Legal disclaimers: see earlier parts.
Disclaimers: see earlier parts-although, for the record, Amber Bernstein, Christina Ardizzone and Jack Carpenter all belong to Hyperactive Hamster of Doom and are borrowed with permission.
Sentences
/August 1st, 1998, Racoon City/
"July 2nd 1947, Roswell, New Mexico. On from there to Never Never Land, Nevada. Somewhere between 1947 and 1972, somebody decided that it would be a good idea if I existed. Why? I don't know. Majestic tried to cover a lot more up and has mainly succeeded. Should I go on?" snarled Lianna Styx, the muscles in her throat barely resisting the pressure of Peyroux's hand, which was attached to his arm and pinning her to the wall by her throat. He was going to pay for that.
"Hold on...did you just say what I think you said?" asked a startled looking Rebecca Chambers, even as everyone tried not to stare at Jill Valentine pulling her shirt back on in the background. Peyroux didn't even blink, his focus was sharper than a laser point and he was absolutely sure he'd have to do something permanent about this woman before they left. He knew dangerous when he saw it-on top of which, she had to be Umbrella. They couldn't leave anyone behind them to tell tales, at the very least not for a long while.
"Yeah, did she just mention Area 51 or is it just me?" added Billy Coen, who was standing at ease in a way Lianna was sure was a practised feint. If she made once false move he'd hit her so hard and fast she'd wake up with broken bones, that she did not doubt.
"Who were you asking? Me? If you were, I'd say you missed the point. Look at my eyes, look at my blood, look at my face and think hard. Have you ever seen anyone who appears to bleed oil before? With eyes of just one colour, neither black or white? Look at my hair, have you ever seen that precise colour before? Do you notice anything odd about my bone structure? I'll give you a clue: the cheeks are longer and rounder than human biology allows for, the centre of gravity for me lets me do what I want to do because my musculature is designed for twice this gravity. My bones are denser due to a mixture of DNA that does not originate on earth, making me a lot stronger than I look. Again, do you want me to go on?" asked Lianna, pointedly.
"...Your serious...That's crazy. Umbrella would have had to have access to the Area 51 Archives, if that place actually exists, just to be even able to confirm that ET DNA actually existed. They'd never be allowed to remove a sample-" said Rebecca, but Lianna cut her off.
"Kid, I never said I was made by Umbrella or the US Government. I don't know myself in reality, but the fact is half my Gene's don't originate on this ball of mud we call home. Umbrella's never been able to manipulate my Genetic makeup for that exact reason, but somebody managed it decades before Umbrella even knew I existed. Besides, you clearly haven't done any real research" said Lianna, with a sneer, before carrying on wearing a huge smirk.
"Umbrella as an organisation goes back to the mid 30's, but a ground-up reorganisation and major tactical adjustment occurred in 1945, helped along by their very own "Night of the Long Knives". Every link going back beyond 1946 had disappeared or been cut before the Nuremberg War Crimes Tribunals really started laying down the Law, which is when Umbrella Corporation came into existence. More to the point, Umbrella Corporation has owned more Politicians in this country than Bill Clinton ever had willing women even in his heyday, soldiers and other important figures you'd be...surprised at, to. They bought the White House in 1963-the year in question ring any bells? Umbrella Corporation owns your Government and has for thirty-five years, the man in the hot seat just doesn't know it" said Lianna, with an easy chuckle, before going on.
"Didn't you ever wonder about what really happened when soldiers apparently went crazy in Vietnam? Why soldiers weren't properly equipped with Biohazard gear in the Gulf War and got sick afterwards? How a man could fly with a case full of Smallpox samples on a commercial flight even in the 1960's and not get arrested by the FBI? How mass human tests of possibly lethal Viruses could be carried out on specific sections of the citizens of your country, only to be discovered years if not decades later, as information apparently "slipped through the cracks" implicating senior figures in your Government? You people don't even know a fraction of the truth your so scared of" said Lianna, chuckling despite the situation. Why not? After all, it was all true.
"I can't believe that, I won't and I don't. Now tell us what you've done to Jill or I'll snap your neck and laugh as you die" responded Peyroux, his grip on her throat tightening-although she could tell he was straining despite the growing pain and shortness of breath she was suffering from. Very slowly, she raised a hand and ran her fingertips through her own blood as her nose continued to sluggishly bleed.
