Chapter 9: Knowing the Beast

(ROGER)

The first indication Roger had that City Hall was under attack coincided with the first explosion. He was still lying on the couch, sound asleep, when a sudden jarring crash shook the entire building, and he found himself unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the floor.

He groaned and picked himself up, shaking his head, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes for a moment. He rubbed at his temple, his vision swimming from where his head had struck the edge of the table on his way down. A little farther to the left, and he might've knocked himself out, or busted his melon. As it was, he felt a searing pain just above his eyes.

Half blindly, he groped for his handgun, scattering old magazines as his hand patted the table. His fingers brushed it just as the Browning slid over the side, and he swore blearily, shoving the table aside and grabbing it.

Roger stood and looked to his left, to see Captain Grey peering around the corner. "Woods, is that you?"

"Yes sir" Roger replied, nodding slightly and then wincing when that sent a wave of pain through his skull. "What's going on-?"

"We're being attacked, that's what's fucking going on!" Grey shouted back, his teeth bared. "Get your shit together and come with me, on the double, patrolman!"

Roger said the only thing that seemed appropriate. "Yes sir." But he said it to Grey's back. The frenetic police captain had already taken off down the hall, clutching a CAR-15 tightly to his chest. Roger followed, still trying to figure out what was going on.

He heard a sudden, long burst of automatic weapons fire from the courtyard below, and paused to look out a window.

The first thing he noticed was that the main gates were gone, smashed in, like someone had gotten a huge hammer and started swinging until they fell. He couldn't see Kurt.

Then he saw men in dark uniforms sprinting around in the early morning light, and it occurred to him they probably weren't police.

He started to reach for his Browning, but realized this was far beyond the 9mm's effective range. A second later he threw himself flat as automatic rifle fire tore through the window he'd just been watching from. He began to crawl forward, pieces of broken wood dropping onto his back, shrapnel from the building's thin walls flying in all directions.

"Fuck this" he growled, before standing and sprinting the rest of the way, bullets flying just behind him. Roger whipped around a corner, almost falling downstairs but managing to catch himself at the last second.

He was on the second floor now. To his left was the kitchen. There was a cluster of holes in the wall next to the fridge, splattered with blood, which looked as though it had come from a shotgun. Timothy Driers was lying against the counter in a pool of his own blood, clearly dead. He hadn't even had the chance to draw his weapon.

The CAR-15 Roger had dropped off less than two hours ago was still on the table, so he picked it up, pulling the charging lever to ensure a round was in the chamber. Carrying a better weapon than his handgun, Roger headed forward.

Jim Yates and Nolan Stone were stretched out around the corner, professional-looking shots through both men's heads. It looked like someone had walked around the corner and surprised them. Whoever was attacking City Hall, they were pros.

Roger made his way to the first floor. Three officers had been stationed in the guard shack. They were all dead; the room itself shredded by automatic weapons fire before they'd even had the chance to shoot back.

Roger heard a shotgun blast from up above him, followed by two quick replies from an assault rifle. There were still police alive upstairs, so that meant Roger needed to be there as well.

He sprinted back up, flicking the carbine over to automatic. He rounded a corner, saw a black-clad soldier wearing a gas mask and carrying a SPAS-12, and didn't even hesitate, bringing the CAR-15 to his shoulder and putting three rounds into the man's chest. The terrorist, or whatever he was, let out a surprised grunt and dropped to the ground. Roger didn't spare him a passing glance, rushing past him and through a conference room. Naomi Breslin was lying in the wreckage of the table, as if she'd been thrown down with tremendous force. She was clearly dead, her head at an unnatural angle, terror still on her ghostly-pale face. Roger thought that was a shame, since Naomi was pretty cute, but pushed that aside for the moment.

Another soldier ran around the corner, clutching some sort of AK knock-off to his chest. He jumped when he saw Roger, starting to bring his weapon up, but the police officer shot him in the head with the carbine, moving on immediately.

