I'd like to take a moment to apologize for the lack of asterisks/ line breaks in my last chapter. For some reason, when I upload my stories it removes all paragraph breaks, and I usually put them in manually after uploading my chapter, but my alterations apparently didn't save before I put the last one up, hence bouncing from scene to scene with absolutely no warning.
"Your white flag can't stop American bullets, you snail-eating coward!" The Soldier cried, firing his shotgun into the darkness. Beside him, the BLU Spy crouched, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. They were in the Intel room, and the grey Spy – whom the BLU Spy immediately recognized as a Spectre agent – had just killed the lights. All three combatants were blind, except for what they could briefly see from the muzzle flashes.
The grey Spy fired again, lighting up the room, and the BLU Spy took everything he could from that instant of illumination. He saw the Soldier, who was now crouched behind the Intel desk, peering over it cautiously. The Spectre saboteur was across the room, in a shooter's stance with his revolver in both hands. His bullet had gone harmlessly into the side of the desk.
The BLU Spy circled the room, keeping completely quiet, but at the same time moving as quickly as possible. The other Spy seemed to know that he was unarmed, and the BLU agent hoped that this mysterious foe would underestimate him.
The grey Spy fired a second shot into the desk, and the Soldier retorted with a shotgun blast, which missed completely. The Soldier obviously didn't have the same eye for details that both Spies had, since he seemed to be completely guessing where his enemy was.
The BLU Spy was at the Spectre Spy's right side, creeping toward him. The grey Spy fired again, and in this muzzle light, the mysterious man finally realized the danger he had put himself in. The BLU Spy leapt at him. Grey swung his revolver, trying to bring it to bear on BLU, but he was too late. The BLU Spy grabbed Grey's wrist, and twisted it. The revolver fell to the floor.
The Spectre agent pulled his butterfly knife from his pocket, quickly unfolding it with his right hand. At the same time, he swung the Intel briefcase that was attached to his left hand. The BLU Spy couldn't anticipate this attack in the darkness, and the metal briefcase hit him in the head. He stumbled backward, but quickly regained his balance.
"Soldier!" He shouted, "Shoot your gun, damn you!"
The shotgun fired, the room lit up with the flash, and the BLU Spy saw the butterfly blade coming at his face just in time. He leaned back, hearing the blade whistle past his nose, and then raised his right arm in anticipation of the reverse swing. Sure enough, the Spectre Saboteur tried to swing the knife the other way. The BLU Spy grabbed his arm, surprising him, and then twisted it. The Soldier fired again.
In the light, the BLU Spy could see the grey Spy on his knees, his arm twisted painfully behind him. The BLU Spy had the Spectre agent at his mercy. The Spy also saw the Soldier, now standing on the desk, his head still scanning the room, trying to find the two.
The BLU Spy kicked his counterpart onto his back. The Soldier fired again, and in that light the BLU Spy saw the butterfly knife, lying abandoned on the ground nearby. He swooped down, grabbed it, and then jumped on the grey Spy.
"Reloading!" The Soldier cried.
"Perfect," The BLU Spy practically mouthed, grabbing the grey Spy's left arm – his Intel arm – and proceeding to saw through his wrist with the knife. The BLU Spy gritted his teeth as he did so – he managed to avoid the bone, but all of the muscle tissue was hard to cut through with such a small weapon, and he didn't have much time. He could feel the blood gushing onto his hands, his arms, and even his face. The grey Spy was screaming.
The BLU Spy felt the knife go through the hand, and he ceased his attack, depositing the knife in his bloody, ruined jacket, and reaching for the revolver. He also grabbed the freed briefcase, and – in a brief moment of inspiration – plucked the grey Spy's cloaking watch from his severed wrist. Finally, he rose to his feet.
"What's going on?" The Soldier demanded. "Spy – you alive?"
