Part I: The Preparation
The state of Colorado has seen its' share of snow storms, avalanches, and certain delinquents. But it can also be very quiet to those who want to be left alone. In an abandoned apartment complex near the town of Lakewood, laid a recluse individual who hasn't really seen the world in over nine years, not since a traumatic experience changed him. He was none other than Damien Walsh; 26 years old without a care in the world, mostly because he looked like an old man in rags living in pale walls, and drinking stale liquor to remind him he was still alive on this planet. He was a mess in his own right. There would be nights he would dream, sometimes harder than others to find some positivity in his life.
What happened in Norway affected him more times than he could fathom; horrors that were not for the human eyes to witness. Back then, if there was anybody he could relate to in his situation it would be those who survived Raccoon City. Then again, he would probably get killed before ever meeting one of them. Aside from lack of sleep or hygiene, he also had a physical condition on his chest. A severe three scars that if he got slashed any deeper his heart would have sliced in two from the inside. With his condition he would get nightmares circulating around the Kurinthian Temple.
There was one recurrence that out of the five participants who entered the temple, only three remained alive to keep on moving: an 18 year old named Cara Moreno, 26 year old Terrell Amaro, as well as Damien himself. In their past lives they've had ways of surviving when family and trust played no part in the equation. They didn't like each other at first, especially another participant named Monica, but gained a mutual respect over time to get over their new found fears and get their records wiped clean of past felonies. The nightmare brought Damien back to when all three were on separate bridges of sorts, and had to get through hordes of undead creatures. The kind of creatures you only see in CGI based films, the ones viewers look down upon and say they look cheap and fake on screen.
The temple instilled fear by unleashing undead creatures in the shadows. Damien barely had any ammo in his pistol, and only had a knife for defensive measures. Not only were the odds against him, he was feeling disoriented by the change of temperature from dampness to seething hot. They had to cross the bridge to reach another area of the temple; undead came from their six and made things difficult for them since the bridges were not well put together. Any shift in the bridge's weight would lessen its' durability to stay intact. Not only did they had to cross slowly, but on Damien's side as he was talking to Cara via radio she had a twisted ankle and half a clip of an AR 15 rifle. He kept trying to calm her down.
"Stay calm, Cara. We're almost through this." He said as scarab beetles came out of the roof of the temple. "Jesus Christ."
"T, how you holdin up, buddy?" Cara asked over the radio.
"I'll live." He replied before shooting an undead. "Throat's killing me. Uh...we should move."
"There's bugs coming out of the ceiling. Don't let them touch you." Damien said.
They've made it to the other side with their hearts beating inside their throats. Terrell made it by the skin of his teeth. They found themselves looking at a huge hall that appeared to be a room of great importance. Then suddenly, everything went dark; the heat around them turned to cold, and eerie sounds went amiss. The undead horde stopped making noise and for one, long minute all three found themselves holding their breath. In the silence of it all, Damien felt something slither past his back, something scaly and slimy at the same time. Cara and Terrell felt it too. That was when one scream caused him to wake up from the nightmare.
He woke up in his beaten up apartment, with sweat soaking the couch sheets and drool dripping off his unshaven face. He gave a moment to gather himself before getting up to go to the bathroom and wash his face. In the small, circular mirror he noticed his soaked, blue T-shirt revealed the diagonal scars on him, still stitched up yet causing panic attacks at unpredictable times. Before he was done, he thought he heard something run past him, like a swift shadow or something. He slowly walked out of the bathroom with nothing out of the ordinary. His heart then jumped when three bangs were done to his door.
"Who is it?" He shouted.
"It's Jeeves; open up." He said as Damien dragged his feet and opened the door.
"Where have you been? Everybody's worried."
"I'm taking a sick day, Jeeves. Come back and lecture me tomorrow." He said walking away from the doorway.
"This is the fifth day this week you haven't been at the wash. The boss has been riding my ass to get you back there." Jeeves said as Damien was stretching. "You ok; you look paler than usual?"
"Rough night." He said sitting back on his couch.
"Maybe I can help." Jeeves suggested entering the apartment.
"Why, so you can skim money off my pay stub like you did the last two times?"
"One of those times was for lunch. I asked for your permission that time. Look, I'm worried about you; so is Mandy, Rocko."
"I'll be at work tomorrow, Jeeves. You can then sit on your plastic chair and kiss up to the boss like you always do while I break my back doing your job." Damien said with frustration.
"You think you're the only one who's went up shit's creek? Look at me when I'm talking to you." He demanded as Damien looked at him with glazed eyes. "I know about your checkered past and what you had to do to be a free man. But as long as you're with the working class doing "back breaking" labor for $6.25 a day, don't think you stand above us common folk. You hear me?!"
"Wow." Damien chuckled. "Did you rehearse that with your sex doll or did you use my money to pay someone else to tell you that?"
"The fuck you say?" He asked before grabbing Damien by his soak t-shirt.
Damien took offense by someone grabbing him. He swiftly acted by grabbing Jeeves' arms and kneed him in the stomach. Jeeves was a slender guy with a receding hairline so he didn't have any fat to protect him. The impact of his knee caused him to cough up some blood. Jeeves got pissed and began throwing punches until Damien grabbed his right arm and put it into an uncomfortable place, being on the verge of it breaking.
"You're right; I'm not above you. I'm not above anyone, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be bullied by a selfish ass kisser like you."
"Who do you think you are?" He struggled as he heard a bone cracking in his arm.
"Someone who wants an exit, and car washing isn't the answer. Now I'm going to let you go. You tell boss man I'll be at work tomorrow, and we don't go through this again. You get me?"
Damien let him go soon after. Before Jeeves left his apartment he looked back at him as if he was a shell of his former self. He left with a dying need in getting his arm in a cast. Damien slammed his door and sat back on his couch while looking through an old photo album, mostly pictures of his grandmother, Agatha. She was 43 when she started raising him when his parents thought it was a mistake in having him in the first place. He was only five when he was taken in.
Agatha was the kind of person who didn't sugar coat the truth. When he was five she reenacted an entire argument she had with his parents in letting him go so they could make their own lives easier. He cried due to the forcefulness of her portrayals of the parents as well as her backlash on them, but it was intentional at the time. Over the years she acted like a mom, a dad, even a bit like a drill sergeant sometimes. She acted that way because she knew kids less fortunate than Damien have made bad decisions and were paying for it with jail time…or worse.
She was a Professor of art that still sold paintings to the highest bidder at various auctions, even taught Damien how to paint. He kept some of her old works in the apartment to keep her alive; pieces that consisted of human nature as well night skies and her interpretations in what might be found above. In his eyes, she was both a hard ass and a free spirit at the same time. She was never really fond of being in love with someone else; being married to a chef with late stage Huntington's caused a great rift in their marriage. The rest of her…illustrious family tree didn't want to have anything to do with the man due to his condition.
To them, he was a liability. It made Agatha wonder why was she involved with such a selfish family; they weren't rich and weren't entitled to anything other than what they already owned. Damien kept turning the pages to when she was young to the fond memories they had spent together. Other than learning to paint in his spare time, they also went ice skating and had candy apples on occasion. Before Norway, before he started making dumb decisions, the simple things was what kept both of them going in life.
Today was August 13, 2014; her birthday was five months prior. It clicked in his head that he hasn't been to her gravestone that entire time. Since he had one last day off before going back to the car washing job, he decided he was going to pay his grandmother a visit. As he was putting on his jacket and heading out the door, he suddenly heard a voice that was thought to be never heard again.
"Isn't that adorable?" A female voice said echoing in the apartment. "A man with such compassion to a dead relative is quite emotional to watch."
He shut the door and looked up at the ceiling. So far nothing he thought, maybe it was one of the tenants next door or something. He searched the bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary, looked out his bedroom window; an old couple arguing. He's been under the impression for the last fourteen months he was hearing voices, even went so far as to ask the tenants next to his apartment room to tone down the noise. It would have turned into a fight if the landlord wasn't there to break it up.
Within those months it hasn't been a big deal; a sensual sigh here and a cold touch feeling on the back of his neck there. The abnormal sounds went in and out for awhile. He then went to the center of his living room and closed his eyes and listened to the sounds that were going on at that moment. No other voices were heard; so he went over to the door and there stood a woman of his past. She had a smile of a shark with eyes that can pierce a man's soul, pull it out, and manipulate it into her plaything.
"What's the matter, Damien?" She smiled as he stepped back and almost had a panic attack. "I thought you would be thrilled to see the likes of me."
"No, he shook his head, this isn't real. This isn't real!"
"What is real, Damien?" She asked entering the apartment, that you and your foul mouthed brats exterminated me and my sister, or the horrors you found in the temple were too much for you to handle?"
"This isn't happening. She can't be here; this was resolved nine years ago. My record was clear; I got better, my life was normal."
"Good grief, listen to yourself! What year are we in now? Don't answer, she said putting both her index fingers on the opposite ends of her forehead, oh I got it! The future. There is nothing "normal" about life anymore. I should know."
Damien felt a swift kick and was sent into the kitchen, breaking his one person dining table. He tried to get up, but the severe scratches on his chest prevented him to do so. Laying on his right side in a dimly lit kitchen, he looked up and immediately saw her face with a piece of sharp wood in her left palm.
"Did I hurt you?" She said placing her right palm on his cheek. "Aw."
"Don't touch me!" He screamed pushing her "invisible" hand away.
His hand went right through her arm. Suddenly, she smacked him against the kitchen sink and was picked up and thrown back into the living room. Damien still couldn't comprehend what was happening to him; his mind felt so closed up he didn't know whether to bang his head against the wall or jump out the window. She walked into the living room and told him the specifics of his chest injury.
"See the scars; I left my mark on you a long time ago, and since then you have been keeping me in a medicated coma." She said before swiftly standing in front of him, feeling his scratches. "But you're out of help, and I am short on my leniency. So here's what's going to happen; I'm going to be sticking around for awhile."
"I'll just get more medicine. It's worked before, and it'll work even more."
"Keep telling yourself that, Damien." She said smiling and backing away and slowly fading. "Knock knock…"
Two loud bangs were done at his door; it could only mean one thing. George the landlord. He's been running his apartment complex in Denver for over twelve years, and has a tendency to bang on the door twice which was a sign for tenants to pay the rent. Damien got up right away and headed over to the door. If there was one thing he learned in living there, is that if George had to knock a third time, the door would fall off its hinges and would start breaking things to look for rent money. He opened the door and greeted him.
"George, he said, afternoon."
"Rent's due." George said holding out his hand. "Pay up!"
"Give me a minute."
He went over to his bedroom and took out a wad of cash he's been saving for rent. Ever since he moved in he has trained himself to survive on tap water and a TV dinner here and there. The rent was $800 a month. He then limped back to George to hand him the money. He started counting it; another pattern Damien has learned from him.
"You're shy of $84 here. What does this tell me, Damien? You don't want to live here anymore?"
"No, it's not that. It's," he said before getting cut off.
"Close the door." He said entering his apartment. "You got a problem with the middle class, Mr. Walsh. You believe."
