Arkham Knight: The Marcus assassination cutscene was one I really enjoyed, and it lent its self to expanding on HUNK's background, so I merged him with one of the assassins. Expanded upon a detail, and placed him right there in what ended up being the catalyst of Umbrella's undoing. Just looked into Resident Evil 8, yet another HUNKless game, so not interested lol. Someone wake me when HUNK gets his due. Going to be a long sleep, that, better do it myself. But more seriously yes I can see parallels between HUNK and Chris, and I don't think they would get along at all if they met, not how I see them as characters. Even if Jill were present to try to smooth things over, Jill would be their own common ground really to keep the peace. I think HUNK and Leon would make a more effective team, still plenty of differences, but less personal friction I think. Fewer reasons to clash. I appreciate that, it was my goal to do something Capcom never will, fulfill some untapped character potential for the many of them who fall by the wayside over the years. Do something of substance with them. Instead of more "Ethan" and Dark Gritty Chris games, and werewolf enemies now, apparently lol. Such a waste of a universe. But that's them for you.
Rock992: Much appreciated on all accounts. And yes, HUNK lives up to his codename, even if it took him some getting used to, having such a silly name chosen for him.
Akira-Hayama: Thank you very much, it means a lot that I seem to be living up to the challenge of filling in a blank slate properly, and doing it without breaking what exists. Feels like walking a tightrope, wondering if I'm revealing too much... but I think I've struck a balance. More will be learned about him by the time the story is over, but I'm pacing it out mostly. Delving inside his head to explain why he is what he is, what a life like his can do to a person. Bella, whom will be expanded on much more later, was his in to the company, shaped him into what he is. Won't say she is evil, or good for that matter, just that the entire thing is complicated, of course. People are complicated as hell, with motivations and reasons for doing things. I wanted his past to come back to HUNK for sure, confronting it a bit as he develops. Not to mention his involvement with the Marcus assassination, eventually culminating in the Mansion Incident and Raccoon City, giving him a hand in both disasters, responsibility. Carrying that weight as he comes to terms with it.
HUNK is the Umbrella POV, I wanted the reader dropped into his world, accessing his head, his in depth knowledge over the years of the company and those in it. He doesn't know everything of course, but he knows a lot. Especially considering his original benefactor's power, and his current one. He's in a strange place within the company, as its best operative, yet also not very important, not really calling the shots. The power he has at the company is power more powerful people imbue him with. Those he works for. Symbiotic, or parasitic, relationship with the company. He's not in the Inner Circle or Board Of Directors, but the man has seen more than anyone would want to. Remembers everything.
Wanted to get the Undertaker Unit in there somewhere, I reference the less known games and creations where I can. So much of it though, thanks to Capcom forgetting about 90 percent of their own universe and characters.
His inner Dredd, one of the many character inspirations to me for crafting HUNK, was bound to escape at some point. It will some more lol. And yes, the Carlos and HUNK dynamic will be explored further with Jill out of commission. The two need to come to an understanding, and perhaps begrudging respect, we shall see.
Reptaliator: Wouldn't say HUNK hates Wesker as much as he hates Birkin, right now at least, but he does hate him for the involvement in Marcus's assassination. Being part of HUNK's traumatic past. Also for his two faced actions with the S.T.A.R.S. HUNK is a spy as well, but not the two faced pretending to be friends among enemies sort, generally. He looks down upon that dishonest type, has bad past experience with them. Including Ada. You will find out more about Bella. She is an extremely important figure within Umbrella. Or was. And vital to HUNK's entire character and story, to understanding him. Glad you saw the Sherry guilt coming, that was indeed my intent. I knew I couldn't include Sherry coming along with them without breaking Resident Evil 2's canon, so I had the three of them cross paths to keep her recurring in the narrative, for a number of reasons. And to give her an effect on both Jill overtly and HUNK covertly. Explore that, especially with my HUNK's past with Birkin and what happened in NEST.
And agreed entirely on the cut content, how the hell do you cut something out of an original and note replace it or expand upon something? Cheap bastards. As for that fool who thinks the original was a cash grab, he can get bent. Resident Evil 3: Nemesis was probably the height of series, even if it wasn't originally intended to be the third game, history has vindicated it, even if the remake didn't. How the hell was it 'irrelevant to the storyline' when it showed Jill's fate after Resident Evil 1, the potential threat of the Tyrants through the Nemesis, the U.B.C.S., the downfall of Raccoon City and its destruction? What, did he think it should just end on 2? Claire and Leon escaping on a train under the city, while the entire city remained infested with zombies and monsters? No further expansion upon that 'little problem'? That it would just resolve its self? Ridiculous. But yes indeed, HUNK's a man of taste. In weapons, music and women. Though the third of those has caused him a lot of trouble... other than Jill, of course.
Lord Reyne: I hadn't thought about it that way. Darth Vader didn't really factor into my depiction of HUNK, but thinking it over, I think he has more in common with my HUNK than Boba Fett. Dark armored faceless intimidating, extremely talented and dangerous top enforcer of Lord Spencer (Palpatine)'s will. Anti villain (dipping his toes into anti heroism in my story) who was good and naive seduced by love to the 'dark side'. Deeply troubled by his past, cold, scarred mentally and physically (not as bad as Vader but still), mourning silently and alone the erosion of his humanity over the years. Built a legend of death and fear around himself, titles, stories told about him, a company (Empire) legend. Someone who might eventually be redeemed in some way by someone good and whole, optimistic, who reminds him of the man he once was, the person he was, and offers him hope, a chance (Jill Skywalker lol). The only difference is he isn't Spencer's right hand man, and he doesn't hate sand (lol). Very interesting point though, thanks for that. Perhaps it will factor more, the comparison of the two. I think HUNK, Vladimir and Wesker are sort of unofficially in the running for being the Darth Vader to Lord Spencer's Palpatine, whether they want to be or not. (HUNK and Wesker don't want to be, Vladimir does)
Braktz: I appreciate that a great deal, HUNK was the biggest challenge of the story, probably one of the many reasons this story took so long. Took awhile to figure out who he was. And yes indeed, Carlos needed a release, and the interaction between him and HUNK will continue to develop, them coming to an understanding about each other and the situation, Jill sort of binding them together. Thank you again, hope you continue to enjoy ;).
Thank you all for the reviews. On with the delving and on with the story. No action this time, just characters and a great deal of lore, character and world building, a breather:
September 30th, 1998, 9:32 PM
Washroom, Chapel, Saint Michael Clock Tower, Northern Raccoon City.
"It's ok. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone, Comtesse. Promise."
His low mutter repeated to himself bitterly, slowly shaking his head. Remembering his attempts to reassure her... her trepidation before they had shipped out to the Leviathan. Their parting words within her limousine... her hesitant touches and smile, her familiar fond, accented tone. She got that way often before he went off to every mission... became more a frightened girl than ruthless executive... though her fears always ended up being unfounded. This time... he supposed they hadn't been. That had been the morning of September 16th. Even a broken clock was right twice a day... or a vain blue blood, for that matter. After reassuring her a final time, he had put on his mask and she her own sort, stepping out of the limousine together. She had stood watching, keeping her face carefully cold and distant, as he had marched away from her, down the pavement and through the rain. His bodysuit and armor looking more black than dark grey in the sheen of the water, he had rejoined the awaiting twenty four other fully armored and armed agents of the 1st U.S.S. Unit, Alpha Team, at the Loire Village landing zone. Their chatter had broken off the moment the limousine door had opened... laughing and joking about him and the Comtesse, no doubt. They all stood at attention in their groups, perfectly in rows, waiting their deployment. The best of the best. Ready for deployment. Every one of them his.
Agent Raval's 3rd Security Unit, brandishing their modified AK-47's, laser sights flashing, had lined around the perimeter of the Loire Village landing zone, along with their jeeps, Humvees and troop carriers. Agent Raval had nodded his way as he passed the head of the Paris Facility's security. A gesture that went returned. Once NIGHTHAWK's jet black Chinook had arrived and landed, lights cutting through the darkness like the spotlights set up around the area, all his subordinates had boarded the chopper on his signal. He had been the last of them, looking back only once more to the young woman in red at the end of the helipad watching him through the pouring rain. Neither of them had said anything or made a gesture to the other. He had turned his back on her and didn't look back again, boarded the chopper, giving NIGHTHAWK the command, and within moments they were up in the air and away from Loire Village again, bound for the Leviathan. And from there, days later after the trip, they had reached the United States. All the briefings, meals and conversations with SHIPMASTER in his office, the usual check ups and tête-à-tête with Doctor Radames and consultation and arguing with QUARTERMASTER... it had all gone like clockwork. The way it always did. Just another mission. SHIPMASTER had set anchor far off the coast of Tall Oaks... and under cover of night, NIGHTHAWK had delivered his team to the outskirts of Raccoon City. The first time in HUNK's life he had set foot there. It had always been the Arklay Mountains, before Operation: NESTWRECKER. Under cover of darkness, on September 20th, they had infiltrated the outlying sewer system beyond the Circular River, moving carefully, stealthily downtown. In search of NEST.
They had chosen to bypass the old Umbrella Chemical Plant up in the Arklay Mountains that led underground towards the city and was connected to NEST, to save time and exposure. The route there would have had many employees and security forces they would have had to wade through. Unnecessary risk and casualties. All the same, it had been slow going, even with the shortcut and maps, considering the risks of attacking the United States, with the government working with Birkin. Regardless, it had seemed just another routine mission... nothing about it had troubled him then or on the way to Raccoon City. His subordinates had laughed and joked along the way aboard the Chinook. About the 'U.S.S. Grim Reaper' they were serving under... about how they were all going to die except for him. He had ignored it, tolerated it. His mind had been on the mission. Part of him even welcomed the prospect of hauling Birkin into custody for his treason. Had looked forward to the mission when Comtesse Henri had first called him into her office to inform him of Lord Spencer's wishes. He had looked forward to seizing Birkin's ill gained assets, the products of his sick experimentation. Some of which he and his wife had done in the Loire Village facility, before their treason, when Comte Henri had still lived and ruled Loire Village.
Perhaps he could have been the one to drag Birkin to Lord Spencer personally... if the reclusive old man was willing to see HUNK a second time in his life. He wondered what Lord Spencer really thought of him... the few messages he'd received from the man over the years betrayed little. Dictated to his butler first, undoubtedly. He wondered what he thought of his relationship with Bella... War. How much he had known... suspected. How it had factored into everything... into her departure, perhaps. Their falling out. Or if he just saw him as his most useful faceless enforcer among the U.S.S. A tool War had forged and left behind for him. A parting gift, with her departure. He didn't know... for all he did know, there were ten things he didn't. What he would have given to know and hear what went on in the Inner Circle meetings. He hadn't been curious about any of it until the falling out. Until it had affected her.
Megalomaniac or not, there had been a clever poetic justice to it... him of all agents being sent to seize Birkin. After Marcus, he wondered it that that been intentional by Lord Spencer. The cameras at least certainly had been. He had wanted every moment recorded, for his own grotesque viewing pleasure. Long, dangling dirty finger nails clawing at the remote, rewinding over and over. Looping the videos over and over in his secluded quarters, wherever he was. Puffing away at his cigarettes in a long, fancy cigarette holder, and pissing in milk bottles for his butler to retrieve. It wouldn't have surprised him if the old man had a tracheotomy by now, from how much he had already been smoking that night at the Spencer Mansion a decade earlier, relaxed and at ease in his long black bathrobe and slippers that evening. If HUNK had to guess, Lord Spencer would have either had Birkin tortured to death or put to work in the labs beneath one of his many estates in Europe. Either possibility was as likely as the other. Perhaps a bit of both. A slow sort of torture, while wringing out what he could from the mad scientist. Reaping his investments in the man. Filming the traitor to his last breath as well, once he had him.
How had Operation: NESTWRECKER gone down instead? A rookie with an itchy trigger finger. And an outbreak courtesy of a madman.
Agent HUNK stared back at his disheveled, bruised, impassive face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Not really hearing either the rain or moans outside or the flushing of the toilet inside. He stared at his own unblinking eyes, watching himself in silence. He rose a hand, touching the bandage on his stapled forehead and repressing a wince at the pain, the throbbing remaining in his skull unceasingly. After a time, at the continued aching and throbbing in his midsection, he zipped down the front of his dark grey undersuit to his stomach again, and slipped a hand inside, running it over his sore... and indeed tightly bandaged midsection. Oliveira had put it on beneath the sleeveless black zipper tank top he wore beneath the undersuit, fastening it around the worst off parts of his midsection. He looked down for a moment inside, to find that what flesh wasn't covered in bandages, was covered in large spaces of deep purple bruises that wouldn't be going away anytime soon, among the scarred, muscled tissue. He could imagine the internal trauma he'd received, but had neither the equipment to treat any of it... nor, thankfully, was anything broken. Nothing seemed to be at least. It was manageable. He'd survived worse. Drawing another breath, ignoring the pain, he zipped his undersuit back up all the way, and looked at his reflection once more. Breathing slowly.
The image of her returned to his mind... as did his duty. He saw her in the mirror. His particular task was now at hand. Could be put off no longer. As little as he wanted to go back to it. There was no running away from the responsibilities he had shouldered. His cowardice and hesitation irritated him... the unease of it. A spike of anger flitted over him... something he couldn't control. Or maybe didn't want to at this moment, alone... away from prying eyes, away from Umbrella. Nobody to see his weakness. In his pain and aching, exhaustion... everything weighing on him... and now her most of all. He shot out his elbow into the mirror with a grunt, the scratched metal pad encasing it breaking and cracking the mirror. A few of the shards fell into the sink, but most of the cracked glass remained where it was stubbornly, defying him... splitting up his worn down reflection.
Death. The Grim Reaper. That was all he was... the only thing he was good for. What she had made him. This time could be no exception to that rule... however different it somehow felt with the young woman on the alter. One more life to be taken... more blood on his hands. He knew what he had to do.
At long last, he forced himself to turn on his boot, looking away from the broken mirror and marching back out of the bathroom, door banging shut behind him. He marched down the hall, past the storage closets and back into the chapel. Once he was inside and standing at the chapel's aisle... he forced himself to look not at Valentine, but to the pew on his right, holding all his equipment and weaponry, and he moved over to it calmly, taking his time. First, he checked his vest pouch... the concealed one he used to hold the G-Virus sample... and sure enough, his eyes confirmed what he had already believed. That there had been no cause for any concern.
The sample remained entirely undisturbed. He held up the metal casing, turning it over a few times, the light glinting off it, and peered into the depth of the glowing purple virus within. Death on a scale he at his worst could never rival. Then, he sealed it back away in the pouch, glad to not be touching it any longer. He didn't adorn any of his battered armor pieces... instead, he simply reached for the holster on the belt connected to it, and withdrew Matilda. He examined his sidearm closely, every notch and groove... it felt good to feel her again, in his bare hand... but it was an old comfort, from memories past. Including the one that drew up reminders more painful than his midsection, and he forced them back under lock and key, where they belonged. The old memories... the better times... didn't last long, when it came to remembering. And with them came back the bad ones as well, the two forever intertwined. They had no place in his mind, during a mission... on the battlefield and during a both simple, and complicated task. He could not afford to be weak... especially now.
Lowering Matilda back to his side, he looked to both halves of the broken Steyr TMP among his intact weapons. Taking up the front half, his bare hands maneuvered beneath the barrel, and to the laser sight, and he removed the component with a twist, discarding the now useless front half of broken TMP. He turned over the laser sight, and pointed it at the wall, turning it on. It activated at once, revealing its self to be intact as a long thin red beam shot out, putting a dot on the wall. Assured, he attached the laser sight to the pistol, securing it into place. Once he had he turned around, and approached the alter once more, standing over it, and her. Peering down at her pale, sweating face. Form illuminated in the nearby candle light. There was nothing peaceful about it... between the bandages on deep cuts, and the immensely troubled expression, even as she slept. Sweat poured, dripped and ran down her face, and she twitched and trembled over and over, feverish. He couldn't imagine what she was seeing in there, her own world. Or... perhaps he could. All too well. Nightmares.