The BLU Spy aimed his revolver at the area where the American's head would be, and then hesitated. No, he thought to himself, this man will be much more use to me injured. He lowered the revolver, and fired. In the muzzle flash, he was pleased to see a spurt of blood shooting from the RED Soldier's leg. The grey Spy's sobs and grunts of pain were drowned out by the RED Soldier's surprised scream.
"I'll let you keep your disguise kit," The BLU Spy muttered to his grey counterpart, "and if you want to survive the night, I would suggest you use it. They'll be coming to investigate soon." That being said, the BLU Spy pressed a button on his new watch, and disappeared.
**
Everything had been going perfectly. The REDs had been trapped in the basement, with the elevators disabled, and nearly half their team wounded. The BLU Spy didn't expect them to survive the horde that he had released from Spectre's catacombs.
The helicopter blades were turning, gaining velocity with each passing second, and yet the BLU Spy knew that it would need at least another minute. With the five REDs emerging from inside Spectre, that was a minute that he no longer had.
As far as he could tell, only one of the five REDs was carrying a long range weapon, and that was the Sniper. The bow was slung over his shoulder, however, and he wouldn't be able to get it out in time. The Medic and Scout both held lethal melee weapons, and the Demoman was reaching for a bottle in his belt. That left the RED Pyro – or rather the grey Spy – it made the BLU Spy smirk to think that the Spectre agent had chosen to disguise as the one RED mercenary who didn't survive the crash, and the imbeciles still took him in as one of their own.
The Spy fired his revolver at the nearest target – the Demoman – noticing the Spy-Pyro reaching into his belt for his imaginary flare gun as he did so. The Demoman stumbled back with a cry, holding his gut where the bullet hit him. The Spy-Pyro pulled his fake flare gun out of his belt with his left hand, while the BLU Spy turned his revolver on the Sniper, who was trying to free his bow.
The BLU Spy pulled the hammer back on his revolver, preparing to pull the trigger, and that's when he realized his fatal mistake. The Pyro still had his left hand! The Spy desperately swung the gun toward the Pyro, pulling the trigger. It was too late, however; the Pyro's flare shot across the landing pad, and the Spy felt a powerful punching force on his shoulder. Then the burning started.
"Fire, fire, fire!" The BLU Spy cried. The Sniper watched as the man cloaked, disappearing into thin air and leaving just a flaming silhouette. A moment later, the BLU Spy tore his flaming jacket off of himself, and was completely invisible.
"Bullocks!" The Sniper cursed, firing an arrow blindly into the area where the Spy had disappeared. As he expected, the shot was a miss. The Sniper turned to his comrades.
The Scout was standing nearby, his fists clenched anxiously around the haft of his bat, staring at the Sniper for leadership. The Demoman was lying on the ground, holding his stomach. A few steps away, the Pyro was also on the ground. The Spy's revolver shot had apparently gotten him – he had a bullet hole in his chest. The Medic moved to check the man.
"No!" The Sniper ordered. "Not him, check the Demo! He's our pilot!"
The Medic nodded, and moved to the Demoman.
"Nay, I'm okay, lad!" The Demo replied, letting the Medic help him to his feet. "The bloke didn't get through my vest!" He gestured to his flak jacket, which had taken a glancing shot from the bullet right over the place where his kidney was located.
The Medic looked over at the downed Pyro, and hurried over to him. He put a hand on the man's mask, and tried to yank it off. He couldn't remove it, however. Unable to check the man's status, the frustrated Medic rose to his feet again.
"Doc! Come on, man!" The Scout cried. The doctor rose to his feet, and saw that the Demoman was getting into the cockpit of the helicopter. The Scout was leaning out of the back helicopter door, waving his hand wildly. The Sniper was nearby, his back to the helicopter, his bowstring taut, looking for the Spy.
The Medic waved his hands in front of the Pyro's face one more time, and got no reaction. He ran toward the helicopter.
He saw movement behind the helicopter, and slowed, squinting past the lights of the large aircraft to try to make out the forms.