He passed the bodies of two more soldiers, both riddled with bullets and neither of which had been there when he woke up. Figuring he was on the right track, he quickened his pace, heading for the stairs to the fourth floor.

Someone reached out and grabbed the barrel of his CAR-15, yanking it out of his hands, while at the same time kicking him in the gut. Roger fell backwards, staring at the wrong end of a SPAS-12 aimed at his head. He started to reach for his Browning, knowing the gesture would be useless, when two bullets flew threw the soldier's chest and he dropped like a stone.

"You okay, Woods?" Captain Grey asked, stepping forward. He was still holding his CAR-15, the barrel slightly smoking. Without waiting for an answer he kicked Roger his carbine. "Get yourself dusted off, patrolman, and come on. We've got to protect the Mayor."

"Shit" Roger muttered, snatching up the Colt firearm and following Grey around the corner into Warren's outer office. Grey had flipped some of the larger wooden chairs over, placing them where they'd be able to command the rest of the room. He'd shoved the rest of the furniture to either side, where the enemy wouldn't be able to use it for covered.

Laurence Fisher and Kendra Vu were already in position, weapons at the ready. He didn't know either of them very well; their reputations for shooting or police work certainly weren't legendary.

"Take your place, patrolman" Grey said coldly. "We've got to hold here."

"Where's everyone else?" Roger asked.

Grey didn't look up, but Roger could see his eyes were red. Kurt must be dead he realized. He was impressed the Captain was handling the death of his son so well. Compartmentalization he decided.

"It's just us" he said. "Plus Porter in the Mayor's office. I sent her to act as a reserve if either of us stops a bullet."

Great Roger thought. Molly Porter was a nice enough person, but she was a horrible shot, despite being a very aggressive driver. She'd tagged along as their
"getaway" driver, since Grey hadn't wanted to trust anyone else on Raccoon City's bloody streets.

Roger propped the CAR-15 on the edge of the sofa, waiting for someone to wander into his irons. He sat there for a few minutes in that position, but just as his arms were beginning to get sore, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Heavy footsteps.

"The hell?" he muttered.

"Quiet" hissed Grey through his mustache.

The footsteps came to an abrupt stop just outside the outer office's double doors. Roger felt sweat begin to bead on his hands, a salty trickle sliding down his forehead and stinging his eyes.

"C'mon" said Laurence to himself, ignoring Grey's repeated attempts at getting him to shut up. "Fuckin' come on!"

"Shut up, patrolman!" Grey practically growled, but Laurence was beyond caring.

They waited for what seemed like an eternity, but no attack came. The four officers exchanged looks.

"I-I'll go check" said Laurence, his face white now that combat had apparently passed. "Watch my back."

Cautiously he stood up, slowly and deliberately making his way to the door, his MP-5 at his shoulder, his whole body hunched around the SMG. Cautiously he reached for the doorknob-

There was a loud crash as a huge…something smashed through the door, splinters flaying Laurence alive. He screamed in terror, falling backward, but was still alive as two ham-sized fists were brought down on his face, flattening it like an extremely bloody pie.

"Open fire!" Grey shouted, as he and the other two police opened fire on the giant that had just smashed its way through the wall. Bullets struck the monster's body, but didn't seem to have much affect on the creature, which shrugged them off as if they were nothing as it slowly advanced.

The thing was at least seven feet tall, clad in a strange, off-white trench coat and matching boots. Its hairless face wore no expression, its eyes hidden by a pair of futuristic, green colored sunglasses. Roger shot at them, but his rounds simply ricocheted off the juggernaut.

The monster stepped forward, surprisingly fast, flipping over Kendra's chair, causing her to scream in surprise as her cover was suddenly gone. She tried to run, but the giant swung its arm, slamming her into the wall with a loud crack, the drywall cracking from the impact. Kendra grunted, and didn't get up.

With an angry shout, Grey rushed the monster, firing his CAR-15 from the hip. The giant turned, as if confronting a minor annoyance, and grabbed Grey's head in one of its huge hands, lifting him off the ground. Grey struggled…for a few seconds. Then the giant squeezed its fist, and his head popped like an overripe tomato, spewing blood and brain matter in all directions.