"Sir, if you let me explain."
"Don't interrupt me." He demanded. "You believe that you are special, becoming some sort of war hero from Norway and got grants to go to the best schools. Obviously you mistake my integrity and good looks. This complex is one of the top demanding places in the state; because every tenant is grateful they have a place to stay. When one tenant doesn't show that appreciation, the entire complex is in jeopardy."
"May I speak?" Damien asked before George giving him permission. "I'm happy here; really, I am. I'm in a good place in my life for once because I didn't go back to jail or worse; working for the Government. Work has been stingy on pay these days so it gets harder to save for when the rent comes do."
"I assume that douchebag character who came here earlier is a co-worker of yours?"
"Douchebag" would be an understatement, sir. But yeah, he and I work at the same car wash downtown."
"I see." He said with a little sarcasm. "The time has come I give you an ultimatum, Mr. Walsh. Either you pay your rent on time from this day forth, or I suggest you start packing and looking for cardboard boxes to live in." He concluded as he was about to walk out of Damien's apartment.
"Is that a threat, sir?"
"Abso-fuckin-lutely wise ass. You think you can ask for a place to stay, show a couple scars and think you can earn my respect?! You "war heroes" are nothing but dog shit under my shoe. I should toss you out for speaking out of line, but you have thirty-six hours to pay up the rest."
Damien showed surprise on his expression for the extension. He nodded "yes" to the terms as George slammed his apartment door. George was not overly fond of alot of people: kids, loud animals, self-important jerks, trouble makers, they all leave him with a sour taste in his mouth. He thinks everyone who has a life and is doing fine is either an asshole or incompetent; an anti-socialist Damien once said. After two intense awakenings he just wanted to get out of the apartment to go visit his grandmother's grave. He made his way to the parking garage and unlocked his dark brown Firebird; it was older than some of the cars there but to him it added character: beaten up yet still going. He drove out into the afternoon Denver sun and went to the cemetery.
A plane made its landing back in the states. Sherry got off and took a cab back to the National Security office with files on the Norway mission in hand. She called Adrien to let him know she was coming; on the ride back she took another gander at the files. No matter how many times she read the fabricated stuff, it intrigued her more and more. At first it was because of the Wesker connection, but after meeting Carlos Oliveira in Brazil and reading what happened in the Kurinthian Temple, she couldn't wait to see what Adrien found as well. She ran inside feeling overly anxious to only find Adrien in the conference room with a couple board members. They had a Skype connection to another important figure. Adrien introduced him.
"Agent Birkin welcome back. How did the little retreat go?"
"I thought it was a two day retreat we granted?" One board member asked.
"It was, Sherry replied to cover for Adrien, I'm just saving the extra day when there's nothing to do. So what do we got?"
"Sherry, I would like you to meet the next Commander in Chief, Matthew Keyes."
"It's a pleasure to meet you sir." She said before sitting down.
"Likewise." Matthew said. "Agent Kennedy spoke highly of you and your efforts in Lanshiang, China. That was one hell of a scrape you and Jake Muller went through."
"If I may sir, the word "scrape" would be undermining the citizens in China for the pain and anguish that was brought upon them."
"That I have no doubt, Agent Birkin. Adrien here tells me you two have something to show me, something that would put an end to bioterrorism for good."
Sherry laid out all the files indicating links to Damien Walsh and his involvement in Norway when he was in his mid-teens. When the name "Wesker" came up there was a sudden uproar within the conference room, with some of the board members putting Sherry under duress for searching top classified information. Suddenly, the Vice President chimed in to break hostility in the room and wanted to hear Sherry's explanation in how she came by BSAA files in the first place. It was one of the things he learned from his predecessor, Adam Benford. Anything related to the Raccoon City incident or the outbreaks that followed after would be a step up in preventing another catastrophe. Of course, he didn't let anyone know of those specifics.
"Truth be told sir, the one article I found online wasn't sent to me by the BSAA. I was finishing up damage reports on C-Virus infested areas when the article about Norway popped up. It says here, she said as she was reading the article, that on March 18, 2005 a group of five troubled individuals were sent to an old temple called "Kurinthian". The mission was more of a boot camp routine ran by an ex-marine Sergeant named Samuel Travers. It claims that he brought them to the Venezuelan border by plane, and had them run through extensive training. The rest of the article was blacked out, other than a conversation I had with a soldier in Brazil who went to Norway as well."
"This is the reason we granted you company retreat, to talk to old mercs you've never heard about?" One board member asked. "You're taking on water, Agent Birkin."
"What did this Merc tell you when you met him?" Matthew asked.
"His name is Carlos. Only small details."
"Any details would be considered useful when it comes to viral outbreaks." Matthew implied.
"He…had a different purpose in going to the temple, helping Damien and the others solve a certain puzzle and… I know Raccoon City isn't a good subject to talk about but."
"We all know what happened in that year. You don't need to bring up past wounds!" One member shouted.
"Agent Birkin, please wrap this up." Matthew said.
"Before the article was blacked out, I managed to get a look at the source behind the mysterious killings that took place outside Kurinthian. The name was "Wesker," one of the few surviving manufactured children created by Ozwell E. Spencer."
"Spencer." Matthew said to himself. "That name has crossed my desk for links directed to a backlog of history with Bio Organic Weapons. And do you think this Damien Walsh has the full story?"
"We have a fixed location on his whereabouts sir." Adrien pointed out. "We know he's alive and well in Denver, Colorado and should have an exact address within an hour or so."
"Mr. Vice President, are you really going to ratify a bunch of incoherent junk by an inexperienced freak and a misguided Advisor? We have bigger issues to squash in the southern region of the globe. There are still C-Virus infectees there that need vaccines for."
"What are you implying, Mr. Dante?" Matthew asked. "Are you referring to your own colleagues as crappy liars? Look, gentlemen, ladies, my decision is this. We have spent billions on half the population trying to bring the world back to some normalcy. Neo-Umbrella is in shambles and our men and women in the BSAA have fought tirelessly in bringing us out of the brink from Derek Simmons' mess. If we're going to have any chance for a calmer future, we can't leave any loose end untied. Agent Birkin, Chief Advisor, as soon as you have Walsh's address you have the green light to go find him."
"Thank you sir." Sherry said.
"We will get on it. Thank you sir." Adrien said.
The meeting adjourned with tension stilled stifling up the room. Both went down to the meeting hall of the agency to see how computer analysts were doing on finding Damien's address. They had their people en route to Denver and should have the address within an hour or two. As far as facial recognition went they only had Damien's police record when he was seventeen. To Adrien, he thought Damien was either living like a pariah or he cut himself off from the rest of the world. Apart from Norway, Damien didn't have much ambition to make a name for himself; no girlfriend, no friendly affiliates, not even a sibling to boot. His grandmother Agatha was the only one identified as next of kin. As the analysts were drawing closer to an accurate address, Sherry pulled Adrien to the side and showed a picture of the Chicago Senator.
"Who's this?" Adrien asked.
"This is Alexander Rothstein, a senator from Chicago."
"Why am I looking at a random politician?"
"From the picture's source, it talked about him owning a few of Neo-Umbrella's shares before it collapsed. He found a way to get ahold of the share money and kept it in an unknown account before anyone found out. Now, why would a "random" politician have money on the side from Neo-Umbrella?"
"Politicians are crooked, Sherry." Adrien tried explaining. "It's 2014 and we're still living in a world of corrupt politics. I'm surprised the VP took time out of his schedule to talk to us, let alone approve this goose chase approach."
"He was Adam Benford's #2. Matthew did say if he was elected President he would follow in Adam's example and do whatever it takes to end bioterrorism. He did address the public about Raccoon City after all. You ask me, we got his attention. We should keep it that way."
"Alright Sherry, you made your point. Send the photo to me along with the source and I'll take a look when I'm able."
She left the meeting hall and went back to her office desk to check for messages. On her computer, it indicated that Claire tried to contact her seven hours ago. Her voicemail stated that her and TerraSave have been making great progress in helping children from Zimbabwe returning to normal with C-Virus vaccine, and that she should have some time in her slot to come and visit her. However though, it wouldn't be a very welcoming visit, not as much as Claire hoped for. Ever since Sherry was infected by her father's G-Virus the Government has been touchy in experimenting on her for future viral vaccines, but over the years that has been less than successful.
For a woman reaching thirty, she wasn't all that keen on staying a guinea pig forever. In fact, it was Chief Security Advisor Grey who spoke out and wrote a letter of exoneration for any future physicals done to her unless it was standard procedure. Claire concluded that she had a friend who was an old S.T.A.R.S. member looking into Sherry's recent blood draw for any abnormalities she put. The voicemail ended after that, didn't delve into too much detail on her condition. It could be inconclusive she thought, but before the changeover in management at National Security she was developing minor symptoms like dizziness, the ability to stay awake for days on end, even vomited blood at one point, which led to sending a blood sample to Claire. After she sent the photo of Rothstein and the online article about his biography, Adrien came to get her with news of Damien's address.
"Greenway Apartments; it's near Cornerstone's jurisdiction. The landlord, George Accio confirmed he's been living there since he was 23, hardly ever leaves except for work, which the way he put it he hasn't been to his car washing job in the past week."
"Good, that was fast. When do I meet him? She asked.
"That's another thing." Adrien said with concern sitting on the side of Sherry's desk. "I think you really should take a breather on this. I'll go to Denver myself and confirm your hunch about his story being connected to Alex Wesker."
"With all due respect sir, I can handle Damien. I have put alot on this hunch to begin with." She said before almost fainting.
"Sherry!" He shouted as he caught her. "Get her some water!"
Sherry barely raised her right hand and pointed to one of her desk drawers. She mentioned some type of medicine she takes to keep her immune system in check, thanks to Claire's hospital contact that was associated with TerraSave. Adrien opened the bottle and got out three orange tablets as he helped her swallow them. With her healing abilities still resourceful, she regained some of her leg strength and reassured him she would be able to take the trip to Denver.
"Still a stubborn piece of work." Adrien chuckled.
"Then I'm making progress. I was uptight when I started working here." She replied taking a sip of water.
"Compose yourself and come by my office so we can go over the procedure in interviewing a lost soul."
"You think he's that far removed from the rest of the world?"
"As far as I'm concerned, he's never been to Raccoon City. That right there he would not have had the cojones to go to a dark, abandoned temple just to clear his name. He'll be a valuable asset if he indeed knows about Alex Wesker and what he's planning."
That was the fourth collapse she had in the past year. On a solemn, windy afternoon as it took hold of the Denver area, Damien became surrounded with fresh air as he walked through the different tombstones at his town's cemetery. Normally, the respectful thing to do would be to bring flowers, but giving away $716 to an anti-social landlord put a big dent for any future expenses. However, his grandmother wasn't really a flower loving type of woman. She loved creating symbolism behind flowers in her paintings though. He reached her tombstone looking over its description.
"Agatha Tamara Walsh. Born: April 5, 1962-March 24, 2005. A strong, positive woman to the very last seconds on this Earth. Forever devoted to the graces of life. A guardian to one."