He watched her for a long time... before slowly raising Matilda, and aiming her at the unconscious officer's head. The red laser glinting off the chain necklace she wore on her neck and dog tags, before the sight touched the center her fevered brow. It proved remarkably difficult to do, even for him. The sidearm weighed more heavily than usual, a ton of metal in the palm of his hand, and his eyes narrowed on her face harder, as he peered down the sights. There was no question of it... of wants... he had to do it, he told himself. Reminded himself.
There was no alternative, besides abandoning her. As they had abandoned Sherry. And that he would not do, this time. As he hadn't done back in the courtyard. She was infected... compromised, a threat to himself, and to the young man, who didn't have it in him to do what needed doing, as he could. He knew Oliveira had the same thoughts, and knew damn well what HUNK had to do... and he hadn't attempted to stop it. His conscience couldn't let him witness it, or take the responsibility. He was still young and naive... as HUNK had been once. Still 'innocent', even after all he had seen and done. Or maybe he was just more of a person, than HUNK had ended up, down the treacherous road of his life. More likely, he had not yet been broken, and forced to reassemble to pieces... and end up someone else, in no way resembling the man he had been.
It didn't matter... it was the only dignified way for Valentine to go... and she had earned that much, at least. She would turn... it was only a matter of when. Whatever lay inside their Pursuer's veins, was either as bad or worse than the standard strain of the T-Virus. There was no telling what could happen, if it was allowed to run its course. What form her mutation would take. Why had she done it? Why had she tried to fight it off? It had been hopeless... but she had put herself between it and him. Without hesitation. Ordered him to leave her to die, to run. Perhaps the bigger question was... why hadn't he? It would have been the sane, rational choice... the best choice, as shooting her now was. He had made many ugly, best choices... so why had he ignored the last one? What was so different about it than any other choice he'd made?
It wasn't the first time he'd broken it either, since he came to the city. He could have left her to burn, back at the apartment. Or in the sewer with the worm. He hadn't, either time. She was just another young woman... brave perhaps, different from most civilians, but still with that dangerous emotional tendency at her core. She had been able to accomplish what few others had, she was one of the last survivors in a city where all had gone wrong. She had made it close to the commencement of the Sterilization Operation... she still breathed, after it all. And yet, he'd saved and helped her in the past... as she had saved and helped him. She could have left him in the wreckage of the train, where he belonged... and she'd dragged him out, burned herself horribly, and likely without hesitation. She had done things... strange things, that seemed alien to him... since he had met her.
She was different in some ways from everyone he had ever known... and yet, she also reminded him of another he had. Similarities and differences. But Valentine wore no mask, didn't hide what she was, nor use or manipulate anyone. Take advantage of naivete. She was... good. There was no other word for it he could think of.
Valentine was strong... unyielding, unbreakable, even as she lay broken. She persisted, her body refusing to give up and die. She had kept rising again the fight the Tyrant, when all hope had seemed lost to her, as she had been dying, the blood streaming from her. He had no doubt that were it possible, she would rise against all odds, pick up her gun, and stagger outside. The only thing that had been able to prevent as much, had been the injuries one of the company's best designed Tyrant's had inflicted upon her. His eyes moved down to her freshly bandaged hands... to the scorched skin poking out at the sides. It had been... illogical, foolish on her part. More so than when he had saved her. He could create a rational excuse for why he had done what he had in regards to her, carrying her out of the apartment... she had been right there at his feet, and retrieving her would cause him no harm. But what rationality could be drawn from knowingly harming one's self, risking death to save another, when they were not even a part of the mission? And doing so for an Umbrella Agent who represented everything she didn't?
None.
Survival was all there needed to be. Self preservation. Survival of the fittest... not senseless risk or sacrifice. Graveyards were full of brave, stupid people who had thrown their lives away, even if it had meant accomplishing next to nothing. Even the Captain, in his final moments, had chosen that as his honorable way out of the world. Yet her... and many like her did it all the time. Without hesitation. Why? What could be gained? He couldn't figure it out. Or why he hadn't pulled the trigger yet, why his finger remained so still upon it. It wasn't a matter of her deserving to die... it was just... all he could do. Wasn't it? He had long been put into positions of temporary power, and choice over people's lives. Taking each from them where necessary.
It had been a long time, a very long time, since that had bothered him, in any way shape or form. Why then did her looming death, either from his bullet, or the infection, leave him disquieted? He eventually conceded... that he didn't know the answer to that. Maybe he would one day... but now, here... like this, he did not. He racked his brain, willingly, trying to think back to lessons he had been taught in his training, from the past...what War had prepared him for... tried to... and couldn't think of anything that really applied here. To any of it. She hadn't prepared him for something like this. None of his experiences did. To... care... for someone who should have been the enemy. Who was the enemy. Yet he was under no orders to kill Valentine, as the Pursuer was.
Nothing in the mission of recovering the G-Virus had stated that he had to do it. Nobody from above within the U.S.S. had given him such a mandate. If they had... she would have been dead already, he was certain. He would have done his duty long ago. And yet, he had no orders to help her either... but what had he been doing up until now? Helping her... and she him. Orders... a mission, he could follow, he could always follow clear orders from his superiors... but the things that lay outside of it, he had always been forced to adapt to. Maybe that was why he had worked with her, when he'd crossed her path. He'd adapted... attempted to reassemble the team he'd lost... from people entirely different from any U.S.S. Agent. It had been doomed from the start, when he'd made that decision. Expecting the same of these undisciplined civilians.
Hell... he'd objected to GHOST displaying a remarkable lack of discipline, in shooting the inadvertently armed Birkin. True, it had not been out of conscience, or care for the man. He'd earned what he'd done to himself, injecting the virus in himself, and becoming visibly the abominable thing he always was. Earned the position he was in beneath Umbrella's scrutiny... but it had not been the mission to kill him. The Board of Directors and Lord Spencer had wanted him kept alive, to be dealt with later some other way, after his 'precious' G-Virus had been obtained, and kept from the U.S. Government... but eliminating him had not been his mission. Had not been the mission.
He'd abandoned GOBLIN 6... because of the mission. She had failed it, like the others, and was either dead or dying now. The mission had been inflexible, recover the virus and extract it at all costs... that meant going forward, not backwards... at least any more than could be helped. How simple it could have been, if he'd been allowed to deploy his flare on that helipad, and be extracted by NIGHTHAWK. He could have never met Valentine to begin with, and she could have handled her own nightmare on her own... as he was sure she could. And there would have been no further... complications, beyond Birkin's transformation. The mission would be over, and be a success. But... he could not ponder what if's. Could not be dragged down by the past, or potential outcomes... couldn't let himself lose control.
His fingers tightened on the pistol handle, and he drew in a faint breath he had been holding in. Second guessing himself. He didn't remember the last time he had before this mission. And here he was, doing it. He hadn't even hesitated killing Marcus, the first man he ever had. It had only been after that what he had done had reached him. He felt himself growing irritated with his indecision. What would the Board of Directors think, when it came time to write his report, and he wrote that he had left Valentine alive? Someone... no, many wanted her dead. He was not one of them, he didn't know the woman, and had no grievances with her as his company did... but supporting one they hated was never considered wise in his world. To go out of one's way making enemies. He was liable to end up with a contract on himself. Corporate Warfare 101. It didn't frighten him, but he would be a fool not to consider that risk. And yet... he'd not been told about Tyrant field testing in Raccoon City, that had posed a threat to him, and his own operation, whether it had been foreseen or not.
He had been warned of no such thing ahead of time, that this... prototype... had been sent. It was as covert a mission as his own had been. How many on the Board even knew about it? How high up did it go? Which branch? It could have been any or all of them. He did not... like that. Anything about it. The secrecy they applied even to him. Again, that trace of nagging doubt. She'd said it herself... and alluded to it. That he was being used... as soldiers everywhere were. Even if he wasn't really a soldier, like her. Carried no tags. He was not stupid... he knew it was in all likelihood true, the way they had hoisted him up as their unofficial poster boy for the U.S.S... the way all the other agents treated him, like he deserved worship. He never wanted it, any of it. All he had wanted was her... Bella. To make her proud of him. To prove he was worthy of her... and how had that turned out? He'd waded happily and blindly into this world of theirs, and she'd left him there to sink or swim. He had gritted his teeth and swam, in the end. All he could do was ignore the adulation... and deep down resent it.
They had... she had... groomed him, into becoming what he had in Umbrella... and he had willingly gone along with it... not only that, he'd kept going along with it, time after time. Addicted. Even after she had left. He knew they all whispered about him among themselves, but most of them never did to him... rarely directly, honestly and openly, be it his fellow agents, other employees... or the Board Of Directors. Death. The Grim Reaper... 'Mr Death'. It had all been flattering, at one time. In the better times. Or maybe the times he had been more deluded. How many times had he been brought up behind his back? How much was he spoken of, and in what ways? He could imagine how often, and he didn't want to. The rumors circulating about him had been particularly evident as he entered this... age of bioweapons. New age and world of covert warfare among rising powerful companies. Not nations. When they had begun the virus testing... when he had trained against the earliest Tyrants. Surviving and completing his missions time and again. Bets being taken on him each time. Rising to the top of his field on his own.
There was probably as long a list of names of people who wanted him dead. Just as many people who wanted him around in Umbrella. Executives vying for his contract, to become his benefactor. Not that any of those he disappointed every time he survived a mission would ever be open and honest about it. The same people like the one who had overridden his extraction. Most of the scientists he'd encountered reminded him more of politicians, more like the Board Of Directors, playing their games, safe behind a desk many miles from any conflict they initiated with their abominations and viral designs. He stayed, despite it all, because the company was all he had left now. There was no escape. Even if he could, he would not leave, and become a common mercenary... living without a cause but greed. He could not be reduced to that.
He'd met and killed too many mercenaries... and it was not a life for him. He was stuck, in the same thing, over and over. Every mission was the same... and he remained a piece on a chess board for the Board Of Directors, U.S.S. Command and the Inner Circle, as all of Umbrella's employees were in the end. No matter how good at their job they were. He was caught between the rivalries of the Board, when he wanted nothing to do with them... just to lead his men into battle, and accomplish what he had been created to be. What all the years had been for. He was caught in the politics, as Comtesse Henri had warned him, between those who wanted Valentine dead, and the reality of the situation. She was honest, and open... more than the Directors could ever be... more than he could ever be about himself, at least. About the hell he had made for himself.
HUNK admired her. He really did... she was a fighter, and that didn't only apply to her Army and Delta Force training. She was that to the bone, to her spirit. She... was not his mission. He had to make a choice... he was used to making them, but only in regard to the men and women on his U.S.S. teams, or his targets. Neither of which applied to Valentine. She was separate to the mission... but she was part of it. He was doubting himself now... it grew more obvious every minute. He was stalling. The longer he stayed around her, the more he thought. The more difficult it proved to remain in a locked down, contained state at all times. It was... different. And as much as he hated to admit it... he couldn't ignore it. They were running out of time... the thermobaric missile would arrive, and none of them could be there when it did... but... maybe there was enough of it. Maybe. He wanted to keep his options open... not close them forever.
More to the point, that he tried to ignore and shunt aside... he did not want to kill her.
His eyes lowered to her infected blood. She would, in all probability, turn, before anything could be done... but if that were the case... how many infected and mutations had he already dealt with to this point? It would just be one more. It was time to choose... he couldn't stand over her doing nothing all night. He needed to pick his course of action, and live with it. He'd taken risks that had paid off already, in Raccoon City... maybe it was the fact he had made it this far... but he felt a confidence in his decisions... most of them. More than he didn't. She'd lived through too goddamn much to just die, here in some chapel outside the battlefield, by his hand. A soldier... a cop, would not die helpless, not a true one... her life needed to be put back into her own hands... not left all night in his. He studied the red dot on her forehead, as it had touched the Pursuer's.
She wasn't one of his subordinates who had signed on to take his orders to the end. He had... no authority over her. She deserved... a fighting chance on her own right. The same chance he would want, in her position. His eyes moved back up to hers... and narrowed a little more, his finger moving slightly on the trigger... a trembling passing through his hand, betraying and startling him. Not remembering the last time it had shook as he'd aimed it. Though remembering the first time it had, in Marcus's lab. He was... tired... right now. Deeper than any exhaustion. Tired of killing. He had killed people who had deserved it and people who hadn't... she was not only the latter, she was in a third group altogether, now.
"No... you aren't my mission. Enough people are dead. Not you too, Valentine... not like this..."
One comprising now of people he couldn't kill.
Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered Matilda from the officer's face, and down loosely at his side. The red light slid off her head, shining against the floor instead, unable to grant her the mercy she deserved. Weakness overtaking him. One he hadn't felt in years. He drew in a low breath, blinking once at last, and made his choice... stupid or not. Right or wrong be damned. She deserved to determine her own future. Killing her terminated forever that possibility... helping her, however slim the odds, gave her back that chance she was entitled to as a soldier. As someone outside of his chain of command. Failing that, he could fall back on the first option, if she turned. But not now... while she lived. The company preferred him as an unthinking puppet... well, in a way, they would get exactly that from him.
HUNK would stop thinking about what they might want him to do to Valentine, and he would follow his given, and primary objective. Extraction of the G-Virus at all costs... which, as much as she must have hated herself for it, she had been assisting him with before the Tyrant had come along, and endangered Umbrella's own operation, a hell of a lot more than Valentine ever had. Technicalities and loopholes... he would use them, as everyone else in the company seemed to. Even if he disliked the roundabout dishonesty. He remembered what Comtesse Henri had told him, once. When dealing with liars even an honest person had to lie. He didn't like it... but saw the logic.
But, even with that problem set aside, if he couldn't kill her... end her misery... grant her a mercy... what the hell else could he possibly do about her condition? He couldn't leave her either. He nor Oliveira were scientists... he knew of no cure or antibodies for the T-Virus in the vicinity that didn't come from the barrel of a weapon, if the T-Virus was what she had. Umbrella may have played dangerously with loaded guns, creating the viruses that they did... but it would be just like them to create a cure, and keep it to themselves, unless the need arose. A cure could be sold to the highest bidder, if need be. If the virus got loose, entire country's would be flocking to Umbrella's banner for the cure. In some ways, it would probably benefit them more if the virus did escape Raccoon City. From a business standpoint. It would probably be enough for the public to conveniently forget who had created the virus to begin with, once a cure was offered. That's how it had always been, in history, with every plague. People flocking to cures that far more often than not accomplished nothing. A placebo. False hope, as they turned over their wallets. It went back to medieval Plague doctors with their bird masks... and far beyond that. The lessons he had been taught of history. Cures existed... he knew that from the Paris Facility... but the idea of one being nearby was unlikely at best.
But these were different times... an actual cure or remedy would have to be an option for the Bioweapons Division... whether or not it had not been as mass produced as the virus its self. You didn't create a bioweapon without a fail-safe. He didn't doubt Doctor Radames had them in her lab aboard the Leviathan... too far away to be of any use now, to say the least. He racked his mind for Umbrella related sectors in the city. There was no way he would or could double back to NEST... ground zero, not now, and not again. It wasn't an option, going back... he could only move forward, or within his present area, and dilemma. Even if there was a vaccine at NEST, he would never get it back for her in time. There was the Umbrella R&D Center... but it was much too far away, and wasn't related to vaccine or viral developments, strictly Tyrant and B.O.W. research. There was the Dead Factory... connected to NEST... but that was too far away as well, and their final destination left. The only escape possible remaining. There had to be something else, in this sector of the city... Umbrella had something everywhere within it. Every sector of Raccoon City had been theirs, from City Hall and the R.P.D. to Raccoon Orphanage and Raccoon Zoo.
