Akira-Hayama: Part of him does want to abandon her, the other doesn't. The conflict is still there inside him over her... and even when he does commit, it'll still be there on some level. Impossible for it not to be, torn between two worlds, and the life he's led to this point.
Of course they have to survive, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy. I really try to focus on the arduous ordeal the characters have to go through, the suffering, struggle, and don't aim to surprise readers, who can predict damn near everything on their own. It's about the characters, the context, what they are seeing, feelings and experiencing though the story, their developments under the circumstances they are in. I couldn't write a mystery/whodunit type story if I tried. I prefer surprises to be for the characters themselves, not the reader. So when a reader knows what is coming they feel a sense of dread for how it'll effect the characters, how it's going to blow up.
A faceless human machine vs a biological one with a face. Nurture vs 'nature'(science) I wanted the parallels to exist between HUNK and the Nemesis. Both belonging to Umbrella, both sent to the city to accomplish an important mission, both crossing paths and coming into conflict over Jill. With HUNK using the pretext of it threatening the G-Virus operation as an excuse for the conflict. It will also tie into Colonel Vladimir who tried to strand him in Raccoon City, HUNK's conflict with him, the Nemesis acting as a proxy for that Umbrella conflict, given the Tyrants are made from the Colonel's genetic material, and he considers them his sons. It's something that has backfired on Umbrella for sure, putting these two in the same field of combat, HUNK vs Nemesis, threatening two of their separate operations. Still, overall it will remain Jill's Nemesis, being created for her, but I couldn't resist drawing up the parallels. Jill has an Umbrella weapon of her own, though unlike them sees the humanity in HUNK the company really doesn't.
Much appreciated, wanted to make the fight visceral, badass and a bit horrific. But also grounded, not entirely action hero stuff, even if it is more of an action scene, it was something led up to first, and had consequences for all three of the combatants. I wanted to show the three characters as they really were in the scene, when it all comes down to it, the type of beings they are. In a way it was also part of the culmination of HUNK and Jill's relationship... but only part of it. There's more to come. I prefer bittersweet tones to a story instead of sappy or nihilistic for sure. RIP TMP. You were an ever faithful weapon put to good use. Fortunately the man still has weapons, and is a walking weapon himself.
Oh I wouldn't say Nemesis gave up easily. More realized it wasn't worth it, that she was right, she was already dead. And it needed to deal with the damage it had received. Thanks again for the review as ever ;).
Rock992: Much appreciated, I wanted to get to what the Nemesis is, what the remake really messed up on. They couldn't resist showing it off as much as they could, changing it way too much, not letting it have a sense of ominous dread or weight to its presence. I wanted it to be the shadow hanging over most of the story, make people think it could burst out at any moment, and show that even as it gets damaged, it remains relentless, innovative, finding ways to keep pursuing them. Even as it does mutate. Though it won't mutate to the same ludicrous degrees as the remake, couldn't stand its dumb, Licker-like bestial form running around on all fours. That isn't Nemesis. It focused too much on the mutations giving it raw power, instead of relying on its cunning and relentlessness, its presence, and thus became just another monster boss.
I'll say this for HUNK vs other normal human characters, HUNK is among the best if not the best, and I wouldn't bet against him. On the other hand, against a superhuman enhanced foe, like Wesker, he would get his ass kicked in hand to hand combat. Skill can only get you so far against super speed, strength, endurance, reflexes, etc. Also it depends on his condition, even lesser fighters could defeat him if he isn't well. HUNK isn't invincible by any means, he is extremely skilled, very well trained, and has uncanny luck on the battlefield, always survives. Doesn't mean he always wins.
evolution-500: Glad it got to you ;), that was the intent.
zenqqy115: Always means a lot to make someone cry with my writing, not in a bad way of course lol. Glad it touched you the way it did, and hang in there. There's still hope. I don't write bleak stories, just bittersweet ones.
Repalitator: I wanted to bump up its intelligence, and will as the story goes on. Flesh the Nemesis out without getting inside its head. Depict it from the outside, multiple POV's. RIP TMP, your absence will be felt, and you did a good job. Still, there are always other weapons. And yes, the Tyrant's claws aren't the only claws coming out. Jill is staking her claim and getting territorial now. Especially the way he nearly got himself killed for her, fighting for a dying woman. I'm sure that would be very flattering to her. As for your questions, I will say I'm working on a small interquel set during this story about two other certain characters in Raccoon City... I won't spoil who just yet, but can say it won't be anywhere near as long and perhaps plodding as this story. It's more of a companion piece I wanted to write, couldn't resist, given who it is about, and the opportunity I had with it. As for sequels, I have ideas, wrote an outline for a possible sequel too... but it's early yet, don't want to jump the gun and make promises. Trying to focus on a story at a time, not pile everything on my plate at the same time lol. We shall see. As for HUNK and Wesker, I'm sure that question will answer its self in due course ;). Though it's important to remember, HUNK isn't a Super Soldier, he is what's called Badass Normal (even if his presence, reputation/legend and personality is abnormal lol, the way he scares people). He has no super powers, no viruses or genetic science enhancing him physically. He is the result of nurture over nature/science. Though he is also incredibly skilled, disciplined, brave, innovative, trained and lucky, he has advantages and limitations, and isn't 'invincible'. And for all he does have, there are consequences, which will become apparent when we get to his life off the battlefield, at Umbrella. Much appreciated, friend.
LuckyNumber1: I don't mind a good ramble, as a rambler myself lol. I'm glad to inspire that many thoughts out of you, and appreciate all the compliments, that you are enjoying my story and depictions even more than what exists in canon, that you like this Jill. And understand what I'm doing with HUNK, turning him into someone, a person, instead of an enigma. I will say that you won't have to be sad for awhile yet, this is going to be a hell of a long story. Probably the longest I'll ever do, especially now that my writing is better honed than when I started, and I don't feel as big an urge for word vomit within stories at times lol. Thanks again.
Arkham Knight: Much appreciated, glad to hear I'm doing the Nemesis justice, as a vital part of this story.
Braktz: The power of the slow burn ;) never underestimate it for any dynamic or relationship in a story. It's why I find them so vital, developing something natural over time and experience of the characters, instead of just thrown at each other and expecting the reader to get on board with it. Patience is needed to make it poignant, to make something that matters. I'm out to make a bond that makes sense for two characters who are so different, with forces, emotions and circumstances steadily pulling them together. And for that scene I wanted to show who they were, when it comes down to it. Show them stepping into the next stage of their relationship and character dynamic. The 'slow burning' shall continue.
I appreciate that a great deal, both the original RE 1 and 3 Jill and the S.D. Perry Jill factored into my depiction of Jill. I wanted to make her tough when she had to be, with some survival experience of course, but also very human, emotional, able to be vulnerable and feminine, in touch with herself and who she is, despite her personal baggage. Her compassion is what makes her who she is, she doesn't work best as an outright action hero like the remake depicted her as, despite the badass moments she has had, rather as a cop, to serve and protect. Even while infected and dying. Her tough moments are meant to be earned and to shine a bit more sparingly, be the culmination of her personality, and doing what she has to. It's a good contrast with HUNK who is much more of an introverted human machine, trained and molded for killing, not for protecting people. Her compassion is a big amount of the reason she is getting to him, especially while he is essentially cut off from Umbrella's toxic influence in Raccoon City. She's undoing some of the Umbrella programming, or at least forcing him with her presence and personality to reconsider things, acknowledge who he is and what he has done. The mess that has been made of his life, by the hands of others at the company and his own. He has had nagging doubts for quite some time, but she is making them louder, harder to silence. She is a wonderful fully fledged protagonist, and as much as in this story I wanted to expand on HUNK and make him someone, Jill had to be the driving force, this is her story and game, her personality, charismatic in her own way, a genuine way, not manipulative and fully human, a realist/optimist True Hero to HUNK's realist/pessimist Anti Hero/Anti Villain.
