Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil, nor any elements related about the franchise. It is owned by Capcom and all of their other awesome games.
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Never Said Goodbye
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Far off, thunder crackled through the evening sky, its luminance seeping in through the transparent glass windows of the Spencer Estate. Its roar was faint, but its form was lucid. No matter, it sent shivers through both the B.S.A.A. agents as they ambled through the dark hall, its sparks dramatically affecting the ambiance of the luxurious manor.
Their fear was imperceptible from their expressions, but Chris Redfield's heart was racing. It wasn't dread that made him that way, but actually, he was anxious to see the infamous Umbrella founder Ozwell E. Spencer. They could possibly gather the information they need – info regarding the remaining Umbrella clandestine facilities, various B.O.W. data, the location of Albert Wesker himself…
No wonder, Chris was thrilled to interrogate this man.
On that, he couldn't help but wonder about Jill Valentine. Ah, Jill, the most faithful and trusted partner of the B.S.A.A. agent. She was notoriously cunning, and a very versatile woman.
Just a few days before, he pondered a lot about their raid on the Spencer Estate. The risk factor was considerably large. Who would ever know if Spencer had prepared a welcome "gift" for them? That thought always made him fret about Jill's safety. He knew she was a strong girl, but still, a part of him continues to unnerve him as they closed on in to the large, wooden door that stood across them; the very entrance to Spencer's private quarters. This perhaps, was the very reason for his uneasy feeling.
Chris stared at her for a split second as he pressed his back against the fancy double doors to eavesdrop on anything suspicious beyond it. She had her blue cap on, a simple cap she bought one day from a store after Chris complimented its corporeal look. She was apparently trying to look good for Chris' tastes, unbeknownst to her confused partner. In truth, Jill always preferred her berets rather than caps.
Other than that, she wore her standard B.S.A.A. uniform, a blue leather outfit with the usual tactical vest and undershirt. She had quite a number of holsters, one at the front and two at the back of her waistline, another two on the sides of her black pants, and her trusty knife holster just above her right ankle.
Chris himself wore his old-fashioned S.T.A.R.S. uniform, the green shade of color a bit faded after years of use. Yet, the label of S.T.A.R.S. itself was still bright and easily comprehensible. This outfit would always serve as a treasured memorabilia for him, reminding him everyday of the brave operatives of the Bravo and Alpha teams.
Both of them had their firearms prepared, Chris with his decade old, yet trusty Glock 17 and Jill with her brand new Px4 handgun.
Jill gave him a gestured look, telling him wordlessly that she was ready. Once Chris had nodded in response, they grunted as they pushed the door open and rushed inside, both firearms pointed in front of them to the "surprise" that Spencer had prepared for them.
It was a very shocking surprise indeed.
A body of an old man, which Chris had recognized was Ozwell E. Spencer himself, was strewn across the floor. A large gap was visible through his abdomen, blood oozing out of it repugnantly and staining his maroon-colored robe and the patterned carpet that stretched in the middle part of the room.
Right beside his body stood a wheelchair, an IV stand attached to its side. The tubing of the IV was cut off. Based on the features of the Spencer, it's easily observable that the end of it was originally attached to his temples, supposedly a type of life support.
But that life support was far from enough to save him.
Standing on the shallow platform, a man wearing a long, dark coat slowly turned to face them. His blonde hair was slicked onto the back of his head, and his dark glasses obstructed the image of his eyes. He formed a provocative and sinister grin as he tilted his head to them.
What a coincidence, seeing them both here, at the same time…
Strident lightning split through the dark sky again, its deafening roar failing to affect the man's actions. At that short moment of luminance, the man's crimson colored eyes came into their view through his hazy sunglasses, its inconceivable tone so familiar for Chris Redfield since he had first seen it.
"Wesker!"
Without any second thoughts, Chris immediately fired numerous shots upon his ex-captain. Jill joined him after the first few shots were fired. Wesker maneuvered through the flinging bullets effortlessly, curving his body left and right and crouching swiftly to dodge the incoming bullets as he neared the two agents.
Wesker lunged towards Chris and twisted his hand, disarming him in an agile manner. In one swoop, he was able to throw in a right hook, shoulder him in the abdomen, and launch an uppercut. At this, Jill's initial reaction was to shoot him a few times, but like before, she failed miserably for the bullets to make contact.
Wesker gripped her neck and launched her into the air, slamming her against a column. He choked her coercively, making her drop her firearm and slowly strangling her to death as she struggled to break free.
Chris went in and pushed him aside, away from Jill. He delivered a kick, a massive left jab and a straight right punch, but Wesker evaded all of Chris' efforts and caught his hand. He was paralyzed from the immense strength emanating from his ex-captain's grasp.
Wesker ridiculed his feeble potency by coiling his hand around in one full circle, and delivering a quick jab on the face. In an attempt to counterattack, Chris kicked as he regained his momentum from the jab, but was then again thwarted by Wesker as he caught it in mid swing.
By this time Jill had already recovered her handgun and fired at once. He was too agile, though. In a split second, Wesker disappeared from thin air, successfully avoiding the first bullet, and then reappeared and shoved Chris forward, and proceeded to elude the incoming bullets. Jill realized that ordinary aiming will not really aid in accurate shots, so she did the unexpected. She fired on different directions but the shots are precariously in the proximity of Wesker. But alas, he knew too well. He leaped on the air and twirled his body as the shots passed by, only mere inches from his body.