He thought back to the Umbrella sales office he had sent Nikolai, and then Valentine, to investigate. Valentine was an ardent enemy of Umbrella, she had made that plain from the start... and maybe therein lie an opportunity. Surely she would have taken the time to collect any papers, notes or reports she might have stumbled upon... provided Nikolai hadn't beaten her to it. Evidence on Umbrella's activities and incrimination. He was no cop, as she was... but he could at least think enough like one where this matter was concerned. He was used to gathering evidence and corporate secrets in his missions, dirty laundry. She would have been searching for evidence to make use of, when this was all over, she had intended to survive and continue the fight, not be infected. He looked away from her at long last, and down to the pile of her things on the ground beside the alter, among the medical supplies... and he knelt down to the floor, rummaging through some of the stuff. There were no loose papers, of course... she would have concealed them in the slots, pouches and satchels of her side packs.
Picking them up by one of the shoulder straps, he rose again, moving over to the pew beside the alter that Oliveira had vacated earlier, and he sat himself down in it. Not leaning back in any attempt to be comfortable, but leaning forward intently, opening up each of the pouches and looking around inside, setting down his own sidearm beside himself. His eyes moved to the holster containing her only remaining Beretta, and grasping it by the handle, he removed and examined it... finding himself quite impressed with what he saw. It was heavily modified, in both appearance and function from an average Beretta. Something a professional had put together, worthy of QUARTERMASTER. He'd never seen one quite like it. He would have liked to have asked her about it... there had been time to... but he never had. Other than the weapon's modifications, it had a light blue S.T.A.R.S. emblem on the blackened grip... a blue steel slide, and the rest of it was blue as well. Her color, it seemed. He wondered what the other members weapons had looked like, how much the customization ranged, or if they had all been the same sort.
HUNK admired the weapon for a few moments, turning it over, and aiming it at one of the stain glass windows, peered down the sights. It felt good, comfortable in both hands, or one. It was no Matilda, but it was an impressive runner up, without a doubt. It had gotten her far, through Raccoon City and likely through the Spencer Mansion. He placed it back in its holster, and he began to look through the other parts of the side packs. He found ammunition, of course ... a First Aid Spray, her handcuffs and other assorted supplies, before reaching the last two sizable pouches, and striking gold in his search. There were a bunch of papers, some folded, some crinkled... none of them in a perfect condition anymore, but all of them legible. His instincts had been accurate... it was better than nothing, but he didn't pat himself on the back. He began pulling all the documents, and everything else in them loose and setting them on the seat beside himself, including a trio of small, leather bound books... the large cut blue gem... the sapphire she had found at the precinct... as Oliveira had found the emerald, and him the ruby, he remembered. He remembered well her smile when she had found it... getting one over on her corrupt Mayor's greed.
He even found, of all things, his old lighter case... still useless and full of water... but she had kept it nonetheless, for whatever reason. Probably only because she had given him her own... not an entirely good trade... for her at least, but at the time and under the circumstances, he understood. Besides, if she found some more lighter fluid, it would still be usable. He remembered when War had first given him the lighter with the black and white U.S.S. emblem engraved upon its scuffed metal. A memento... trophy, from when he had been accepted as an agent. Completed the training she had given him. He knew himself a hypocrite for carrying it, where no other agent was allowed personal effects in the battlefield. He had kept only the ones of use in the field. Hence the lighter and Matilda. He turned the lighter and the sapphire over in his hand a few times, examining its angles, and moved on, before stopping with the final two objects he found inside the pouches... not paper, but the sensation of cold metal. An object like a necklace, that he drew together, removed... and examined. It wasn't a mere necklace... but he had been close. It was a set of dog tags. His eye narrowed carefully on the small yet bold lettering imprinted into the glinting, silvery metal, and he silently read what was on it.
Campbell
John J.
Captain, United States Army Special Forces
Service #82278
Blood Type: A-Positive
D.O.B.: March 7, 1952
Campbell. Echo Team. The man who'd made it to the extraction point, and had made their lives easier handling the majority of another foolish puzzle for them. The man who somehow obtained a Mine Thrower. He had been a Monitor, most likely... he had the military experience for it, clearly... but he had yet to find any proof he was one. HUNK looked down at the pile of items that belonged to Valentine, and to the Mine Thrower in question... intact, and in all likelihood, depleted of its ammunition stock. Where before he had been immensely curious as to how the U.B.C.S. mercenary had gotten a hold of such an advanced weapon... now, in the aftermath he merely found himself grateful. He'd still be looking into it, if it were possible, but the fact the man had had it outweighed where he had gotten it, in HUNK's mind. His hand tightened a little on the dog tags, and he silently tucked it back away inside the pouch, and turning his attention to the other object his hand had enclosed around. It was leather, like the three small books, but even smaller than they had been. He pulled it out, and studied the surface of it in the light of the chapel... which reflected off of it at different angles... at least one part of it, as he opened the small leather case.
It was a police badge... the badge reflecting from within... but, his eyes moving over it, he found that the badge did not belong to the woman who had been carrying it... but it certainly did to one in her former line of work. Within the clear plastic case inside the badge, an identification card resided for a member of the S.T.A.R.S. unit... one Bradley Vickers, former Helicopter Pilot for the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team. A survivor of the Mansion Incident... and another among the dead of Raccoon City, at the hands of their Pursuer, no less. He had watched the young man die at the hands of the Tyrant Pursuer. Had let him die, not intervening when he could have. Valentine had mentioned him a few times as well... and HUNK knew of a reputation for cowardice the young man had possessed. "Chickenheart" had been his nickname, HUNK remembered Valentine telling him at the apartment, as she had showed him the photograph. He had paid attention to each person she had pointed out... but the mask had hid his grimace at the image of Wesker, standing there among them where he didn't belong. Hiding in plain sight. The worst kind of spy. A parasite infused into S.T.A.R.S. and rotting it away from within, pretending to be their leader... someone they all trusted. Until the day came to betray that trust. Gathering combat data on them, no doubt, using them at the Spencer Mansion for his own ends. Responsible for most of their deaths... among other things. Always with an ambition... no different from his old friend Birkin or his old rival Colonel Vladimir. Valentine believed him dead. Many at the company did. The world would be better off if that were true... as would Umbrella.
But HUNK knew he wasn't the only person good at beating the odds. And if Wesker were alive, Raccoon City couldn't be more ripe for his sort of exploitation. Stealing what he could from amid the rubble and corpses. It was a wonder he had never become a Monitor. Him and Colonel Vladimir and Nikolai had more in common than any of them was likely to admit.
At any rate, cowardice or not, Vickers had at least been good enough for the S.T.A.R.S, and to live longer than many other people in the city had. Had done more for the team than their "Captain" had. Had gotten the survivors back to the city in time... saved their lives. HUNK hadn't gotten the opportunity to judge him in person, one way or the other, but was glad he had done that much. A young man with thick brown hair peered back at him from the plastic casing, expression carefully neutral, as was required of any identification cards. Information pertaining to him had also been written on the card, and HUNK scanned through it quickly, finding an oddity that stood out in the process.
Bradley Evan Vickers
D.O.B.: January 12th, 1963
P.O.B.: Delucia, U.S.A.
Nationality/Race: American, Caucasian
Gender: Male
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Blood Type: O-Negative
Height: (5ft 9in)
Weight: (134 lbs)
His eyes moved back up to the Date Of Birth, and widened very slightly, before lowering them back to Vickers' photo in the case, examining his youthful, boyish features. 1963? The 'young man' in question... was older than HUNK. Not by a great deal, but older nonetheless. He sure as hell didn't look it. Didn't look any older than Valentine. The world was full of surprises. He shook his head, very slowly, a faint grimace passing over his expression, and he closed the badge back up, tucking it away in its former spot in the pouch, with Campbell's dog tags. Doing the same with his old lighter, a lock pick she'd recovered from her desk and the sparkling sapphire that had been glinting in the light of the chapel.
Next he spotted three curious things, situated close together... a folded up letter, another pair of dog tags and a photograph. He examined the family photograph intently beneath the light... to find Captain Mikhail peering back at him smiling at his home, with his happy wife. As well as having an elder daughter, a middle son and youngest daughter. Just like Bella, it occurred to him uncomfortably. Jaw tightening, he glanced hurriedly away from it, to the dog tags and letter... but he didn't bother reading it. It contained a dead man's final words... for his family's eyes only. So, this was what the Captain had given her before shoving Valentine to safety. Another duty she'd been tasked with. A promise made. A reason to live. A mission. His gaze rose again to her features where she lay, and he released another low breath, putting the photograph back where it belonged. There was another couple pieces of paper containing a report of sorts from the R.P.D. His eyes swept over the contents at once, breezing through it.
Report
September 24th: There are reports of a theft in the municipal building before dawn. A jewel-decorated clock at the main gate was damaged. Three of twelve gems that are installed on the face of the clock are missing. Due to lack of available officers at this time, I have no choice but to suspend the research of this case.
Signed, Marvin Branagh
Report
September 26th: Based upon an autopsy report of a 42 year old restaurant owner, I have discovered that he has one of the missing gems. He apparently took shelter in the police department at about 10am, where he was shot to death within 10 minutes of having developed the symptoms. Since the city is currently under martial law, we are forced to suspend this case. At this time, we'll keep the gem as evidence.
Signed, Marvin Branagh
Marvin... he remembered her taking the report from the man's hands. Their argument over the dying officer... who surely must have been dead by now. It explained the jewels, at any rate. How the opulent City Council hadn't thought using jewels for a locking system wouldn't attract thieves was another story altogether. With the undead walking in the streets, the police had had more important things to worry about than theft from politicians that too made a living stealing. Irons was probably as mad as he was corrupt, to have Branagh working as long as he had been in the early days of the outbreak on a non issue like theft. As he had been incompetent in firing Valentine and the other survivors of the Spencer Mansion. They had been the only hope Raccoon City had had of combating the outbreak... and look what had happened instead. Backroom deals and politics, corporate warfare... the story of his life. At any rate, the three jewels had been found. Case closed. As he searched through the pouches, he found Valentine's own S.T.A.R.S. identification card, freezing where he was at the sight of it. Of her. A healthy, attractive young brunette peered back at him from it, wearing a blue beret, uniform, armored vest and badge. It contained her name, signature, position on Alpha Team, and was signed by the corrupt Chief Brian Irons. He studied it carefully... learning even more about her than she knew about him.
Jill Catherine Valentine
D.O.B.: October 5th, 1974
P.O.B.: Raccoon City, U.S.A
Nationality/Race: American, Mixed-Race, French-Japanese
Gender: Female
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Blood Type: B-Positive
Height: (5'5")
Weight: (111 lbs)
The Umbrella Agent pondered the information... examined her face again on the card... it was gentle, but there was strength in her blue eyes. Purpose. Drive. What he had seen the first time he saw her through the binoculars, up on the rooftop of the R.P.D. He knew one other with a look like it... and the reminder and similarity made him uneasy. To serve and protect. That was her, in every way he was not. He looked down to where she lie unconscious and in pain... broken... the strength of the woman in the picture shattered. Clinging to a thread. It made him all the more uncomfortable. She was roughly of an age with Comtesse Henri... shared an eye color, close enough height and weight and half a French ancestry... though the two young women couldn't otherwise be further apart. Worlds apart. He understood why she had backed him up against Oliveira in the tofu argument, what felt years ago, passing the Japanese restaurant. He had to repress a smile that threatened at the thought, the memory. He moved on again, turning his attention to the four other pieces of writing he had stacked on top of each other beside the loose papers, and he took the first one off the top, thumbing through, and reading it as silently as before.
Dario's Memo
I can't help but wonder if anyone will read these words, but writing them will help me maintain my sanity if nothing else. After I've become a meal for those undead monsters, will the G.I.s responsible for sealing off the town laugh upon discovering my corpse? I won't be able to blame them, how pathetic and cowardly I will look sealed away here.
So is this how it's supposed to end? I don't want to die. I'm just not ready. It wasn't supposed to be this way. This nightmare.
My wife, daughter, mother... my entire family has been killed. Every reason I had to keep going is gone now. There was so much more we were supposed to do together. We had so many good years left. But thanks to that damn disease, none of that matters anymore. Right now, my life is the only important thing left. That's all that matters. I need to live... for them. Need to keep going... I need to try. Maybe someone will find me. Someone else.
I never would have pictured my end to be like this. I had so much left to do. Rather than becoming a salesman, I should have tried my hand at being a novelist. It's what I've always wanted, but my mother would only tell me you have a long way to go. Why did I ever listen to her? I should have chose my own path. I made the wrong decision... so many of them for so long.
My latest mistake will probably be my final one.
Why didn't I listen to that young Valentine woman? She was armed, had been a police officer, offered me a way out when nobody else did. I yelled at her and I froze up... now I rot here, as surely as those monsters are out there. I shouldn't have snapped at her like that... I should have went with her... helped her. Now it's too late. I'm so sorry. On the outside chance you are reading this... you were right. I hope you succeed where I didn't. I hope you escape from this nightmare. I hope you find someone else who won't disappoint you the way I have. That you will save them the way I didn't let you save me.
This looks like the end for the great Dario Rosso, would be novelist extraordinaire. Cut down before his prime. Cut down by himself.
Who the man had been in life, HUNK wasn't sure. One more of the city's rotting faces, condemned to the T-Virus or the bullet, like his family. What it told him was that Valentine went out of her way for just about everyone, tried to save the foolish man. A man who, among so many others, hadn't heeded her warnings, and had died for it instead. It must have been before their paths had crossed at the police station. It also told him it wasn't just evidence against Umbrella she was collecting... but the last testaments of the dying, her fellow citizens... perhaps feeling it was her duty. Not as a cop, but as a person. To make them known. Whether she had known any of the victims, he wasn't sure... in the end it amounted to the same thing. They hadn't listened to her and paid the price for it. He set aside the man's final words and moved on to the next item, one of the leather bound journals.
September 1st:
Following six months of intensive training, my body's edge has returned. They have been long months, but worthwhile. I am myself again. Ready to do my duty.
I was a good soldier, but they ordered my execution with no reason given. I was tortured and forced to give a false confession. I tried to endure it, but could not. I wasn't strong enough, and gave in, in the end.
But on the morning of my execution, a miracle happened. The company has helped me out, giving me a second lease on life. Now, my training completed, I begin my life again a Private within the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service.
September 15th
I ended my vacation short and returned to the HQ office. It looks like my U.B.C.S. unit's been called into action. Thank God for the timing, I welcome a mission worthy of me to sitting idly by.
Umbrella maintains its own paramilitary unit to counter corporate terrorism and V.I.P. abduction. In addition, they have nightmen who specialize in handling problems caused by illegal products. I'm currently a member of the latter.
Evidently there has been an incident in an American city called Raccoon City. A radiation spill of some sorts, that has the town's citizens behaving strangely, with incidents of violence being reported at Raccoon General Hospital. We are being mobilized to the Leviathan, where we will receive further instructions.
September 28th
Dawn's here, but we're still slogging through this nightmare. There are no provisions of any kind here. The undead and monstrous mutations walk the streets feeding upon the flesh of the living. The battles are numerous and pitched. The bulk of us hold Central Street Station, at least the last I heard, but I am cut off from them with no hope of reaching their position. The company has lied to us about the nature of the threat. I wonder about how much else. This is not the work of radiation, but of a virus... I have seen the results first hand.