She was having heart palpitations when Damien started High School. Her part time job as a college Art Professor wasn't covering the expenses of her prescription drugs. Prices in the pharmacy she used to go to were raised so the owner would have his ass covered and prevent foreclosure. While she struggled with pharmacy regulations, in the middle of his Freshman Year he started lashing out at people, mostly those who talk negative about their parents and how pathetic their so called lives have been; typical teenage drivel. He got sent to detention twice because of it, but his grandmother could do nothing more than firm lectures about the error of his actions. Right then Damien knew something was wrong with her, and he himself knew better above all else.
One morning before she drove off to the university for a Saturday class, Damien got a call from her doctor confirming a tumor growing in the back of one of her heart valves. It was too early to tell; he dropped the phone and wished he had been wrong all along. In his mind, the news hit him harder because his only relative and mentor may be dying from a heart disease she was keeping from him. That was another thing; she never hid things from him. She was an expressionist in full. He got on one knee and placed his left hand over her gravestone.
"Hi grandma, I know I'm late this year. I'm sorry. Five months right? It's been way too long, and I'm barely getting by with my…well, let's just say it's been happening more often, losing you and living in a shit apartment. Pardon my French; I shouldn't even complain. Heh, you'd smack my head if my mouth opened ungrateful words. I still think about that night when I was seventeen, picked up for stealing meds with idiots who just wanted to score drugs.
I just want you to know it wasn't your fault; none of it. You told me to accept your own fate and live on to find a new lease on life. You know, I always wondered about who you were. I mean, you raised me right, said the right things, always told me the truth even when I didn't ask. Are you god or something?" He chuckled to himself. "I-I'm rambling too much; oh there's something else I wanted to say. I wasn't able to buy flowers because money's tight right now, but its' gonna be fall soon so I thought I placed this scarf to keep you warm."
It was tradition for him to visit her gravestone every year, and leave behind a keepsake which was either a few kind words or a trinket to liven up her grave. He laid it on thick this year to make up for lost time. Afterwards, he would say a prayer for God to continue to keep her safe, but this year he couldn't get any more words out. His throat was slowly closing up and seeing her grave put more of an emotional toll on him these past nine years. At one point he wanted to stop, to believe she was still out there somewhere living the luxuries of retirement.
He sent kind spirits her way. Before leaving the cemetery there was a woman paying her respects one row of gravestones ahead of him. It was too far to tell; vision for him hasn't been so great because of his injury. From behind she looked very familiar; then his blackberry went off and looked at it to see who it was. When he looked up the lady disappeared, no more than two seconds later. The call was from George.
"What's up, George?" He asked.
"Hey, listen uh...about our last conversation. I'm just going through some things, you know how it is. Nothing personal against you."
"It's fine I...guess. I'll get you the rest of the rent money as soon as I can. I promise."
"What are you talkin about? I got your money right here on my doorstep. In fact, this dough covers the next five months. I don't know where you got this cash, but it's good to see you keeping yer word."
"Yeeeaahh." He replied playing along. "I've been saving up. Just going by what you said, keep your cash in your closet, not the bank."
"Ha, for once yer learnin." He chuckled. "Also, there's two people in suits askin for you. I told them I didn't know where you were."
"Did they say what they want?"
"Just that they need to speak to you urgently or sumthin. Should I put them on the phone?"
"No, I had to run some errands but I'm coming back now."
"Is there sumthin yer not tellin me, Walsh? What are two suits from National Security waitin here for?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. Do me a favor, make sure they don't tear down my room before I get back."
"That's my job. See ya soon."
Damien hung up the phone as he quickly pondered who was waiting for him at his apartment. He hasn't gotten into any trouble in a long time aside from a few drunken stupors in his early twenties, but that was about it. Before heading back to his car, he took one last look at the row of graves he saw a lady at in the distance. No one else was there except for him. He drove away with nerves taking weight on his heart; if it were only that kind of feeling, and not the sharp pains he has endured over the years. First hearing voices; now seeing pain in corporeal form from his hallucinogenic point of view. Luckily, the woman who claimed to have left her mark on him didn't appear to throw him off course from the road. As he drove into the parking garage he took the old elevator up to the second floor of the five story complex. Waiting for his rich tenant, the silence made George nervous from the guys in suits so he tried to liven up the mood.
"You gentlemen like my humble abode? Took me a few years and some elbow grease to put this complex together." He said as the awkward silence grew. "It wasn't easy. Um...hey I made some chili earlier; I'm a mean cook when I'm not mean to others heh he. (to himself) Damien, any day now."
The elevator doors opened, and Damien came out seeing the two guys in suits waiting outside his door. George just stood there nervous as the others introduced themselves.
"Mr. Walsh?" One suit asked.
"Yeah that's me. Who are you guys?" He asked in confusion.
"Mr. Walsh, we work for National Security, under the guise of our new Chief Advisor, Adrien Grey. We need you to come with us."
"What's this about?" Damien asked with concern.
"Details are strictly classified for those who are not involved." The other suit said.
They escorted Damien out of the complex, almost by force and leaving George in question as to whether or not he was in deep trouble, and would have to ban him from the premises if it was the former. Damien made it clear to them he was going to go peacefully. Outside was a velvet black car with the National Security symbol on the passenger side. He sat in the back and before he knew it the car drove away to an open road, en route to wherever he was going to be taken. He looked at the outside from his window, felt the cool wind blowing in his face.
To him, it felt like years since he went outside, literally went outside for some fresh air. With his condition, dry mouthing medication, and a dead end job, they've all prevented him to enjoy the simple pleasures such as fresh air. He kept the window open and closed his eyes to take in the wind passing him by. Suddenly, his senses felt stripped from him, and nothing but the sharp pain from his chest began to cause him to sweat. The suit on the passenger front seat saw this and acted suspiciously; that was when the car began slowing down. Not completely, just enough to play with his mind in thinking seconds felt like days. The woman who left her mark on him, took absolute pleasure in doing that. He looked to his right and there she was sitting casually.
"You know, if you keep taking that medication I'm just going to torment you more." She said.
"Tell me something I don't...I don't know." He said as the chest pain simmered down.
"You're pathetic you know that? When are you going to accept my mark is actually a life changer for you? All you have to do is let go."
"Let go, like you did?"
"My story differs from yours, Damien. Now listen, I have a feeling these guys are taking you to...a play so to speak. You've lost touch with reality for nearly a decade and these two were once your biggest fans. It's rehearsal time at an acting studio; you mentally bring the script with you but remember certain parts and cast aside others to avoid emotional downfall. You go there, rehearse, and no matter how much you nailed your role they'll tell you to do it again, she said before her voice echoed, and again, and again."
"Jesus Christ." He said holding his head. "So, who are you in this "play" of mine?"
"See, you're improving. I'm the casting director who thinks the studio you're going to is complete horseshit. To them, you're a puppet in their clichéd circle, and would love nothing more than to be amused by your improvised slights. My part is to do my best to implore you to come try out at my scene. You would say yes, she said putting her hand on his chest, and I would purge your pain into happiness."
Suddenly, one of the suits snapped his fingers and reminded him of where he was going. Turns out, it was what she said in a manner of speaking, to retell his story in what happened in Norway to a special field agent that was well known around the agency. Damien at this point didn't really have a choice in the matter; jump out the car, endure the injuries from road impact and limp back home to a life of forgetting in what put him there to begin with. Then again, maybe retelling his story would start to put things in perspective in what was going on with the world. Despite him being disconnected from it, the last piece of news he heard was that the world was going to be on cleanup duty by the BSAA and all forms of Government.
Last time he was in front of the eyes of "government" so to speak, he got a "good job" from the previous president and a plane ticket home, no compensation for his troubles or a decent meal...for a little while anyway. The driver suggested him to close his eyes since it was going to be a long drive from Denver to the agency. Damien on the other hand, tried his best to stay awake; for three hours it was a piece of cake, but after awhile the wind got annoying and shut the window up. It reached evening; he closed his eyes and brought him to a dark place to which he can only hear her voice in an angered tone.
"Don't re-tell your story!"
"Can't you give me a goddamn moment's peace?! You're not going to change me so quit trying!"
"It's not about changing you."
"What're you talking about?"
"I've tortured you with those scars for long enough. Frankly, I am tired in convincing you."
"But you're not going to leave me alone?"
"Ha, of course not! I'm just going to have to try harder. Soon it won't be past wounds you'll contend with then. You're my progeny so to speak. You can kill anyone you wish."
"I assume this is the part where I beg for your mercy, cry like a two year old so you'll have to shut me up? I'm not buying into any bullshit story you jaw my ear on 'cause I got an exit strategy myself. The medicine I've been taking was only to take the edge off the scars; something stronger is heading my way. Until then, in some twisted reality, we need each other."
"We shall see."
He then heard "rise and shine" from an outside voice. This slowly woke him up to a whole new environment than he was used to. He got out of the car into the crowd filling streets of Washington, looking at all angles while getting his senses back in order. Before he knew it, the National Security building over shadowed his head as all three went inside the agency. They took an elevator up to the floor where a special agent was going to take the reins after Damien was delivered. As they got to the center of operations, the Chief Security Advisor relieved them of their services and took matters from there. He met Adrien Grey, and Grey got him acquainted with the agency.
"Welcome to our base of operations." Adrien said as both shook hands. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience my guys must've put on you."
"No, it's no problem. It's a nice change of pace from Denver." Damien replied as he walked with him. "So, how long am I staying?"
"One of our top agents has some questions for you regarding the Norway mission nine years ago. If you cooperate with us, you'll be in the wind after."
"Just like that huh?"
"Don't take it as an insult, Mr. Walsh. To be honest with you, the means in how we got you here were based on a hunch. If it were any other circumstances you wouldn't be here. But I'm not letting the world fall into another catastrophe like China was."
"The C-Virus right? I haven't been keeping up with the news lately; something about a global cleanup of B.O.W.s."
"That's correct, Damien. Over the past 19 months, everyone has been on constant alert for any viral remnants my predecessor left behind. As of late, we don't have to be on watchful eyes on every corner of the world, and good time too. It will give us breathing room to concentrate on human threats in the future."
One of the analysts confirmed to Adrien about an urgent news report coming through the TV feeds in ten seconds. Both he and Damien stopped for a moment to check it out. Neo-Umbrella was presumed to be disavowed due to the events in China, as well as any future viral weaponry to be put to rest and declared crimes against humanity, against any mad scientist curious on the subject. However, China wasn't the only place the facility was stationed in, but the most crucial. Informants in the BSAA said about an additional thirteen joint facilities amongst the Northern states such as Canada, Connecticut, and some abandoned operating base with the Umbrella symbol on it in Michigan.
So far, it has been said each of them contained empty containers and zero staff to occupy them. Most of them have been shut down and were being further investigated. Then a senator from Chicago voiced his opinion on this matter, saying he was containing a lot of the shares Neo-Umbrella once had. It seemed peculiar by everybody that an ordinary senator would contain money connected to a company with a history of viral devastation. His name was Alexander Rothstein.