She suddenly wrenched forwards, feet slammed hard and flat against the wall, slamming every ounce of strength in her body against his one arm. He had to let go or loose the use of his arm as it bent unnaturally, but he automatically moved to an unarmed combat posture-only she stabbed forwards with both bloody fingers and got her fingertips into his mouth, making him swallow involuntarily-he suddenly jerked backwards, eyes wide, but she didn't wait to see the full effect. A second heave of strength threw the suddenly gasping Peyroux over backwards and she used him as a battering ram to force a hole in the line of S.T.A.R.S. officers before rolling right over him and sprinting right for the rail.
Yet again, only the combat-hardened Billy Coen was fast enough reacting to grab at her, but this time she was ready for him and expertly slipped past his hands. He span his weapon in his hands and slammed the butt into her lower back, over her floating ribs, as he chased her just before she made it-but her internal organs were set up differently to a normal humans, just like the rest of her, while her bones were far stronger than any creature on earths. She didn't even stagger as her bones barely creaked under the impact, made it to the banisters-and went over them in a tumblers roll without stopping.
She fell two storeys before a mathematical equation she'd run through her mind twice during the fall told her to grab hold and use her momentum to swing in safely to the stairwell. She landed cleanly with a dancers flawless grace and continued down the stairs without even pausing, taking the steps four at a time in a blur of perfectly calculated movement. The S.T.A.R.S. were too far behind her now to even attempt a serious pursuit. She knew the exact angles she had to avoid to prevent any of them getting an effective free shot at her, either, so she was safe. Time to go-she could catch up with Jill some other time...
"Shit! Shit! SHIT!" bellowed Billy, as he futilely tried to draw a bead on the sprinting woman far below and failed utterly, well aware he'd never catch up with her with such a head start. Barry had come out to stand by his side, but had taken one look and left his weapons holstered. Inside, Amber, Rebecca and Jill were trying to hold down a now-convulsing Peyroux, who was frothing at the mouth and flailing around in a mindless frenzy, hard enough to really hurt if he connected solidly, even while Rebecca tried to determine what was wrong with him-but she didn't have clue one and she knew it. Even worse, she didn't have her medical gear with her-it was in the car-all she had was her weapon...
"Guys! GUYS!! Little HELP?!" shouted Amber, even as Peyroux's eyes rolled so far back in his head they effectively disappeared and his head began to bang against the floor hard and fast, repeatedly-back first, since they were holding him down chest-up in an attempt to help his breathing. Barry got there first and used his foot to cushion Peyroux's head while using his own muscle to lock down Peyroux's left arm, allowing Amber to join Rebecca on the other arm. Billy joined Jill pinning the powerful mans legs, but trying to restrain the physical evidence of whatever was happening to Peyroux was nothing like a cure and they all knew it.
"Rebecca. DO SOMETHING!" snapped Barry, sharply, barely holding on even as Peyroux's head slowly flattened his foot. Even he knew the signs of poisoning when he saw them, for one thing.
"I'm trying-?! I can't work when the patients getting so violent a stray punch could knock me unconscious, you know?!" Rebecca almost snarled back, trying to keep her weight on Peyroux's arm while crawling up it to give him an examination-Peyroux suddenly stopped moving, coughed, gargled, coughed again-and vomited blood mixed with what looked like oil three feet over the floor directly to his left. After the mess exploded out of him he didn't move again, at all, even as the pool of blood slowly grew larger...
A horrified Rebecca slowly reached out a hand to Peyroux's throat, checked his pulse. She paused, visibly composed herself despite being so pale she looked as though she was actually dead herself, checked Peyroux's pulse again-then simply fell over backwards, almost on top of a startled Amber, who barely caught her before she hit the floor.
"He's dead" Rebecca said, matter of factly. As though it was the most simple thing in the world...
Y
Serena led Chris back through the security barrier fast, carrying two pistols and her new toy, the MA-80, while he was armed with a rifle and a handgun, all he felt comfortable with as a former Air Force man turned Paramilitary Cop. While they were both carrying all the spare ammo they could she would have taken grenades, but the inconsiderate shopkeeper hadn't left anything to carry them in and she didn't feel like rigging a sling under the circumstances. Speed was the essential thing here, not the ability to destroy everything in sight.
Besides, if the worst came to the worst, the people who had locked themselves inside the gun shop could blow themselves up rather than get eaten alive and wake up dead if enough of them was left. They'd all seen what the choices were here, she just hoped that they had the guts to make the right choice.