I now realize that given the choice again, I would rather have been executed. Death Row was a heavenly asylum compared to this place. Death would have been instant and certain, with no cause for fear beyond that. Now I realize that there are things worse than death. And I dare not dwell among them any longer. A world run by Umbrella. This city is them. Distilled to their purest essence.
I've chosen to pull the trigger myself, in the hope that my dead body won't come back to life. The least I can do, all things considered. One final duty. To whom it may concern reading these contents, consider this my resignation letter to the company. My contract and debts null and void, and I die free.
So... the last testament of a U.B.C.S. mercenary. One of Colonel Vladimir's. For all he knew, it had been written, in all likelihood, by a deranged man, one driven over the edge by PTSD, before the outbreak had even started, by life experiences, and in all probability, some conflict he'd fought in. He knew nothing about the man who had written it, but given the often disturbed individuals the U.B.C.S. recruited from around the world, it wasn't a stretch of the imagination to think it. He had no idea where or when Valentine had come across it... but she hadn't been altogether foolish by taking it. For an officer, every little bit of information mattered, regardless of their situation. No U.S.S. Agent would write about themselves, even in the face of death... secrecy was all they knew, and knowledge of agents was disavowed when it became necessary.
Their pasts, and files were usually treated as non existent, even before this precaution. It was but one of the many differences between the two paramilitary factions in Umbrella. The difference between common mercenaries and special forces. Whatever he had been, the mercenary had not been able to handle the pressure, and stress of what he had been dropped into. He'd cracked, and taken his own life. Had been mentally unsound. Due in no small part to not knowing or being prepared for the operation he had been dropped into the middle of. It was almost a pity. Many people just didn't have what it took to handle outbreak scenarios, especially not on this scale. He remembered his first one, and he remembered Plant 57 in West Africa. It had taken much to live, and to adapt... but then, how might he have fared in a more conventional military situation, devoid of infected and mutations? The world would never know. He was one more loss, in the end. Putting his life in the hands of the U.B.C.S. had merely put off his inevitable death sentence for a matter of months. Nothing more. Another failure of the U.B.C.S... of Colonel Vladimir's recruitment process.
Perhaps they recruited higher numbers than the U.S.S Agents... but quantity was not quality. War had argued that point, among others, to the Colonel and to Lord Spencer. To the Inner Circle. The Colonel, true to his Communist roots, had argued quantity to be a quality of its own. In the end, the Colonel had gotten his way. With the U.B.C.S. and the Monitors, among other ideas of his Lord Spencer had taken a shine to. He remembered War's cold, quiet fury after she returned to him from those meetings. Early on when she had quarreled with Lord Spencer and his Inner Circle syndicate about the direction of Umbrella, it had been difficult to read her afterwards, she had carefully concealed her feelings. But as time had went on... the years between Colonel Vladimir's arrival and her departure... he had seen the changes in her. She had kept much of it from him... but some nights, together at Rockfort Island and elsewhere... War had spoken of those meetings... and he had known her too well not to pick up certain things, even if he didn't understand it all. He had known her best.
At least... he had thought he knew her best.
He'd just wanted to make her happy again. Wanted to kill Colonel Vladimir for her... had even offered to do it. All she'd had to do was give the word, and he would have done it without question. While she would gradually smile again after her meetings... embrace him... something about it had been different when she looked at him. Not the same way she had during most of their years together, after she had picked him. Something different in her eyes when she saw him, towards the end. What had she seen? He didn't know what it could have been... even now. Or maybe he just didn't want to know. He'd become what she had wanted him to be, so why had she looked at him that way? She had left... did the reason why really matter now? After all these years? Everything he had done since her? None of it mattered, but try as he did, he was incapable of forgetting. And when he was weak, the memories returned. The bitterness.
HUNK withdrew from the bitter past, pondered the mercenary's final words a little longer. And again had to move on, tucking it back into the side packs, and scooping up the next diary. This one with as much dried blood stains on the surface and pages as the one preceding it... right down to the ink. And the finality of the words.
September 26th:
It's only been three hours since the mission started, but the team is already down to me, Campbell and a few others. The number of the zombies and mutations is far greater than we expected. There is no hope left for this city. I do not know what has befallen the platoons, but I can guess. We have already injected the antibody for the virus, but I'm not sure that it will work. I don't know about the others, but the only true cure I know of is not to be bitten. I don't know if I will survive any of this... it is like nothing any of us have ever endured. Even with our advanced warning, compared to the four platoons.
September 27th:
We managed to reach the clock tower. Out of desperation we robbed some wounded survivors of their weapons and used the surviving citizens as decoys. We were taught to do this in order to survive in the the battlefield, to accomplish the mission at all costs, but I never enjoyed it. No other Umbrella personnel have reached the clock tower yet... either because there aren't any left, or they found one of the other evacuation zones. However, a girl showed up at the clock tower before me. She is one of the survivors. She looks just like my sister before she starved to death... I won't let that happen to her as well.
September 28th:
I wanted to evacuate early this morning as soon as possible, but the girl didn't. Her father insisted that he wouldn't leave the city where his beloved wife rests in peace. I really wanted to save the girl, but Campbell said, "All I care about is our lives." That's how I felt before, but now... it's different. Fuck Colonel Vladimir and his secret missions, his orders. This 'Monitor' shit. Proud and haughty aboard the Leviathan, nice and safe as he watches it all play out from afar, twiddling his thumbs, sending no reinforcements. Send in more platoons, damn it. Send in Umbrella Security Service for all I care. This wasn't what I signed up for. Even with the fortifications and defenses, the clock tower has become a dangerous place and I don't want to make any more mistakes.
I will try to get us to safety... Campbell is trying to signal the chopper as well, but to do so a puzzle is required. We have one component, and must find the other. I will get the girl somewhere secure, and try to wait for Campbell... but he has been gone awhile, the radio has been silent... and I have no way of knowing if the clock tower is secure any longer. If escape is even possible. A Quarantine Zone has been erected around the entire city, survivors shot dead last I heard. And even if we had the means now to ring the clock tower bell... how do we know the chopper hasn't already fled or been compromised? That all our efforts have been for nothing? We will wait... and we will see. If worst comes to worst... I will do what needs to be done.
HUNK knew full well to whom the writing had belonged. Echo Team... and they had been Monitors all along, just as he'd thought. But for some reason it wasn't that his mind dwell upon. In his minds eyes, he stood again in the doorway of the clock tower's machine room, watching as Valentine hovered over the dead man... and dead girl, laying in a combined pool of their blood. Another mercenary... driven to the edge, and to suicide, on the same night as the diary preceding it. Granting the likely infected girl a way out... a mercy. Above all, HUNK remembered the look in Valentine's eyes... the devastation in them, and her voice... when she had asked what she had of him. And he had given her the only truth he knew definitively. Somehow, after all she'd seen and experienced, her spirit hadn't seemed to be broken... but rather cracking, little by little, when the horror of her surroundings grew worse.
She hid it well when she had to, HUNK acknowledged, looking up from the crinkled, stained pages, and back up to where she lay on the alter. But... she felt too much. It seemed her strength as much as her weakness. It was who she was, as the woman and person... the cop that she was. She could bear many weights, and burdens... she had to... yet the hopelessness that resided everywhere was getting to her, all too efficiently. The bleak nihilism of her situation clashing with her youthful optimism. It was... something he'd seen before. And while he could tuned out his thoughts on the matter... he did pity her for it. He had pity for the victims as well, sitting up in that machine room, waiting in vain for Campbell... until he couldn't any longer, and checked out early. He knew the Monitor no more than he did the other one driven to suicide... but there was something a little more honorable in this case than the one preceding him.
He had tried. Had tried to see through his official orders instead of his Monitor ones, protecting the civilians, in the form of the girl. He had failed... yes, but he had tried to accomplish his mission, as any actual soldier would. It was a pity. They had been within reach of evacuation, as well... and their deaths, in hind site, may well have been in vain. Their sacrifices. The helicopter had been taken out anyways, after utilizing the gears that he and Campbell had gathered. Not that it would have been, had HUNK, Valentine and Oliveira not come along, with a Tyrant on their trail. They could have escaped just fine... and circumstance had prevented it. He could... see, why their loss had effected Valentine so much. It was more wasted lives... but the man had died almost a soldier. In spite of his Monitor status. And there were always worse ways for one to die. The man had also had the will to do something HUNK couldn't, he acknowledged uncomfortably. To grant a mercy kill. But then maybe that wasn't a good thing... having succumb to despair, as HUNK had not.
HUNK slowly, a little reluctantly, closed the second diary, and moved on to the third and final one, far cleaner on the surface than the two preceding it... and, as was the established pattern with the others, more interesting than the one's preceding it. He had the feeling he was getting on to the right track, considering to whom this particular diary belonged. He skipped forward to the latest entries for relevant information... and read her writing.
August 7th
Two weeks have passed since that day in the Arklay Mountains... since the Spencer Mansion. My wounds have been healed, but I just can't forget it. For most people, it's history now. But for me, whenever I close my eyes, it all comes back clearly. The mansion exploding. The Tyrant at the helipad, marching towards us. Zombies eating people's flesh and the screams of my teammates dying. My friends. I see and hear them when I close my eyes and when they are open. No, the wounds in my heart are not healed yet. I doubt they ever will again. The woman who went up there is not the one who returned. None of us are. Nor is the city we came back to the same one we left. I see it all now... it was around us all along. Smothering us. Umbrella. Chief Irons almost certainly serves them... just as the Mayor and City Council do. We need to fight back... we need to prepare... but we need to be careful right now. As horrific as the monsters were, they were visible, could be fought. Now we're among monsters wearing smiling, friendly masks... which will not be so easily removed.
August 13th
Chris has been causing a lot of trouble recently. What's with him? He seldom talks to the other police officers and is constantly irritated. The other day, he punched Elran of the Boy's Crime department just for accidentally splashing Chris's face with coffee. I immediately stopped Chris, but when he saw me he just gave me a wink and walked away. Marvin and Rita who were present asked me about it, but I haven't a clue why it set him off like that. I wonder what happened to him. He is tough, strong, rock solid... even after the trauma we all endured, if this is related to it then it is the first sign of trouble I've seen in him since it happened. He hasn't shared any of the leads he is pursuing with me... but is on to something. He must be. There's no way he would drop something like what happened in those mountains. No matter what, he is my partner and I'll stand at his side... so why hasn't he shared it with me?
August 15th
Midnight. Chris, who has taken on a leave of absence for a "vacation," finally called me, so I visited his apartment. As soon as I walked into his room, he showed me a couple of pieces of paper. They were part of a virus research report entitled as simply as "G". Then Chris told me that "The nightmare still continues." He went on to say that, "It's not over yet." Ever since that day, he has been fighting all by himself without rest, without even telling me. He believes there is a facility somewhere within the city, but doesn't know its name or location. He will continue the search while I pursue other avenues that remain. It's time I stopped moping around my apartment or the precinct and really got to work. Made preparations of my own. Time to fight back. People are depending on me to do my job, to protect the people of this city. People everywhere, if that virus ever escapes again, spreads further than the Arklay Mountains next time. God knows what else Umbrella is capable of... I can't let them get away with what they've done. Let them do it again.
They are powerful, worldwide. The company's founder, Lord Oswell E. Spencer, has untold billions of dollars, along with an army of lawyers, scientists, military personnel and agents at his disposal... the highest tech in military weaponry and technology in general, a global satellite network, bribed, corrupt officials in the U.S. and local governments and governments around the world. Business dealings with other powerful corporations, global alliances. Against that we are just five damaged survivors. It seems hopeless because it is hopeless... I am afraid... but that doesn't mean we won't do what must be done. I'm more afraid of their viruses, their monsters, than any humans within the company. I won't let it happen again. Even if it takes my own death. But we're going to need help if we're to have any chance of pulling this off. An army of our own.
August 24th
The preparations have been set... in the wake of our official firing, all but Brad... we met one final time and settled upon our course of action. Chris left the city today to go to Europe, get a head start there and make preparations. Barry told me that he would send his family to Canada and then he would follow Chris. Rebecca went with him. I decided to remain in Raccoon City for a while because I know that the research facility in this city will be very important to this entire case. And will see who else I can recruit to our cause... who can be trusted. Robert Kendo is remaining in town of course, no separating him from his gun shop, despite my warnings. He has promised to help any way he can, supply more weapons and ammunition if need be now that I'm off the force. I will protect his wife and daughter from Umbrella as well, the least I can do.
I'm putting a team together. And getting somewhere fast, have leads and other interested parties helping me. Including a couple investigative journalists, one from out of town, a man named Ben Bertolucci, and Alyssa Ashcroft of the Raccoon Times, from High School. Ben has his own investigation going, is tailing the corrupt Mayor Warren's daughter Katherine to see what he can get out of her. Alyssa is pursuing old rumors and articles about Umbrella, digging into the company's past within the city. I continue the search for the secret facility, Chris and I as well as Ben have come to believe it is beneath the city somewhere. I believe there is a connection between it and the Raccoon Orphanage, as well as an Umbrella scientist named Annette Birkin. If it's real, we intend to blow the lid off this thing... this facility and its operations, before it's time to leave Raccoon City. Expose the corruption of the elected officials of the City Council. In a month or so, I'll be joining with the others somewhere in Europe, wherever is deemed safest. That's when my real battle begins... when the war begins. Just now, it is the calm before the storm. I feel it in my soul.
The entries stopped after that, the next pages blank... she hadn't gotten back to the book. Too much had needed to be done, no doubt. Even before the outbreak. He reread her words a few times, contemplating each. Even with her laying close by, he felt no shame invading her privacy, in scanning her diary's relevant entries. She was in no position to stop him... and if he was going to figure out another way, he had to know everything possible. Hers was not the only private information he'd ever violated, it was true... though this was the first time he wasn't under orders to do so. He felt a temptation to read through the entire diary, but restrained the impulse. Keeping focused on the summer entries, related to the incident in the Arklay Mountains. She, and her friends were preparing a private war against the Umbrella Corporation... or had been, before the outbreak. A thin, respectful smirk reluctantly traced his lips at that knowledge, and was gone almost at once. And had been making plans to strike Umbrella. Assembling a team. Pursuing leads. If not for the outbreak... she might well have exposed the corruption in her city. How deep Umbrella's roots went. Umbrella had made an imposing enemy, in her. He understood now why they had sent the Pursuer after her... a relentless pursuer for a relentless pursuer. 'G'. The single letter that stood out among all the others. She had known of the Golgotha Virus, just as she had told him during the confrontation at the apartment. All this time, she had known. At least of its existence, if not all the details behind it.
"Impressive."
He glanced up at her slowly breathing, pale, sick form again, and found himself inclining his head slightly, appreciatively. He had to hand it to them... their cleverness, and detective talents... to say nothing of their persistence. They weren't about to allow the company to get away with what it had done to them, and countless others by now. In spite of how heavily the odds had been stacked against them. The company was probably already well aware of their plans... and it seemed likely, at least Barry Burton and Chris Redfield, two of the other survivors, were already underway, while Valentine was wrapped up in the city. The team medic as well was with them, Rebecca Chambers, the lone survivor of the Ecliptic Express and Umbrella Executive Training School, as well as a survivor of the Spencer Mansion. Another remarkably impressive young woman. The three were preparing the way for Valentine, somewhere in Europe. HUNK was not perturbed by all that he read, and felt no obligation to act on the information. It was no more his job to report this to Umbrella, than it was to eliminate her. Whatever was happening there was someone else's headache... probably one that went all the way up to the Board Of Directors, given the S.T.A.R.S. capabilities.