"I am well aware that Neo-Umbrella was a menace to the human population. It was run by mad men with beliefs in being more than they were. They used to be men of science believe it or not since the days of the Umbrella Corporation. The Ashford family and Corporate giant, Ozwell E. Spencer, have created an empire of infinite possibilities to study other species, to create other life forms. Were they ahead of their time? Yes they were. They abused their power and a grueling end was all that waited for them. But that's all in the past now, or so we thought. We've had outbreaks from the T-Virus, G-Virus, Las Plagas, Uroboros, and of course the recent C-Virus created yet by another mad man with a heart that was for the wrong reasons.
The reason I am here at all is to address you about these joint facilities that seemed to be popping up around the world. I come from a long line of businessmen, of ambition, even a few mad men myself. I allow you people of Chicago to question my actions for the shares I bought from Neo-Umbrella, but before you ask I want to say this. It's been beaten like a dead horse many times before modern technology graced us. If I don't make it to my first Presidential debate, if lack of votes lead my campaign astray, the shares I bought will go to those joint divisions as health clinics and for technological advances. It is vague believe me; I'm still trying to figure out the angles myself. This is 2014; viral weaponry is too high a cost for humans to pay. Together we shall make a law that would put other mad scientists in jail for viral experimenting. Besides, umbrellas are supposed to keep you dry from the rain. Right?"
The feed got cut off after the speech. Damien commented that he was another barbaric politician with an end game that suits his purposes only. Adrien told him about how Agent Sherry Birkin got ahold of Rothstein's photo and the story about his shares. Damien claimed he has never seen the man before, not in Norway, nowhere. Even after he asked him about the name "Alex Wesker," Damien said the name was thrown around quite a few times when he and four other delinquents were prepping for the journey to the Kurinthian Temple. Both moved on to an interrogation room where Sherry was sitting with an audio recorder dead in the center of the silver table. She got up and introduced herself.
"Mr. Walsh, thank you for coming." Sherry said shaking his hand.
"Damien, this is Agent Sherry Birkin. She will be interviewing you on the facts in Norway. I'll just leave you two to it."
"Thank you sir." She replied as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
"Alright Agent Birkin, how did you find me?"
"Have a seat." She said before he sat down. "A news article came up in my research. It mentioned mysterious deaths outside some temple called "Kurinthian." She said turning the recorder on. "Damien, do you recognize these images?" She asked as she placed the article and some enhanced photos from it in front of him.
Taking a look at horrific photos of innocent people skewered and torn in half had him nearly sick to his stomach. He immediately recognized the undead hordes in the photos. The bodies came from various cemeteries all over Norway, and were transported to the temple for further study. At least that's what came out of Sergeant Samuel Travers' mouth anyway. He was the man who was discharged from severe injuries and one of the patients inside the hospital Damien stole from. There were alot of things about Travers Damien found weird. He used to run a camp within the corp for young trainees to go out on scavenger hunts and expeditions. Travers was also a big Indiana Jones fan, and the temple was a good place to start for he and the others. Norway was a halfway point to discovering the whereabouts of a half-crazed, old man with too much time on his hands; "Spencer" he said. Her hunch was starting to become accurate, but she wanted the full story from start to finish. Damien, surprising to her, was more than willing to do so.
"Why does that shock you?" He asked.
"No, it's-it's just that..."
"Ms. Birkin, no offense to your current commander in chief, but I didn't actually get any recognition from Norway, especially from the Vice President at that time. He basically told me I recovered half a puzzle in finding this Spencer character and sent me on a plane home. Wonder if they put my Intel to use."
"Ozwell E. Spencer was killed by a man named Albert Wesker." She replied.
"Wesker?" He asked.
"So you're familiar with Alex Wesker?"
"His name was tossed around a few times. In fact..."
Damien's stomach was growling, but it wasn't calling for food. He asked Sherry where the bathroom was and apologized for the sudden inconvenience. He dashed out of the interrogation room and ran towards the bathroom to retch in one of the stalls. Vomit went from phlegm to some strains of blood; his skin was getting paler by the second. He then checked his coat pocket for any pills to keep his stomach acids suppressed; the bottle holding four pills suddenly slipped out of his hands while his vision started to go blurry.
The pill bottle rolled out of the stall and under one of the washing sinks. His body wasn't cutting him a break any time soon, even his head felt like he was underwater. He slowly opened the stall door, and on all fours crawled to get his pills; a foot pressed on his right hand. He looked up and there she was again. She told him to stay put as she poured a glass of water from the sink; when she tilted his head back to give him the drink, she lunged the water right in his face to snap him out of the dizziness he was feeling.
"Oh, welcome back. You're slowly dying from the inside. I bet these pills barely make it tolerable." She said looking at the bottle.
"Please!" He said dry heaving as he raised his hand up to her. "I need those."
"I got a better idea." She said before swiftly kicking him upward against the wall. "Tell the goddamn truth. "Your story is shit compared to what you really did in the temple."
"I got no idea what you're talk." He said before grunting painfully from his chest scars.
"The more you resist what you've been given, the more it kills you." She said in a cold manner. "I'm surprised you've lasted nine years with this. You want to make things right, tell them what you've done to me, to my."
"You're fucking wacked. I see now; he wouldn't have tolerated a cold hearted bitch like you."
She smacked and grabbed his neck so he wouldn't speak anymore.
"One last time. You tell them the truth, and I go away forever. If you don't, the pain will start working its' way from your toes, all the way to your bleeding skull. Tick tock, Damien. Tick... tock." She said before disappearing and him collapsing on the floor.
In a blink of an eye she vanished without a trace. His hallucinations were getting worse; the more sicker he got the more violent she becomes. It was quite impressive in his eyes, painful mostly, but impressive he had someone to talk to. He grabbed the pill bottle and took two to suppress acid reflux and lightheadedness. Once he was able to stand straight, he exited the bathroom before anything unusual was suspected. Sherry was waiting patiently in the interrogation room and noticed something was wrong with his face.
"Jesus Damien, are you okay?" she said getting up and over to him.
"Yeah I'm fine." He assured her. "Stale corn beef...don't think I need to say more."
"Your skin looks very pale. I'm going to get you some water."
"No, please sit. I'm ready to do this."
Both sat down face to face and she turned the recorder back on to continue the session. Since Sherry wanted to know every detail Damien could try to conjure, she started simple like asking about his grandmother and what she was like. He told her she had strength; when you're with her you know you're going to be safe. Heck he said, if you put her on the front lines on a battlefield she will instill nagging and courage to emerge victorious in the end. But he was exaggerating on that fact; she was a parent and a mentor, when his biological parents left him at a young age in her care. He even mentioned a couple years ago when Damien was around 21 or so, somehow his real parents found him living in Denver and sent him two separate photos depicting two separate families since they declared an open marriage, and took things a little too far with that privilege.
Sherry didn't know what to say for something like that, but Damien didn't care. He even brought up a letter that was attached to both photos just to get a chuckle out of himself. It explained that his parents were sorry about abandoning him all these years and to let him know he wasn't a mistake. He didn't go further in depth about it, but he already accepted the fact they were already dead to him. Grandma on the other hand did what any decent parent would do, keep their own on the right path no matter how much the world changes a child. Sherry claimed she must've been the perfect guardian; she then went on to asking how her raising him affected in academics and stuff.
High School was typical teenage drama for him. Damien was more kept to himself and didn't get swayed by a mentally screwed up society. He brought up however that he had a friend before finding out his grandmother has been sick due to heart conditions. The friend stood by and supported him through his troubles half their junior year, but medical costs were going up. A friend of the grandmother's worked for a big Pharmaceutical Company called Atwell, where they specialized in heart difficulties. Her longtime friend didn't want to have the risk in losing her job, so she had to argue her case on Agatha's behalf. Unfortunately, costs for medicine went up and Agatha didn't have enough money for surgery. A few nights before his life changed, Damien made a promise to her that he was going to find a job and help her pay for medical expenses. As stubborn as she was, she desperately wanted him to finish his junior year and start looking during his senior year.
Since then, every day after school he would go to about six places of business like grocery stores, restaurants, even a barber shop, but to no avail not one gave him a job. The more he kept looking the medicine at his grandmother's house was getting empty. He was running out of time, though less time than her; so he went so far as to walk towards a hospital on the other side of town to apply for a job. But the end result was the same: they were either not hiring or the place was fully staffed. Sherry then wanted him to go into more detail about the break in at that same hospital to get the meds his grandmother needed.
Damien went to go sit on a bench somewhere to think about his options. Junior year was dragging for him, and the list of jobs he tried applying to in person were not hiring. Things were not looking so good; the night he decided to do the crime he saw his grandmother vomiting in the toilet. She wasn't the same, strong woman he came to know well. Her friend from Atwell, Bethany, decided to stop by her house and offered to take her to her hospital. She was to be put her on a respirator to make her final moments comfortable, but before Damien realized that was happening, the break in was set in motion. He knew some people from school who were into drugs and were in desperate need of a fix when he found them half drunk outside a bar somewhere.
"What's happening, seniors?" Damien asked nonchalantly.
"Uh...do we know you?"
"That's that kid Walsh. He's a junior."
"Oh hey. Want a hit?" Male senior asked holding out some weed.
"I need your help. I was thinking about scoring some oxycodone. You guys game for a steal?"
"What do we get in exchange? You don't seem like the delinquent type."
"A chance to savor some over the counter shit without having to pay for it. There's this hospital downtown called St. Carrodines."
"Hey Jack, wasn't Carrodines a crack house in the eighties?"
"Damn straight."He replied exhaling a smoke puff. "It got converted into a hospital with security out the ass. We need some serious Splinter Cell gear if we're going to pull this off."
"That mean you guys will help?"
The plan was simpler said by voice and not so much in action: to walk in the hospital, cause a ruckus, and break into the pharmacy to steal a couple medicine bottles that were vital to her heart palpitations. It was a group of five guys; the plan was executed as one pretended to have a seizure while another pretended to give himself brain damage from banging his head against the wall. They were tooled up for some free drugs. Damien slipped by as the nurses tended to the "sick" men as he ran down the hall to find a pharmacy someplace. By the time he did find one, one of the security guards asked him if he was lost. The third guy, he recalled the name Ralph, ran up behind the three guards and roughed them up a bit.
Then the fourth and final guy came running along and stole a radio the pharmacist was listening to. Damien had about an 80 second window before any other surprises stumped them. He managed to get the heart medication his grandmother needed but suddenly a stroke of karma hit him; a feeling of what he was about to do with the medication if he had taken another step towards the exit. His body froze looking at the bottle; a guard tackled him to the ground and cuffed him tightly. While the story behind his arrest was intriguing, Sherry stopped him mid-sentence.
"Let me get this straight; you had the meds in your hands, had an escape planned with them and you just froze?"
"Boring right? The real kicker would have been me actually getting away with it. I was only thinking about making my grandmother better. Obviously it didn't go my way. That's the thing in crossing over to the other side of the law; when you're the type of person who has never stolen or killed anyone, the moment when that burden is on your hands it changes your entire perspective. You become another person. I changed Ms. Birkin, but not from that night."
"What happened next?"
