Resident Evil REwritten
A New Nightmare
" " -Spoken
' ' -Thought
( ) -Commentary. The smartass remarks that could be heard from the back of my head. For comic relief, and personal opinions. They're usually too snarky to be said aloud.
Welcome to the world of Resident Evil. Good luck and godspeed, you stupid, suicidal motherfuckers.
~~Badadumdunbum~~
"If you don't remember killing it, it ain't dead." -Survival Horror 101
~~Badadumdunbum~~
#14 The Old-Fashioned Way
~~Badadumdunbum~~
"If you don't get these cuffs off of me, I will have you thrown in prison for the rest of your goddamn life!" Irons shouted, arms and legs strapped to a chair in one of the interrogation rooms. I stood before the former-Chief with the familiar blonde-headed form of a fresh-faced cadet right next to me, looking more than a little queasy.
"Brian Irons, my name is Roy Mustang. I am a federal agent. That's all you need to know about me. Now I'm going to ask you some questions, and if I don't like the answers, Leon here is going to hit you. I've selected him because he is far nicer than I am, and probably won't hit as hard. Have no delusions about surviving this meeting, Brian; you aren't getting a trial, I am going to kill you. If you anger me, I will make your death as slow and painful as I am able. First question, who is your contact within the Umbrella Corporation?"
The fat fucker just cussed me out. "Fuck you!"
I couldn't help but roll my eyes and drawl, "Not if you were the last living human being on this planet. Leon."
The young man(Actually, he's about three years older than me, give or take a few months) swallowed drily, asking, "A-are you serious?"
Glancing his way, I replied, "Either you hit him, or I will. And I won't use my bare hands."
The young Leon S. Kennedy swallowed once more before he stepped closer to the former Chief of Raccoon City Police. "I'm sorry, sir."
"You will be once I get outta these-"
*Whumpk*
"Gah! I'll have your ass when I get outta here, rookie!"
Heh, he's got spirit. I'm gonna love beating it out of him. Wait. Did that sound gay to you? Ah, whatever. "What is the name of your contact?"
"I'm not telling you shit!"
Shaking my head, I remarked, "I've got a car battery and jumper cables that say otherwise. Leon, hit him again."
*Fwumpk!* He punched the bastard just a bit harder this time, right in the gut.
"Fuck your mother!"
Okay, I'm getting a wee bit irritated. "Name your contact, or this is going a very long, very painful day for all of us."
"Fuck your sister!"
Uh-huh. "Again, Leon."
*WHUMPK!* The blonde silently slugged Irons right on the chin, stepping back as the fat fuckhead spat out a bloody tooth.
"Fuck yo grandma!"
Really? A House of a Thousand Corpses reference? You couldn't come up with anything more original?
Ah, screw you. I'm the one who has to write this shit, and plenty of people laughed at that. I think.
"You know what? I've had enough of this stubborn resistance. Rookie, kick him where it hurts."
Leon balked, staring at me with his jaw hanging. "W-What?! What the hell? How can you tell me to kick my boss in the dick?!"
I quirked an eyebrow before quipping, "Because you've got those monstrous size-19 boots. Look, it's either that, or I start singing. And trust me, none of us wants that." I'd threaten to read Twilight to them, but I'm not that cruel.(Nevermind that I don't actually have a copy. Details!)
And you call me unoriginal? You're the one ripping off The Dark Id!
Oh, for fuck's sake! Quit breaking the fourth wall!
Ahem.
The young, impressionable cadet swallowed once more, hesitating. Hmph. Well, when you want something done right...
Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I smoothly walked over to the tethered chief before none-too-gently planting my boot between his legs, following up with a left hook across the jaw and seizing him by what felt and looked to be a cheap toupée. "My patience is wearing thin. Don't think I won't break every bone attached to your stubborn ass." This was punctuated with another meeting of my fist to his face.
"OOMPH! Ugh, f... Fuck you!" He spat, more than a few teeth coming out with the blood that landed right on the shirt Rebecca had lent me.
Fuck this old routine. I grabbed the fatass by his blubbery neck, lifting both him and the chair well above my head in one hand.(I'm feeling rather strong today, oddly enough. Go plot device serum!) "But most of all, fuck you! Now tell me what I want to know, or I am going to knock all your goddamn teeth out, and castrate you with them!"