It had to be the reason the Pursuer was dispatched in the first place. The threat these men and women posed to the company. The agent could think of few better reasons. It stood testament to how fearful and desperate the company had become, in burying its past. Choices that could, and would not be so easily swept under the rug any longer. Choices he was complicit in carrying out for them. He lost more of the little respect he had left for most of the company, for Lord Spencer, and gained more for this unusual band of survivors. It wasn't his business, or concern whatever Valentine and the others were plotting, at this time, and he let it go gladly... but certainly wasn't about to forget it. It posed... a potential for future complications, if he was one day assigned to silence them all... but for the time being that was merely another scenario. One of the millions of possibilities of missions for the future, if they still had one.
He'd cross that bridge if he came to it... and he sincerely doubted he would be that man to do so. The company was starting to favor its Tyrant program for assassinations, clearly. The U.S.S. handled more difficult and pressing missions than taking down a group of 'rogue' police officers. If the time came where that proved necessary, it would already be too late for Umbrella. The company would already be in its death throes, and on its way to the grave, and be more likely consolidating its resources, instead of sending death squads against those twisting the knife in it. Let the Tyrants or Colonel Vladimir do that job, then. It was not his business. He silently wished the S.T.A.R.S. a good battle against their enemy, whenever the time came for them to strike. Whenever the war between them began, in the wake of all this. And wherever in the world that would be. Other than that, the entries revealed what he already knew. Valentine's experiences haunted her. There was no surprise there.
What she had endured... and for the first time. Drawn into a shadowy world of viruses, conspiracies, spies, and genetic abominations she'd never dreamed existed. Just as it had been for him, once. Though where he had entrenched himself in that world... served it... she had resisted it. As perhaps he should have done when he still could. But it was too late for that now. What was done was done. He closed Valentine's diary slowly, reluctantly, studying the surface of it another moment or two, before tucking it away safely with the others. Turning his attention over to the stack of loose, independent sheets, picking them up, and looking through the assorted documents... until he found one, that although even shorter than the ones before, was even closer to being on the right track, of what he searched for, his eyes pausing on the few words with intrigue.
Order Sheet
Under careful study, it has been determined the Liquid Medicine named VT-J98 is suitable to cultivate the NE-T type Virus further. Therefore, with our testing operations expanding, at this critical juncture we need to order additional quantities of it. Unfortunately, Director Henri has been preoccupied of late with her affairs in Loire Village. She cannot be counted on and time is too pressing to go by the usual channels.
We are taking the initiative in her stead. For the good of the company. The Board of Directors will thank us when we succeed in our project's breakthrough.
Her favorite lapdog has set out on another mission. His watchful eyes are trained elsewhere, so there is nothing to be concerned about with this being traced back, or reprisals. Send another shipment of the medicine through the Colonel's connections at Charles de Gaulle Airport with all due haste.
Yours In Gratitude, Senior Fellow Frankl.
Umbrella Europe, Paris Facility, Sixth Laboratory.
Medicine. It arose a great deal of focus from him... he reread it over and over, recognizing he'd never heard of either the designation VT-J98... or more interestingly... a NE-T Type Virus. NE-T Virus... what in the hell was it? How was it different from the normal T-Virus, and what carried it? There were very obvious differences between the T and G-Viruses, particularly in the levels of mutation and resilience... but what of different versions of the same virus? He wasn't a professional on the matter of course, didn't belong in a lab... but he was not stupid either... NE... what could it stand for? A peculiar designation... the two letters together, he'd not heard of in his life. No doubt the finer details of it were top secret information, on a need to know basis, among the chief scientists working on whatever it was. While both the medicine and variant virus caught a great deal of his focus... he knew little about either. Next to nothing, in fact.
As his eyes moved down to the authors of the request document... he most certainly did recognize other details in the order sheet, from his own knowledge. Director Henri. The Sixth Laboratory. The Paris Facility. Loire Village. Colonel.
Lapdog.
Frankl. Of course. His day would come.
HUNK's jaw tightened unpleasantly. The ambitious Sixth Laboratory was going over Director Henri's head, with Colonel Vladimir's conspiratorial aid to help undermine her. Trying to undermine Lord Spencer's only other remaining confidant, the one who had inherited her father's seat at his left side, where Vladimir had usurped the seat at his right. Treason, by any other name. When he made it back, he intended to instruct Agent Raval and his security forces to haul the entire Sixth Laboratory to the Prisoner Confinement Wing for vigorous interrogation. Rockfort Island, if necessary. He would wring the truth out of them personally. Frankl especially. The European Branch was heavily involved in the field of B.O.W. research... the advancement of it, where their western counterparts, while the ones to come up with the Tyrant originally, were more heavily into the actual virus research. The two fit together, like a hand and a glove so very perfectly. Thinking back a couple years, to his B.O.W. training on Rockfort Island... some of the early Tyrants had come from the European Branch... or at least, a combination of the two's teamwork. It made sense that they would be ordering medicines and chemicals from the western branch like this... whatever it was being used for, clearly it was working. Perhaps the NE-T Virus was involved in their Tyrant experiments somehow... perhaps... just maybe... it was the same virus that flowed through Valentine's veins right now.
Hypothetically, if the NE-T Virus was related to the work of the European labs... then that was likely the case... at least assuming their Pursuer had been developed by that particular branch. For all he or anyone knew it had been developed right here in the United States, or another cross continental collaboration... but according to the rumors and story's, the European Branch had been making significant strides in their work as of late. Regardless of the answer... he supposed it didn't much matter in the end, as much as the subject interested him, gave him pause and reason to think. Desire to know. Wherever the Pursuer had been made, whatever version of the virus it had given her... it would have to be dealt with... and pondering the origins and details might prove a dangerous distraction. Where it had come from, at the end of the day, was irrelevant. If it had survived their last battle... and by now, he was giving it the benefit of the doubt... then it would have to be destroyed... nothing more or less.
Nevertheless... if the Pursuer had been developed by the European Branch... and there were any more like this one out there... he could see exactly why the S.T.A.R.S. would target Umbrella Europe first. Moreover, it was the location of the corporation's global headquarters. The best and most logical place to cut an enemy was often the throat. He personally didn't believe there were more, at least at this time, Tyrants like the Pursuer. Based on its appearance, the stitching over one of its eyes, it looked as though it had been pushed right off the operation table at the earliest convenience. It looked to be more like a prototype... but a properly working, unnaturally deadly one. There had been nothing tidy about it, even before their grueling encounters. Even if they managed to destroy it, the company would have all the notes and data on creating them.
There would be more, eventually. Its performance in the field thus far was exemplary, and very much worth the investment, from the company's perspective. Especially when it became known it had fought HUNK, and still survived, as the other Tyrants he'd been tested against hadn't. At least, if they got the chance after Raccoon City to make any more, once the eyes of the world turned to them. HUNK closed his eyes for a moment, seeing its putrid, burnt and stained face... heard the hissing and growl of the only word it could... and knowing the futility, he hoped he wouldn't see it again. The fact it hadn't found them in nearly two days stood, at least, as a testament to how much damage it had been put through. That was something... but... was the trade off worth it? He blocked out the faint impulse to glance over at Valentine. Finding he wasn't so sure.
Colonel Vladimir's involvement was obvious... but he knew it wasn't just about undermining Director Henri. Nor even eliminating Valentine and the other S.T.A.R.S. Serving Umbrella's interests. It came down to his ego... sending forth potentially his most powerful 'son' of the Tyrants. Testing its potential. That was all he cared about, in the end. Himself. Beneath the zealotry to the company. Even his zealousness was about himself, a part of his identity. It was an act few saw through... but HUNK and War had seen another truth even Lord Spencer hadn't. Colonel Vladimir was a common criminal, an egomaniac and tyrant himself. Then again... perhaps that was why Lord Spencer had taken a shine to him. It must have been like looking in a mirror. Or seeing the man he wished himself to be... as powerful in body as he was in will and vision, an extension of his will.
The son he'd never had. Completing his family. The Inner Circle.
HUNK pocketed the incriminating order sheet instead of setting it down beside the rest of the papers. This one was for him... and the information would be acted upon, once he made it back to Paris. About now, he imagined the Sixth Laboratory was hoping he didn't make it back. Now more than ever. He hoped they believed him dead, and themselves in the clear. He turned his attention to the next set of notes... which, as it turned out were longer than its predecessors... and less relevant.
Manager's Report
Before you begin your new position, please allow me to give you some advice. Some of the medicine in the storage room are unstable and their quality will deteriorate under changing temperatures or humidity. Therefore, you must remember to keep the temperature the same in the storage room at all times. You should personally check it everyday. Although the computer checks it around the clock, a machine is not perfect. Try and remember that a machine is no more than a tool to be used by people. You must check all personnel coming and going to the storage room.
Many dangerous drugs are stored there, if any of them are missing you have a serious problem on your hands. The door to the storage room is always locked, but when you let personnel into it, you will need to have them hand in their documents. And above all else, remember that if you find anything suspicious, contact your boss immediately. If you forget the password to lock the door, try and remember that is is a word that everyone is familiar with. Don't forget that once a new product is shipped, the password will be updated again. You can always enter the password from the terminal of the PC for administration.
Some report for a new employee at the sales office... even rereading it, there was little of overt interest. The best he could figure, it was referring to the chemical storage Valentine had recovered the oil additive from... she'd probably had a headache getting it, from the sounds of the security there. He briefly wondered what other chemicals or medicines the manager might have been referring to, which ones were still there. Although there was no going back for them one way or another, the cold possible cruel irony occurred to HUNK. An image of Valentine's arm reaching up for the oil additive... passing a cure for the T-Virus on the same shelf. It was unlikely, and quite a random thought that occurred to him... but there was something in the morbidness of that image that made HUNK wonder. Life was often cruel that way. He uttered a slow breath, feeling his irritation gathering as he looked through the small stack of papers, none of them truly relevant. He was nearing the end, and he was no further ahead than he had started. Then... he found something, about three fourths the way through the stack. A few papers, no different on the outside than the others, crinkled and folded of course... but the heading upon the paper made him forget about everything else... and the words below it held him more than a little entranced as he read them.
Vaccination Trial: Final Report
Umbrella Board Of Directors:
We have done it. The vaccination trials here are a confirmed success. We made use of it upon a T-Virus infected patient... one of the growing numbers arriving daily. She was one of the other researchers, who had been bitten deeply on the leg by one of the infected creatures on her way to work yesterday morning. It was decided among all of the Umbrella Personnel here to utilize her for the testing finalization. An idea she gave her consent towards at once, in the name of potential progress, whether it worked or not. She had little else to lose, as the symptoms set in. Combining the Vaccine Base with the Vaccine Medium proved far less difficult than previously predicted... and much less so than creating the formula batch to begin with. The vaccine, once put together, was administered this afternoon... and as I write this at night time, I can report confirmation of resounding success. The symptoms she had been displaying, the swelling, fever, itch and weakness began to recede within minutes of the vaccination's antibodies being introduced to her bloodstream. More than that, it restored her energy and vigor as quickly. She is being kept overnight as a precaution, and there will be further examinations in the morning... but at this time, it is clear the company knew it would work. Doctors Aquino and Emmerson proved invaluable during the testing to completing the vaccination. They are keeping a close observation upon her, and will inform me of any developments.
Once she has been fully examined again, we will attempt to transfer her out of the city and be placed in the company's hands... her own suggestion, so the antibodies effect in her system can be analyzed further. There has been no time to celebrate this breakthrough... while the potential is enormous, there is of course the grim reality. The chemicals we were sent were only able to produce a small batch of the vaccination. Enough to cure our subject... with only enough left over for one more vaccine. To be on the safe side, we are keeping the remaining Base and Medium separate. The Base has been relocated in a locked cold safe inside room 402, while the Medium had been left in its container in the B3F Laboratory.
There is little to no risk of either being stumbled upon by anyone outside the Umbrella personnel, precautions have, of course, been taken, as is our policy. It has been easy to gain the trust of the people working here, the rest of the staff not affiliated to the company. On the surface, I am just another doctor... and in many ways, I am one, seeing out the responsibilities as the others are. Director Ethan remains on the payroll, and so overwhelmed with cases he does not have time to question our work down here. I do not believe I am suspected... at least, for the most part. Now that I mention it, there is at least one busy body, who is quite annoyingly clever, from everything I've seen. One of the hospital's best surgeons, Doctor George Hamilton.
He's been watching me now and again... I catch him looking on my way through the halls. I wear my mask well, have given him little reason to suspect my involvement with Umbrella... but he is rather observant about some of my patterns. I have reason to suspect he'd tipped off a colleague of his about me as well. I've been coming across Doctors Hersh, Hamilton and Jones more often than usual, at an almost alarming frequency, lately on my way down to the laboratory. I believe they have become suspicious. I've had to shake them to make sure none of them were following me. The last thing I need is the three of them working together and digging up information on what we are working on here, our involvement in the company. I'm not particularly concerned, they don't have a working identification key card for the elevator to the labs, but I felt it worth noting. Their attention is shifting to the outbreak anyways, with the numerous cases. If their suspicion worsens, I'll let you know, and you can make whatever arrangements for them that you think are best. Umbrella Security Service has handled more difficult assignments than nosy doctors.
It was my pleasure to serve the company as I have in my capacity here, and not merely because it pays better. To create such a vaccine to such a hideous virus is a legacy any scientist wishes to have. There was... one other thing. With the vaccine a success, I request a much larger stock of ingredients to create many more additional doses. At the rate infected are arriving here, precautions need to be taken at once, before the situation worsens. Delivering the bodies to be burned is no longer efficient enough. Soon, enough of them will rise and overwhelm the staff. Our security alone will not be enough to defend this place either. There are mutations even worse than the infected arriving more frequently.
Regardless of who I am employed to, I took my Hippocratic Oath as a doctor the same as any other, to help everyone that I could with the skills I have been taught... and the best way we can do that now is, in my recommendation, by mass producing the vaccine within the city. The Umbrella employees here are more than equipped for such an undertaking, we require only the necessary materials. Furthermore, the company has a clear stake in investing into spreading this cure. If the public discovers who created the T-Virus, not to mention if the B.O.W.'s in the labs, R&D Center or NEST manage to escape and their origin uncovered, the people will be out for blood. The best chance, and choice, for all sides, the company and the public, in my expert opinion on the matter, is to contain this outbreak right here and now... while we still can. The virus is highly potent and infectious, and will spread in no time across Raccoon City, if the proper quarantine and steps are not taken. I've sent a similar letter of suggestion, and a request for assistance, to Doctor Birkin's NEST, through the route connected in the sewers beneath the hospital.
Although the reluctant employee I dispatched to deliver it returned successfully, I have not yet been contacted by Doctor Birkin in any way, shape or form. Moreover, the employee reported seeing strange shadowy figures somewhere off in the distance of the sewers... be they men, or more infected people or organisms is unknown. The growing colony of infected leeches, while alarming, were avoidable... but as the situation develops, they won't be the only thing below before long, to say nothing of a particularly large one that has mutated down there over an unknown amount of time. Some of the other members of the staff who went down there since are missing, and presumed dead.
The precaution has been taken of temporarily locking access to the sewers, but it is little more than treating the symptoms, and leaving the disease unchecked. Please evaluate this situation, and understand my request. We need a decision right away. I am, in all honesty beginning to lose my calm here. Breakthrough or not, pretty soon this hospital is going to be the worst place in the city to be. The vaccine must be replicated and distributed en mass to the city's citizenry. From there it can be supplied to the rest of the country, preventing this disaster from happening to another city. Umbrella will come out of this unscathed if it takes the steps I have outlined, even seen as heroes by the public. The alternative is too terrible to contemplate.