"Sniper!" He cried, alerting the Aussie. The marksman turned as well, squinting into the darkness, at the numerous squirming forms that were climbing the fence.
"Bloody hell! Get inside!" The Sniper shouted to the Medic, firing an arrow into the mass. One of the forms crumpled off the fence. The Medic closed the distance to the helicopter, which lifted slightly off the ground. The Scout grabbed the Medic's hand, and pulled him in.
The Sniper fired one more arrow, and then tossed the bow into the helicopter. He turned his back on the zombies, and reached up to grab the Medic's hand.
A gunshot echoed across the landing pad, and the Sniper heard a metallic ting beside his head, as a revolver bullet struck the metal plating of the sliding helicopter door. The Scout pressed himself against the nearest wall, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. The Medic, startled, lost his grip on the Sniper, who fell on his back on the ground.
The Sniper clambered to his feet, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. The Spy was running across the pavement, his dirty white shirt making him stand out starkly against the dark night. The Spy had his gun raised. He fired a second shot, and the Sniper ducked his head. The bullet pinged off the floor between the Medic's feet.
"Grab my hand!" The Medic cried.
"The stupid bugger's right out in the open. I've finally got him!" The Sniper shouted back. "Throw me my bow!"
At that moment, however, the entire area behind the Spy lit up in a bright, fiery explosion. The Sniper watched as the Spy stumbled, and fell to the ground. Behind him, all of the charging Infected disappeared in a blazing inferno. The Sniper saw a flaming red barrel rolling out of the flames. A second later, the barrel exploded.
"Shit!" The Sniper cursed, looking around for the source of the explosions. It didn't take him long to find it. "I don't bloody believe it!"
The Pyro was standing on his feet again. There was another red, explosive barrel lying on its side, at his feet.
"Pyro!" The Sniper shouted. "Get in the chopper!"
The Pyro cried something unintelligible, and then kicked the barrel toward the helicopter. It rolled slowly at first, but then the Pyro pulled the trigger on his flamethrower, and a blast of compressed gas hit the barrel. The Sniper's eyes widened. "No..."
The barrel seemed to fly in slow motion, bouncing off the pavement in front of the chopper, denting the barrel and dangerously pressurizing its contents. The Sniper ducked his head, covering his neck in the fetal position as the barrel flew through the air, right at the cockpit of the hovering helicopter. The Demoman started to scream, and the Scout tried to leap out of the flying machine. He had something slung to his bare back, which the Sniper recognized as the Intelligence.
The barrel hit, and the Sniper was suddenly deafened by the explosion. He saw the Spy, just a few steps away, screaming as the flames licked outward in all directions, and then the Sniper was blinded. Searing hot flame flew past his face, striking everywhere on his body. He felt his hat fly off his head, and then he was blinded by the white light. The compression of the explosion struck him next, sending him rolling painfully across the searing hot asphalt. He struck his head on the pavement, and was knocked unconscious.
*
The flaming, twisted metal shell that was once their salvation crashed to the ground, its blades bent, its sides blackened. Nearby, the Pyro was cheering, hefting his flamethrower up over his head. The insane man looked around at the fire that surrounded them. The entire night was lit up by the flames – the fire that had destroyed the Infected horde had reached the trees, and now the jungle was burning.
The Scout lifted his head, shakily. He could see two bodies near the helicopter – the Sniper and the Spy. Neither of them moved. The Scout tentatively tested his legs, expecting one or both of them to be broken. To his surprise, however, he found that they were completely fine, albeit badly scratched and scraped, and reddened from first-degree burns. The Scout sat up, looking around. He had lost his bat, and it was nowhere in sight. He could see the Intelligence briefcase, however, glimmering in the light of the fires. It was lying on the pavement nearby.
The Scout rose to his feet, his hand reaching up to finger the dog tags around his neck. His head darted around, searching for any signs of danger. How could everything have gone bad so fast? They were practically free!