"Not a fucking cha-"
And with that, I slew him clear across the room, the back of the chair, and his head, violently colliding with the wall. I deliberately marched towards his groaning, twitching form, dropping to a knee and drawing my 1911 as I flipped him over, jamming the muzzle against his forehead. "I am through wasting my time with these games. Tell me what I want to know, or you die here and now."
*Snk!*
Nothing, and I mean nothing is as ominous and frightening as the faint, telltale click of a safety being deactivated when the gun is being pressed against your head. I curled my finger around the trigger-
He finally cracked, flinching as he muttered, "W... William Birkin."
I smiled; it was neither kind, nor happy, nor even pleasant. "Much better. Now I want you to tell me exactly how much money the Umbrella Corporation has been paying you, and everything you know about their operations. Then I want you to tell me the names of each and every one of your victims."
. . .
*POWFUHL!*
~~Badadumbundum~~
"Tch, and here I thought you were the good guy."
I rolled my eyes, marching straight-backed towards Brian Irons' office. "Already told you, I'm just the guy with the gun. Besides, for everything he's done, they'd give him the chair after twenty years in prison. I just saved American taxpayers several thousand dollars for the cost of a single bullet. Which is still better than that piece of shit deserved, but it's over with."
Jill just shook her head, muttering something under her breath. I ignored it, knowing full well that she'd change her tune after seeing the Chief's little 'happy room.'
"Why are you dragging me along, anyway?" Of course, Leon was still shaken up; green about the gills, as it were.
Why? Well, why the fuck not. "Because you're young and impressionable. This is something you'll need to learn the hard way with the changes that are to come over the next few years; because in this world, sometimes there is justice. And sometimes, there's just us. This is one of those times where the system has failed, but I refuse to allow injustice of this scale to pass by without retribution. Hundreds, thousands lie dead; not by Irons' actions, but he has helped those whose hands have long been stained with blood."
And with that, we arrived. I pushed open the door, finding Barry and Kenneth along with several of the higher-ranking officers of the RPD and the four cops who did my dirty work yesterday. There was a total of maybe fifteen people jammed into the Chief's tiny office, but I(Elbowed) made my way over to the desk, getting right next to the fake wall section.
"Alright, there will be no questions or interruptions until the end. I've gathered you all here to share three pieces of information. The first of which is that Brian Irons, the former Chief of Police, is now dead. He was being bribed by the Umbrella Corporation to keep their underhanded affairs from being investigated, but that is the least of his crimes. The second is that due to politics, my agency has put my investigation on hold until December, after the mid-term elections. Until then, all information must be kept under wraps to prevent Umbrella from getting a chance to cover their tracks. Everything; from my presence to Stars operation in the Arklay mountains, to Irons' demise. The third and final item is something that I'm going to have to show all of you." I raised a fist, banging on the false wall. "Bear in mind, this is not for the feint of heart. This is the stuff of real nightmares."
With that, I moved to the desk itself, feeling underneath for that switch the bastard had mentioned. Right about here.
*Click!...FwhoooKUH!*
The wall section slid away, revealing a hidden backroom, eliciting gasps of shock from several of those present. "No more than three at a time. Redfield, Kennedy, with me. And bring that medkit."
I stepped through the doorway, glancing left and right out of sheer habit before continuing onto the small lift. The two men followed close behind, though the younger one did so reluctantly. It was difficult squeezing all three of us onto the elevator, but it was doable.
"Huh? Why the hell is there a radio in here...?"
"Snrk-!" I had to suppress a manic bout of laughter at that, shaking my head with a grin as I hit the button.
C'mon, you had to've seen that one coming.
Anyway, the lift gave a jolt before slowly beginning to lower us further and further into the depths of hell.
Now that sounded dramatic- No, poetic, now didn't it?
For several long, tense moments we desended, the mechanical drone of the elevator's workings bringing a kind of mundane feeling of regularity to the situation.
"Just how far down does this thing go?" Chris finally asked, breaking the relatively ominous kindof-silence.
I shrugged. "Probably halfway to hell. Or at the very least, China."