Roger stood up, feeling the overwhelming desire to get away. He started to run for Kendra, realizing she was probably still alive, and figuring they'd probably have a better chance together than alone.

He saw something sailing toward him out of the corner of his eye, and saw the giant had thrown Grey at him. The police captain's body struck him with enough force to smash them both through the locked doors of Mayor Warren's inner office. Roger struck the ground hard, and saw stars.

Slowly, painfully, he reawoke, his vision blurry and tinged with red.

The first thing he noticed was Molly Porter crouching in the corner, a Mac-10 held at the ready. She saw that Roger was awake, and winked at him. Roger tried to return the gesture, but found he couldn't quite move.

Two soldiers hurried around the corner, taking positions at either side of the door, AKMs at the ready. Molly brought up her weapon, ready to cut them down with the .45 caliber machine pistol, when another man entered.

He was tall, with long, platinum blonde hair and arrogant, Russian features. He wore a long black trench coat and boots, putting Roger immediately in mind of the giant outside.

Roger saw Grey's Browning, the dead man's weapon still in its holster and almost directly in his face. He tried to reach for it, his fingers tensing, but not wanting to move on their own.

Without hesitating a second, the third man brought up his handgun, a German model which resembled Han Solo's gun in Star Wars, and shot Molly twice with it. Roger heard the other office gasp in surprise, the handgun's heavy bullets shattering her frame and causing her to drop to the ground. Without a second glance, the newcomer stepped past her body and headed for the Mayor's desk.

"Comrade Mikhail, why are you hiding from us?" he asked, as if he was taking to a naughty child. Without waiting for a response, he kicked the desk over, revealing the huddled form of Michael Warren underneath.

Roger hadn't seen the Mayor before today, but his first impression of the man wasn't a very good one. Michael Warren had been hiding under his desk like a coward, and at some point during the night's adventures, had wet himself.

"W-who are you?" he stammered, scrambling away from the big Russian.

The newcomer shook his head sadly. "Mikhail, Mikhail, Mikhail. You know very well who I am, or at least, who I represent."

Roger couldn't see very well, but he thought the mayor's eyes widened a little.

"Y-you mean?"

"That's right. Now, I have two very important questions. Where is Talos, and where is the queen?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Comrade, I advise against you lying to me" the big Russian answered. "Things will go badly if you do."

"But I-"

The Russian sighed. "If you will not tell me, Comrade Mikhail, maybe you will be willing to tell my brother. Vanya, would you mind asking Comrade Mikhail something for me?"

There were heavy footsteps, and a second later, the other giant entered the room, towering over the Mayor beside the Russian.

"Vanya, Comrade Mikhail is being…uncooperative. Why don't you see if you can persuade him?"

"Vanya" didn't answer, didn't give any sign of its acknowledgement. It just stepped forward toward the Mayor, who let out a terrified shriek.

"No, no, wait!" he screamed. "Wait! I'll talk, I'll talk!"

That seemed to please the Russian. "Where are they, Comrade? I have not got all day."

"The…the dead factory!" the mayor shouted. "That's where they are, I swear! Now please, please, don't let that thing kill me!"

The Russian raised a hand, and Vanya backed off. "Thank you Comrade Mayor" he said.

Warren let out a sigh of relief. "Whew. Now, what do you want me to-?"

BLAM BLAM

Without warning, the Russian leveled his handgun and shot the mayor twice before he could even finish his question. "Come, Comrades" he said, gesturing to the two soldiers at the door. "We have much to do."

Roger's hand finally edged to the grip of Grey's Browning. He wrapped his fingers around it, jerking the weapon from its holster, determined to shoot the big Russian…only to find the other man was one step ahead of him.

The last thing Roger Woods saw was the twin muzzle flash of the man's handgun. He felt the impact of the first bullet entering his chest, but the pain of that was quickly erased by the second one entering his brain.