HUNK has been the biggest challenge of all this story, but the most fulfilling to me, being possibly the first to try to make something more of him. Give him a cast of characters, expand on him and his background, why he is what he is, who he is, and who he might still want to be. Challenge him as a character, as a person, instead of a keeping him a one note action hero type who is invincible. Invincible characters aren't usually compelling, so I wanted to show yes he is legendary badass like his game counterpart, but there was a cost getting there. There's a man in there, and Jill is seeing through the gaps in the armor and trying to draw that man out, another metaphorical tug of war between her and Umbrella's hold over him. Trying to save him, like she tries to everyone, once she sees there's something more to him, that he isn't what she expected an Umbrella Agent to be. And considering she wears her heart on her sleeves unlike him, it is a difficult situation for them both. I'll be getting into the meat of his character very soon, pealing back more layers and context.
Much appreciated for the review, glad you liked it and hope you continue to :).
Thank you all for the reviews as ever. As for the previous devastating battle, never fear. All is not lost. It's not over til' it's over. Always darkest before the dawn. Bittersweet stories are better than bleak, nihilistic ones every single time:
September 28th, 1998, 11:53 PM.
Main Courtyard, Saint Michael Clock Tower, Northern Raccoon City.
Dazed consciousness flooded back with the pain... it was instantaneous, the black out and return. One moment he'd been firing, the next he was opening his eyes slowly, to find himself peering through the faintly red tinted reflective lenses. Where before there hadn't been one, a long, spreading crack ran down the center of his vision... and testing both eyes, he found it to be the left one. A scratch of sorts... but it was the furthest from the most pressing matter. He drew in a breath... to find the air no longer warm and recycled through the filters of his mask. It was fresh... cold outside air, almost rejuvenating, even as red lights danced in his vision and head, dizziness and throbbing threatening to make him vomit where he lay. He forced back the wave of nausea with all he had, trying to gather himself. His hand moved up slowly, feeling the outside of the mask... the front filter had been torn off, but most of the mask remained intact. It might even be salvageable, with his repair kit... but in his current state, that wasn't an option.
Little was.
Agony wracked through his gut as he struggled to breath... fire burning not merely around the courtyard, but though his entire form, and he grunted, attempting to keep it at bay. Every movement he made worsened it. Memories came flashing back from what felt moments before, swirling through him, increasing his heartbeat in his ears. The Tyrant... the helicopter... the gunfire... Oliveira's death. The battle. Her. It all came back quickly, even as he lay there, watching the smoke drift up lazily into the night sky. He heard the crackle of fires... the moans... everything came back, every day of Operation: NESTWRECKER... starting in the sewers beneath the city and ending up here in the courtyard... and he drew in breath after breath. He was still alive... for the moment... but incomprehension moved through him, at the foolishness of his actions, tackling the Tyrant head on... especially after... after... Valentine. The word vented part of his confused, swirling thoughts, and gave him a bit of focus and rational thought. Valentine... and the G-Virus. The two matters most standing out on the forefront of his thoughts, of late. Even now.
HUNK dug a hand into his body armor instinctively, seeking out the concealed pouch within, and he opened it, rummaged around inside, and produced the familiar titanium casing, housing the G-Virus sample. Satisfied with its uncompromised condition, he tucked it back away into its original spot, his movements slow and sluggish, like his arm weighed a ton. He looked up, to find himself laying among spent brass casings against a light post in the courtyard's stone path... and his one hand around the handle of the MP5 tightened. He drew in another breath, and he looked down, leveling his gaze, eyes narrowing under the compromised mask... to find a familiar, thick puddle of purple sludge. A trail of the stuff, giant boot prints moving in a path along the stone path. His eyes tracked it, over past the destroyed fountain, a statue... and into the depths of the flames comprising the helicopter and destroyed remains of the mostly collapsed balcony.
There was no sign beyond that of the thing... one moment he'd been fighting it, the next it was gone, and he was returning to a strange world. He'd missed something... missed out on a lot, clearly... somehow, he was alive... but he didn't know how long that could last. He couldn't tell if he had any broken bones... but the haze of his mind and pain he was struggling to keep in check was not getting any better. It was only worsening steadily the longer he remained conscious. Exhaustion wracked his mind and limbs, vertigo... he knew he would black out again... but he had to know... had to recover his senses... and... figure it all out. His jaw and teeth tightened against one another to bite back the pain, as he struggled, and failed, to rise back up to his feet. The effort took too much energy out of him... he remembered the dizzying punch from the Pursuer... and mostly, he remembered slamming into the light post and ground. The impact had almost knocked him out then and there... as it had knocked him senseless. Somehow... he'd managed to hit the Pursuer's Launcher... destroy it... but everything after the explosion was blank... until that very moment he'd waken up. What had transpired in his absence?
"Valentine... where are... you...?"
Valentine... she'd gotten clear of his sights... run for cover when he called for her to, and then...- his eyes drifted on, following the puddle of putrid gunk back to its source away from the fire, to find it a few meters from his position... but just opposite the puddle... something else caught his attention, and stuck to it. Consumed it. Another puddle, the tone darker than the gunk of the Pursuer. Blood... and another trail of it, leading not over into the inferno... but closer to HUNK's position. He tracked it... to its source. Laying only a couple meters in front of him. Valentine... she lay in a motionless, bloody and bandaged heap close by, face down in the stone pathway, her pistol out in one limp hand that blood flowed down... and her flashlight on. Blood and vomit splattered around her. One hand at her side still clenching the Samurai Edge. HUNK drew in another labored, difficult breath at the sight... then another... and he pushed himself off the light post, falling with a thud to the ground again. Agony wracking his body again, but it didn't matter. Pain was irrelevant. Nothing else mattered in this moment but her. Reaching her. All thought of the company and the G-Virus fleeting from his thoughts. His muffled, disconcerted voice escaped the damaged mask sluggishly.
"Valentine... wake up... you need to... get up..."
She didn't stir or answer him, remaining exactly where she was. His left hand holding, bracing the MP5 tighter, he began to struggle, to crawl, try to do so closer to Valentine. Tried to reach her. His legs barely responded... and he didn't have enough left in him to stand. He knew the moment he did, he would drop. He began to pull himself along the stone path slowly by one hand, pushing himself forward with his boots that slid on the ground. Agony wracked him over and over, his breaths became more difficult as he inched along, barely conscious, using all the determination he had... but it wasn't enough. When he was about a foot or two from her position, he collapsed again, beside her, uttering a low groan, right hand digging into the stone. He had to get closer. He managed to reach her with another exertion... rising up to his scraped up metal kneepads, hands tentatively rising... grasping her by either side and turning her over on the spot. The light from the light post shining down and revealing her bloody front. He stared down at her, numbly, feeling his pulse quicken... a hand settling against her messy, sticky brown hair... brushing it back behind her ear gently to see her pale, sickly, stained face.
Reaching down, he carefully wiped her face off with the left sleeve of his undersuit not coated in the Tyrant's gore. Wiping away the blood and vomit as best he could. Feeling his pulse quicken at the sight of her hiding beneath the stains. She looked like death... but was still beautiful... and was alive. Or at least, she breathed, chest rising and falling... but her eyelids flickered... she had fallen from one nightmare to another. He had to put her back together again, as he had before, with his medical supplies. His training. But then... what could he do for her anymore? And like this? His eyes fell down to the wound. She was... infected, he remembered. He remembered the tendril with a mouth slamming into her shoulder. Remembered freezing within at the sight. The knowledge she was doomed reaching him. As she had shouted at him to leave her... part of himself had agreed with her. But he hadn't fled... couldn't... he'd remained where he was. For one reason or another. Even if he had stayed, he had failed her... as he had failed Operation: NESTWRECKER, now. The latter should have disturbed him more... but in that moment it was the former that rankled at him. The promise he'd made her, broken.