Though, such decision making is far above my pay grade. You have my recommendation. Either way, thank you for your consideration, and for the opportunity to be a part of scientific and medical history... even if few will ever know I was.
Dr. Nathaniel Bard, PhD
Raccoon General Hospital.
September 20th, 1998.
HUNK felt his pulse quicken. There it was. It existed. Well, of course a cure existed... but he hadn't believed it was in the city. Not in his vicinity. The letter was a goldmine of information... between locations and general information... and HUNK was more than satisfied. He was not involved in the Bioweapons Division, or research, or anything related to virology... but the corrupt Doctor Bard and him had at least one thing in common. They reported to the same Board Of Directors. He didn't know if Valentine had read the report when she'd recovered it... she surely would have brought up a cure when they had regrouped... it was unlikely to slip her mind, though if it had the circumstances would have been understandable... not to mention the not quite solid trust between them. It was curious, however... if she'd found the report at the sales office, then someone who had worked there had overlooked sending it to the Directors.
Perhaps a distracted, new employee... or any other employee worrying about their family, as the state of the city worsened. If it had been sent to the Directors, he doubted Bard would have got back his request... there wouldn't have been enough time anyways. It was... another example of shocking odds, that had come through to give HUNK this information. To potentially snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. If someone hadn't screwed up, and successfully faxed it to the Board Of Directors, Valentine never would have found it, and HUNK and Oliveira never would have acted upon the information, as they now would. It was the antithesis of his former morbid thought, about Valentine coming within arm reach of a cure. The thought formed a slight satisfied smirk on his lips again. He felt the cloud of bleak nihilism that had enveloped the city... that gripped him, recede ever so slightly. Leeches in the sewer... that didn't bode well, but it made sense. He'd seen far worse down there already. Still, the memory of leeches was not a pleasant one. They had caused enough trouble as it were. Marcus's pets. It occurred to him that the day Doctor Bard had sent the letter, had also been the day Alpha Team had reached the city, broken into the sewers to search for a way into NEST and Birkin's lab. It could well have been the man Bard had sent had glimpsed one of the two man cells of Alpha Team in action. Securing the perimeter around NEST's sewer area.
He had given the others orders not to engage civilians, and to avoid them at all costs... disable them only if necessary. There had been no sense drawing more attention to themselves than necessary. But they had been down there two days before reaching and breaking into the lab, so the likelihood their presence had at least been noticed was more than possible. Either that, or as he had written, it was one of the infected or mutations down there. It didn't matter... all that mattered was the hospital, and the cure that awaited. There was the matter of finding the hospital, wherever it was, and HUNK had the means of doing so from their position in the clock tower. Hopefully, it was close by... there was no way they could double back across the middle of town all over again for it. HUNK stacked up all the papers again, save Doctor Bard's report, folded them in half and stuck them back into Valentine's side pack pouches.
Scooping up Matilda and the doctor's report, he grabbed Valentine's side packs by the shoulder strap, stood back up from the pew and lowered it back on to her pile of things by the alter. He strode intently over to the pew on the opposite side of the one he had vacated, setting Matilda on it beside his scratched, dented helmet. Popping open a specific pouch on his vest when he got there, reaching inside and producing a heavily folded up piece of paper. Without even opening it he could tell it was the right map, and not the one he had been dispatched to Raccoon City with... that particular one applied only to the network of sewers, and not the surface. The former he had adapted to and gotten used to, every nook and cranny in his time down there... the actual city had been another story. No... this map had belonged to Nikolai, that he had either foolishly or purposefully left on the train the last time he had seen the man. He quickly unfolded the large and detailed map of Raccoon City, and began to examine it as he held it open before himself, narrowed eyes tracking the various colors, starting Downtown and moving along until he came to the indicated clock tower he now resided within.
His eyes scanned the immediate area around the clock tower, which Nikolai or someone else had taken a green felt marker to, drawing a circle around it. As it turned out, conveniently... and very fortunately in their favor, the clock tower was located next to Park Road, connected to the Raccoon Park, and more importantly, further on down the road, perhaps no more than a block away was the Raccoon City General Hospital... what a relief that was. With the seconds ticking down against them, their odds gradually lowering, the last thing they had needed was a trek that lasted a matter of hours, ducking down back alleys and roads and avoiding the main bulk of the horde. Nevertheless... there was something troubling about the red marker used to encircle the hospital on the map. The reason Nikolai had done so seemed quite obvious... and Doctor Bard had indicated the same thing in his letter. The first place the infected would flock to was the hospital... it could well have been there was a horde as large as the one outside the clock tower waiting for them.
An irony was not lost on him... that for all the popularity of the undead in the cinematic medium Valentine and Oliveira seemed to enjoy... travelling to a graveyard would prove less dangerous than a hospital. He had never cared for 'Zombie Movies'... even before his first contact with infected. Bella and him had once been more into slasher movies anyways... or body horror, like The Thing or Hellraiser.
Besides its close location, he could think of only one other advantage in their favor... the hospital was located on a back road, not the center of town with the majority of the horde. That, and so many of them were riled up, and intent on breaking into the clock tower... that the commotion with the train may well have drawn the bulk of the infected away from the hospital in the process. There was no guarantee of it... but the possibility was there. Of course, that would not apply to whatever had already been inside the building... room after room could have been crawling with infected and mutations... but it would be a necessary risk. All he could really say was that it could always be worse. Often, it was. His eyes rose from the map as he contemplated a battle plan, and course of action that would need to be taken. Although he watched the closed door on the far end, he didn't really see it. There were a lot of unknowns with this situation... he would be venturing into territory he was unfamiliar with, with no advanced recon and little briefing... but he'd been put in similar situations.
Young or not, Oliveira's expertise would come in handy for the mission. He had likely been briefed about the different sections of the city, and between their two differing, yet compatible skill sets... the possibility for success more than existed. He'd get it done, one way or another. Without hesitating, he folded back up the map and slipped it back inside his vest, before raising the armored outfit up from the pew. It was time to get ready, he certainly couldn't head out as he currently was. He lowered the armored vest down over his head and put it on, strapping on the various buckles and straps, positioning the twin, tan pair across his shoulders and fastening everything, from pouches and slots to holsters into place. Doing the same with the black plate carrier and faded yellow combat harness. Once he had, he made sure the swivel headed flashlight was clipped securely to his vest, aiming straight ahead, turning it on and off to test it, and looked to the hilt of his combat knife on his vest, ensuring it was sheathed properly. He'd done it all so often, with so many different uniforms over the years, that he could have accomplished it in his sleep. Regardless of the increased weight he felt in the full body armor, he was so used to it that the feeling was a welcome one, gradually returning to his battle gear. It was no top of the line high tech Battle Suit, as he had requested of QUARTERMASTER time and again, but it was a second skin all the same. Formidable. He was part ways out into the battlefield again already. He was done in moments... but, as his eyes turned to his dented, scratched helmet, and stopped on the red reflective lenses of the compromised gas mask... he knew that particular matter would take him a little longer.
Reaching down slowly, he grasped the edge of the mask and rose it in the air, examining it closely. There was a long crack down the center of the left lens... he remembered that when he had been wearing it. It likely wasn't enough to bother him much... but he didn't have the equipment and tools present to fix it. The crack wasn't all the way through... the lens was still intact, that was all that mattered. The torn off main nozzle on the front of the mask, while the larger problem, ironically could be fixed. He never went out into the field without spare filters, and the tools to replace one. The two smaller nozzles and filters on each side opposite one another remained intact as well... thankfully, leaving him free to affect repairs on the main source of his troubles. Before every mission, he checked his things, his load out... and knew the contents of every particular pouch on his vest and person... he had memorized each to increase efficiency. It was the mark of an amateur to rummage through his own things searching for something, not knowing where they had placed it.
Such ignorance posed a threat to one's self on a mission, when they could not be distracted, and had to remain aware of everything that was their surroundings. HUNK's hands found the slot in question, and retrieved from its depths a replacement filter, along with a small case of tools, just for the mask. Having done this, HUNK took a seat on the pew and as he had on the other, leaned forward, eyes narrowed and focused on his work. He examined the space the main filter had been affixed to... thankfully the Pursuer's punch had been relatively pulled, due only to the fact he had moved his head. Still... it stood as a testament to the gas mask's durability to not have been pulverized under the force it had taken. While the filter had been torn loose under the force, it had been done cleanly, and hadn't taken the couplings with it. It made his task easier than it would have been otherwise to affix a new primary filter.
Taking the filter, he fitted it carefully into place, ensuring that each of the couplings started to slide into place, and then he pushed it forward, attaching it together. It wasn't enough, of course, and would come loose without the proper tightening. That's what one of the tiny screwdrivers in his tool pouch was for. Carefully and delicately, leaning over the mask, focused entirely on his work, he slid the screwdriver into the first of its several required positions, and he began to tighten the primary filter. One after another, the filter was affixed, and locked into its proper place... and before long, mere minutes after he had started, he finished working on the mask. He'd done far more extensive repairs to his equipment on Rockfort Island and in the field in the past, there was nothing new to that particular thing.
"That's more like it..."
Examining the primary nozzle and new filter, he nodded with satisfaction, and set it aside on the pew again, rising back to his feet and turning around, facing the pew. Next, he tucked away the small, easily concealed repair kit back into its former spot, before reaching down for his perfectly fitting dark leather gloves and slipping each back on, balling up a hand into a fist, appreciative to have back the familiar sensation. He took the mask up again, and he examined it one more time... peering back at his own exposed reflection and features in the lenses... and he looked around the rich colors of the chapel one final time, before he glanced back to Valentine on the alter. Knowing full well the only thing she saw when she looked at him. Herself.
"Back to the grindstone..."
His expression grew a bit distant in the reflection of the lenses... and then the severity of it returned in a heartbeat, and he turned back to the mask, turned it over, and closing his eyes, placed it over his face, and secured the straps on the back of the mask into place, tightening it. Eyes still closed, he retrieved his nearby dented, scarred helmet, pausing for a moment. His fingers tracing along the three jagged claw marks the Tyrant had left behind. Remembering the similarities of that mutation to Birkin's mutation... his claws. Stabbing his agents and any employees of NEST that got in his way. It had been pandemonium. GHOST, thinking quick for a rookie, had fired at its mutated eye at its shoulder, he remembered, at the same time it had been bearing down on him. The rounds throwing off Birkin's aim, instead swinging a glancing blow at GHOST that had knocked him to the ground, shattered his right lens and left similar jagged scrapes behind on the metal helmet. HUNK had not stuck around to watch it finish off GHOST, and Birkin's bellowing, lurching form and GHOST's on the ground were soon lost in the smoke of broken steam pipes overhead.
Returning from the memory, HUNK rose it to his head, and lowering it down over top... and as he had with the vest and mask, he secured the strap where it belonged. He stood in silence for a moment, before drawing in a low, familiar, muffled breath... and opening his eyes, he was returned to the world with a slight tint of red he knew on every mission. Almost every one. With his mask intact, and uniform and armor reassembled, he knew the next important step couldn't be put off any longer than he had... not that he had done so purposefully. Reaching up and activating the communicator in his helmet, the radio switched on, and standing before the pew, his low, muffled tone filled the U.S.S. communication channel.
"Alpha Team leader to Umbrella Security Service Command. Alpha Team leader to FLY GIRL... this is HUNK. Can anyone read me?"
"HUNK!", A familiar, shocked voice almost instantly blared into the headset, breaking the formerly established radio silence. It was a voice that did not belong to the young woman he had been in contact with prior, but one far more familiar than the one preceding it. He hadn't heard it in awhile... its presence on his receiver was welcome. "This is NIGHTHAWK, reading you loud and clear on this end! Jesus Christ. What the hell happened over there?! What is your status?!"
"I'm ok, NIGHTHAWK.", HUNK informed him quite simply. His eyes beneath the mask traveled down to where Matilda lay on the pew, and he scooped her up next, examining her closely and checking the magazine. Before sliding it back into place and drawing back the hammer. He lowered the sidearm down into the holster on his waist and secured it into place as he spoke. "Or at least, as well as I can be. Welcome back. Where's FLY GIRL?"
"I think that should be more my line about now than yours, Mr Death.", The man on the other side of the line replied with obvious relief. Before pausing and releasing a low breath, gathering himself. After that came a deep chuckle, his grizzled voice returning fully to normal. "I don't know why I even bother with you. It figures you'd call in this close to the end. The company has been breathing down my neck every hour on the hour, demanding to know if you've checked in. At the least I can get Command off my back. Though for that, I'm going to need a good update from you to relay back to them. As for FLY GIRL, she should be patrolling another route around the Quarantine Zone at this time... we're going to rendezvous at the Leviathan later. I can patch you through to her if you'd like, and after we're done here I'll certainly pass along your status to her. Didn't think she'd catch your fancy, but I'm not really surprised. Miss your number one fan already?"
"Not especially.", HUNK replied dryly over the line, repressing a faint smirk at the pilot's words. Not that he'd ever admit it, it was good hearing from the man again. It was as though having donned his armor and getting back into communication with U.S.S. Command had pulled him from the midst of one world he didn't belong to... and back home where he did. The battlefield. The mission. It was what he was best at. The familiarity of Umbrella gave him structure, and purpose. Though perhaps it was not the one capable of that. "But she's got potential in her future career with us. Back to the matter at hand. Where would you like me to start?"
"From the top... where the hell else?"
"Didn't Oliveira already pass along you what happened? According to him, he was on this line while I was unconscious... and it must have gotten through, radio silence or not."
"Yes, it's the only thing that kept Command from sending in another U.S.S. team to the clock tower to recover the virus from you. Well... that and the red tape the Board is untangling. But to keep them satisfied, they need to hear it in your own words, to confirm the Corporal's story. That and we need to check how your memory is doing, after everything that happened. You know how they are, have to cover their bases."
"Very well, NIGHTHAWK. Two days ago, before midnight, after the train crash, we recovered, made our way into the clock tower and contacted the extraction chopper from the extraction point by activating the signal. Furthermore I notified FLY GIRL of this, and we proceeded down to the courtyard. When the helicopter arrived, it was shot down by our Pursuer, the Tyrant, armed with a heat seeking rocket launcher. Significant damage was done to the clock tower in the crash, as the satellite grid undoubtedly confirmed. We, Valentine and I, were left with no choice but to engage and drive off the Tyrant... at the time, we believed the Corporal dead in the crash. He had been up on the balcony. Then, before we engaged the Tyrant, it took Valentine off guard and attacked her first. It infected her. We fought it for some time... and in the process I was struck and nearly knocked unconscious... I held on to do what I could to help... and blacked out after destroying its rocket launcher."
"When I came to... Valentine had driven the Pursuer away on her own, and had collapsed unconscious as well. I managed to get through to FLY GIRL before passing out again... and before I did, infected had reached the courtyard. I was certain at the time it would be our end... but according to Oliveira, he arrived as I passed out, and took out the infected, and secured the area before dragging us back here to the safety of the chapel and tending to our injuries as best he could. I woke not long ago. He filled me in on all the information I needed. Apparently, the Pursuer has not been seen since either. Utilizing that head start advantage while I can, I am currently prepping for departure. Will that information satisfy Command?"
"So I see..." NIGHTHAWK spoke after a long grim pause on the communication channel, before continuing again slowly. "Yes, I believe it will."
"In that case, I think it's time for you to update me on the operation. I've been out of the loop long enough. What did I miss?"
