage he had been holding, pushing both himself and the victim out the snipers shot that had just brought up tile chips. As Zander was flying side ways through the air he let a few shots of his own ring out hitting dead center in Bragand's forehead, coincided by a splatter of crimson fluids and gray matter out the other side of Bragand's thick skull, dropping him dead instantly. Bragand's body hit the bloodstained tiles like a ton of bricks. The Chaos.. Had begun.
"Damn it!" Sileena cursed as her shot missed the person she had her rifle trained on. Still, she was certain she had seen him fire off a shot as he had leapt out of the way; or was her mind playing tricks on her? No. It could not have been. He moved, and he took a shot at one of the terrorists that was out of her range of vision. Sileena sighed, and turned on her radio. "Hey Thompson, you bitch, did you just see what I saw." Sileena spoke in to the com. Crackling was heard and a female voice that Sileena recognized as her friend Maria Thompson speak up. "Yeah, I certainly did see that" she replied ignoring the friendly insult. "And a hell of a lot more in addition to what you saw." Maria added teasing Sileena over the fact that she was at a disadvantageous viewpoint, not able to see most of what was taking place inside the main meeting room of the NY United Nations' meeting room. Sileena heard Maria giggle a bit. " You're missing it Sileena, my dear, you're missing it." Maria finished off. Sileena was not exactly a patient person, those who new her well, new not to toy with her, or tease her, but she let her good friends get away with it. Sileena breathed in an annoyed sigh, "So, what exactly am I missing, huh?" Sileena asked her partner. "Oh, well, first there's you're boy in there, he seems to have turned sides and is kicking the living shit out of those pathetic little weasels. Second it seems that our guys have taken the opportunity to strike the psychotic bastards. Don't worry that ya missed him S; Jesse'll get him for ya." Maria finished off. The response from Sileena was after a brief pause. "Maria, lets get down there and help."
Zander had been in some heavy action before this, so he was holding his own against these psychos; still though Zander could not shake the feeling that he was taking on the world. These thoughts were soon reinforced by the fact that the NYPD special strike team had just put a battering ram through the door and were proceeding to join Zander's little party. {Great, just great} Zander thought to himself. That wasn't the only thing he was worried about; that chemical; What exactly did that chemical do, and why wasn't Zander's eyes burning out of their sockets or something else unsightly happening to him? What did it do? None of these horrible thoughts did anything to slow Zander down though as he continued to fire a continuous spray .45 auto rounds into the bodies of people who mere moments ago were his "comrades". Yet he was running low on ammo, and the continuous drain would soon see him cold- cocking his way out of this one. The action around Zander was heating up. From the main doors of the conference room the New York special force team was moving in, the leader of the team Jesse walker was at the head of group. They were all carrying H&K MP-5s, and had back up .45s at their waists. Thanks to their entry most of the heat was taken off Zander as the gunmen had turned their attention to the invading strike team. The bullets were flying in almost every direction, and the gunfight was continuing to intensify. Zander was no idiot. He realized that the only way he was going to walk away from this without an appearance similar to that of a used shooting range target was to not fire on any of the squad that had just burst in. Unfortunately for Zander, some of those squad members did not feel the same. He had just barely ducked under the spray of 9mm rounds that had just been aimed for Zander's center mass. Now ducking behind a heavy metal table that had been overturned in the fight, Zander was ready to show the white flag. On the other side of the table a shaky rookie was keeping as steady of an aim as possible on the overturned table. Jesse walked up next to him and placed a calm hand on the gun and pushed the rookie's arm down. Jesse looked at the rookie through the goggles of his gas mask and sighed. "Help the others somewhere else, I'll handle this one." Jesse spoke; the rookie nodded and ran off to find some other team member in need of assistance. Jesse shook his head, this situation was no way to break in a rookie, or then again from the captain of the team, Robert Stinger, it was the perfect way to show the rookie members the ropes. That was just not fair, or at least Jesse did not thing it was a fair thing. "Now." he said turning his attention back to the table. "Where were we?" Zander had made a makeshift flagpole out of a fallen mercenary's automatic rifle and Zander's own white t-shirt. He slowly raised it above his head and in clear sight of who ever were up there. Soon enough Zander heard a voice say: "Okay, throw your weapons out and stand up with you're hand on your head; slowly." Zander did as the voice commanded and stood up. Turning he came face to gun barrel with the strike team member. "Now tell me; why did you change sides against your team members. You were working with them weren't you." The average height cop asked Zander. "Yes. I was. I changed sides because. well. they were going to use a chemical. a dangerous one. as far as I know anyway. look we gotta get out of here ASA FUCKING P." Zander said as calmly as possible. At the moment he and this strike member were out of the fray of the battle, slightly aside from everything else. It was as if the sounds around them had calmed down and they were separate from the ensuing battle around them. "Do believe I trust you for a second?" Jesse asked calmly to the young mercenary. "Of course not." Zander replied knowingly. "Then how do you expect me to believe this whole turning sides thing wasn't staged for some purpose, or that you're not lying to save your own ass?" Jesse asked again in a half cynical voice. "I can't. but you still have to believe me." Zander urged. "Your entire team could be in danger." He added. "Look, even if I did believe you, which I don't, then getting both sides to stop fighting, more especially yours, won't be easy." Jesse said seriously, but without sympathy, he hated terrorists. "Well, it is you're ass that's gonna fry. I don't give a flyin fuck about you or your men. However, I am not partial to dying in this shit hole. You got that jackass? You know you try to be nice and helpful to someone an-," Zander was cut off. "Shut up dickhead, look I don't believe you, that's that. So just shut up and stay next to me, we're getting out of here okay. Does that make you feel better? I don't care. Now lets go, though, I suggest you put a shirt on first." Jesse said with force.