The Scout looked over and saw the Pyro, the man who had betrayed them, staring at him. The fire reflected in the goggles of the man's mask, making them appear to glow demonically. The Pyro pointed at the Scout, and then at the burning helicopter, and finally the burning trees, and cheered again – he was completely insane. The Scout suddenly felt a terrified chill. He turned and bolted toward the woods, stopping only to grab the Intelligence briefcase. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, crawling through a tear in the fence and cutting his chest in the process, never looking back, consumed by panic and fear. Only the Pyro's muffled laughter chased after him as he ducked through burning trees, leaped over roots, and was then consumed by the forest, disappearing from human eyes.
God help me. *
"Ugh!" The Sniper groaned. Every part of his body was in extreme pain. He could feel burns all over his body. He reached his hand up to his chest – the heat had burned most of his clothes right off him – and felt charred skin under his fingers. Even the familiar BLU scar – courtesy of the Spy – was scorched off. The Sniper let in a wheezing breath as he rolled onto his back, and tried to curl his body into a sitting position.
"Now you know my pain," A raspy, wheezing voice muttered. "In time, you will learn to embrace the fire as I did."
"Pyro?" The Sniper looked up in the direction of the sound, but saw only white. He was completely blind. "Pyro, is that you?"
The Sniper heard something hit the ground beside his head, and reached out to touch it. He could feel the contours of the Pyro's gas mask. He lifted it up, and held it to his chest. "What the hell happened to you?" The Sniper demanded, through wheezing breaths of his own. "You've doomed us all!"
"The fire," The Pyro replied. "We've pleased it."
"What? You're bloody insane!"
"Your sacrifice... it won't go unrewarded." The Pyro hacked, wracking coughs which made the Sniper cringe to hear. "The fire will spread across this island like a flood, cleansing it of its..." (cough) "... impurities. Let the fire cleanse you." Despite the wheezing, which sounded painful to utter, the Pyro spoke softly, and slowly. To the Sniper, he sounded completely calm, like he was in a place of Zen. He couldn't make out the man's accent.
"I am going to strip naked, and dance in the flames."
The Sniper let out a sob at this. "You stupid fucking wanker! Why couldn't you just let the rest of us go, and play out your manic death fantasies on your own?"
"I'm a giving man, Marksman." The Pyro replied. The Sniper felt something jab his shoulder, and realized that the Pyro was putting his flamethrower against the Aussie's skin. "I will let the fire carry you into the Afterlife, just as it's carried so many before you. You're a good man – you will enjoy the Other Side."
"You've always been batty," The Sniper gasped. "What was it, exactly, that pushed you over the edge? That bullet you took to the chest? Or was it the crash itself?"
"Goodbye, Sniper." The Pyro replied. "It's been a pleasure working with you all these years, and I look forward to seeing you on the Other-"
Crack!
The Pyro's voice was cut off by a revolver shot, and the Sniper heard his body strike the ground nearby.
"Burn in hell!" The Spy gasped, from somewhere to the Sniper's left.
"Is he dead?" The Sniper asked. The Aussie could hear the Frenchman dragging himself closer.
"It was a headshot, this time. He's not getting up again."
"How are you, mate? Can you walk?"
The Spy laughed bitterly. "If you could see me, Sniper..."
"How do I look?"
That just made the Spy laugh even harder. The BLU agent was close now. The Sniper could reach out and touch him. The RED marksman reached slowly with one hand, wrapping it around the handle of his kukri, which was still strapped to his back, the leather strap having survived the explosion that incinerated his clothes.
"You're going to kill me?" The Spy asked. The Sniper pulled the blade half out of its sheath. "We'll see, wanker." The crackling flames drowned out all surrounding sounds and the Sniper imagined more zombies creeping up on them as they spoke. He doubted he could still defend himself, even against just one of them.
The pair was silent for a minute, and then the Spy said, "Your Scout took the Intel and ran into the flaming jungle – that stupid boy probably just incinerated the very object that both of our teams died for."