The storm continued to erupt across the shady atmosphere on the outskirts of the manor. Thunder bellows as the clash of the ex-S.T.A.R.S. members continues.
Once Jill ran out of ammo, she raised her leg and slid the knife out of the holster, confirmed her battle stance and charged to Wesker. At the same time, Chris tried to land a lucrative blow on Wesker's overpowered body, but his rash action resulted weakly. He blocked his right hand and delivered a brisk strike, making Chris stumble backward from the blow.
Wesker already anticipated Jill's next attack. He ruined her attempt of delivering a slash by blocking her arm. A ruthless thrust countered her that was so powerful that it propelled her across the room. She moaned in agony as her frail body crashed onto the one of the bookshelves of the library. The calves of her legs collapsed as she fell onto the ground, stunned beyond any ordinary woman could.
Rage reached its peak within Chris at the horrible sight; Jill crippled instantaneously from one blow.
Nothing in his mind kept him from charging recklessly at him, swinging his clenched fists in a desperate attempt of landing a hit. But his actions only caught him off guard as Wesker shouldered him on the stomach, making him cringe, and grabbed his neck. Chris couldn't do anything, he was just too strong. Not even his constant training over the years aided him in this fight.
His ex-captain dragged him on the oaken table, the wooden fragments stabbing through his back painfully. Along with Wesker's suffocating hold, it was unbearable for any average human. He was hurled to the platform like he was a measly animal, absolutely scrawny from the blonde's perspective.
As Chris staggered and recuperated himself, he saw Jill, now recovered from the blow, though horribly weakened from the beating she had just received.
Before he was able to react, Wesker then held him again on the neck, this time a much tighter and tougher grip. Because of the excruciating pain, he could barely keep his eyelids open. But a recognizable scream echoed through the room, and vision was not necessary to know what was going to happen.
"No!"
He wanted to warn her, to get away. He already accepted their loss, and it seemed that there was not a chance for him to live.
But Jill still has her chance.
The problem was, if she ever had the guts to leave her partner to die from the hands of their nemesis.
Get away from here Jill! Save yourself!
Only muffled grunts left his dry lips as Wesker continued to crush his windpipe mercilessly. He was more than happy to do this; he was just sick of Chris calling his name every single time they would meet. But, he knew it was better off killing him right there, especially in front of his partner, Jill Valentine. It was a perfect form of mental torture.
I have you now you pathetic little rat.
Wesker clenched his fists and smiled contentedly at Chris' struggling form.
"Let's finish this."
Before he could finally finish him off brutally, Jill dived in and tackled him.
As Chris fell unto the ground, still with his eyelids closed, he could hear the piercing crash of the glass window nearby, shattering into small fragments just in front of him.
No… Please no…
He used the last remaining amount of his strength to stand up, his feelings racing faster than before as he popped his head out of the window and held out his hand. He couldn't take it all in. Not now.
"JILL!"
No answer. No one heeded his call.
"JILL VALENTINE, ANSWER ME!"
His calls were only a fraction of the sounds that riddled the stormy sky, its sound so shabby that it failed to achieve maximum range, drowning out from the rest. He scanned through the dark area below the cliff, the deep abyss so hopeless for survival.
Why, Jill… Why?
The pain- an overwhelming torture to his emotions, so agonizing that it surpasses the burns on his back and his battered physique. His heart pulsated erratically, its beating deformed- or he was oblivious to it, so much to an extent that he had forgotten its regular rhythm.
Was this the award he was fated to receive fighting all these years against Umbrella and the rest of the biohazard-threats? It seemed to be, for him. And no way in hell was it worth all the work. He couldn't understand, had he won, or has he lost?
His body went numb right there as he collapsed at the nearby wall, and it was unclear to see which type of torment had caused it. He fought for consciousness, just enough to contact HQ. He wanted to be optimistic; persistent to find her at all costs, carcass or not, as long as it gives him at least a sense of relief. But the thought of it made him cringe.
"HQ… We need… help." He mumbled roughly. His neck was still swelling inconsiderably from Wesker's recent choke. Perhaps "we" wasn't the correct term to say.
"Wait there agent Redfield, help is on the way right now. Just hang on."
He moaned as he threw the radio away from him, smashing apart as it landed on the cold marble. He didn't bother to hear anymore. He couldn't even think of death as he slumped down deeper on the surface of the wall, all he wanted to ponder about was his partner. He just screamed over and over in his mind.
She's alive… She's alive…
His optimism slowly dissipated for every word he repeated. But still, stubborn as he is, he refused to accept failure.
But nevertheless, it was an inevitable fact that a major part of his very being would be lost forever. The darkness mocked him as his vision faded, slowly drifting off to unconsciousness.
Reality took its turn, and evil has won. A brave soldier fought, and received death; the ultimate sacrifice.
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A/N: Hello dear readers! This is the story I was talking about recently on my other story, "Fateful Reunion". This story will be a lot longer than before, and there will be some parts that will probably remind you about the previous story I made.
Since the power of Youtube is so overwhelming, I abused it for my own selfish deeds to describe the whole fight that went through between Chris and Jill, and Albert Wesker himself. I admit it already. :(
Just like before, reviews are highly appreciated. Also, please take some time to point out errors and mistakes, or rather, give an effective criticism on my work. I'll surely appreciate it, just don't be a bit too harsh in sense that it's considered already as a direct insult. I'll need them to improve and it'll be a great relief for me. Thanks!