"Valentine... wake up. I need... wake up. You don't die here. Not losing... can't..."
HUNK grunted at another spike of pain... and knew he had to do something, at least. A final duty, perhaps. His responsibility as an agent. Valentine and the virus were accounted for. All that remained was a final call.
With effort, he rose his hand to the side of his helmet... and hoping he hadn't broken the communication device during the fight, he activated the wavelength, peering down at Jill's cut up, bandaged, bloody form. She was still breathing, so slowly... he could hear that much... but it couldn't be for long. Coughing raggedly as the pain continued kicking around his insides, he forced his throat clear, and spoke with slow difficulty into the communication channel. Feeling sweat still pouring down his face... feeling fresh, thick amounts of warm coppery blood run down his mouth within the mask.
"HUNK... to FLY GIRL... Agent HUNK to FLY GIRL... respond."
"HUNK, there you are... I was wondering when you'd call, you were almost late.", Came the concerned, accented tone of a young woman over the line, almost at once. He knew she had been waiting, probably with baited breath. A rookie, who probably hadn't performed many operations, and didn't want to screw anything up. Well... this would be his screw up, not hers. "Are you... ok? You sound... have you been extracted yet? Are you in the air?"
"Negative... extraction point has been compromised. Tyrant Pursuer destroyed the helicopter before it could land. Helicopter... crashed into the clock tower. Managed to fight it off. Little else. Am injured... can barely move... unable to leave the area in my condition. One K.I.A, a U.B.C.S. mercenary named Oliveira... another critically wounded, a police officer named Valentine. Requesting assistance."
Assistance. What a joke. None would come. He'd blown it, and become a liability. If anyone was dispatched to him, it would be to furnish his corpse for the G-Virus. Nothing more, nothing less. He doubted even that would be permitted. Colonel Vladimir would surely want one of his 'sons' to retrieve a sample from NEST its self... prove his Tyrants superior to the U.S.S. Nor did HUNK deserve any assistance. GOBLIN-6 had requested it from him... he remembered her panicked voice in his radio as he'd ascended the R.P.D... and remembered his cold response to her request. The irony was not lost on him. She had been gravely injured... but possibly salvageable if he had taken the time and doubled back down to the sewers. He hadn't. Putting the mission ahead of her life. Nothing had changed since then... this was still a war, and survival was his own responsibility. This was no less than he deserved. Poetic justice, if ever there were any. Still, he requested it. He knew his duty, and his status had to be passed off to the U.S.S., and the Board Of Directors. To Comtesse Henri. Even with all the red tape Colonel Vladimir was tying them up in. For the good of the virus, not for himself. Whether the news to them was good or not. Lord Spencer had authorized the mission, after all... and the blue blooded megalomaniac old bastard would always have his due. One way or another. Had never been able to bloody his own hands, simply hiring others to do it for him.
He wondered if Colonel Vladimir would be able to disguise that triumphant smirk of his, when he delivered the news to his ailing master. Getting his way... as he so often did. The thought of him getting the last laugh was a bitter one to swallow, even now.
It was too late for escape. For all of them... but an agent did what they could, even at the end. As Goblin Six had. If the G-Virus had not been as important as it was... if the mission perimeters had been different, he would have gone back for her. She'd looked to him as his leader. Trusted him. And he'd betrayed that without looking back to accomplish his objective. One he was currently failing regardless. And had intervened for Valentine as he hadn't for her. GOBLIN-6 had known what she was signing up for... the risks. They all had... but it changed nothing. He knew he deserved what was happening to him. He'd put himself in this vulnerable position, working with civilians and mercenaries instead of keeping to himself. He had gotten Valentine and Oliveira killed. If he'd taken off on his own... for the Dead Factory, he'd already be out of Raccoon City. And maybe they would have found their own way out. But he hadn't gone. He'd thought having another team would make things quicker, more efficient. He could not have been more wrong. All he had accomplished was staving off death... and here it was, catching up to them. The consequences of his actions. His mistakes... and not merely the ones he'd made since coming to Raccoon City for the first and last time. He silently cursed Birkin and GHOST again... but more than them, he cursed himself. This was his failure.
The night sky was filled with smoke... the clock tower damaged... the helicopter and its fires raging... and it was all on him. It was almost funny... all he'd gotten through, survived, and this was it. He'd thrown his life away for nothing. He should have listened to Valentine... left her to fight, and die against the Pursuer on her own. She was dead anyways. It would have been sensible... but perhaps his contempt for Vladimir's creation... the Pursuer... had won out over common sense. He had not been able to let it take her as well. He hoped that was it... the source of his weakness... the Tyrant, instead of her. There was a sudden swell of static on the line that hurt his head... but not as much as the moans... the moaning, around the courtyard walls. The undead... their constant sounds driving him almost mad with agony. He looked up again, beyond Valentine's body, off into the distance towards the train. With the combination of smoke, his own surmounting dizziness and pain, he couldn't make anything out... but he kept right on staring, not even blinking... as the static settled down, and FLY GIRL's voice returned.
"The... the Tyrant? I don't know much about that, HUNK... I wasn't briefed on all the specifics of the Tyrant in your area. I'll pass this information up the chain of command, but that's not important. Let's talk about you. I need you to keep speaking to me, stay awake. You need to stay where you are, and try to relax... but not too much. It'll be ok... I promise. Just hold on and hold tight. I'm... going to try to get you out of there."
How many times in the battlefield had he heard such similar delusional lies to comfort soldiers? Even as all was clearly lost. He hadn't thought to ever find himself on the receiving end of it. He would not have it. Would not accept comforting lies. His life had been full of enough of them. Deception. He would not die listening to another one of them.
"No. It won't be. Not for me. But the G-Virus is intact. It's all that matters. Tell U.S.S. Command. Tell Comtesse Henri. I still have it... and-
HUNK stopped for a moment, leaving the channel open... and his eyes narrowed further upon the smashed, smoking train, so far away on the other side of the courtyard. The sounds of the moans... they were coming closer... even with the ringing in his ears, he could hear that. It was no longer just confined to the outside of the walls. He glanced over to the main gate... it was still standing, and locking most of them out... but the matter of all the rubble, the area the train had smashed through in the wall... well... that seemed to be another story. The fact that the train had crashed as it had, the lucky position cutting off any undead from entering... had been fortunate.
The blast of the Tyrant's rocket launcher, as HUNK had struggled with it, had not been.
It had struck the space between the train and the wall. With the occasional gap in the smoke, he glimpsed a small hole in the wall... large enough for a man to fit through. It wasn't men that had found it, and were starting to squeeze through... but they once had been. They looked silhouetted, lurching in the smoke, into the courtyard... until at least they strode through the flames, lighting some of them on fire... and illuminating all of them with ease, as though under a spotlight. He heard their moans, growing ever louder.
At first there were one or two of them... he didn't even think they noticed him or Valentine yet, laying there among the blood. They probably only came to investigate all the noise that had riled them up during the fight... but it was almost surprising how, one after another, a few turned into a dozen... and then a couple dozen, their numbers only growing as step by step, they lurched further into the courtyard, moaning and groaning. Then... they grew louder, raising their arms, and moving in HUNK's direction. They'd spotted him watching them... there was little doubt about it. He grunted, raising his MP5, and aiming it with one hand, looking down the wobbly sights as his vision blurred and moved about... and the courtyard began to spin.