"What didn't you miss? The Quarantine Zone is holding still, though there were some reports of at least a couple unwitting individuals making their way into town via automobile and motorcycle through a couple of the less than secured roads, slipping in through some of the defensive gaps. They've all been sealed and barricaded over now by the U.S. Military under Colonel Trautmann's command... there is no longer a single route in or out of the city, at least where the roads are concerned. According to our sources inside of Congress, the decision has been finalized to sterilize Raccoon City, with the same date that was predicted... Umbrella cannot stall the decision any longer than the morning of October 1st. Nothing particularly interesting there, or anything you didn't already know... but there is one other thing that happened while you were out. I don't think you'll be happy about it either."
"And that is...?"
"As of September 29th, the Captain of the Guard has assumed command of all Umbrella Personnel and activity's within Raccoon City. Particularly the removal... of inconvenient evidence and individuals. Last minute clean ups."
"You can't be serious."
"I am, unfortunately. Lord Spencer has the utmost trust for the man... you know that. He always has. No good can come of the decision... but it was rendered, and is official. Article 12 of the Internal Emergency Procedures. Disobedience is punishable by death."
"Naturally. 'Obedience breeds discipline. Discipline breeds unity. Unity breeds power. Power is life.' Only thing they kept of Marcus's. Other than the virus."
HUNK returned dryly, a trace of old familiar contempt stirred at the mere mention of Colonel Vladimir's other title... to say nothing of his actual mission. Memories flashed from down the corridor of time, of the gargantuan Soviet's presence, and his arrogant voice and face. He had felt a rare satisfaction, wiping the grin off his giant face in the past... even if it had only been once, it stayed with him. Then again... maybe it had been at least twice. Though that time he had hid it behind that boisterous attitude at Rockfort Island, grinning again like one of his Tyrants, even as the blood had streamed from his face. Perhaps he had raged when he and Bella had departed that beach. He certainly hoped so. HUNK almost immediately put the memories back where they had come from, as he concentrated on the mission and task at hand.
"And where exactly does that leave me, then? Operation: NESTWRECKER?"
"You remain where you've always been in the company, Mr Death. You are a non entity. You do not officially exist, nor this operation... despite his attempt to undo your extraction. We are off the record, the U.S.S. is outside the official Umbrella chain of command, particularly where the U.B.C.S. and common employees are concerned. An in process U.S.S. operation cannot be cancelled by anything short of a unanimous decision of the Board and Lord Spencer once it has commenced... even if it can be meddled with. DEN MOTHER wisely drafted that protective article herself and verified it with the Board and Lord Spencer. Therefore the Colonel has no official authority over you or our active mission... even if he can meddle with it."
"That's right.", HUNK remembered, the memory returning to him from the abyss. The countermeasures she had taken during the founding of the U.B.C.S., and Vladimir's rise to 'Captain of the Guard'. In 1992 she had done it, foreseeing the future clashes of the two paramilitary units coexisting. "If not interfering further, what has the Colonel been up to, then?"
"The Colonel, according to reports sent my way, has been dropping series T-103 Tyrants into Raccoon City via his gunship. They are programmed to combat both survivors and U.S. Military teams deployed inside the city by the Government to recover evidence on the company's wrongdoings."
"What? I didn't hear that, NIGHTHAWK."
"Afraid you heard me just fine. He's dropped five of them off at Incineration Disposal Plant P-12A to erase a Delta Force team that have been holding up there for a few days now, digging for dirty laundry. Data connected to the G and T-Viruses and NEST. Not only that... he dispatched one of them in particular at the R.P.D. building that has been programmed to look for and recover any possible samples of the G-Virus in the vicinity of and inside Birkin's lab. To succeed where they thought you failed. The Board Of Directors has grown impatient. The operation has reached a critical point, and is getting worse the closer we get to the Sterilization Operation's commencement. The official operational name has been given: Operation: Bacillus Terminate. It's turning into open warfare out there... and almost every man for themselves. You woke up just in the nick of time."
"He's been dropping more Tyrants and B.O.W.'s into the city?"
HUNK's tone grew instantly colder at the revelation, taking in all the information, lips thinning. A concentrated anger flowed through his veins the moment he heard this information, but he kept it for the most part from bubbling to the surface. He found he was not altogether shocked to hear the good news... the Colonel had never known subtlety... quite the reverse really. That's how it was with Cold War 'Soviet heroes'. Not all... but most. He'd been one of the first dabbling with Tyrants, and among the most eager to be using them. It was hardly a surprise, as the genetic template for the Tyrant series. They played right up to his colossal ego, utilizing them more than he did his own men. In addition to his men, he had his own pair of specially designed Tyrant bodyguards, his Ivan "sons", in their long brightly white protective coats and wraparound colored lenses with heads up displays, one blue, the other orange. Though SHIPMASTER had wisely banned Tyrants and even Undertakers from walking around the decks of his ship, keeping them confined to heavily sealed and guarded cryo stasis containers in the cargo hold. His guards patrolling down there possessing heavy anti B.O.W. weaponry as another precaution.
Colonel Vladimir had not argued with SHIPMASTER about these B.O.W. precautions, surprisingly. Adhering to the Captain of the vessel's rules out of respect. Instead Vladimir mostly had his entourage of U.B.C.S. Elites when aboard the Leviathan. And his Lieutenant of course, a man he only knew was named Arnold, an impressive sniper, if little else. Just as the enigmatic, though admittedly talented UT Commander had deferred to SHIPMASTER's decision. He remembered the times he'd passed and spoken briefly with the UT Commander in the corridors of the Leviathan... never without his voice modulating mask, infrared goggles and armor... just as HUNK tried to remain as often as he could. He seemed more B.O.W. than human himself at times... most people on the ship giving him as wide a berth as possible. Most at Umbrella thought HUNK was a mystery... but he knew absolutely nothing about the faceless man Umbrella HQ had chosen to lead the Undertaker Unit. It was probably for the best. All he knew was that they had chosen well, given his success rates. Nevertheless, something he hadn't been able to place his finger on had been familiar about the man. Nothing that mattered, he supposed. He had often caught the man watching him... though perhaps not caught, he hadn't been disguising it.
"One Tyrant wasn't enough already? If he's going to be that open about his activities why doesn't he just dispatch another few platoons of U.B.C.S. mercenaries and push them into the meat grinder while he's at it? What the hell is the Board of Directors thinking?"
"They're politicians and scientists, not soldiers or agents. As bad as things have been going before he showed up, this operation was officially FUBAR the moment the Colonel signed on to it. They're tipping their hand... they're desperate and it's showing. They were more willing to send him in to take charge. Especially with you out of the picture at the time."
"Have they recovered another sample without me, then?"
"Negative. As of 9 AM this morning, NEST's self destruction sequence was completed after initialization. NEST has been eradicated, along with the Tyrant Colonel Vladimir dispatched to retrieve a G-Virus sample. No survivors who ever went to NEST besides yourself have been located as of yet. It is unlikely they will be."
"Then it looks like I haven't quite outlived my usefulness, then."
"Looks like. You still have the sample?"
"Of course I do."
"Right. Look who I'm talking to."
Ground zero of the outbreak had been eradicated. But it didn't matter now. The damage was done. Whoever had done it... it had been the right thing to do, but had been initialed too late... much too late. After locating the G-Virus sample he should have stayed long enough to activate it himself. But that hadn't been part of the mission... and he had not yet known the virus had reached the surface, on the scale that it had. He had thought it could be contained a less drastic way... and now the city payed the price for his wrong decision. Before HUNK could think to say anything on the matter, ask any further questions about NEST, NIGHTHAWK broke the silence on the line again, moving on.
"Another thing. While you were out of contact, a second U.S.S. team that was being overseen by Captain Rodriguez was sent on a separate mission. Didn't turn out so well. More fuel on the fire."
"Rodriquez? Here? What happened?"
"He and his team have gone rogue. Defected. Radio silent. He took possession of an Umbrella helicopter and its cargo, a powerful B.O.W. Codenamed 'Nyx'. Among other bits of evidence that could prove harmful to the company. As of midnight, his rank and agent status, along with those of his team, will be officially rescinded in absentia and they'll have a shoot to kill order placed upon them. The company is investigating his family as well."
"Fuck.", HUNK cursed under his breath, feeling a deep stab of irritation. There had never been any official traitors within Umbrella Security Service when War had called the shots. Ambitious agents were weeded out. Standards harsh. That said... he had never suspected Rodriquez would turn. "More traitors... our division this time. Something about this city. Is he another objective?"
"Not for you. Colonel Vladimir dispatched Director Nielsen of the Board and a unit of his best U.B.C.S. Elites to deal with him and recover the B.O.W. Arnold's heading the unit."
"They won't succeed. The Captain is too good. He'll get away."
"Yes. He will. A mission for you another time, after this is over? Clean up detail?"
"Yes. If I'd been conscious... I could have dealt with him and his team now. I've been gone too long. Missed out on too much."
"Yes you have. Between this Rodriquez situation and yours, the Board doesn't want the U.S.S. involved in Raccoon City any more than we already are. To say nothing of Colonel Vladimir. You represent our only remaining in field asset for Operation: NESTWRECKER, and the U.S.S. in general. For the recovery of the G-Virus. We can't risk becoming common knowledge of the U.S. Government. That's why the U.B.C.S. has been our smokescreen here. Let it go, Agent HUNK. It's not your fight. You have enough problems on your plate as it is. Even for you."
"Yeah. I understand."
"Good... in that case, we can get down to business. Command informed me that you are to initiate the backup extraction plan you were going to use originally. Proceed to Incineration Disposal Plant P-12A with all due haste. You are recovered enough to do so evidently and have little time to spare. According to the updates Command sent me on the satellite grid network, the lone helicopter remains out on its platform intact... the plant has been overrun by the undead and mutations, so don't even think of taking the stairs or central elevator down to the main or lower levels of the facility. To the train tunnels running towards NEST. Your best chance is to stick to the upper levels and vent shafts if necessary. From your position, you and Oliveira only need to proceed north to reach Raccoon Park, close to the clock tower. Oliveira doesn't know about Article 12... and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. At least until he makes it back to the Leviathan, and Colonel Vladimir finds out. Until then he remains under your authority. From Raccoon Park you can move on to the outskirts of Raccoon City, to the suspension bridge leading to the plant. Then you can infiltrate the plant via the water tunnels flowing inside or the back door, whichever is safer. Once inside, you are to make your way to the upper levels and secure the helicopter as soon as possible. Understood?"
"Of course... but..."
HUNK started slowly as he considered the plan of escape. Still, the Rodriquez situation gnawed at him. And he thought of the gruesome execution that was awaiting Oliveira at the Leviathan for his 'failure to adhere to Article 12', if he made it back. Colonel Vladimir would carry it out himself, either there on the ship with his ceremonial double edged blade, or have him sent back to Rockfort Island for worse... and then execute him at his leisure. His jaw tightened within the mask, but he focused on the more immediate troubling matter. It was flawless and well laid out escape plan... save for one thing. One matter that had been outside of their control to begin with. He turned, slowly on the spot, and watched, from behind the mask, Valentine's prone, unconscious form laying on top of the alter. Her slow, pained breaths and movements now and again. Her continued existence threatening the flawlessness of the plan... and the time it could be executed in.
"There's been... a complication, NIGHTHAWK."
"Another one you mean? How so? How much more complicated can all this shit get?"
"Complicated enough. Officer Valentine... is still alive. Infected, and alive."
"She is?", NIGHTHAWK inquired incredulously after an even longer pause than the one before. He sounded positively dumbfounded, confused, a tone HUNK rarely heard out of the man. But he quickly rallied his demeanor in no time and spoke again. "I didn't think the Corporal would have the stomach to do it... but you... I thought you would do it as soon as you woke up. I mean, by now...-
"No. I didn't."
HUNK replied, keeping his tone rock solid and emotionless, unreadable, staring hard at Valentine's features from the pew. He blocked out the embarrassment and shame he should have been feeling... there was no time for feeling. He had rendered his decision, and would be sticking by it, regardless of what NIGHTHAWK thought or had to say on the matter. There would be consequences for him... for his choice, whether he should succeed or not. But that would happen when it happened. Now was not that time. He would not reverse himself.
"There has also been a change of plans, on my authority. Lord Spencer granted it to me for the duration of the mission... until the sample is delivered. I intend to make use it."
"What the hell are you talking about? I was just kidding with you, you know... way back, about her being your girlfriend. She's outlived her usefulness. Don't tell me you've come down with a case of feelings...-
"This has nothing to do with feelings. I uncovered a letter on her person, she recovered them from the Umbrella sales office Uptown, pertaining to some of the company's scientific activities in the city. I found the contents mightily interesting. There is a hospital near my location, is that correct?"
"Yes... it is, but-
"Now listen to me very carefully. According to this letter, there was an Umbrella research team operating in the lower levels of Raccoon General Hospital. They were synthesizing a vaccine for the T-Virus, at the behest of the Board of Directors... they succeeded, tested it on an infected woman there, a researcher, about two days before my team broke into NEST, when we were down in the sewers. It wasn't mass produced. The cure has been deliberately kept out of the infected populace's hands. You don't make a bioweapon without a cure. Not when you're a global company."
"True enough."
"That's not what I care about, however. What the company does is not my business... I happened to encounter one of their dirty secrets. One of the many that I have to this point. I know where the bodies are buried. Buried them myself. According to the letter... a single dose of the vaccine remains in Raccoon City General Hospital, and is in all likelihood, given the precautions they took, undisturbed. We have... over eight hours before Operation: Bacillus Terminate commences. That is more than enough time to proceed over to the hospital, recover the cure and administer it to Valentine. When she has recovered, she can continue assisting in our operation and escape. As bad as the hospital is likely to be, I have little doubt the plant will be worse. And as you already said, another pair of eyes and hands will come in handy."
"That is entirely different, Death... she is as good as dead already. Worse. She's infected. She will turn, and she will endanger the operation. There isn't a one hundred percent certainty that cure works. There was an outbreak almost right after... the researcher they tested on, for all we know, could have turned from her bite not long after being administered this supposed cure. It could have been temporary. I'm no virologist like Doc Radames, but the only foolproof cure for the T-Virus consists of a lead based solution. We both know that. It was one thing to ally yourself with her for the operation while she was useful... it is another entirely to be going out of your way for her like this now. She has outlived her usefulness, you have not. You are... circumventing the mission."
"No... I am not, NIGHTHAWK. I am making a decision. I am multi tasking. I am in charge of this operation. As its leader, in my combat experience, she can yet serve us... but not like this. I need all the soldiers I can get. She is no different."
"HUNK... look. I'm not questioning you. I'm a communications officer and pilot, not an authority. I am not U.S.S. Command, the Board Of Directors... and I'm not you... I do not make the decisions. I am merely a conduit for relaying information here and flying a helicopter. I know you will do what needs to be done... but are you absolutely certain this is what needs doing? Can you say that without the slightest doubt? Can you go on record before the company and say that?"
"Yes. I can."
HUNK replied firmly and without hesitation. Slowly looking away from Valentine and to the stain glass windows beyond the alter. Tightening his jaw within the mask, gloved hand tightening into a fist at his side as well.
"I will bear the brunt of any possible misgivings or consequences my actions and choice will arise. Responsibility is my own, not yours. I will be including all of this in my report to the Board Of Directors when I reach Loire Village and the Umbrella Paris Facility again. As I always have. You know that. However... it is in my experience, that so long as the Board of Directors gets their precious G-Virus, they will not care how it happens, the little details. All that matters to them are their bioweapons and the continued development of them. I promised they will get it, so you needn't be concerned. I am only going through with recovering this vaccine due to the hospital's relatively close position. If going to it had forced me to backtrack, I would not be doing this. I would have shot her. The hospital, like the park, is in the same area as the clock tower."