Six, pissed off security personnel benched all five culprits until the police came by and took them in. To the Denver County Jail they were sent off to. Once they got there, they were taken mug shots and got placed in separate cells so they wouldn't talk to each other. He said it was one long, cold night, with nothing but a buzzing fly to annoy him when everything around him was unnaturally quiet. Other prisoners were practically out cold during lockdown; which made Damien's stay more nerve wracking. The next day, one of the Sheriffs shouted his name to be released on bail. The cell door opened up and in the main lobby where he got his belongings back had a well composed yet leg casted, man in marine uniform. This man thanked the Sheriff and was going to take things from there.
He plainly told Damien to follow him outside the station. They walked to a Diner somewhere for some breakfast. Every fiber of his being wanted to know who he was and why a military man would bail out a teenager without knowing him in the past life. As soon as they got to the Diner and sat down, they really got to know each other.
"Alright, pick out anything you want. It's on me." He said.
"Who are you and why'd you bail me out?"
"Hmmph, little gratitude would be nice. If I wasn't in the hospital you'd still be in jail." Travers replied putting down his menu. "I saw you last night as you lifted some medicine from the pharmacy. You're pretty good, didn't crack under pressure and wasn't afraid to suffer the consequences."
"Listen mister, no offense, but I don't know what just happened to me. Jail went by so quickly I can't remember my last thought before I slept."
"Easily rectified, name's Samuel Travers. I was a Sergeant in the United States Marine Corp. As you can see from my injuries I was discharged from the service and got released from the hospital early this morning. Being in a firefight is dangerous, Mr. Walsh, but it can be invigorating for someone with a death wish."
"You don't say." He said with a feeling of awkwardness. "For some reason I lost my appetite."
A waitress came by and asked for their orders. Sam ordered two orange juices for both of them and were still looking at the menu. Before she left, she thanked him for his service to the country, and he came up with the most cheesiest response ever to be heard by human ears, but she didn't care. She walked away smiling and Sam came up with a proposal to Damien.
"For the record, you didn't do anything wrong." Samuel said.
"Well I feel like crap." He replied.
"You're supposed to feel like that. Who in their right mind would step into a hospital, not packing side arms and taking people hostage, just to score some medicine?"
"It wasn't for me." Damien said.
"Was it for your accomplices then? Look, the heart meds you took never left the hospital. It was still in mint condition with all 87 pills inside."
"Why don't you stop bullshitting around and tell me what you want from me."
"Have you ever been out of the country, Damien?"
"Not recently."
"I hear Norway's a good place to explore. You see, other ex-marines owe me a favor in acquiring information about this temple called "Kurinthian". There's Intel inside that could be vital in cutting off a strong link to bioterrorism."
"Bioterrorism?" He asked. "What's that got to do with Norway, or busting me out of jail, or taking me to a diner when I'm not even hungry?"
"You got a mark on your record. When I said you didn't do anything wrong, that's just my personal opinion. The line of work I'm in now is very determined in helping troubled kids doing a service to this country. Thereby, getting their records cleared of any wrongdoing."
"I have a sick relative, a pissed one most likely." He said before the waitress bring them their beverages. "She's my priority and I'm not gonna abandon her."
Sam placed a breakfast order for himself by ordering steak and eggs. Damien still wasn't feeling for an English muffin at least, but Sam ordered him an English muffin regardless with butter in case he changed his mind. Damien really wasn't liking where this meet was going. Sam implored him to think about his future, about his grandmother. He was shocked at the "lucky" guess at who the sick relative was. Before he left, Sam gave him his card with a cell phone number on the front only. Without a thank you or goodbye, he left the diner and waited by the bus stop.
Traffic was calm, but the buses were running late. It felt out of place since the buses usually ran on time regardless of the day or week. The name "Travers" fled his mind so he wouldn't have anything to do with a stranger. Heck, he was still trying to figure out why he froze with the heart medication in his hand. He was in the clear he thought; the others he brought along with him he could give less of a shit about if they went after him or not. After an hour of waiting, the bus came and took him back to his grandmother's neighborhood. Things were brewing of interest in the interrogation room, making Sherry wanting to move things along.
"Ok, maybe I overestimated in how much of the story I wanted from you. Let's skip the medication part for the moment and discuss what kind of marine this Travers was. Sherry said on the audio recorder.
"What's there to say? He took me and four other people to a slaughterhouse to cover his own ass."
"He didn't send you guys out there to get your names cleared?"
"Kind of irrelevant right now don'cha think? You ever heard of the silver tongue, Ms. Birkin?"
"It's a slew of military slangs soldiers use to inspire influence in other soldiers."
"Monica was an idiot to like him. All those years ago I bought into his bullshit even when I knew it was bullshit the entire time. If we had gone a different route in the temple."
"If she is crucial to the story, your grandmother, tell me how she reacted about you in jail."
"Like any concerned parent or relative. She was pissed, but with her heart condition she didn't do a whole lot to teach me a lesson. That was another good thing about her personal strength. You see kids nowadays get into all kinds of trouble, and no parents will grow a pair to set them straight. A spanking goes a long way for a wrongdoing child; it gives them incentive to not screw up a second time."
"You're telling me that you were perfect in your youth? Heh, you don't have to answer that." She said as both chuckled.
"Instead of yelling at me, as soon as I got back home and walked through the door a suit case was thrown at my feet. She gave me this look; it was the same one she gave my father when he was a troublemaking kid. He believed her strict attitude was too much for him to handle. To get back at her, he grabbed one of her favorite vases she found at a flea market and shattered it on the ground. Beating him seemed useless; so she packed all his clothes and had him go out into the real world and live by his own rules. Surprisingly after half a month he came crawling back, begging for her forgiveness. She never said a word to me as I was packing, just watched me."
"That must've been terrible your grandmother throwing you out like that."
"I stole heart medication. She had every right to throw me out. It was her way of blowing off steam, or in her current case, take some stress off her heart."
"Go on." Sherry replied.
By the time Damien packed his belongings and walked to the front door of his house, he turned around to only see her with her back turned to him. He bid her goodbye and said he hoped she would get through this difficult time with her heart. He would've gone on about how her doctor told him about the condition in the first place and how she wasn't honest with him about it, but in his mind what he did was no better. He went out the door with a suit case and two bars left on his cell phone. As he walked down his neighborhood and soon around Denver for a while, he called Bethany from Atwell to tell her that he wasn't going to be with her for some time.
When she asked why he told her they had a falling out. She saw the news about the robbed hospital and who was responsible, and was curious to know why Damien was taken in. He wanted to tell her the truth; any genuine friend of his grandmother's was good in his book. He forced himself not to do it though. All he asked of her was to visit whenever she could and take care of her while he was gone. She then demanded to know what was going on and where he was going in this world.
The last thing he said before hanging up was to tell her how sorry he was for what happened, that he had no excuse whatsoever. After he hung up it was already 11 in the morning. He already missed some of his morning classes at school and he didn't have a whole lot of friends to turn to for help. In some ways, if he hadn't met that silver tongued marine when he bailed him out of jail, he'd be in dire straits without a hope to get free. The card in his pocket showed his cell phone number. For the time being, he wanted to hear what Travers had to say about getting his record cleared along with this temple in Norway. Damien rang him up.
"Yo!" Travers said on the other line.
"It's Damien, the one you bailed out of prison this morning."
"You changed your mind huh?"
"It's a long story, but if you say going to this temple is going to get my name cleared then I…want in."
"You still seemed unconvinced." He said while Damien didn't respond for a second. "You know where the Ross Cherry Creek Library is on Milwaukee?"
"Yeah, I've been there once."
"I'm gonna be there for some light reading. If you're truly serious about Norway, come down and speak to me. I'll give you the details then."
"Sure...I'll be there." Damien said unsurely.
It was a long walk from where he was with a heavy suit case. He didn't have money for a cab so he had no choice but to hoof it to the library. It was a brisk afternoon with crowds of people walking and running past him, almost got knocked over once or twice. He got to the library and at the entrance one of the people working there stopped him to check his suit case. Once it was verified with nothing out of the ordinary they allowed him to continue inside. He hasn't been to a library since his elementary school days; only thing changed was the paint job from blue to tangerine. A voice whispered out to Damien from the second floor for him to come up. Damien found him strangely reading a video game magazine that seemed more intriguing to him than any old book in the entire library.
"Hey, you made it." He said putting down his magazine. "Um, you'll be provided clothing and other amenities once we get to Venezuela."
"It's Venezuela now?" He asked catching his breath. "What's over there?"
"Training; have a seat."
Before explaining to him what his role was in Norway, he showed him the video game magazine depicting '90s classics of the survival horror genre. He said it was rather fitting to what he was going to talk about. Venezuela had an offshore operating base where he and the other four participants were going for training. The Kurinthian Temple at its present state was mysterious to say the least. There have been mysterious killings happening outside the once impoverished landmark, and it was rumored to be linked to Bioterrorism.
Travers said he would go in depth behind the temple's origins once they were in Venezuela. The temple was once a testament to victories done by Norse Gods, and it held in weapons of the age as well as trophies of slain monsters. Its' size and scale would be twice the length and exploration of a certain mansion in one of the survival horror games. He then went on to explain what Damien's role was; according to recent events about lifting a bottle of heart medication with the help of others creating distractions for him, his role was going to be simple in a sense. He was to collect the Intel that was vital to turning the tide on bioterrorism.
With this, a team of evac choppers would come to their rescue when the Intel was found via comm radios. Damien thought "simple" was too obvious a word for Travers to use in what he was saying, because exploring in a temple of such magnitude would have dangerous obstacles keeping him from accomplishing the goal. His silver tongue kept getting more vibrant the more Damien listened to it. Before Travers left for a meeting, he left behind a plane ticket and some cab fare, telling him to be at the airport 7:30 P.M. sharp. He kept looking at the ticket and was still thinking about his grandmother's condition. He decided to give her a call.
"Damien, that you?" Bethany asked.
"Yeah hi, how's she holding up?"
"How do you think? Her heart's not doing all that great and she realized she made a mistake in kicking you out. I managed to get some prescription pills from my hospital out of friendship. She's enduring at the moment."
"That's good you being there. Listen, Mrs. Taye, about what happened at the other hospital. If it's worth anything, I never left with those pills."
"Damien, she sighed, I'm not in the mood to hear about your encounter with the cops. But I know why you did it. When she calmed down, she told me you've been out every day after school for three weeks looking for a job. In some twisted way, I actually commend you that you tried helping her when financial bullshit slaps you in the face."
"Thanks, but I think it's best I stay out of her hair for a while, just until she gets better."
"Did you not hear what I said just now? It is fine, you can come home." She said before it took Damien a minute to respond. "Damien?!"
"Tell her I love her okay?"
His phone seizure in his hand from all the nerves he had leaving his grandmother in Bethany's care. He took his suit case and did some traveling around the city to shake it off. 7:30 was still hours away and he needed something to do until then. Luckily, there was a GameStop store opened. It had small gaming booths for customers to come in and try out games before they buy them. One of them had a game that was survival horror on the PlayStation 1 system, the same one that was listed in the magazine at the library. He never played it before so he went over to try it out.