"They're here, FLY GIRL. They're... coming."
"HUNK, what are you talking about? Please respond."
"Area is infested... with infected. This is it. Don't... think I can stop them. All of them."
"You need to get somewhere safe... you need to get up and hide. Get away from them. Respond."
"Too late... for that."
When he was certain his sights were on the lead creature, aiming over top of Valentine, he squeezed the trigger... and all he got for his wasted effort of expending the last of his energy, was three clicks. Empty... of course. Right. Now he remembered that. It had taken the extended magazine to destroy the rocket launcher... and... no, it didn't matter. He struggled to focus. His grip slackened a little on the MP5... and he reached back his other arm to his vest, attempting to rummage around for a fresh magazine... but it was proving far more difficult... far too difficult. He had no... grip. He couldn't seize his pouch pockets... that ringing, moaning in his ears was worsening... his head a drum, pounding in his skull, his vision becoming an unfocused hazed. It was only getting worse by the second.
He knew another black out was on the horizon... and that the horizon was closer than ever... that blacking out one more time would be the end. He tried to reach for Matilda to draw her, but his hand kept missing. And as the warmth emanated through his skull, and the moving silhouettes over by the train suddenly became very far away and faint, in another world... he found he didn't really care. Content with the idea of finally dying. No longer carrying a legend. Proving the title she'd given him had been a lie... like all the other lies she'd told him. If, when she found out he was gone... she would know. His fingers slackened on the MP5 some more... and he released it, dropped it to the ground beside Valentine and himself. He didn't have the energy to even reach up and turn off his communicator. His dazed, muffled and exhausted words filtered through as the haze and darkness gathered together, as his ears rang and heart throbbed in his head.
"This is war... survival... was my responsibility. The consequences are mine. This isn't your fault, FLY GIRL. Agent HUNK... over and out..."
U.S.S. Special Agent HUNK's eyes began to grow heavy, the lids closing, no matter how much he struggled to keep them open, and the daze became more concentrated. The last sight they had was of the broken train... the wall, the flames, the lurching, insatiable undead approaching, so very far away, yet so very close... and her. Jill, unconscious. Neither she or he would feel the end, any longer. It felt as though he slipped down into a warm, comforting bath... or an embrace. A sensation he'd felt with Bella, long ago, before she had abandoned him. Bella's form and Jill's blurred together in his mind, overlapped... even as the two women couldn't be more different. No more than she could overlap with the Comtesse. He welcomed the warm feelings... the loss of pain... knew he couldn't outfight it the way he could a common enemy. As the pain of the physical and mental began to slip away... he felt more comfortable than he had in more time than he cared to remember. He let it all drift away... the courtyard... the mission, his screw up and responsibilities, his failures, the blood on his hands. The years that weighed heavily. The legend he had woken up wearing, one day.
Jill was already too far away now to know he had failed her. Bella, wherever she was, probably didn't care anymore about his successes or failures... didn't keep tabs on him. Wouldn't blink when she received the news. She was gone... so was he, now. She wasn't here with him, at the end... fought at his side to the end... the way Jill was. He knew... had known, this would be the only way out for him. The only freedom he would ever truly have from Umbrella, the world she'd pulled him into. A world he'd been entranced by, years ago... until the legend around him grew... and the illusion of it all began to dim. His duty, like that of his men, many men and women he had known, was at last discharged... in death. He deserved this... the consequences catching up... for all he had done... just as Jill didn't... for all she had done.
He remembered what she said back at the precinct, distantly, her voice scathing and her eyes rightly judging. About making himself useful for something that wasn't killing. The only thing he'd ever been good at. And he remembered her at the apartment, calling him a machine... no different from the Tyrant. She was right. All he had done was brought more death and suffering to the world... it had been easy... rewarding... while she had preserved and cared for life, something far more difficult and unrewarding. Before the outbreak, she'd lived something much more than an unfulfilling, nihilistic existence, bound in golden chains and handcuffs. She had been free... struggled, and paid back the world with her own sort of duty. Made something of her existence. His eyes left the approaching infected, and lowered down to her dying form... fingers settling on her cheek, touching it gently. She didn't respond to his touch... no more than she did to his murmur in her ear.
"Valentine... don't you... leave me too. We leave together... promised you that. You have to... live..."
His jaw tightened at the pain, the exertion of speaking alone too much. All of it was. His head continued to grow lighter. It hit HUNK all at once, and he stopped resisting. As he blacked out... his hand left her cheek and he fell down to her side on the stone path... he was glad. The weight all leaving him... or he was leaving it. FLY GIRL's voice... or maybe that of death, for all he knew anymore, followed him down. A distant hum down the corridors of his mind, desperate and frantic.
"HUNK? What's wrong? What happened? No... answer me! Get up! HUNK? HUNK?!"
There was the sound of a rifle shot, then. Distant and muffled to his senses. Somewhere above and around him, over the moans and ringing in his ears. And then, falling into the embrace of the abyss, there was darkness, silence... and the nightmares that lurked in waiting for him... down there in the dark.
With a gasping breath, Carlos came to on the second floor of the clock tower, opened up his eyes suddenly... blinked them once, twice, then rose, quite unsteadily. Back up to his knees, pain aching in his joints... but with more exertion, coughing, he climbed unsteadily back to his feet. When he had, he stretched his aching joints, listening to and feeling the popping of muscles, before resting a hand against the door frame he had fallen though, and he shook his head slowly, leaning on it. Trying to gather himself, sort out his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, and breathed... he was tired, and had a headache that was only worsening, on top of everything else the matter. His thoughts remained a little jumbled, but it didn't take much to recall what had happened, each memory slowly coming back to the surface, bubbling and running back together. He readjusted his backpack and rifle strap, groaning lightly at the continued ache and stiffness of his joints, and he opened his eyes again gradually.
"Goddamn... that smarts..."
He muttered under his breath as it all came back, trying to ignore the persistent stinging. When the familiar welcoming sight of the U.B.C.S. Atlas Oryx helicopter had been taken away from them... shot down, the extraction zone rendered pointless, just before it had crashed into the building, Carlos had dived through the broken door and back into the second floor corridor. He had done so just in the nick of time, and only by forgoing finesse and carefulness, admittedly. He rubbed his sore forehead with another groan, as it panged in his head like a warm steady drum beat... and he found a light trickle of fresh blood running down it... the wound that had been there already reopened. As he had dived, at some point he'd struck his head on the floor, and it had all gone blank... it had stunned him briefly at first before passing out. He remembered hearing the muffled gunfire off in the distance, off in the courtyard behind and below him... voices... near and far... but it had all gone away almost at once as he passed out.
"Need a fucking tropical vacation... ain't gettin' paid enough for this bullshit..."
Carlos sighed bitterly, breathing in the fresh air moving through the building, gradually regaining a hold of all his senses. He remembered dropping the flare, and running like hell... remembered the helicopter crashing... hell, remembered it all. As he recollected his senses, deep down he knew there was something of importance, overwhelming importance he needed to do... it was right there, he knew what it was, but a few of his thoughts had to catch up. Gradually, they began to, and he studied the second floor corridor, the exploded, mutated still burning spiders further down the path of the floor they had left in their wake. The warmth of the fires still reaching him, making him sweat. His eyes slowly turned back, and he looked over his shoulder to the balcony, examining it in detail. He turned around on the spot, and took a hesitant step through the doorway and out on to the balcony to register the sights better, his boots splashing through the murky water puddle that remained.
His eyes widened all at once, focus returning in spite of the pain, at what greeted him.