"We should've just run, as soon as the first signs of danger appeared." The Sniper wheezed. "Why did I let the Soldier talk me into hanging around for that Intel?"
"You were never leaving this island, Aussie." The Spy replied. "It wasn't in my plans. You were all dead men from the moment you ran into me."
The Sniper tried to snort at this, but only ended up sending an agonizing flare of pain through his nostrils that caused him to gasp.
"Even if something happened to me," The Spy continued, "your superiors wouldn't have ever looked inside that Intel briefcase."
"What makes you say that?" The Sniper asked.
"It's set to self-destruct without the code."
"We had the code," The Sniper rasped. "Soldier and I were both trusted with it."
"This is why you ran into trouble, Aussie. Your entire team is just so damn naive. You really think I wouldn't have changed the combination as soon as I got possession of that briefcase?"
"So you're saying..."
"I'm saying that the only thing the REDs would have gotten from that Intel was a fiery death." The Spy coughed. "Not that it matters now, I guess. Cigarette?"
"No,"
"You and I aren't so different, Sniper." The Spy said, and the marksman heard the man light up a cigarette. "You sure you don't want one? I don't plan on being alive long enough to smoke both of them."
Although the last thing the Sniper wanted in his lungs was more smoke, he relented, and nodded. He felt the cigarette being placed between his lips, and heard the Spy light it. Then he was inhaling the familiar tobacco. He had kicked the habit years ago, after Melbourne drug runners managed to trace the smell of it into his hideout, and almost captured him. It reminded him of his home, and his family.
"We're both hunters," The Spy continued. "We're assassins, rogues, and freelance agents. Like me, you have no loyalty to your team colours. Every kill is just another paycheque and, as soon as you find better work, you would move on to the next employer."
"I'm nothing like you," The Sniper snarled, although his heart sank as he listened to his career being perfectly summarized.
"You started as a big game hunter, but that just wasn't enough, Sniper. Like me, you wanted more. It's the power, isn't it? That rush that you get when your target is in your sights; that feeling of superiority!"
"Shut up!"
"You try to give off an air of warmth and old-fashioned Outback hospitality, but you're just as cold and calculating as I am. My biggest mistake was in misjudging your instinct to survive. I didn't expect you to be so quick in leaving the Soldier behind on his leg."
"He volunteered," The Sniper wheezed.
"Did the Engineer volunteer?"
The Sniper pressed the kukri against the Spy's throat. "One more word, wanker."
The Sniper felt the Spy's cold gun barrel press against his cheek. "Do it, Sniper. Save me from becoming one of them."
The Sniper ran the tip of the kukri blade gently downward, slowly cutting the buttons along the Spy's shirt and pushing it open, resting the blade on the man's bare chest. "I've been waiting for this for a long time, mate."
"Then I bid you adieu, you bush-whacking coward."
"Goodbye, you shadow-dwelling snake."
Drawing from his last reserves of strength, the Sniper rammed the kukri blade into the Spy's chest with all his might. The BLU Spy cried out, pulling the trigger of his revolver. The Sniper never even heard the gunshot.
The RED marksman slumped to the warm pavement, blood dribbling out from a hole in his head. The BLU Spy let out a pained groan, looking down at the bloody blade that protruded from his bare chest, and then fell down beside him.
*
The fire was still burning behind him. It was beside him. The fire was even burning in his lungs. Tony's eyes watered and he was exhausted, yet still he ran. The night sky was growing lighter with the coming of dawn, and yet he ran. Branches pounded against his chest and arms, and the Intel bouncing off of his side was leaving a dark bruise. He imagined the Pyro behind him, though, chasing him with the fire that had killed his team and sealed his own fate.