He watched as the bead of sweat slowly dripped down his hostage's forehead and onto the chrome barrel of his forty-five-caliber pistol. The total look of hopelessness and fear evident in his hostage's eyes caused Zander to blink his own Crystal blue eyes in self-loathing. What had become of him? A terrorist? No. A mercenary-lap-dog? It seemed so? Or, a man willing to do almost anything for fame and money? Bingo. Zander watched with a kind of curiosity, as the sweat of the embassy worker's fear slowly dripped into, an ever growing, microscopic pool on the tip of the barrel, of what would probably become the same man's death in a short time. How where the negotiations going anyway? Zander cast a glance over at his teammate nearest to him; the comrade merely mimicked his gaze, but remained silent. Zander's dirty blond spiky crew cut was now clinging to his forehead, Zander saw the red dot tracer on his own chest, the New York S.W.A.T. sniper was probably waiting for Zander to screw up, panic and pull the trigger, or for a split second take the gun off of the hostage's forehead. In either scenario the sniper would end Zander's eighteen-year- old life in a heartbeat. Zander breathed nervously. Looked at the grunt he had just looked at and asked the disgruntled terrorist: "Hey, Robinson, How the hell much longer until Bragand gets back from negotiating?" there was no reply, "Fine. Fuck you too!" Zander finished off, and ended the conversation. There was whimpering in the corner as a beautiful young secretary, around Zander's age was crying; she was soon silenced however by a swift cold-cock to the back of the head from Vanderall, who Zander really hated. "Vanderall, what the fuck are you doing? Leave the poor girl alone. It's not her fault she was here for this, crying might actually keep her from doing something rash, you fucking moron. So smarten up and stop being such a dickhead all the time, before I come over there and stick my combat knife so far up your ass....", Zander was cut off by Bragand coming into the room carrying a mid sized gym bag. Bragand's shifty dark brown eyes overlooked the situation as he played with his bushy upper lip hair. A 44. Magnum was strapped to his side, the glinting chrome reflecting the envy in Zander's eyes. "Treeze, Are you causing trouble again?", Bragand asked with a knowing look to his shifty eyes. Zander tensed a bit. "No sir; I was just..." Zander started but was cut off. "I honestly don't care what it was Treeze. I have much bigger fish to fry right now than team squabbles. The negotiations have failed. It seems the New York PD needs a more convincing form of persuasion." The look of total self satisfaction on Bragand's face totally sickened Zander on an internal level, this guy was really as sadistic as the stories some of Zander's old fighting buddies warned Zander. Was Bragand really willing to kill so many people including himself just to make a few government officials quiver at the thought that people like Bragand still walked freely in the streets. "Bragand, you've got to be kidding me! You're not seriously gonna use that weapon, are ya?" Zander asked in a state of total disbelief and shock. Bragand merely replied with a knowing look at the teenage mercenary. {Oh, shit.} Zander thought. Bragand lowered the gym bag on the floor, reached down and unzipped. The device he pulled out was an odd one. It had to hourglass shaped tubes on either side of a keypad, with wires going in and coming out the top. Inside the hourglasses was a murky greenish yellow liquid. There was a small square of C4 in the bag as well. Zander's eyes widened "Chemical explosive!" He hissed in a raspy voice, "I did not sign up for this mother fucking bullshit. The fucking paycheck is no good to me if I'm a fucking corpse." "Oh, and just what are you going to do Zander, Walk out the front door, or jump out the window?" Bragand asked with a kind of quizzical amusement in his voice. "No," Zander said, "I've got something a little more Antonio Banderas up my sleeve." Zander said as he began. The first thing he did was kick off the hostage he had been holding, pushing both himself and the victim out the snipers shot that had just brought up tile chips. As Zander was flying side ways through the air he let a few shots of his own ring out hitting dead center in Bragand's forehead, coincided by a splatter of crimson fluids and gray matter out the other side of Bragand's thick skull, dropping him dead instantly. Bragand's body hit the bloodstained tiles like a ton of bricks. The Chaos.. Had begun.