About ninety percent of the balcony had been torn loose and caved in on its self, under the pure weight of the helicopter and momentum it had crashed with. The rubble covering the entire main entrance of the clock tower with wreckage and fire. The spotlights having fallen down with it, the metal of them twisted down there with the helicopter. The smoke rose high and wide into the night, to the point he could scarcely see past it and even as he felt the cool breeze of the night air washing over his arms and chest, the heat of the fires was billowing. He wiped a mixture of the blood and sweat off his brow, ignoring the extra stinging it caused, and looking down on the flaming wreckage below. He idly kicked a broken piece of concrete out of his way, and it tumbled down, clanking against the metal of the helicopter's main bulky remains.
The rotors, motionless of course, rested stuck against the side of the clock tower, one of them embedded... he could make out the burnt, mangled corpses of the flight crew amid the fiery debris... and crossing himself rapidly, hoped their deaths had been instantaneous. Gradually his eyes rose beyond them, and up to the top of the tower above. The metal ladder that had been hanging over the side of the tower had been partially torn off, what was left hanging precariously. There was a lot of damage up where the clock resided, the face of it cracked and smashed. The moon-like white light that had glowed there was flickering...and all the smoke leaving him unable to tell what the time was on it exactly... if it even still worked. He coughed under his breath and waved aside a plume of smoke that suddenly drifted his way... if only he's brought a damn mask or something. Putting an arm over his mouth and nose instead carefully. The crackling of the fires was the prominent sound he heard, but as he moved over to the last remaining small section of the balcony railing, straining both his eyes and ears... it all came back on him. Particularly as a gust of wind reached where he stood... and parted some of the obscuring smoke.
Enough of it.
He heard them again, off in the distance... the undead piling up outside the clock tower walls and streets, undoubtedly riled up more than usual by the commotion of the crash. But as he had since he got there, he wrote them off... they were nothing, there were much bigger matters, problems at hand. Like whatever the hell had hit them. He was tempted to activate his radio and try to contact both Jill and HUNK, but he wanted to get a look at the situation personally first. He didn't like the radio silence... he remembered her voice... panicked, even fearful as he'd passed out... there had been something wrong. Besides the obviousness of the helicopter crash. No... no, it hadn't crashed, it had been shot down. He remembered the missile whizzing up through the air, honing in on its target and striking the underside. A heat seeker... destroying their one chance of escape from this nightmare come to life.
Who in the hell had shot it? Who could have possibly done it, wanted to strand them in the middle of all this? It had come from somewhere ahead in the courtyard, but beyond that he didn't have a single damn clue... a psychotic survivor, driven mad by the experiences? In that case, he was reminded of the crazy bikers and looters from all the zombie movies that had been made, proving more of a problem than any of the undead ever could be. He remembered how frustrated they had made him, just watching it play out. In the end, the dooming of the human race in any zombie situation was probably owed less to the creatures, and more to the people unable to get along and work together.
Who had gotten their hands on a heat seeking rocket launcher of all things? He wasn't even entirely sure the U.B.C.S. had been dispatched with any of them... he hadn't been, even as the heavy weapons specialist of his squad. That was some very high grade weaponry... but then, one of them had acquired a Mine Thrower of all things at some point. He supposed it didn't matter, at the moment... he just wanted to know what the hell was going on, and where everybody was, before the rest of the details came along. His eyes strained at first as he shunted out the dizziness and regained control entirely, blocked out the pain. He was conscious, and relatively whole... he'd missed out on whatever the hell had happened in the courtyard since he passed out... but whatever it was, he'd- ... he stopped, froze in the middle of his thoughts. His eyes widened as he scanned what he could make out of the partially revealed courtyard.
Carlos saw enough, then. Enough to jolt him fully awake and shrug off the pain and exhaustion, adrenaline spiking. Down below in the center of the courtyard, the familiar battered Umbrella Agent had crawled slowly and weakly on the ground towards the other, motionless, bloody figure of a woman in blue. The ground littered with glinting shell casings from his weapon, the light of the dark cast iron lights shining on the scene. The agent was sitting over her, and had turned her around on the spot, shifted her up a bit in his arms from her original position of her face pressed down among the broken up stone pathway. A fresh puddle of blood streaming down her arm and soaking into the rock... to say nothing of the small trail that had run in her wake. He watched, aghast as HUNK was unable to rise off the ground and stand with her, other than the submachine gun he held weakly in one of his hands. He heard HUNK's murmuring... either to her or his radio, heard his muffled voice, but couldn't make out the words from the distance. HUNK attempted to aim his weapon up over Jill's form, peer down the sights and fire off in the direction of the front carriage of the crashed train... to no avail. It was empty, or his finger couldn't pull the trigger.
Every movement from him showed excruciating pain and sluggishness, worsening exhaustion. Carlos had never seen the man in such a condition... weakened. It gave him a sensation of creeping unease... there was nothing right about HUNK being weak... the man could do and survive anything and everything, couldn't he? And as the agent tried in vain to reload, Carlos's eyes drifted on up ahead, to the direction he dazedly tried to aim at. Figures, shapes, humanoid shapes moved through the smoke, fire and debris of the train, one after another leaking through the wall. Well over a dozen of them inside in no time. More. Some of them catching fire on the fires around the courtyard, lighting up like shambling torches. Oh no... oh god no, they'd got in somehow, breached the wall. The closest one was only a few meters ahead of HUNK and Jill's position already, and it let out a loud groan, raising its arms when it spotted them. Below, HUNK struggled a little more, tried reaching for his pistol, entirely in vain, and his limbs slackened as his body gave out. He dropped his MP5, collapsing not long after to the stone path, his broken masked face pressing against the ground... and he lay as still as Jill, down at her side.
The two of them defeated. Out of the fight. After God alone knew what kind of battle they had endured without Carlos.
Carlos didn't know if either of them were alive or dead any longer... he didn't know if escape was possible any longer, and his heart began to race, pang after pang of fear and worry attempting to take over. Yet there was another voice in his head, screaming to take initiative... to do something, while he still could. Do his duty. To call upon courage, and strength. Anger. He had come far with it, with his skills... and as much as he wanted to curse himself for knocking himself out earlier, he'd have to do so later... right now he was still needed. With HUNK and Jill out of commission, it was up to him now. God help them all. He unslung his assault rifle, and in a single moment had readied it at his shoulder, aiming down the sights past the smoke, activating the single shot selection on it. In the time it took for him to get ready, the lead zombie emerged entirely from the smoky remains of the train, a rotting man in a long dark rain slicker, leading the proverbial zombie charge. Closing in even further on the collapsed agent and officer, hideous appetite ravenous, unreasoning.
When the croaking, moaning zombie was two meters from them, Carlos held his breath, thought a silent prayer, and when he lined up the shot, he squeezed down on the trigger once, and at once. In Carlos's sights, the zombie's head snapped backwards sharply, and a splatter of gore and brain matter flew out the exit in its head... and it dropped unceremoniously backwards in front of the train, twitching and writhing. He released a relieved, incredulous sound... but it was premature to celebrate anything. The other zombies, their numbers growing, weren't far behind the first... but he knew from this range, as the wind died down, and the smoke became denser, that he wasn't likely to accomplish much in the way of fending them off. They would overwhelm HUNK and Jill's position in no time. Good with a rifle or not, he wasn't Murphy, and didn't even have his scope fixed to his weapon. There was no time to add it, and he couldn't take chances hiding from a safe distance. He needed to close the distance, take the fight to them.