Another half-minute passed before we slowly came to a stop. In front of us was nothing but inky blackness; the kind of shadows that suck away all the light. Reaching back, I pulled out my flashlight and Wilson, clicking on the torch.
The blinding white beam burned away the darkness, revealing an old, stone corridor that had a turn just a few feet in front of us. Stepping off the lift, I moved up along the wall, keeping my gun trained on that bend in the hall.
I heard Leon and Redfield coming up behind me, their footsteps slow and cautious.
Okay. I rounded the corner, quickly stepping to the side, getting a good look at the place. Still more empty hallway, though there was an old, heavy wooden door and actual torch embedded in the left-side wall. Just like I remember it.
This place gave me the creeps when I was young, and it's ten times worse in person. The stench of formaldehyde and rotting human flesh was heavy in the air; strong enough to damn near choke you. "If either of you had any doubts about what Irons was doing, let them be laid to rest. Stack up."
~~Badadumbundum~~
"I- I think I'm going to be sick..." Leon muttered, his stomache gurgling unsettlingly, looking fairly green around the face. Roughly the same shade of green as Rebecca's eyes, though nowhere near as nice to look at.
After rotating everyone down and through Irons' happy room, the general consensus was that they were wrong to ever doubt me. And that the trashcan would need a very thorough cleaning.
"Has everyone finished puking their guts up? Yes, no? Good. Now here's how this is going to work; each and every one of you is going to keep your mouth shut. As far as anyone else is to know, Brian Irons is on an extended business trip out of state, acting as a witness for a court case on the east coast. Until December, no one can know about his demise, his little dungeon, my investigation into Umbrella, nor Stars mission in the Arklay mountains. If anyone gets persistent, tell them there's an ongoing investigation and details cannot be made public. Clear?" Nods all around, most still looking somewhat sick to their stomaches. "Very well. If anyone asks about me, I am Irons' new secretary. That should keep their interest to a minimum."
I sat down in Irons rather comfy chair, interlacing my fingers. "Members of Stars and Leon Kennedy, remain here. The rest of you are dismissed; return to your duties or take the day off, I don't particularly care."
As those individuals absent-mindedly filed out, I noticed Leon swallow drily, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He was nervous, and rightly so.
Chris started. "So what happens now?"
Leaning back, I fished around in my pocket for a smoke as I answered. "For now, we bide our time and prepare. Barry, I want you to work with the armorer. In the next three weeks, I want every cruiser equipped with a shotgun and rifle, extra ammo and body armor in the trunk. Rebecca, when you've got time, start teaching anyone who'll listen some basic first aid. We'll set up classes, maybe get the local hospital to help out. Kenneth, I'll get you to help me copy as much of the evidence we've gathered as possible, just in case. Brad, you make sure the chopper and any other vehicles at our disposal are properly maintained. Chris, Jill, you two help as many officers as you can on their marksmanship. Ensure everyone begins training regularly as a habit, two in the body, one to the head. Within a month, I'll have the brass enact new regs mandating higher marksmanship requirements for all officers."
And as I lit up, Rebecca's eyes did the same.(As did some of the others) "You're preparing for an outbreak!"
I nodded in the affirmative. "We can't be sure the infection was contained, and since there won't be a clean-up crew coming anytime soon, we'll only find out as time passes."
Kenneth just shook his head. "So that's why you wanted to delay them until December."
Our young rookie Leon finally couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. "Alright, I'm sorry, but just what the hell are you all talking about? What infection?"
There were several pointed but low-key looks thrown my way, the collective Stars members deferring to me for an explanation. Heh, this is how you know you've got someone's respect; they won't ever go over your head. "The 'infection' is known as the T-virus. It is a chemical weapon developed by Umbrella for the sole purpose of creating more biological weapons." I paused for a moment, letting that information sink in.