He heard the unmistakeable sound of helicopter blades – faint, but quickly growing louder. He looked up, and saw a black form flying over the treetops, heading in a direction just to the right of Tony's path. Tony changed his course, chasing in the direction of the helicopter. After a few minutes, he could hear the lapping of waves. In a matter of seconds he burst through the canopy of trees, and found himself on the beach again. He was shocked to see two helicopters already landed on the sand. At least ten men in grey uniforms, all of them holding rifles, surrounded the Scout. Tony raised his hands over his head. "Woah, man, don't shoot! I'm clean, I'm clean!"
Two men grabbed Tony's shoulders, and forced him to his knees. He was quickly handcuffed, and they took the Intel from him. A man in a suit walked up to him. "Who are you?" He demanded, in an American accent. "Are you with Spectre?"
Tony thought about his teammates, lying dead in the base. His shirt had been torn off, and he had been stripped of anything to identify his affiliation with RED. He nodded. "Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm with Spectre."
"Get him in the chopper!" The man ordered. "The Intel, too." To another uniformed man, the suited man said "Call the boss. Tell her we got it back!"
"Yes, Dr. Wesker!"
Tony was led into a helicopter, cuffed, and then it took off. The helicopter had no windows, and he lost track of time as he sat on an uncomfortable chair, and stared at the men around him. They all wore grey. The Spectre logo was painted on the inside of the helicopter.
"We're going to have to do a check on you, as soon as we get back." Wesker told Tony. "That includes a full physical and medical tests, to make sure you aren't... you know."
"Then what happens?"
Wesker shrugged. "We got what we want. If you're clean, you go free."
Tony sighed in relief, and then leaned his head back against the side of the helicopter.
"Well? Should we open it?" One of the guards asked Wesker, staring at the briefcase on the table. "You know, make sure everything is in order?"
"Good plan," The suited man replied. "The Boss would be livid if we had forgotten anything!" He looked over at Tony. "It's a good thing you didn't attempt this, boy." He said. "It's set to self-destruct if the wrong code is put in."
"Maybe you should wait, then." Tony replied. He'd had enough explosions for one day.
"Please," The suited man scoffed. "I am a main shareholder of Spectre Biologics. I have every code in the company!" The man turned the knobs on the briefcase, putting in the combination. Tony leaned forward, despite himself, anxious to see what all of his teammates had just died for. Wesker put in the last number, and they heard an audible click. The briefcase popped open, the faces of all the men lit up, and then everything was obscured in a blinding white.
*
"Is he alive?" A voice asked, right above Tony's head.
"He is breathing, dumkopf." The unmistakeable voice of the Medic replied. "Of course he is alive. Ze question is whether or not he is going to wake up."
The other man huffed. "Well, what are we to do now?" It was the Engineer. Tony opened one heavy eyelid the tiniest bit, and was immediately overloaded with blinding images. He opened the other eye, squinting in the bright light. His head was pounding, and his ears were ringing.
He was outside, that much was certain. He could feel sand beneath him; he was lying on the ground, perhaps on a beach. Waves lapped against the shore. However, there were no sounds of wildlife – no seagulls, no animals, nothing.
"Was it a dream?" Tony muttered, reaching up to feel his body. His shirt was still gone, and he felt his back. No, the scars were still there from the Witch attack.
Yet there they were – the Engineer and the Medic. They weren't knelt over him, however. They were knelt over the blackened corpse of a man who looked to be Wesker. Behind them, the Scout could see burnt, smoking palm trees.
"Well, what are we to do now?"
Tony rose to a seated position, looking around. Bodies littered the shores.
"In ze medical profession, zhere is no room for compassion."
The Engineer straightened up. His back was to Tony, but the boy still noticed his one robotic hand. The index finger on it was twitching spasmodically back and forth, unnaturally fast. Mechanical failure.
"On the night that you go to see my family, I want you to raze those crops to the ground. The barn, too. Everything but the house."
Tony suddenly realized that the two men weren't speaking – the voices were all in his head, memories from the past. He took another look at the Medic, whose face was visible from this angle. The man's singed lab coat was completely bloodstained, and Tony realized that he wasn't inspecting the suited man's body. He was eating it.