A near-solid wall of Zombies was stumbling towards them, at least thirty crowded into a closed area all trying to reach the gun shop-and the live meat-at the same time. That actually made her job easier, even though they were, at best, ten feet away when they got started on their run. After all, the MA-80 didn't come with a single-shot selection.
"Serena, don't take this the wrong way but how the Hell are we going to do this?!" asked Chris, sharply, nervous but staying calm-mainly because of her presence, she suspected. S.T.A.R.S. veteran of the Spencer Mansion disaster or not, there was frying pan and then there was fire. At this point, they were in the fires of Hell with only one way out. In fact, if it hadn't been for the Zombies, she'd have been enjoying herself. These kind of odds, this kind of tactical situation? She did this almost for fun.
"Like this: follow my lead, stay alive and don't get bitten. You'll be considerably less sexy if you're a Zombie" replied Serena, before raising and aiming her main weapon. The expression on Chris's face when he heard her would have been something she'd have used to shock people if she'd had time to take a picture with her Mobile. As it was, she'd just remember it whenever she needed to laugh at something.
She opened fire, short, controlled bursts-but didn't try to carve a path straight through the herd without a definite clear shot at all. Instead, she calmly dropped one after the other as they tried to approach, Chris backing her up by at least attempting-she'd make a Sniper out of him if it killed her, one day-to drop any Zombie which she appeared to be allowing too close to them. When half of the Zombies were down she changed strategy and locked targets, smoothly and easily carving a passage right through what was left of the herd-before she sprinted forwards into it, using elbows and weapon to drive backwards or knock aside anything left standing in the way. Chris followed right on her heels, but she didn't even pause.
She burst through the herd and kept going, heading for the next set of stairs even as stumbling, battered Zombies began to try and turn towards her. They were so slow she could have just put her head down and charged, but she made sure to use her agility and speed to best advantage, eyes darting everywhere to make sure she didn't miss even a slow twist at the wrong time, an unexpected snap of jaws, a reaching hand or anything else. She had to get through unhurt and unmarked, which meant she had to be either very lucky or very careful. No level of skill she knew of would carry someone through a randomised herd of slow-moving creatures like this without even a scratch, which left brutality and speed as her only safety features. Fortunately, she had no problem with the brutality-how could she? Why would she?-and she had plenty of speed to hand.
Chris...well, he knew her and her ways well enough to be aware that when she said "Stay close and do what I say" it meant you did just that or lost limbs, along with other parts of the human body you needed even more than arms and legs. He'd stick to her as though they were attached at the hip, she did not doubt. If she was careful, though, even by her standards, there was no good reason to believe that they wouldn't make it all the way up to the Security Office. Then she could hotwire or bypass any locking mechanism, release the locks and they could all escape.
The RCPD could deal with the Zombie threat here for all she cared. Racoon City had stunk of death-rotting meat and the sickly-sweet heavy stench of decay only the newly dead ever carried-since she'd seen it, to her at least. None of that mattered now, though, in reality. She knew from ETC briefings and research that the city was as corrupt as they came, despite some few good people in the ranks. The city being wiped off of the earth by some monstrous man-made creation coming up and into it directly from the direction of Hell was a parallel she couldn't help but appreciate.
The Mayor was owned by Umbrella Corporation after several "Campaign Fund" contributions, added to the fact that everyone knew he would never have gotten the job if Umbrella hadn't backed him in the first place. They'd kept him there for two terms, too. Brian Iron's, Chief of Police at the RCPD, had been bought by Umbrella after being fired by the S.T.A.R.S. in 1994-the report said the incident had involved a young policewoman and drugs which everyone who'd known her at the time swore on their Badges, professional reputations and Careers she did not use or willingly take. An attempted Rape had left Iron's in hospital with a broken nose and Concussion, along with two dislocated shoulders, after the woman in question had come to and discovered him leaning over her, despite the drugs.
Every major company in town had an Umbrella representative at the very least, most of them were Umbrella owned or run. The only exceptions were small corner shops which just got by making a living in Racoon, but Umbrella could shut them all down in a second if it wanted to and everyone knew it. Umbrella had the biggest, brightest buildings, made the most money-and it had literally built Racoon City from the ground up starting in the late 60's for some reason, plans and blueprints of the building had disappeared utterly as well as all connected paperwork, so an exact date was impossible to discover. In every way that mattered, Racoon City-and, in reality, everyone who lived in it-belonged to the corporation...