His expression changed slightly, his eyes widening in shock as I continued. "I won't go into details, but Umbrella screwed up, and it started an outbreak some few months past. My unit was tasked with investigating, and several of my coworkers ended up dead. I was then given carte blanche to find out what Umbrella was hiding, and report my findings. Stars was just sent into the Arklay mountains to ease the peoples' worries, due to the recent cannibalistic murder cases that have been popping up. Those murderers are actually victims of the leaked T-virus. To get back on-topic, I happened to be in the area when Stars Bravo crashed in the forest, and I worked with the team's medic to secure evidence against Umbrella, as well as an escape route. We linked up with the other survivors of Bravo, and ran into Alpha in the Spencer estate when they came out in search of us. As you can see," I hooked a thumb towards the remaining members of Stars.
"There aren't as many of them as there were three days ago. And as for right now, I am not convinced that the mansion's self-destruct sterilized the area, but we don't have the manpower to search the forest for any remnants of the T-virus. So I intend to prepare the RPD as best I can."
Leon blinked once, twice before he replied, "Why hasn't your department sent out other agents, then? Why not tip off the CDC or EPA, or anyone else?"
I couldn't help but smile. "Because Umbrella has enough pull within the United States government to yank my operation, and force the Director to terminate all operatives associated with it."
The blonde blinked again. "But you're-" He stopped, eyes widening into saucers as all the color drained from his face. "Then that means..."
"Correct. According to Records, I no longer exist, so we're on our own. Umbrella has done an amazing job of getting everyone important into their pockets, so the only thing we've got going for us is the element of surprise. They don't yet know how much evidence we have against them, but until we set up defenses against a possible outbreak, we can't risk drawing attention to ourselves. Taking them down isn't worth the lives of everyone living here in Racoon City. So, Mr Scott. What say you, having heard all this?"
Leon swallowed once more, before he gave his answer.
~~Badadumbundum~~
*POWFUHL!*
"Huh. Not bad, for a rookie." Dead center of the head, maybe a quarter-inch to the left.
The blonde sent me an irritated glare. "Stop calling me that. My name's Leon."
Quirking an eyebrow, I turned fully toward him, levelling my Wilson towards the target without even looking, letting the muscle memory take over.
*P-P-POW-Ow-Owfuhl...!*
Three shots in just under a second; two to the body, one in the brainbox. Leon just stared in awe at the silhouette-shaped target. "Until you can do that without looking, you're a rookie. Hell, I still call Rebecca a rookie, which would be why she's here with us."
Said medic finally decided to contribute to the conversation. "Quit talking about me like I'm not here! It's embarassing..." Aha, she's blushing.
"You're blushing again, Rebecca."
"Sh-shut up..." She muttered, her face bright red as she took aim at her own target, lining up the sights of her SE2.
Man, she even holds it like a rookie. Sighing, I sidled up behind her, wrapping my arms around her. "You're still holding it wrong, Rebecca. Pay attention to this, Leon, I'm not cuddling against your dopey ass." I think his eye twitched, but I kept going. "Let go with your left hand, finger off the trigger. Point your left thumb forward and keep it parallel. Good, now place it alongside the frame, off the slide. Now wrap your fingers around the grip, should be a 45 degree angle. Alright, now bend your elbows a bit and line up the sights. Bring the gun up to your eye, not the other way around. Now focus on your target, let the sights follow your eyes."
*POWFUHL!*
Dead center of the brain box. I couldn't help but smile. "Very good."
She shifted to look up at me, eyebrow firmly quirked. "You can let go of me, now."
"I'm quite comfortable where I am, thanks."
The blonde dork next to us just chuckled at our interactions. "I take it you two are an item, huh? Shame, you're pretty cute." He-
He even winked at her. Wow. Rebecca just grinned. "Sorry, but you're a bit late, Leon. I'm not into dumb blondes."
Ho-ho, damn! I snickered at the dumb look on his face, which was absolutely priceless. "That's mean, Rebecca. I mean his ego's the only thing he's got going for him, what with that emo haircut."
Though he took the ribbing good-naturedly. "Ah, screw you guys. Chicks love the hair." He even whipped out the oft-seen hair-flip.
It's a good thing the three of us were the only ones on the range, otherwise I'm sure there are several officers who would've taken the opportunity to make fun of him over that. But anyway, I let Becca get back to practice with that handgun while I meandered on over to the duffle bag Barry had lent us.