It was kind of intense for him as he was introduced to some rabid dogs jumping through windows in a dated mansion, but it was intriguing to shoot the undead with very little ammo he had. It definitely built up the tension in his 60 minute game time. He then went over to what seemed to be another horror type game with updated graphics. It was good for him because the aiming set up in that game was better refined, however not as much tension as the mid '90s game. In fact, as he was playing the game he couldn't shake this feeling that some of the events felt similar in real life, similar to when the President gave his statement about his daughter getting kidnapped in Europe the year before. Damien thought the girl was a nut bar in going to Europe in the first place, what with all these "viral outbreaks" going on in the world. He's heard of those words too, but never cared much about its' meaning since he was living a simple life and not killing creatures from a diabolical corporation. Before he knew it, he left the store and it was already 1:16 in the afternoon. He tried to find other things to occupy his time.
"It must've been hard on you, leaving your grandmother behind like that." Sherry told Damien.
"You have no idea. Bethany was there to care for her when I couldn't thank god. I shouldn't have left so soon."
"Let's jump to the part where you met Travers at the airport."
Damien was running late and the cab he took had a very bitter driver who kept spewing negative innuendos about life and society. When he reached the airport, he gave the driver the money and dashed out of there like a bat out of hell. In one of the terminals he heard someone calling his name from the crowd. Travers kept signaling him to haul ass to the ramp. Both got on the plane with a few minutes to spare, and sat down in their seats to go over what was going to happen in Venezuela.
"Mr. Walsh, welcome to your first step in getting your name cleared."
"It wasn't easy to be honest." Damien replied getting himself adjusted in his seat.
"Your sick relative huh; how's she doing?"
"So who else is involved on this Norway trip of yours?" He asked avoiding the question.
"The offshore operating base was my last stopping point before heading out on my last tour. It's like a watered down military school where soldiers can re-stock on ammo and improve their skills in the field. As far as I know about the temple, it's...haunted."
"Haunted, you're screwing with me right?"
"I'll explain once we get there. The other four participants have specific skill sets that's going to aid us both on this exploration. Do yourself a favor though, they have marks the size of Africa on their records. With their help, they can utilize their skills to do something good. If one talks to you, don't look him directly in the eye. Just smile and nod if you value your body parts to stay whole."
"Loving it so far; what are we supposed to find in…Carthian? Don't tell me, it's highly classified and telling a teenager puts the operation in the shitter?"
"It's "Kurinthian", and I have no idea what we're going to find. All I know it's linked to bioterrorism and it's up to us to stop it. We got a long flight from here to Venezuela so I suggest you get some sleep."
"At this point I doubt anything would surprise me. Tell me one thing though."
"What's up?" Travers asked.
He has made alot of questionable moves since his grandmother's heart condition. Sleeping less, inattentive at school, even agreeing to a Sergeant's proposal to get cleared of a crime he did for good intentions. He asked Travers why he would want to send troubled teens like him to a forsaken place like some temple. He mentioned two words: Raccoon City. He was one of the pilots flying around the infested wasteland as he heard dying screams of poor souls down below. He had never heard anything so horrid, then the fact Umbrella released a nuclear missile to cover their tracks, but that wasn't the worst of it. He had a wife who was interning as a chef at one of the restaurants in Raccoon on the day it all went to hell.
Luckily, she wasn't in that scrap when it happened he said. Travers looked at that experience as a blemish on U.S. history, especially the state of the human race. What if a crisis like this happened again he said, what if she was there working when the outbreak hit? Since then, he got promoted to being an instructor to young kids of Raccoon City survivors. Those who had families there were trained to be soldiers as well. It wasn't a mandatory thing, but it was a highly recommended program for youths from mid-teens and up to make a difference. His last tour was in Istanbul, got hit pretty hard during a firefight. It was the reason he was temporarily handicapped by a bum leg.
It was a week and a half prior to Damien's break in to the hospital. Travers saw him as a misguided opportunity. He wanted Damien to realize that although he could care less about outbreaks, bioterrorism, or politics, the world has gotten more dangerous than it ever has before. He chose not to listen. Travers let him sleep the entire flight and when he woke he was going to get a taste of what his program was all about. The plane landed in Tucupita, where it had a beautiful view of the island of Trinidad and Tobago.
From there, both Travers and Damien drove towards a helipad where an unguarded chopper was there. He said a pilot friend of his left it there with a full tank of fuel. They took off and headed west of the Atlantic. Damien's head was jetlagged so he didn't have the luxury to enjoy the scenery. Before he knew it, he found himself looking at the offshore base that was built like an outside military school. A second chopper already landed; it was the one holding the other participants in. Once they landed on the helipad of the base, he introduced Damien to his ol' humble abode.
"Welcome to Venezuela. For the next month, you and the others are gonna learn firearms training and surroundings exploration."
"We're gonna learn how to fire guns?!"
"Well...you might need the practice more than they do." Travers replied as they headed inside the base.
They made their way to the briefing room where the parole officers of each of the troubled kids were held in. Damien entered there like a foreign exchange student.
"They don't look so dangerous to me." Damien said.
"Take a seat." Travers insisted. "I need to talk to their parole officers."
Each participant looked like normal people; except for one girl who talked like she was from the south due to her accent. Another one had an English accent on him, looked like he never had a girlfriend in his entire life. The third guy was Jamaican descent, a bit bulky, looked like he could beat some heads. The last was a girl of Spanish descent, around mid-teens like him. Damien had a way of reading people and what their motivations were; a trait taught by his grandmother. However, the southern girl gave him a dirty look from all the staring that was placed on her.
"What'chu look'n at, dick brains?" She shouted as everyone went silent.
Damien didn't know how to respond to something like that. She then made an annoying claim like he was deaf. Her parole officer grabbed her and she was trying to break his grip. It was not going to end pretty for him.
"You gon ravage me like ya did in prison?!"
"That's enough!" Travers intervened. "Let her go."
"You know somethin Travey boy, you alright. Good to know you on our side." The English guy pointed out.
"You guys did your jobs. I'll take it from here." Travers told the officers before they left.
"Oh hey Daniels, she said getting her officers attention, tell your wife I be creamin fo days. She owe me lap a dance and a cavity search!"
"You bitch!" Daniels screamed as he ran toward her.
Travers prevented Daniels from doing something stupid like manhandling a convict. It took the other three officers to restrain him, telling him it was not the time or place. They got him out of the briefing room with Travers shutting the door behind them. He sighed for a brief moment and walked to the front to face each participant.
"I can already tell we're going to make a good team."
"Keep dreaming, Monroe." The Jamaican guy said.
"Now that we got that shit out of the way, I'd like to introduce our fifth and final member of this expedition, Damien Walsh. Please arise Damien." He said before he stood up slowly from his chair. "Tell everyone what you're in for."
"Let me guess, j-walkin?" She interrupted.
"No, I almost stole meds from a hospital clinic but didn't have the balls to see it through. Now someone close to me is dying because of me. Is that good enough for you?" Damien announced before sitting back down leaving everyone in the room silent.
"Who were they for?"
"Damien, meet Terrell Amaro. He has experience in Norwegian Legends. He's been looking into the history behind the Kurinthian Temple and what its origins contains. He'll be the most resourceful for us. The drama queen behind you is Monica Janowitz, born in Southern Kentucky and specializes in "extracurricular" activities."
"You keep flatterin, I might show you my "extracurricular" activities in the night." She said smirking.
"I don't think shiving people's eye balls and screeching 'round corpses counts as a first date."
"That's Monroe." Travers announced. "He's in for getting 120 restraining orders and is an attention craver."
"Just providing me services to an idiotic society is all. I'm going to play as the distraction in the temple in case we run into any nasty undead... Don't all get up at once now."
"You done; lastly we have Cara Moreno. She's in for, he said before Cara gave him a look not to speak, when we have time, both you and Damien can speak in private."
Once the un-pleasantries were out of the way, Travers went to talking about the history behind the temple. First was its' origins; back in Norse times long after the desecration of their species in Ragnarok, mortals who survived the onslaught built certain temples that were shrines to gods they believed in, even built a museum depicting certain theaters of war done by Odin. However, there was one temple that had the entire package so to speak. It played as purgatory to the Architects who were constructing it, because it was a temple unknowingly made on top of a steep chasm holding something precious below. Centuries after Norse times, explorers and thieves traversed into the vast temple looking for something known as the Elixir of Valhalla. It was a pool of blood taken from millions of battlefields, blood wounds left behind by the gods, and were taken in droves as it was poured into the pool.
This was done by worshippers who have walked each battlefield, collectors in a sense. In the new age, the entrance to the Elixir was sealed off up until the mid-1970s. The temple's contents were founded by a modern architect named Archer Kurinthian. He was a man with a hunger of high valued history such as the Norse Mythology. With a team of just 221 abled bodies, they were able to remove the cobwebs and bring back the temple's veracity into the 20th century. The rest of the details were just pure speculation, but Travers laid them on the table to go further into what happened to Archer.
Archer had a daughter named Phylicia. She was only 11 years old in 1976; the last year the temple was fully restored. Archer became physically exhausted from the backbreaking work and financial jabbing he had to go through to make this all real. About a month after it was all said and done, Archer went with his daughter on a vacation to Italy. From there, they toured Venezia to sightsee. Though they didn't do much of that due to Archer's still exhaustive state, later details were said that a man of certain conviction approached him in 1981 to offer him a job in global expansion. A pharmaceutical company was doing unexplainably well in the states; the Ashford family's reputation was unparalleled to any corporate giant in the country.
They wanted Archer to build another Umbrella Corporation in the middle east so the people there can have medicine at very affordable prices. Phylicia was a teenager, and was fully capable in studying her father's past designs. He was going to accept the offer if his daughter was there to help him out on the project. The Ashford family, namely James Marcus, took a leap of faith and complied with his request. It was not without consequence however; Archer's line of work had him personally take on big ambitious projects such as the temple. This made him a Leonardo Da Vinci of architecture, mainly because it would take him months to get a specific design right for the building, and the materials requested by Marcus were insanely expensive.
That part was covered, but the man power went from his staff of 221 to only 124 strong. Phylicia wasn't able to help a whole lot either because of school and looking into colleges. The more Archer requested more man power for the project, Marcus gave him that story about how every great moment in history started with one, with hundreds, if not thousands to follow in his stead. Rome wasn't built in a day he told Archer, though he was dismayed at the amount of time he took to establish the exact design requested. Days turned into sleepless weeks, sleepless weeks turned to a full year.
During that time, Phylicia grew more worried about her father's health. When the building was finally done, Marcus and Umbrella founder Ozwell E. Spencer, came to his home to congratulate him on such a triumphant contribution to the world. It was only until Phylicia walked home from school later that afternoon to find him dead in a pool of his own blood. It was gushing red all over the house. What was even more messed up, her father was there but only his skin. Something was lurking in the house, and it nearly cost her life.
"Did she shoot what eva jumped outta 'im?" Monica asked.