A flash of strangely bright light from the direction of the Security Office was all the warning she got before something so terrible even she could barely take it in suddenly occurred. A ball of flame exploded above them, even as it was seemingly thrown over the Security Office balcony, which expanded to easily ten feet wide and a foot thick as it fell down towards them like a Bat out of Hell.
Her eyes were so sharp she could almost see in the dark even without aid, which meant that her eye for detail was truly phenomenal-only, as she made out the details almost hidden by the fireball, she made a very rare wish that she wasn't as exceptional as she was often warned she was. Bodies, two of them, arched away from each other and spread-eagled, tied together at ankles, wrists and throats with what looked like plastic bindings which were slowly melting in the heat. Grown men, both of them, what was left of their faces and bodies said that however they'd gotten the way they were they'd died screaming and in pain so awful even the seeming relief of contact with another human being had come to be just another source of killing agony. She'd seen bodies left in similar states before now, these two men had died very badly...
Horrendous as the sight of two melting, almost skeletal mutilated corpses falling through the air on fire was, though, what was coming down behind them was what made her breathing simply stop. Two barrels, big, heavy metal ones, the kind used to store enough petrol to fill up a small car in. She could just make out the battered remains of warning and ID symbols on the weakening barrels protective surfaces as they fell-and that did something nothing had since she'd joined the Air Force at seventeen: it scared her.
One barrel contained incendiaries, a fuel-oil mixture her education in explosive and hazardous materials via the ETC told her would blow up with enough force to devastate a small building once the seal and security surfaces were breached, given the presumption the barrel was evidently full. The second had BIOHAZARD stamped on it in very large red letters that were being scorched away even as she read them, set over a Biological Hazard warning sign. A combined explosion with both barrels would not only stand a good chance of destroying the entire building. It would also, unquestionably, contaminate anyone in the building with a millimetre of exposed skin, let alone an open wound, given the concentration of ingredients focused in the quantity in the barrel. Even if it only blew up on hitting the ground floor there was no telling just how far and fast the explosion would spread the chemical drums contents, on top of which they were dealing with Umbrella...
Her instincts cut her thought process out of the chain of command as her mind calculated she had thirty seconds until the drums blew at very best. She stopped even considering the tactical options and simply ran.
Some part of her mind registered the fact that Chris, while lacking in her skills, was easily smart enough to work out what was happening and was following her lead at such a speed it was like he was out to beat death itself to the finishing line of a race to see who died first. She'd never seen him move so fast, but the greater part of her mind set on keeping her alive told the rest to shut up and concentrate. For one thing, even running so hard and fast that his heart exploded for as long as he possibly could, she'd still be sprinting for miles, far ahead of him all the way, after he dropped dead. For another, she didn't have time to do anything but live.
Automatic reflexes and combat-conditioned muscles kept the Zombies off of her as her body did its job and her mind broke everything down to the ultimate essentials. Her eyes registered shops and stores going past so fast even she only had a moment to take in the shops contents and nature. Then she swerved sharply as she took in the sign for "Hunters Home"-cute-and her MA-80 almost unloaded itself into the glass, cracking glass plate everywhere in massive spiders-web tracings. Using the butt of the MA-80 as a battering ram she simply charged the glass and went through it without stopping, shattered shards exploding around her and slicing deep into her arms, hands, face and throat, scattered pieces ripping into her hair and drawing lines of blood across her scalp with sharp scratches and pricks of pain. She felt blood begin to flow almost immediately, but it simply wasn't important.
She grabbed an unfolded thickly built dark-brown canvas hunters tent-hopefully fireproofed-one-handed, hurled it behind the metal and glass counter with a surge of strength and rolled right over the counter before ducking right into the tent and using her feet to brace the tents floor against the open area over the counter to get the most possible protection. Chris arrived seconds later, breathing so hard she suspected he was about to vomit from exhaustion, collapsed more than scrambled over the counter and only just managed to heave himself inside the tent-after which she sealed it shut-in time. He immediately threw himself over her as a human shield even as he rolled inside.
Just five seconds later, at best, the entire world seemed to shake around them, driving them down into utter darkness with the force of a bomb exploding right on top of them even as the light that the explosion created almost made it seem as though the sun was rising very early. Just the concussion of the blast made everything go grey for them, for how long precisely even Serena couldn't later work out...
/End of Part Ten. All Reviews appreciated/.