Inside was an assortment of all kinds of ballistic goodies, from ammunition and magazines to cleaning supplies, targets, and of course, a pair of firearms. One of them was a shortened Remington 870 Express with a pistol grip.(Not a fan of it, but it's compact. I prefer a chopped stock, the angle doesn't work against your wrist) I remember the game calling it the M1100-P, a joke on the actual Remington model 1100. Thing is, the 1100 is an automatic shotgun, not a pump. You also can't shorten an 1100 to use a pistol grip without a stock, because the action spring is inside the stock, using a bolt carrier that cams downward with the angle of the stock itself.
But uh, ahem. The other long gun is your average, run-of-the-mill M4A1. It's still very new, probably made with the first run of them in the past year or so, and doesn't even have any wear marks on it. Fourteen-and-a-half inch med-weight barrel, full auto trigger group, A2 grip, basic CAR stock, H2 buffer, Knights' RAS, and bolt-on A2 carry handle sight. Barry thought ahead, too; the foregrip and rail covers were in the bag, as well.
I pulled out those last few items, locking the rifle's bolt to the rear as I did so. Loosen the VFG's storage screw, slide it over the bottom rail,(Damn, she's snug) set it about, oh, just past halfway. That'll do. Now where's that short cover...
After setting it up and sliding on the remaining covers, I pulled the weapon to my shoulder, setting the stock back to the second position. Fits, and it fits well. I guess you could say it felt like meeting up with an old friend, or pulling on a favorite, well worn-in pair of jeans. It just felt...
Right.
I found myself smiling without meaning to as I turned to set it down, finally noticing the other two had stopped shooting, and were outright staring at me. "Yes? Something wrong?"
They shared a look before Leon answered. "Er, nothing. So are we going to be training with those, too?" He asked, indicating the rifle I'd just set aside.
Well, why not? "Of course. I didn't bring it along just because I like carrying extra weight." With that, I plucked the seven-pound weapon from its place on the table, and began the same spiel I'd had pounded into my skull from the day I turned six years old.
"This is the Colt M4A1 carbine, caliber 5.56 by 45 millimeter. It is a gas-operated, direct impingement rifle, and is the preferred weapon of most Western military, paramilitary and police forces for its accuracy, modularity, ease of use and reliability. Despite whatever you might think you know, the M4 is one of the most reliable automatic weapons available. If you keep it lubricated, it will continue to function until something breaks. My record is four thousand rounds of automatic fire over a three day period without cleaning before experiencing a non-catastrophic failure after a seven-hundred round string; melted gas tube, the cheapest and weakest critical part of the system. By changing to manual cycling, the weapon still functioned. In short, this weapon will literally break before it malfunctions. Today I am going to teach both of you how to properly aim, operate, and maintain this weapon."
Once more, they shared a look as I continued. "The controls are optimized for right-handed shooters. Watch carefully." I turned, pulling it to my shoulder and letting them see how it's held. "The mag release is just above where your trigger finger will rest. Whenever you hold it, your thumb should ride the safety lever, ready to place the weapon on fire. Since this weapon has a foregrip, I will also be going over its proper use."
Leon gave me a strange look. "Um, okay. Proper use of a grip?"
Oh, he should not have said that.
. . .
"Thumb pointed towards your target, same as I showed you on the handgun. Keep those elbows down, square up to your target! Otherwise I'm gonna call you Chickenwing until you learn your lesson. I know the A2 is uncomfortable, I've still got callouses on both hands, so man up. C'mon, I explained it to you twice, now. Your point of impact will be three inches below your point of aim at this distance, so aim high! Throat for center of mass, crown of the skull for a headshot. Accuracy comes first, speed comes naturally."
The young medic sat back with a smirk, watching as I drilled Leon on all the same lessons I'd been taught as a child, the ones Rebecca seemed to pick up instantly.
I couldn't help but shake my head. This was going to be a long day...
~~Badadumbundum~~
WHAM-BAM! Thank You, Ma'am!
References include, but are not limited to: Metalocalypse, Scooby Doo/Johnny Bravo, Ghost in the Shell, Silent Hill 3, THE DARK ID,(Of fucking course) House of a Thousand Corpses,
Shout-out to my buddy ReaperGrimm5594! Thanks for your help. You know what you did.
~~Badadumdunbum~~