"Her father didn't keep any firearms in the household, but he did have Norse keepsakes he took from the temple that helped even the score. According to old police reports there was no trace of the monster or her in sight." Travers said. "I have reason to believe two strong life forms are living in the temple now, and whatever's causing the mysterious murders in Norway might be that very same B.O.W."
"Sorry, what's a bow?" Monroe asked.
"Bioorganic weapons." Cara said out of nowhere. "Sorry I…wanted to chime in."
"It's ok, Cara. Good of you to be with us. Bio Organic Weapons made their debut on a train called the Ecliptic Express and terrorized all known passengers by overwhelming them with leeches. This conspiracy led to the same family who hired Archer to build their Umbrella Corporation. Next was a mansion in the Arklay Mountains, then of course Raccoon City. I was one of the pilots circling around the area when the Tyrant Virus first broke out. The public were led to believe that these catastrophes were long behind us when Umbrella destroyed all evidence of the outbreak. Their company went up in flames a few years back. But something has been cooking up in Norway, linked to Bioterrorism."
"The Kurinthian Queens." Terrell said.
"Terrell, you have the floor." Travers replied.
"My research on these murders has been linked to a series of interviews by Norwegian reporters. They talk of Queens, flying around the temple. It was rumored that two queens have been passing themselves off as excavators and capturing people during night time."
"I guess tour guides would've been too obvious." Damien said.
"There were tours being given around the temple in the mid '90s, but around 2001 that's when the murders began. Tour guides found different lines of work, and there were less and less security investigating each year. One source mentioned of a limping corpse walking around the edge of the temple with something growing in its stomach."
"Male or female?" Monroe asked.
"Does it matter?" Terrell said.
"Imagine a pregnant man walking about our streets, let alone someone who was bloody infected and people screaming for their lives. I'm sorry; continue?"
"Around March of 2002, the Queens were seen again, this time in exquisite gowns made up of one specific color for each: red and white."
"The Red Queen: Umbrella's central A.I. computer. She went haywire before the city blew up." Travers explained. "There's a red queen in Norway?"
"A human version I believe, or from the outside they say. The temple doesn't have any current existing technology so A.I.s wouldn't work. As for the White Queen, nobody has seen her face."
"It could be Phylicia Kurinthian." Cara pointed out. "You said both her and the monster that killed her father disappeared right?"
"Yeah, but how would a simple B.O.W. jump to the other side of the world? It would need to feed to survive, and there haven't been news reports on abnormal attacks up until Norway. Strange." Travers said.
"You have a picture or something to show us what he looks like." Damien asked?
"That's what you're on about?" Monroe said. "You lied to me Travers. You told me this temple was more of a field trip, not a mission to get our heads chewed off."
"You want to go back to England; serve out your five year sentence with the number of restraining orders you got?"
"Touché mate." Monroe replied.
Cara chimed in once more to address a tactic that didn't require a gun if encountering resistance. The tactic was simple: Singing to dead souls. Back when she was little she was living with her aunt in Raccoon City. Travers stopped her saying she didn't have to talk about the event just the tactic, but at this point she gained enough confidence to prove it worked for her. When the outbreak happened and people were screaming for their lives in the streets, zombies broke their windows and tried cramming into the house. Her aunt was scared beyond comprehension, and Cara didn't know how to defend herself; that's when an unlikely idea popped into her head.
There was a karaoke machine in the living room under a cupboard; both her and her aunt plugged it in and something extraordinary took form. For a girl at age twelve, she had a sweet velvet voice of a professional singer. Her voice simmered down the crowding undead in just a matter of a few minutes. She couldn't explain why it worked at all, but she concluded saying the zombies stared at her in silence, leaving both of them cold and still. Then soon, the zombies left to go feed on someone else, and they never came back. A good three hours have passed since then; her singing happened very early on in the outbreak. S.T.A.R.S. members found them and got them together with other evacuees to escape from the city. Though Cara made it out alive, her aunt got bit and was being eaten in front of her. It traumatized her to an amazing extent, forcing her to never open her mouth to soothe rigid souls again. Travers made an announcement to Damien that he wasn't entirely honest with what kind of team he was going to be dealing with.
"Thank you Cara. So yeah, you're looking at a survivor of Raccoon City. If only had her voice was heard on all radio frequencies perhaps the undead would've been stunned, giving more people time to escape. They would still be living today. Damien, I wasn't honest with you. When you said these guys looked like regular people to you, you're right. I don't see criminals in this room; I see misguided individuals, perhaps violent to some. I pulled you all away from random circumstances to have you come here, but legally you're not forced to go on this expedition. By a show of hands, if there's any of you who feel that this is a suicide mission from all the info you heard today, just say the word. I'll call your parole officer, have you transported safely back to county to serve out the rest of your time, or go back to your lives. The decision is yours."
Travers gave each participant a minute to think over on what has been said about Norway and whether or not they wanted to partake in what was going to happen. Damien spoke out in wanting to go, saying that he never really valued another person's life or sob story other than his own grandmother. After hearing Cara's story, it seemed she was strong enough to get past her grief in losing her aunt. He personally didn't know what would happen to his grandmother, but the way his life was looking he had no other choice but to participate. No one else hesitated besides Monroe.
"Hey, I'm just saying. If we're going to die, might as well video tape the damn thing and hopefully one of us puts it on the net. Trust is in short supply these days."
"There will be no recording of any kind on this trip. If you find trinkets or keepsakes, you contact me. That will be evidence enough of us being there. Now if there's no other questions, the barracks have been prepared. So settle in, and in an hour we'll go over what training exercises we're going to be covering. Dismissed!"
All five got up and left the briefing room, and went down to the barracks. It wasn't much; dark blue bunk beds, gray walls and slightly tinted windows to only view the ocean. Since there were four bunk beds instead of five for the participants, one had to sleep on the floor. Monica made sure her back was going to lay in dense fabric than a cold, hard floor.
"Listen up, people! There are four beds and five of us. Y'all gon have to choose who sleeps on the ground."
"And let me guess, if we can't decide you'll "rassle" us like the pigs you were raised in?" Damien asked before everyone else gasped.
"The fuck you say city boy?" She asked jumping down from a bunk. "I was raised with wax in my ears so you gon have to speak up."
"I'll sleep on the floor." Cara said.
"No, you're not!" both Damien and Terrell said and looked at each other.
"Guys, guys!" Monroe interrupted. "It's not a big deal. When my parents threw me out I slept on cold grounds. I'm used to it."
"You ain't goin anywhere either." Monica told him. "This is day one, so I'll make this easy to understand. When I was chilling in an all female's prison, I jived against some of the meanest bitches around. One day, I was taking a shower, and a female guard decides to walk in and..feel up on me some. Kept feelin up on my legs, went north towards the sweet spot. Know what I did?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell us." Damien replied.
"I broke her knee cap with a soapy foot, took her handcuffs and cuffed her to the shower pipe. Twenty minutes later, she never spoke a word again."
"Christ, you killed her!" Monroe said.
"Nah, my nails were feelin sharp so I left five deep scars on her throat. No one fucks with a Janowitz."
"I have a sick grandmother." Damien chimed. "She's all I got right now. And I'm praying she's still breathing by the time I get back."
"What's your point?" Monica asked.
"She was always a mother to me, taught me not to take shit from anyone. What makes you think I'll whimper from someone who doesn't look so tough?"
Suddenly, Travers came on the intercom in the barracks without them realizing there was one to begin with. He praised Damien for getting to know his team mates and that he heard the entire debate on whether or not who sleeps on the floor. He called Monica to his office and let everyone else know that soon they were going to meet up in the armory, or lack thereof he said, and set up targeting ranges for weapons training. She acknowledged Travers' request with a snake like smile on her face as her shoulder bashed against Damien's walking out. He told them all the essentials were packed out and gave them some time to sort through them. The four remaining participants separated for a minute to settle in. Damien placed his suit case on his bunk to sort his clothes out when Terrell went up to him.
"You got steel in your balls, man. Out of the four of us you were the only one who didn't flinch once when calling Monica out on her bullshit story."
"She doesn't scare me. I'm just going to do what Travers brought me here for, and I'll be on my way."
"I don't think that'll be easy, mate." Monroe pointed out.
"Is it true, Terrell, is the temple haunted?" Damien asked.
"One thing's for sure. Whoever those Queens I found in my research, we're not going to be alone in there."
"You have the lay out of the temple, right? You studied for any passageways or back doors to find this Intel quicker?" Cara asked.
"I'm not sure why he didn't say anything. The temple's revival from the '70s was the only article I found, the only one that spoke of the project. Who knows what those Queens have done to the place since then."
"Ok, so we're flying to the temple blind, and most likely get beheaded by a couple of ol' hags from the Middle Ages? Yep, sounds logical." Monroe said.
"Heh, thanks for the vote of confidence." Damien told Monroe.
Waiting for an hour, turned into an hour and a half. Then two hours, almost three in total. However, it was enough time for Damien to observe who he was going to be working with. Terrell seemed like a good guy, one of those gentle giant types that only cause trouble when the situation demands it. Cara was an approachable type as well. She wrote in her journal the entire time. Monroe was a different story; when a dialogue was not in play, he had a tendency to look sharply at five or six directions at once.
He wasn't harming anyone though. The only person Damien was weary towards was Monica. They were getting restless in figuring out where Travers and Monica have gone too, but in a blink of an eye both walk through the barracks' door and rounded them up on their first training session in using firearms. Monica came in with a different outlook than she did before; as if she was more relaxed and actually apologized to Damien about the hostility she gave upon his arrival. As they marched towards the training square, Cara was whispering to Terrell about Monica's calm demeanor. Monroe assumed Travers straightened her out, and by that he meant giving her something no man seemed to do since she was in an all females' prison. She couldn't be any more obvious in walking beside him and not with the group. This was starting to turn into a pattern when Sherry stopped him mid-way telling his story.
"So, you're meaning to tell me that an ex-marine, 32 years of age, had sexual relations with a 20 year old sociopath?" Sherry asked during the interview.
"It seemed that way to Monroe. Then again, with the way he thinks sometimes you'd imagine he was born in a gutter somewhere instead of England."
"Is this part of the story going somewhere, or are you just not thinking clearly?"
"What do you mean?"
"The air conditioner's been on blast for the last hour and you're sweating bullets."
"Now who's detracting from the subject matter? What's that say about you, Ms. Birkin? You look alot paler now than when we started. Are you feeling alright?"
"Proceed."
For the first four days of the week, it was an alteration of firearms training and dark exploration. On those days, Travers took them to the darkest corners of the base, either in groups of two or stand alone. It was a basis for what they were going to endure in the temple: darkness, eerie sounds, maybe a jump scare or two. Damien skimmed over those training sessions as much as possible since it took place over the course of a month. He stuck with some relevant details, like at one point where Monroe was in the armory staring at one gun and a rocket launcher.
He was curious as to why they weren't put to use like the other weapons. They were in glass cases as if they were more antiques than useable. Travers mentioned they were replicas of genuine made weapons that helped the S.T.A.R.S members get out of some tough scrapes in the Arklay Mansion back in 1998. The side arm was a Beretta 92F, also known as the Samurai Edge. It had the capability to render any form of the undead to pieces once a single bullet is fired. Travers explained it once belonged to a legendary bad ass that had an old fashioned way of doing things.