"Damn it!" Sileena cursed as her shot missed the person she had her rifle trained on. Still, she was certain she had seen him fire off a shot as he had leapt out of the way; or was her mind playing tricks on her? No. It could not have been. He moved, and he took a shot at one of the terrorists that was out of her range of vision. Sileena sighed, and turned on her radio. "Hey Thompson, you bitch, did you just see what I saw." Sileena spoke in to the com. Crackling was heard and a female voice that Sileena recognized as her friend Maria Thompson speak up. "Yeah, I certainly did see that" she replied ignoring the friendly insult. "And a hell of a lot more in addition to what you saw." Maria added teasing Sileena over the fact that she was at a disadvantageous viewpoint, not able to see most of what was taking place inside the main meeting room of the NY United Nations' meeting room. Sileena heard Maria giggle a bit. " You're missing it Sileena, my dear, you're missing it." Maria finished off. Sileena was not exactly a patient person, those who new her well, new not to toy with her, or tease her, but she let her good friends get away with it. Sileena breathed in an annoyed sigh, "So, what exactly am I missing, huh?" Sileena asked her partner. "Oh, well, first there's you're boy in there, he seems to have turned sides and is kicking the living shit out of those pathetic little weasels. Second it seems that our guys have taken the opportunity to strike the psychotic bastards. Don't worry that ya missed him S; Jesse'll get him for ya." Maria finished off. The response from Sileena was after a brief pause. "Maria, lets get down there and help."
Zander had been in some heavy action before this, so he was holding his own against these psychos; still though Zander could not shake the feeling that he was taking on the world. These thoughts were soon reinforced by the fact that the NYPD special strike team had just put a battering ram through the door and were proceeding to join Zander's little party. {Great, just great} Zander thought to himself. That wasn't the only thing he was worried about; that chemical; What exactly did that chemical do, and why wasn't Zander's eyes burning out of their sockets or something else unsightly happening to him? What did it do? None of these horrible thoughts did anything to slow Zander down though as he continued to fire a continuous spray .45 auto rounds into the bodies of people who mere moments ago were his "comrades". Yet he was running low on ammo, and the continuous drain would soon see him cold- cocking his way out of this one. The action around Zander was heating up. From the main doors of the conference room the New York special force team was moving in, the leader of the team Jesse walker was at the head of group. They were all carrying H&K MP-5s, and had back up .45s at their waists. Thanks to their entry most of the heat was taken off Zander as the gunmen had turned their attention to the invading strike team. The bullets were flying in almost every direction, and the gunfight was continuing to intensify. Zander was no idiot. He realized that the only way he was going to walk away from this without an appearance similar to that of a used shooting range target was to not fire on any of the squad that had just burst in. Unfortunately for Zander, some of those squad members did not feel the same. He had just barely ducked under the spray of 9mm rounds that had just been aimed for Zander's center mass. Now ducking behind a heavy metal table that had been overturned in the fight, Zander was ready to show the white flag. On the other side of the table a shaky rookie was keeping as steady of an aim as possible on the overturned table. Jesse walked up next to him and placed a calm hand on the gun and pushed the rookie's arm down. Jesse looked at the rookie through the goggles of his gas mask and sighed. "Help the others somewhere else, I'll handle this one." Jesse spoke; the rookie nodded and ran off to find some other team member in need of assistance. Jesse shook his head, this situation was no way to break in a rookie, or then again from the captain of the team, Robert Stinger, it was the perfect way to show the rookie members the ropes. That was just not fair, or at least Jesse did not thing it was a fair thing. "Now." he said turning his attention back to the table. "Where were we?" Zander had made a makeshift flagpole out of a fallen mercenary's automatic rifle and Zander's own white t-shirt. He slowly raised it above his head and in clear sight of who ever were up there. Soon enough Zander heard a voice say: "Okay, throw your weapons out and stand up with you're hand on your head; slowly." Zander did as the voice commanded and stood up. Turning he came face to gun barrel with the strike team member. "Now tell me; why did you change sides against your team members. You were working with them weren't you." The average height cop asked Zander. "Yes. I was. I changed sides because. well. they were going to use a chemical. a dangerous one. as far as I know anyway. look we gotta get out of here ASA FUCKING P." Zander said as calmly as possible. At the moment he and this strike member were out of the fray of the battle, slightly aside from everything else. It was as if the sounds around them had calmed down and they were separate from the ensuing battle around them. "Do believe I trust you for a second?" Jesse asked calmly to the young mercenary. "Of course not." Zander replied knowingly. "Then how do you expect me to believe this whole turning sides thing wasn't staged for some purpose, or that you're not lying to save your own ass?" Jesse asked again in a half cynical voice. "I can't. but you still have to believe me." Zander urged. "Your entire team could be in danger." He added. "Look, even if I did believe you, which I don't, then getting both sides to stop fighting, more especially yours, won't be easy." Jesse said seriously, but without sympathy, he hated terrorists. "Well, it is you're ass that's gonna fry. I don't give a flyin fuck about you or your men. However, I am not partial to dying in this shit hole. You got that jackass? You know you try to be nice and helpful to someone an-," Zander was cut off. "Shut up dickhead, look I don't believe you, that's that. So just shut up and stay next to me, we're getting out of here okay. Does that make you feel better? I don't care. Now lets go, though, I suggest you put a shirt on first." Jesse said with force.