Notes: [Nov. 24] Chapter one has been updated.
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Living in the Past, Chapter One
A Walk Down Memory Lane
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It had been two years since he last visited China, though the circumstances were different, then. He wasn't there to fight his way through hoards of infected this time; he wasn't there to get drunk on cheap, watered-down alcohol in some dank bar, either. He was there to remember.
Chris Redfield wanted to remember all of the men he tried so hard to protect: Piers, Finn, Marco...all of the others.
He would have drank away his sorrows, but he didn't want to forget Piers. Not again. Not when he wouldn't ever see the man again.
He needed to preserve all of his memories about Piers – the good, the bad, and everything in-between – for his own well-being.
He wanted to remember all the little jokes Piers had cracked, even though he never seemed amused when Piers told them; secretly, he had always amused with anything Piers did – except for when the sniper got ballsy and ran his mouth about things he had no right to even pretend to know about.
But every time he thought about Piers, or Finn, or all those other men he swore to protect, the only thing he could see in his mind were the effects of that fucking C-virus: those hardened, grotesque bodies housing something so horrid, it had Chris almost retching where he stood.
Where he stood, exactly, he didn't know; ever since the plane he boarded landed in China, he had been walking. He didn't care where, of course, he just wanted to walk somewhere, anywhere.
But at this brief pause, Chris began to feel paranoid, and shot a quick glance over his shoulder. He saw nothing but a retreating shadow, and he figured a civilian coincidentally turned a corner at the exact moment he scanned the surroundings behind him. Shrugging the previous feeling off, Chris regained his slow pace, though he did think about how that shadow had a sense of familiarity to it. It couldn't have been...no, that wasn't possible.
"I'm going crazy," he sighed, chuckling at himself. He was crazy for thinking that perhaps that shadow belonged to Piers, but he couldn't remember. Chris never remembered.
Amnesia was something he had dealt with after the events from six (or maybe it was eight) months before Piers had found him in that Eastern European bar. He did remember that the taste of that alcohol had become hard to swallow after Piers' little 'pep' talk. That particular brand he couldn't quite place – perhaps that was due to the fact he couldn't read the label – but he had asked for something strong, and strong was what he got. Why that mattered, he didn't know.
The sudden shattering of glass, then, scared him, and he reflexively took a step back while putting a hand up in front of his face. He had thought it was some J'avo, but the infection had been purged from China last year.
When he noticed it was just a drunken brawl, he regained his composure and stepped around civilian on the concrete, not bothering to look back after.
That was then the second odd thing to happen on that street. Chris wondered what would be next. Giant grasshoppers, maybe?
On second thought, he hoped to God that wouldn't be the case.
Chris shuddered at the memory of those half-J'avo, half-grasshoppers; they had been extremely disturbing to him.
So he dismissed the thought shortly after it appeared, and pondered something else. Only the J'avo or the effects of the virus plagued his mind, though. Those fucking infected never left him alone, even in his thoughts. But it was only because of PTSD, someone had said. Chris had wanted to tell them to take their diagnoses and shove it; he was not experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder, he was just angry with the world for taking everything he loved away from him.
They had tried putting him on meds; he refused. But they kept insisting, kept calling, and he just...snapped. He was forced to take those stupid pills in that stupid psych ward – and he was moved to a stupid padded room after punching the stupid fucking wall in the first room they placed him in.
He was holed up there, against his will, for the duration of ten months. When he was released, he was told that the C-virus had been eliminated in China, and the BSAA told him he could take a couple years off because of the amount of men he lost, and the stress they knew he was dealing with. This was fantastic news for Chris, as that meant he wouldn't have to deal with the BSAA's shit for a good, long while (even though he technically started the BSAA with Jill and some other individuals).
The BSAA was what dragged him back into military life; it was what took another group of men from him. To be honest, the BSAA made his life worse. But Piers, and Finn, and all those men he led made the whole thing more bearable – until they all died.
He would've retired from all this bullshit if Piers hadn't died.
Chris had been thinking of having Piers promoted to captain. If the twenty-six year old man had survived the whole thing, and came out with both of his arms, he would have most likely taken over Chris' role of leader. And even if he made it out with one arm, he would've been awarded for his heroism.
Thinking about the BSAA made Chris' head hurt, though, and the organization pissed him off. He appreciated the goal (the goal he put in place when he founded the BSAA), but when they told him to move on from a friend's death, he wanted to punch someone in the mouth. Chris did that once, too.
It had been some lanky kid fresh out of college, entering the BSAA's science department, that enraged him. "Get over it," they said. "Your friend didn't die in vain." And the kid would not stop bleeding from his nose after Chris punched him. Chris had panicked, fled the scene, and worried that he would be charged with murder. To this day, he still didn't know what happened. Maybe the kid was transferred; maybe he didn't die; maybe Chris had been imagining things, and the kid really wasn't there. Either way, he felt guilty.
He felt guilty for Finn's death, Marco's death, Piers' death.
He should've been the one to die. He should've been the one Finn came to, asking if Piers – not fucking Chris Redfield – were really "this awesome." Piers was a hero, not 'Captain' Redfield.
Chris wasn't awesome, he was horrible.
His thoughts were interrupted by the smashing of glass on the back of his head. Quickly, immediately, he turned around and stepped back, a hand flying up to the area of impact, as he swore at the individual who attacked him.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Chris then remembered this was China, and the man probably couldn't understand what he asked. So he just let the question hang, until the man lurched himself at Chris.
He attempted to step out of the way, but he was caught by the Asian man and fell to the ground, cracking his head on the concrete. So then, Chris just lay there for a while, letting the man punch him in the face. He wasn't admitting defeat, he was just thinking about what to do, even with the broken nose he was sure he had.
He observed the man as best he could, and realized the man was drunk – but that fact should have been obvious when he was attacked with a glass bottle. This would make it easier for him, though, as he wasn't drunk, like he always had been before Piers had found him several months ago.
After taking a few more blows to the face, Chris managed to grab at one of the Asian man's hands, and roughly shoved the hundred-some pound body off of him.
He jumped to his feet immediately after, and took revenge on the man by kicking him in the face a couple times, then moving to kick him in the stomach after the he fell over. He poured all his rage into these actions, but he had to stop in his tracks when he heard the wailing of sirens.
This was his cue to run, and Chris swore before bolting down an alleyway, leaping over a wooden crate as he did.
'Fucking friends of his probably called the cops,' Chris thought to himself as he climbed down a ladder into what he assumed to be the sewers. It smelled horrid, of course, but then the whole goddamned city smelled like shit to begin with.
He didn't have much time to continue thinking about the stench of the city, though, when he heard quick bootsteps overhead and shouts of Chinese law enforcement.
Then bright white light shone into his eyes when a Chinese officer peeked down into the sewer, and Chris had no choice but to run blindly through the dark.