A real family man he was, but from what he remembered from the S.T.A.R.S. reports, it was never confirmed whether he lived or died in Raccoon City. Monroe was allowed to hold the gun for the first time, and out of nowhere he felt an immense sum of pride that with the right attitude he was going to survive the temple ordeal with little to no fear at all. It didn't change his attitude as a whole though. He was still annoying at times trying to get attention. As for the ordinary rocket launcher, it has been a tradition, more of a personal practice to a soldier, who has been giving the opportunity to send the final punch into Umbrella's gut. A lot could be said for a rocket launcher, but in the society they lived in, it was the most absolute tool to take down a B.O.W. in style.
Another unique thing Damien recalled were the uniforms they were going to wear on the trip. It was optional for those who brought clothes to the base. Travers wasn't very stingy on military wear, especially Monica. She wanted to be free in her own clothes. One of the outfits was covered in black with some armor attachments and a gas mask.
"Is the temple radiated, Travers?" Terrell asked.
"As far as we know, no form of gas has caused the killings in Norway. But hey you never know." He said lifting up the gas mask from the outfit. "This mask here has some relevance back to Raccoon City. We never knew who wore it though; they say he was like a ninja or something. He entered into the infected abyss, and never rose from the dead. Some say death can't touch him. Maybe this outfit can be…a dormant shield for you. The neckline of the mask is stiff enough to avoid any creature bites."
"And if we're walking in the shadows, they won't be able to see me."
"Precisely Terrell." Travers replied.
Weapons training in one month didn't feel like it was enough for Damien to learn, mostly because he's never shot a gun before. Then again, neither did Monroe until he started staring at the Beretta in between sessions. Now for the exploring part, Damien and Cara were really good in getting lost in the base, and for good reason. Travers kept telling them about having the element of surprise in their favor because no one has gone into the Temple since the mid '90s. They would be able to slip in unnoticed. One last relevant detail from the exploring part of his training was solving a puzzle.
At first, it didn't sound complex as Travers led them to believe, but it was going to be difficult to test out the result once it was solved. The entire base was split into three pentagons, with one bridge to cross on each. For the month, they were kept in one part of the base for weapons training; the other two contained storage, maintenance, and an extra helipad which was the final checkpoint everybody had to reach before heading out to Norway. It was March 17, 2005; the day before the mission started. The center of the base was the main training square with the two passages that lead to the helipad. Everyone broke up into two groups of three: Damien was with Cara and Monroe, and Terrell ran with Travers and Monica. Before the big race began, Travers gave one last piece of advice.
"This is it guys." He echoed. "I didn't think we'd be able to accomplish so much in a month's time, but we did. For what it's worth, I can see everyone here getting their records cleaned of past crimes. Now here's the bad news, I uh got a memo from my superiors this morning. They've gotten wind we were occupying this base without a permit, and the fact that I stole a gunship from them as a traveling vessel to get to Norway. That's the reason why you weren't allowed to go beyond the briefing sector. Venezuelan aircraft has been monitoring this base for the past four weeks."
"How much time we got?" Monica asked him.
"Less than thirty-five minutes to get out of here." He replied looking down. "Afterwards, they'll start shooting down the structure."
"Jesus Christ!" Monroe said to himself.
"You picked a hell of a time to tell us." Damien said.
"We should get moving then." Cara said.
"I know what this means. I haven't been honest with you and I can't take that back. All that's left now is to get out of here. No turning back. There's one speed you're going to need, and that's your own. Here are the lists of combination locks." He said handing them out to everyone. "There are five in each so I don't know which ones are the right ones. Once we go through our tunnels, there will be three main access points; one of them will lead into the blast door. Might as well warn ya, when you choose your path, you best be damn sure it's the right one. So count your minutes, hope to see you all at the helipad."
It was quite a shock to Damien and the others in having limited time to get off the base. Both teams ran inside their tunnels and looked at their synchronized watches to keep track at how much time they had. What was going through everyone's minds Damien assumed, was what other things Travers didn't have a chance to tell them about. The fact he brought up a countdown before the base gets destroyed was the farthest thing from his brain. He and his team didn't have radios so they couldn't contact the others to see how far they were from their blast door.
Thirty minutes and counting down; no dialogue was spent on either of the three. They just ran and ran through the dark tunnel, with no sounds other than their own breathing and footsteps. In Monroe's case, running in a tunnel felt like forever, and with only twenty-three minutes left Cara and Damien were losing their breath from running so long. With eighteen minutes and thirty-six seconds left, Damien told Cara and Monroe to stop for a minute.
"Mate, what're we waiting for? We gotta keep moving!" Monroe shouted.
"Just shut up and listen would you." Damien replied as all three stopped running.
He didn't want to believe Venezuelan Aircraft were going to swoop in and take out an abandoned base. Seventeen minutes and forty seconds in getting to the helipad, not a pin drop was heard. Damien told the others to keep moving. All of a sudden however, the tunnel they were in vibrated, nearly threw them off their footing. There were sounds of jets flying past them up top. Eventually, with only fourteen minutes on the clock they made it to the blast door. Next to it was an old access computer.
Cara ran to it and tried to get it to work; fortunately it only had 21% power. The vibrations in the tunnel were becoming more frequent, so Damien got out the list and read the first combination: F4-C7-665. It was invalid on the computer. He then tried the next one: G9-Q1-442. It was invalid once again; that was when he skipped to the fifth code that was more like a date than an actual code. Cara punched in for luck 3-22-1996; the blast door opened and not a moment too soon. Half the bridge behind them was destroyed. They didn't have time to process the reality of the situation. They hauled the rest of the way with only nine minutes and sixteen seconds to spare. It felt like a war zone out on the helipad; jets flew past the base, sending out rockets like they were determined to sink it without a trace. All except one made it to the gunship; Travers wasn't among the group.
"Where's Travers?!" Damien shouted to Terrell.
"He left something back at the briefing room." He said catching his breath. "He told Monica and I to wait for him here."
"Do you lot think we're going to stay here while we get shot at?! I'd say we leave!" Monroe said.
"What, we can't just leave 'im behind!" Monica said.
"He made his choice! Everyone inside!" Terrell told everyone.
Terrell manned the controls to the gunship. He had never flown any type of aircraft before so he had to wing it to get out of the hot zone. Luckily, he managed to get it off the pad and into the air, but they weren't out of the salty sea air yet. Two jets flew past them with plans of shooting them down. Monroe kept telling Terrell they needed to get the hell out of there fast. On the stern of the gunship, it had one gun turret and this gave him an idea. He took Terrell's gas mask and used it to cover his face so the jets wouldn't identify him. Suddenly, the entire base exploded in a red aura and reduces any jets within its radius to ash. The group got out of the area by only the skin of their teeth, but Monroe and the others couldn't believe what just happened. Once things were settling in the air, Damien sat down figuring out what to do next.
"I can't believe we let Sammy die down in that shit hole." Monica said sitting on the floor next to Damien. "Why didn't he tell me?"
"Us you mean?" Cara said. "How could he do this to us? We did everything he asked to get to this point to only get shot off by Venezuela Airspace?!"
"Eh, no offense to your boy toy Monica, but Travers was a right ass hole." Monroe said giving Terrell back his gas mask.
"He just told us to wait for him. What would he need in that briefing room that was so important." Terrell asked?
"Perhaps you should ask Monica." Damien said. "She knows him better than any of us here."
Terrell found a way to put the ship on auto-pilot as everyone stared at Monica for an explanation. She claimed she was attracted to the man, but nothing happened between them the whole month they were training. Monroe made the claim on a couple nights she would come back to the barracks late, sounding relaxed than the frustration Travers put on her in the exploration sessions. Monica baited the subject by acting appalled by the subtle accusations on her, especially after she stayed with them and not followed Travers because he forgot something. It almost turned into a heated argument, but Terrell didn't want to hear it.
"Enough!" He shouted. "If he lived he'd probably jumped into the sea and swam to shore. He wouldn't risk his life the way he did if he truly forgot something. This mission meant so much to him."
"If he lived, that would be very unrealistic." Monroe pointed out.
"He has a point. That blast incinerated the entire base and the jets surrounding it. We're on our own guys; no other way around that." Cara said.
"Where do we go from here?" Monica asked?
"To Norway; might as well get an adventure out of this." Damien said.
There was really no other choice at this point. They were out at sea in the middle of nowhere. Terrell agreed to go through with Norway and had Damien sit beside him to navigate. In all honesty, they didn't have homes to go to. Damien had a dying grandmother who was probably far gone in her condition; Terrell had family in Jamaica but left there at the age of 22 to go find his own way in the world. Cara left her boyfriend's home in Toronto to pursue a singing career which didn't fare her way, with Monroe's record England didn't wanted him back, and Monica didn't give a shit in her own right. Whether she went back to prison or died in the temple, it made no difference. They had their weapons, their training, and a goal. It didn't get much simpler than that. Damien got out the world map from his back pack and helped Terrell navigate.
In the interrogation room where the interview first started, Sherry was feeling more under the weather. More specifically, her eyes went dark and looked like she was about to cough up a lung. Damien tried getting her attention to see if she was alright; she started coughing and collapsed on the floor. He got up and opened the door for anyone to help her. One of National Security's personnel ran in and got Sherry out of the room. He shouted Adrien's name to come and get her to the hospital immediately. One of the agents guarding the door told him to stay put until someone else was going to collect him shortly after. With the door closed behind him, he was greeted by the likes of her again. She gave him a stern look for a solid two minutes, and Damien didn't flinch at all. He wasn't shaking when he saw her; his chest didn't feel like three machetes slashing his skin, but for a man that was slowly dying on the inside he had a hell of a will to resist that truth.
"Is this the part where you torture me again?" Damien asked as she sat down in front of him.
"No." She nodded. "I'm not even mad at you right now. Truth be told, you make me sad seeing you sit there throwing your soul away, and for what? Things will not change for you."
"I've been thinking. Back in the temple, I do remember what I did. I'm so sorry."
"Damien." She said.
An agent named Mark entered the room and told him Agent Birkin had grown ill at the moment. Nothing severe he said, but he was going to take him to a hotel where for two paid nights he was going to stay until it was time to bring him back. For the rest of the day Damien stayed at the Channel Inn to contemplate on how he was going to tell the next part of his story. Details were getting harder to remember about the later part in the temple. He tried writing down what he remembered but nothing was coming out of his head. It brought him immense frustration. He got up from his hotel room desk and used both his hands to press on his forehead. After he drank some water and sat back down, something clear was written from the chicken scratches and scribbles he made.
"Your soul is mine!"
The cold, spine shivering Damien was feeling at that point, she was nearby.
"This is much better." she said as Damien saw her sitting on the bed. "I'm impressed Damien, keeping your chest injury from showing over there, coherently telling your tall tale." She continued as she whispered next to his right ear. "I guess you're not losing it after all…"
39