He didn't give a damn about his own safety. If there was even a chance, no matter how small, that he could save them... then he sure as hell was going to be taking it. They would have done no less for him. They already had done much for him. He lowered the rifle slightly and turned on the spot, over to the smashed railing beside the murky puddle that he had noted earlier, and he moved quickly over to it. Peering down into the flames below, he found a section of higher rising rubble than the others... barely out of the way of the flames, but if he moved quickly and jumped over the rest of the flames and into the courtyard, he'd singe his combat boots at the most. In theory. The growing hungry moans, louder and closer were all the encouraging he needed, the shuffling of their feet. Even if Jill and HUNK were dead... and it was the last thing he wanted to think about, after all they had come through together as a unit, he would not let their bodies be feasted upon. Desecrated. Not let them lose their dignity as well.
"Time to rock n' roll..."
Holding his breath, Carlos dropped down over the side, off the balcony, and on top of a bit of the debris and wreckage. With his luck, he half expected it to crumble apart under his weight, and drop him down into the depths of the fire... but it held fast, supporting his weight, thankfully. The moment he dropped down into the smoke he began to cough, the heat encompassing him from all sides, and he began to think maybe it had been a stupid idea, have second thoughts. If he stayed any longer, he'd just be another addition to the raging inferno.
Fortunately, he held on and turned in the direction of the courtyard, and the moans, and taking a chance, he ran forward and leap at the last moment, tucking himself up and flipping forward out of the reach of the scorching flames. He landed in a crouched position and rising back to his boots a bit more gracefully than he had thought he would, at the edge of the fire and debris, taking a deep breath and seizing on to the fresh air to steady himself. Ignoring the pain in his joints, their ache worsening. Slapping his gloved hand on his pant leg, where a small bit of the fire had clung, putting it out. His relatively nimble landing, courtesy of his training, was almost immediately undone as he started forward in the direction of the moans, when he nearly slipped on a sticky, slippery surface on the ground. His normally rugged and efficient combat boots nearly giving out, making his heart spasm.
"Fuck!"
He slid a bit before recovering his balance, and glancing quickly at the sludge his boots had landed in... a rather putrid smelling purple... puss and slime-like substance. It smelled as bad as the smoke had been. There was an entire long, thick trail of it, running all the way up the stone pathway, past a large statue of an eagle, past HUNK and Jill's motionless forms, and her own blood trail, and off to the side of the train. It was all over the place, this way and that... hell, there were brass bullet casings everywhere... and among it all, Carlos noted a broken weapon... HUNK's TMP, severed in half, the red laser sight on the end half shining against the garden on the eastern side of the courtyard. His stained combat knife laying close by it as well... and the Mine Thrower he had let Jill have... but no sign of her shotgun. Carlos didn't know exactly what the sickly purple substance was... but he knew to whom, to what it belonged. Having opened up a few wounds on the giant bastard himself.
Carlos remembered the purple gore... from his own first encounter with it at Grill 13... and especially on the train over here. A gigantic, dead, leathery face with a massive grinning maw flashed in his mind's eye, and an eye that gave him nothing less than the shivers. The stuff nightmares were made of. All that could be said in his favor, was that the Tyrant was no longer present. Though based on the battering the others had received... more than ever did he wished he had been awake. Maybe... it could have turned out better. Now he had to make up for his failure. He tuned it out with effort, and followed the blood trail, breaking into a run and passing both the smashed fountain that had been beneath the balcony, the eagle statue and one of the gardens, keeping his sights on both of their bodies, and the approaching undead beyond their position. Boots tapping, echoing on the stone pathway, his shadow flitting through the light as he approached the light post. Breathing hard, his heart racing and manner almost frantic, he reached HUNK and Jill, standing over them and aimed his rifle once more.
"Got your hot meal right here, you rotting sons of bitches!"
With his vision unobstructed, and closer to the targets, aiming was a bit easier, but no less worrisome. He had to force his hands not to shake, force himself to focus. Every shot had to count... and there were too damn many of them getting close, passing the train. One of them strode over top the body of the dead man in the bloody rain slicker, its jaw snapping and glazed over dead eyes turning from Jill and HUNK, to Carlos. Uttering a low, ravenous moan. One after another their focuses snapped on to Carlos's form, and their priorities changed to him, the center of attention. He flashed a bitter smirk before he got to work, rifle raised to his shoulder and gripping it tighter.
"Popularity ain't all it's cracked up to be!"
He welcomed it the proper way... the only way one could a zombie. Shooting it through the right eye socket and dropping it as he had the other, before moving to the next, and the next, and the next. There were well over two dozen by now... they were constantly trickling in one at a time... and when he dropped another, two more took its place. Fortunately, between shots he got a good look where they were coming from, before resuming his work. There was a reasonably sized hole at the base of the wall, beside the crashed carriage, that had not been there before. While the train had crashed in a manner that kept out the horde, at some point something had happened to blow the hole open. One of the bastards was squeezing through the gap... the flames leapt up the side of the brick and the crashed train its self, the section dividing the front and back had been bent inward as well. He could have stood still guessing the cause... instead he focused on cleaning up the effect.
"Yeah baby! That's it! Got enough for all of you!"
Carlos dropped zombie after zombie, shell casing after shell casing hitting the ground with a clinking sound, as he planned out something desperately, a countermeasure, his thoughts racing in a torrent. He couldn't keep this up... and he knew it. His position would be overwhelmed, along with Jill and HUNK... those he was responsible for... and there would be no escape. Nor, in spite of his taunting, did he have enough rounds for all the rotting fuckers out there in the street, the horde gathered at the gates. Now and again, between shots and reloading, he glanced at the hole in the wall. The gap had to be filled, somehow... and before one of those inhuman pale... things... made its way in after the ordinary zombies. He needed to buy himself some time to come up with a way. Inspiration struck him, as his hand gripped the under barrel of his assault rifle's grenade launcher... and aiming into the midst of the bunched up zombies, he squeezed the secondary trigger, bracing himself for the response.
There was a low, powerful thump as the grenade shot forth from the under barrel, reaching their numbers almost in an instant, and blowing up everything in its path, sending up rock, dirt, fiery wreckage... and gory limbs of various body parts everywhere. The sheer force of the detonation rang in Carlos's ears, even from where he stood, and carried through the night as his sustained gunfire did. The grenade shell opened up a crater... but he found it wasn't the only crater in the courtyard. There was a bigger one already nearby it, with the purple fluid sprayed around it, fire and smoke still leaping from it, like the one he had just opened. He glanced to the Mine Thrower on the ground, guessing Jill broke out the heavy artillery. The chaos of the explosion distracted the majority of the undead, knocked them this way and that, battered through their numbers like wrecking ball... and did indeed buy Carlos a little more time. Breathing room.
"Has to be a way..."
As he reached into one of the pouches on his uniform and withdrew another grenade shell, his fingers closing around the cool metal, he almost froze, his eyes locking on to the debris as it began to rain back down on the earth... not where he stood, but closer towards the wall. Large chunks and pieces landed beside the train, noting the side of which was lightly smeared with blood in some places... directly in front of the small gap in the wall, and, he noted, to his shock, covered about a foot of said gap. Not enough to keep them from lurching one by one through it... but when Carlos's eyes moved up to the higher rising section of the outer wall above the gap... true comprehension and inspiration struck. It was as though, cliche or not, a light bulb flashed on in his head, brighter than the rays of the light posts scattered around the courtyard. His heart began to beat faster as he slid another grenade into place, puling down the pump hard, and examined the gap.