Tony jumped to his feet, and suddenly felt his leg give out from under him, broken from the crash. He screamed as he collapsed back down on it, and that's when the Engineer turned around. Dead eyes fell upon the Scout. The Engineer snarled, blood running from his lips and dripping onto his blue overalls. The Scout saw holes from the Soldier's shotgun shot on the Texan's chest. The Engineer's human, flesh-and-bone hand clenched and unclenched. His metal finger kept tapping. Tony's heart pounded in his chest, and he resisted the urge to vomit. He had been so close.
"I'm scared, Tony." Lola practically whimpered. She was on her knees on the bed, beside him. She was naked, with the blankets wrapped modestly around her.
"Don't be, doll." Tony replied. "I told you, it's just a courier job!"
He had been telling her that it was "just a courier job" for six months now. He knew that she wasn't buying it; he'd come home with scars before, and she had once gotten hold of his aluminum bat – he had failed to wash all of the blood off of it.
"I know that you're a good man, Tony. I don't want you to kill anymore. I don't want you to put yourself in any more danger."
"It's just a bunch of rednecks!" Tony exclaimed. "I got attacked by a pit bull in a trailer park last week!" He gestured to a gash on his arm, which had actually been an extremely narrow kukri dodge. The BLU Sniper who had inflicted the damage was now lying at the bottom of the Well, his face blown clean off by the Scattergun.
"Make this your last job, Tony." Lola kissed his hand. "Please?" She fingered the dog tags on his neck, war souvenirs from his Dad. She kissed them. "When you're back out there, putting yourself in dangerous situations, I want you to think of me."
Tony pulled the dog tags away from her, reading the inscription on them. Cpl. Joe Balducci. His father, who had died on the shores of Normandy.
"You aren't your pop, Tony. You're a lover, not a fighter, no matter what your friends try to tell you!"
Tony kissed her, pulling her closely to him. He could smell her hair; he breathed it in deep.
When they finally broke the kiss, Lola lay down beside him.
"When I get back, I'll have enough money to start fresh!" Tony said. "And this time, we're gonna start off right! We ain't kids no more. I'm giving you a house – you deserve better than this seedy apartment!"
"Just come home safe, kay?" Lola replied, hugging him. "That's all I want."
"I will, doll."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
"I love you, Tony."
"I love you too, Lola."
Tony looked down at the dog tags again, pretending he could still see the lipstick stains on them. The Engineer was growling. The Medic was growling. For some reason, images of the dying Scout in the downed BLU plane came to Tony. The boy had been a spitting image of Tony, in almost every conceivable way. Same age, same accent, similar facial features... and now they were going to die the exact same way. Tony closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, regaining his composure. He wasn't dying a victim, like the BLU Scout.
"Come on, you stupid undead bastards! I'm a force o' nature! I'm un-freakin'-touchable!"
Both of his reanimated teammates charged toward him. Tony looked around desperately.
He saw the body of one of Wesker's guards lying nearby, and crawled toward it, pulling a pistol out of the dead man's belt.
The Medic dove onto the wounded boy. Tony swung his fist, knocking the Medic off of him. The Engineer was on him next. Tony felt metal fingers puncturing his skin, and he beat on the Engineer's shoulders with his fists. "Get off me, hardhat!" He kicked with his good leg, and the Engineer rolled off, but not before slicing a gash into Tony's side with his metal hand. The Medic was on him again, and Tony grabbed the man's throat with his left hand, keeping the slavering jaws off. With his right hand, he brought the pistol up under the German's chin.
"Ya want this?" The Scout screamed. "I... hate... doctors!" He pulled the trigger, and the Medic's brains shot out through the back of his skull.
The Engineer dove on him again, and he felt teeth crushing his shoulder. Lola's face appeared in Tony's vision one final time, and then everything was obscured by the pain.