It wouldn't do to fire a direct grenade shot at the wall above the hole... all that was liable to do was make an even bigger entrance for the zombies, not fill the gap as he intended. Explosives were too unpredictable in that regard, and there was no guarantee of success... but he had an idea nonetheless. Aiming his rifle at the stone wall, beside and over the gap, he began to fire his rifle, shell after shell, into it... switching to full auto and squeezing down on the trigger. The sustained automatic fire took effect almost at once, and large, heavy pieces of the upper wall began to loosen, crumble and fall down beside the train, joining the other fiery rubble in front of the gap in the wall. Rock and brick pelted and knocked down any of the undead in its path, and Carlos kept the sustained fire going, holding on tight to force back some of the recoil, his eyes narrowing as he worked.
"Come on..."
The roar of gunfire encouraged him, gave him strength, and tuned out the awful moaning for a bit as he worked. The first magazine wasn't enough, and he was forced to reload... but at the same time, the undead had gotten back to their feet, those who had survived the blast... some of them missing body parts, crawling along the ground towards him, or staggering, hobbling his way, blood jettisoning from burnt, broken stumps. One of their necks was broken partially, but hanging on stubbornly, as it croaked and moaned... even the battering they had all received wasn't enough to discourage them... these remnants. Only true death could... but Carlos, his fear rising a bit the closer they got, knew what he had to prioritize.
When he was half way through the second magazine, dust and bricks flying every which way along the wall, shredding it apart and loosening it, the toppling stone and bricks reaching the ground had formed a pile about six or so feet tall. Much of the tallest sections of the wall above in that location having fallen to strengthen its base. At last filling the majority of the hole in the wall. Enough that they couldn't squeeze through it any longer, even pressing against it as they were. Sealing it up. He would have preferred sealing the hole with concrete... but it wasn't bad for a makeshift job. And most of the dead were concentrated on the gate anyways, glimpsing him through it, instead of the filled in hole. He had no time to breath a sigh of relief over it either... he accomplished it at the same moment a dead woman's hand reached for his rifle. Dodging out of its way just in time, he smashed it in the side of the head with the butt of it, knocking her off stumbling in the direction of the others, knocking down a couple to the ground with it. As another reached for his boot, he drove said boot down on the back of its neck with all his strength, shattering it, and pinning it to the ground he shot it with a burst in the back of the head, leaving only a pulpy mess, before raising his rifle again and switching the bullet output indicator to single shot.
"Think I forgot about you ugly bastards?"
Breathing harder, painfully, sweat pouring down his back and face, feeling so hot he no longer felt the breeze, he began to select his targets, one after another, missing now and again, cursing loudly every time he did. Over a dozen very close to his position had remained after filling the gap... and he remained standing where he was, allowing them to come to him. He had no objections to dodging and running through them if he had to... but he didn't like it, the risk of suddenly being grabbed as he darted among them. Zombies might not have been the smartest, but they had a knack for surprising. He was in no danger of being backed into a corner, the courtyard was too big. His true objective, protecting those he couldn't,yet move required he hold the line alone, as potentially the last man standing in Raccoon City. He couldn't say he'd ever expected to be that. Last of the U.B.C.S. But then, HUNK was the last of the U.S.S. here most likely... Jill the last of the S.T.A.R.S. Former officer his ass... she was a cop, badge or not.
As he fought on, he got memory flashes... of his other firefights through the city, particularly the ones most related to this. Other lines he had held... the rooftops, the train station barricades... they had been a hell of their own right, and worse in some ways than the situation he was in now... but there was one glaring aspect about this one, that he would prefer being back defending the train station. There, he had had back up... people at his side, fellow soldiers covering his back. A team. Now it was all on him, all the pressure not to fuck up. If he blew it, then they were all done for, here, in this place. He did all he could...protected his team mates... his friends, shooting another zombie through the mouth that tried to flank him from the right. Another moaned and tried seizing his arm from the left, but instinctively he dodged out of the way, drew his knife and plunged it up through its jaw and into its brain, twisting and jerking it right back out, tucking it into its sheath before its rotten corpse even fell. He was good at this, even if he was young... but he was tired, and in pain of his own. Them being worse off didn't change that. He had to soldier through it.
The fight didn't last long, at least in hindsight... a matter of minutes, surely... but it lasted long enough, and felt far longer. His magazine clicked empty as the final two zombies, a rotting old man and a blond teen girl with a punk style mohawk, closed in on him, teeth gnashing unceasingly. He didn't bother reloading the rifle, instead drawing his SIG Pro, and firing a couple shots into each of their heads, bringing down the last pair of zombies, the twitching girl landing in front of his boot. He stood on the spot for some time, simply gasping and breathing, weapon at the ready, heart pounding, smoke pouring from both the pistol and rifle. His fingers began to tremble, as he came down gradually from the high of his adrenaline.
The last of the dead stopped twitching... and he rose his eyes slowly past their dismembered, bleeding corpses, past the train, and to the rubble obscuring the gap. Then he ran forward across the corpse strewn courtyard, past the crashed train and rubble and through the fire without hesitation. Tucking away his pistol and starting to pick up bits of broken concrete and bricks. Adding them to the pile in front of the obscured hole. Fortunately the rifle had done most of the work, but all the same he took the precaution of securing it, bracing it some more... before drawing back. Inspecting his work. The pile didn't move or shift, or break... it was packed in tightly and high enough, that the rest of the horde couldn't get through. Good. It was a start. His eyes moved over slowly, tiredly to the main gate, to the zombies pulling at the bars, the creatures he would not have to mop up... and whom he didn't stand a chance against. There were too damn many of them. He'd barely gotten through over a couple dozen or so of them, in his state... he couldn't take anymore. He was damned lucky none of the mutations, or dogs had shown up to help the undead... he knew he wouldn't have stood a snowball's chance in hell.
"Lucky... lucky son of a bitch..."
No... perhaps not luck. His eyes turned in the direction of the clock tower's chapel... to the light shining on the cross perched over it. Nodding to himself. He drew the cross necklace again, kissing it and thanking the Lord. Before tucking it back away with his dog tags. Struggling to reign in himself, and take back control of his thoughts and emotions. Find his calm. He marched back to his original position in the relative center of the courtyard, unslinging and reloading his rifle as he moved. Reaching the spot and ejecting the spent magazine. It fell among the copious amounts of bodies, blood and brass around him, in front of HUNK and Jill's position as he replaced it. When he had reloaded, he looked around the courtyard one more time for any others that might have been missed... before he stopped, and activated the safety and slung the M4 once more, securing it.
The area was clear... for now. He had no clue how long that would last... and right now, he didn't want to know. He hadn't been able to clear out the entire clock tower, hadn't been enough time. Surely there would be zombie stragglers, lurking around somewhere. He had to get away from the courtyard... get the three of them away from the courtyard. Take shelter in the chapel. It was the only hope they had left now... getting them there, healing and protecting them... if there was still a chance. Continuing was no longer an option.
The defenses of the courtyard were only holding on after the battles, and were the furthest thing from secure. He needed to get out of the open, back inside at some point, his presence in the courtyard was only riling up other infected things, he was painting a target on himself, and as much as he liked attention, he didn't so much from hungry corpses. But... he'd figure it out when he crossed that bridge. He turned is focus to the reason he was out here... the reasons he was even still alive, that he'd made it this far across the infested city. He studied HUNK's motionless form beside Jill, his masked face pressed into the ground, her exposed one staring straight up at the sky, neither of them seemingly stirring. Fear, dread... despair and guilt began to open up, like the turning of a valve somewhere within him... and the moans outside the walls grew a bit fainter. It was almost alien, seeing HUNK in such position of vulnerability... since they'd run into each other, he'd been the definition of implacable and here he lay, a reminder, all too obvious one, of human mortality... even applying to a company legend like him. Not that he had gone down willingly, and without a fight... not only was his uniform battered and stained, with older stains as well as fresh ones from the Tyrant, his helmet was dented in several place as well. He, like Jill, was too damn tough to go down without a last stand. He took a slow, tentative step towards them both... and he knelt down at their sides.
"Come on Death... you can't die. Everyone knows that. Not the way War made you... like a goddamn Spartan. Get up and keep fighting, man..."
Carlos murmured to the agent, focusing his attention to the silent man first... but no response came to his words. Reaching down and exerting himself with HUNK, turning the heavily armored man over on to his back with a grunt, his custom shotgun and medical bag and other pouches scraped across the ground under him. He gently lay the U.S.S. Agent back, studying his damaged mask. The front filter had been torn clean off... the left red lens was cracked... and three vicious, long scratches like claws had been scraped down his helmet. His breaths slowly escaped his broken mask... still alive... for now, it had to be enough. Carlos couldn't spot any true breaches to his armor and uniform... no bleeding wounds, but had no doubt he had injuries under those layers, would need to be examined. He quickly turned his attention over to Jill, looking at her shoulder the blood continued to flow from... a deep, sickly wound still fresh and opened. It didn't look like an ordinary zombie bite... but it sure as hell didn't look good at all either... whatever it was. He wasn't sure if an artery had been severed... but he had his doubts on that. There was one thing he didn't doubt, as little as he wanted to admit it to himself.
She was infected. She had to be. Her face deathly pale, flesh clammy and sick... the way he had seen it on others before.
The realization horrified him, turned his blood to ice. The flesh around her wound there already looked deeply swollen around the perimeter of the smeared and running blood. He grasped her arms, and drew her up a bit on the spot, wrapping an arm around her back to support her, his other hand bracing her wounded shoulder, beneath the injury. He listened closely to her, listened over his fear. Air escaped her lungs... it was slow, very slow, enough that her body barely moved, but it was there, for the time being. However grateful he was for that, it did little to comfort him... his expression falling even further, looking over and over between HUNK and her. He began to shake her, lightly at first, then a bit harder as he hovered over her. He needed to wake them both up... bring them back. Even with a plan... he didn't know how he could do this alone. He couldn't. Nor would he ever hope to escape the city without them. His voice at last escaped, every bit as desperate and panicked as he felt.
"Jill! Jill! You need to hang in there! Fight it! Wake up Supercop! I can't do this shit alone!"
Carlos pleaded with her fearfully, struggling and failing to keep control of himself. Where before, in the fighting he had felt alive, heated and powerful... it had all drained from his soul at once, replaced by that all too reoccurring, enveloping, cold, sickening fear and despair. An emptiness, even with his faith. It was his fault they were like this... entirely his fault. No excuses or justification could ever be made. If he hadn't been so clumsy... knocked himself out... if he had't...- if he had been down here during the fight with them, they might still be standing. There were next to no words that could summarize how colossally he had fucked it all up for them. He should have stuck by with them, stayed with them at the library like she had insisted. But he'd had to run off alone to gather supplies, hadn't he? He'd just had to run off to play hero... for his own ego. To try to prove himself... when she had known better than him that he didn't need to prove a damn thing. The consequences were blood on his hands, as much as they were on the Tyrant's.
"Hey... don't die on me you two! Get up! What the hell have I done? I'm sorry, Jill... HUNK... both of you please... just wake the hell up!"
He held her closer against his uniform and body armor, pressing his head against her dark unkempt hair as he cradled her and closed his eyes, attempting to block it all out. Failing at that too, the guilt and fear more potent and overwhelming than any pain, anything he had felt during the entirety of the operation. He felt self loathing, shame and terror, when he wanted to be numb, distant from it all... but he couldn't, he couldn't seize on to some strength or soldier persona... it couldn't help him any longer. Not here. Not like this. He was almost truly and utterly alone. As he had been for so much of his life, even among others... with only the comfort of God, somewhere above him. He believed in the Lord... had felt His presence... but now was one of the times that shook his faith... that made him wonder if there was any point to it all. Any hope left. Even with what he had accomplished to this point... it hadn't been enough. Nothing he had done since coming to Raccoon City had been.
The agent and officer were far from the first people he'd failed. His fellow mercenaries... the police... the civilians. His own Captain. His friends. It didn't matter which group they were in, he had failed to protect them and the city. He remembered the blonde girl in the blue and white school uniform and golden locket, during the city's downfall. He might have been able to protect her from the zombies... but how long after he had been forced to let her go... had she met with her own terrible end? He'd urged her to flee to the police station... but didn't know if she'd even heard him over all the noise. He didn't want to think about that, about her... had never even learned her name... but still the guilt over her she intruded on his thoughts in the days of fighting and struggling since.
Carlos felt something like a snake coiling in his guts, and up his throat... goosebumps pushed to the surface all over him, and trembling. Lowering his head, tears began to form in his eyes. He didn't care any longer... he let them exist. He didn't give a damn how he looked any longer. He was already a fool... let the fool look like what he was. They had been counting on him, had trusted him, and he'd blown it. He was supposed to have stuck with them... Jill had wanted him to, and he'd taken off, against all logic, to play lone wolf detective and exterminator around the clock tower, while they thought about escape. To play at being the hero he wasn't to compensate... just as she had told him not to. It may not have been over, yet, there were still things he could, would and had to do... but they were damn close to it. Stuck here, stranded in the city... with nowhere left to run. He couldn't... couldn't take it any longer. Couldn't pretend the situation to be anything other than what it clearly was, without them. Their help.
Unsalvageable.
"Jill! Wake up!", He shouted out desperately against her, holding her as he might a life preserver. Her blood ran over his fingerless gloves, over top of and staining his hands. Forever. "Jill! JILL!"
His useless cries went unanswered, of course. They echoed through the entirety of the courtyard and beyond the walls of the clock tower, into the night, over top even the moaning for a moment. There came, but seconds after, a sound that overtook both his shouts and the moans. Overtook everything. The massive clock, regardless of the damage it had taken from the crash, remained intact enough to function, even if the exterior was cracked and damaged, and the lights flickered. It began to chime, a low, haunting tone that reverberated through much of Raccoon City, as the signal had done earlier. It reached even the barricades outside of the city, where government's troops and Umbrella's operatives bracing the defenses, chattering among themselves and shooting approaching infected, could hear it. Reached the heavily fortified Quarantine Zone.
Other assorted survivors scattered around the city could hear it, wherever they hid or scurried, searching for escape and the means of survival. Or the others within the city, searching for something else altogether. Only the living could pay it the respect of acknowledgment it was due... a reminder the city had once been alive, and had a history. Before it had all been marked for destruction. The Saint Michael Clock Tower rang once... twice... three times... it rang powerfully in defiance to the death and despair encompassing the town, thunderous and alive... and stopped after twelve such identical chimes. The clock struck midnight, and a new day in Raccoon City began. One more closer to the end. Through it all Corporal Carlos Oliveira, little more then an infinitesimal living speck in the vast infected, dead city, every street corner lined with new levels of horror and abominations, alone did not look up. Nor did he truly hear the usually awe inspiring clock tower any longer. Nor did he hear the moans at the gates when they returned. He didn't hear or do much of anything else, now.
What he did do was openly weep, his tear ducts parting, muffled sobs escaping into the night. Not long after, he wasn't sure how long he stayed that way there in the ruined courtyard, the darkened clouds above burst open as well, the rain starting slowly, before their torrent gave way. The rain gradually put out most of the fires... soaked the three of them before long, mostly cleaned their bodies, though not Carlos of his sins. His failures. His bitter regrets.
The rain fell freely, the water running down HUNK's red reflective lenses and pooling there. The young Corporal's tears fell freely as well, intermingling and becoming one with Jill's infected blood. And Carlos had never felt more alone in the universe.