"Maybe so, but...-
"I am not finished. I have the time, I can do this... and I'm going to need your help as well to pull this off. I need you to tap into the network and give me a rundown of the hospital, diagrams, maps, anything you can recover, particularly information on the laboratory there we need to access. Anything possible. I need you to access Umbrella's files and provide me current information on the vicinity of the hospital, via the satellite grid's imaging. I need to know if the place is surrounded, how many infected there are... anything and everything that can be drawn up, and I can use. And I need it right away. This is not an order. I will do this on my own without a support team, if need be. It is a request, NIGHTHAWK. Feel free to report me if you disagree with my decision. If you believe I am straying from the mission. A traitor like Rodriquez."
There was another pause over the line, in which HUNK drew a muffled breath, and studied his surroundings again instinctively. He knew entirely what NIGHTHAWK was thinking. That he had finally lost it. He knew he was acting out of the usual characteristics he displayed... and the truth was he knew no more about why he was doing it than NIGHTHAWK did. She was just one more woman, another person... none of it should have mattered. He should have been packed up and ready by now. On the way to the plant. But he wasn't... and had made a decision he would not normally again. Then again... what was normal about any of this? Anything? He had been forced to adapt, and change... alter himself to survive. He'd done it before... just not like this, nor had he ever expected to. He wondered if NIGHTHAWK was right. Maybe something was wrong with him, his head. The injuries. Could his judgment be trusted any longer? All the same, he hoped NIGHTHAWK would understand. Or at least give him the benefit of the doubt. He intended to come through... to deliver the sample... but he would do it his way. On his terms. He had the authority and the means. Even if he was taking a gamble here.
"Have you considered the worst case scenario here?" Spoke NIGHTHAWK's tired voice at last, reluctant, yet clearly giving his assent to the plan. "Time is ticking away."
"Yes, I have.", HUNK admitted without hesitation, stony faced, expression more hardened than before. "And I know it is. But I'm doing it anyways. And I will succeed. There's time enough."
"God damn it. If you put it like that, then what the hell. You're in charge, after all. Your responsibility."
NIGHTHAWK replied in turn, a faint trace of amusement growing in his tone as he spoke. The tension lifting. HUNK felt a sensation of appreciation for his fellow U.S.S. member. As far as U.S.S. went... it was down to them. They needed to be working together now more than ever to complete the mission. He needed his support staff, who were here for a reason. Even if that meant going outside the norm. The company could go to hell if that wasn't good enough for them. They asked the impossible of him often enough... it was time he utilized the authority Lord Spencer had granted. How they wanted something done was outside his concern, unless it were officially apart of the mission. He was not doing this to please anybody, merely accomplish the mission by any means he deemed fit. NIGHTHAWK continued on, more thoroughly amused, a voice HUNK knew well.
"Wouldn't be the first time we lived dangerously. The first time anyone followed you into hell. The Board and Command won't like this diversion, but they can kiss your ass... and will when you pull this mission off. Regardless, I'm not going to stop reminding you about this, once the mission is complete. Big bad Mr Death, growing soft... and for a civilian cop woman while in the middle of your mission, no less. Hope you can live with the consequences. I might just spread the news to some of the other agents. Though the stories are already travelling around the Leviathan... you should hear some of them."
"I bet they are. And imagine I will soon enough. Sooner than I wish.", HUNK replied dryly, but not unkindly, shaking his head slowly. Ignoring his tone and his words. Aware of what was waiting for him when he got back to the ship. "I've faced worse than idle ship gossip. I have no time for pride or vanity. No agent does. There's nothing any of you can do or say to surpass the constant that is necessity."
"We'll see. Very well, then. I'll let you go for now and update U.S.S. Command and the Board on the situation. We're going to need to be in contact more often than before from now on. The deadline is too close to be running silent on one another, reporting in infrequently, if it can be helped. This is still an active operation and will remain as such. Just one more thing Command wanted me to remind you when you woke up. You are not, repeat, not allowed to engage U.S. Military Personnel if you encounter them at any point. You are to bypass them without getting into a firefight. We are taking enough risks at the moment as it is."
"So... according to the Board, me engaging the military would draw more risk than a mad Soviet Colonel deploying living bioweapons against them, correct? That makes perfectly logical sense to me."
"No shit, man. Politics. He should have stuck with the U.B.C.S, tempered his ambitions. It should have been him who left Spencer's Inner Circle, not DEN MOTHER. Bad as those mercs can be, I didn't see him out on the battlefield with his men, leading the charge. He prefers sitting safely behind a desk these days, or safely in his gunship, only gets his hands dirty when he has to keep up appearances. I heard about Captain Viktor from FLY GIRL. A shame. He was more a soldier than the Colonel ever was. And he remained one to the end, helping you as he did. The Colonel is going to burn for his part in all this, inevitably... he's being sloppy and drawing too much goddamn attention to himself... but I rather think that's why the company is utilizing him this way. He would make an excellent scapegoat, if nothing else, would he not?"
"One can hope. Always has been an oversized target. And what about us?"
"Time will tell. There is nothing ordinary about any of this. Could be we come out the other side better off... maybe worse. In any case, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, whenever and wherever that proves to be."
"I can live with that."
"As can I. Alright, I'll pass this along, recover the satellite data, and we'll be in touch soon, whether it's me who contacts you first, or vice versa. Get prepped in the meantime and get ready to move. You know the drill."
"Copy that, NIGHTHAWK. I'm over half way there already. Tell Doctor Radames to remain on standby, to receive my next call. I will be calling her soon about the vaccine and Valentine's condition."
"About goddamn time. Talk about putting it off to the last minute. I think it's you she's going to be worried about here, not Valentine. But if she can help... go for it. At least you can put her out of our misery with a simple call."
"I can try, at any rate."
"Good luck with Valentine. And talk to you later, you romantic son of a bitch, you. NIGHTHAWK, over and out."
As the line went dead, HUNK gritted his teeth at the pilot's parting, smug words and laugh within the mask and snapped off the communication channel. He considered, briefly, all that had transpired in their conversation. There was no going back now... his choice had been set into motion, and he'd have to live with it. He could do that. It was all he had left, believing in his own decisions. Doubt, especially self doubt, was the beginning of a downward spiral he couldn't afford to find himself on. The last thing he needed. He had meant what he's said. Pride had no place in an agent's life. It created ego, and in turn made men like the Colonel. Retired veterans could afford pride. Civilians could afford pride. Agents or soldiers never would be able to. It meant death and nothing more. He would neither end up a retired veteran or a civilian. Even if it meant making hard decisions, doing things he normally wouldn't. This wasn't the first time he'd done that, even if it was different in other ways.
He could not afford to feel shame. He could only move forward, as best as he could, and not question the road not taken. It would have driven him mad by now if he had. His eyes drifted from the religious icons on the stain glass windows, and back down to Valentine again... and they hardened behind the mask. He wasn't doing this for her. That much was clear. He had simply come to what seemed the more logical conclusion. She had fought off the Pursuer as he'd been unconscious, saving his life... again. She was an extraordinary talent, that could not be allowed to be wasted. She'd hurt it enough to keep it at bay for two days. That was more than something. It didn't matter if it was here for her... that the company had sent it. She hadn't asked for as much. There had been no way, from the start, that she or the other S.T.A.R.S. could have predicted what they would end up involved in. What they had been manipulated into. Even then, they had accomplished a great deal to be admired. They had adapted to and survived the mansion. To this day, even in a far worse situation, he regretted not being sent to the mansion himself.
To clean out the infestation in the Arklay Mountains. It would have been a good battle. A worthy one.
No, he had been deliberately kept out of the loop by the company, and had been since his arrival. Or would have been if not for his current benefactor. It was how they operated, for better, and in most cases, for worse. Their agendas had always been above common sense. Though who was the bigger fool here? Them, for making their decisions, and giving their orders? Or him, for following them? The questioning came to him sometimes... the doubt. He had to remind himself that no matter what happened, the alternative was far worse. He had chosen the lesser of two evils, being with Umbrella... or so he believed. The Colonel's involvement in any way had been among the last things he had wanted in Raccoon City. Dropping more bioweapons into a hot zone... it reeked of impulsive stupidity, the kind that festered in the mind of an ego bloated officer, overwhelmed with power placed at his fingertips. The U.S.S. should have been given free reign over things, if a clean up was required.
Lord Spencer should have went down on his bony knees before War, begging her forgiveness and to return to the fold. She should have been calling the shots. She could have prevented it all from spiraling out of control. Would have dispatched another team to activate NEST's self destruction sequence on time and secure the surface, before it escaped and contaminated the city. From there they would have mopped up any remainders in the sewers with hunter killer teams armed with heavy weapons and flamethrowers. If anyone could have saved Raccoon City, it would have been her leading Umbrella Security Service again. Instead politics and petty bickering, feuds among the Inner Circle had betrayed a greater strategic goal, as they always had throughout history. Doomed the city as much as Birkin and the viruses or GHOST for his lack of discipline or FOXTROT for fumbling the pulse check. Doomed any chance of resolving this, short of the missile that was on its way come morning.
Worse still, the Colonel only made any mess bigger. In another time, perhaps the U.S.S. would have been given the authority they deserved... but the Colonel was too high up and close to Lord Spencer now. One of his most loyal... at least in appearance. And that was all that mattered to men of megalomania like Lord Spencer, loyalty, regardless of skill or talent. Even if Colonel Vladimir did have undeniable skills. HUNK was loyal, as loyal as he could be... and the Board of Directors and Lord Spencer knew that. Perhaps a few might be suspicious, with his judgement regarding Valentine, but for the most part it would surely be swept under the rug, compared to the procurement of the G-Virus. Compared to the aftermath.
His loyalty had never been questioned since Doctor Marcus. And especially not when he had been at War's side. When he had been hers.
Yet, there were some, he knew, that would likely take advantage of his report when it came time. Who would try to use it against him. He had enemies, even in the company they all worked within. Or, they would be enemies if he considered them a threat to himself. They were a threat... but not to him. Their ambitions, ran unchecked, were a danger to the greater company... to the world. He had almost nothing in the way of ambition... he just wanted to fight on a battlefield, where he was most alive, doing what he was best at. Being what he had been made. Scientists, politicians... they couldn't be counted on to understand that. Men and women like himself and Valentine, would. Well... maybe not Valentine. She took no satisfaction from doing what had to be done... didn't live to fight, and walked a more difficult, dangerous road than him. Standing against the company.
They were different... she fought to protect people, he fought for fighting's own sake. And officially... she was more of a soldier than him. Had the tags to show for it. He could hear her muffled breaths, along with his own... the pain... she still lived, but if they didn't move fast, that would prove to be another story. No, he had not been assigned to cleaning up the mess Umbrella had left behind... the Colonel had. That would come later, when the U.S.S. was inevitably assigned to tying up as many loose ends as possible in the aftermath. Such as the greedy traitor Rodriquez. Therefore, it was not his mission to take her life or leave her for dead. She could still be useful, that was all that mattered.
But he had brooded upon all that more than enough as it were. He pushed it all back again away, with effort. There was no putting off the call any longer. As much as he wished to... regretting the necessity and nature of it. Not because of the woman he was contacting, but because of the condition of the woman he was contacting her about. A return to grim reality. Activating his radio again, he switched frequencies until reaching hers. Connecting them. With a low voice he spoke into the channel, reaching out to her many miles away aboard the Leviathan far away as he looked down at Valentine again.
"Doctor Radames. This is HUNK. Come in. Are you picking this up?"
There was a pause on the line... but only for a moment. It quickly blared to life on the other side. The young woman's familiar, surprised and relieved voice speaking into his ear again for the first time in a long time. He could hear her fumbling with her headset to get it secured right, knocking things aside, wherever she was.
"HUNK! Where the hell have you been?! We've been calling almost non stop over here! We thought you were dead!"
"So did I. Got better. Breath doctor, it's really me. Are you up in the command center or down in the tech lab?"
"Neither, I'm in my medical lab. Needed to keep myself busy. Can't stand around waiting for you all the time. Already did over a week of that. But enough about me. Are you ok? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, doctor. No need to worry yourself."
"Don't give me that bullshit! I know that tone. You aren't 'fine'. What the hell happened?"
"I'm fine. Really. Had worse. It is my... companion... who isn't."
"The Valentine girl? Was she injured? Need me to talk you through a medical procedure?"
"There's no medical procedure that can help her now. She was infected with the T-Virus, through the Tyrant that has been pursuing us. I assume you have been briefed on my progress and situation, while I was out of contact."
"I have..."
"And?"
There was another pause on the line. And then the doctor sighed tiredly before answering. Speaking the hard words with some regret. Whether for him or for Valentine, or both, he was uncertain.
"My honest professional recommendation? Put the poor girl out of her misery. She would thank you if she could. I know I would want that, in her place. Not to mutate into some monster."
"Already considered my options, doctor. Including that one."
"Options? From the sounds of it there is only one. Why haven't you done it? Unless I'm mistaken?"
"There's a vaccine. Thought you'd want to hear about it. Falls under your field of expertise. And that you'd want to hear I was alive. Before you drove NIGHTHAWK and QUARTERMASTER crazy."
"A cure in Raccoon City?", Her voice returned abruptly, ignoring the rest of his words. He could already see the blonde's attentive face again, in his mind's eye. The way she looked hovering over and examining him for each checkup through alert blue eyes. "Excuse me? Where?"
"Raccoon General Hospital. Not far from our position. Staff there were on the company payroll. Have a lab set up in the lower levels. Developing one behind the scenes in conjunction with the NEST, among other research they were involved in. B.O.W. and viral, no doubt. They completed the vaccine before the city went fully to hell. Only have enough supplies leftover for one more dose. Should still be there, in containment."
"Who was heading the project? Do you know?"
"One Doctor Nathaniel Bard. Ring any bells?"
"Doctor Bard? That dinosaur crackpot? I should have known he was up to something down there."
"What do you know about him?"
"Reputation mostly. Ambitious, greedy old codger. Real asshole to his staff, according to well placed rumors I believe. Met him and some others like him at a few Umbrella conferences. They didn't like me, I didn't like them. I know he's good friends with The Abominable Doctor Franklstein."
"Huh?"
"Sorry, Umbrella virologist in-joke. Senior Fellow Anton Frankl out of the Paris Facility, you probably know of him. Works for your Countess, in the Sixth Laboratory. Old Austrian fellow. Sort of a genius, sort of batshit crazy. The two things tend to go hand in hand. Mad scientists for you."
"There any other sort in this company?"
"Hey! Hold your fire, agent!", She laughed in his ear at that assessment. "I'm sitting right here!"
"Yes. I know of Doctor Frankl. Never heard the nickname though."
"There are others for him, much less flattering ones. He was also buddies with Doctor Greg Mueller, currently holed up over in his labs at the Raccoon University... assuming he isn't already dead, of course. Used to work the T-Virus Project and Tyrant Project, went off the deep end awhile back when he didn't get his way on something. Long story. The three of them were quite a scientific trio. You can judge a person's worth by the friends they keep. Bard has a couple of ghouls for friends... says more than enough about the old bastard. Talented in his field or not."
"I see. You're more in the loop about the workings of Umbrella's scientists than I. Will take your word for it."
"You better. I take my work seriously. And my eavesdropping on company gossip, of course."
"Of course."
"Oh shush you. Now, when was your Valentine girl infected?"
"My Valentine girl?"
"Well, yeah. Whose else would she be?"
"Hmm."
"Well? When?"
"Same time I dropped out of contact. But we don't know how slow or fast the variant the Tyrant carries acts. And there are cases of the T-Virus that take as long as a week... isn't that right?"
"Yes... but with direct infection from a Tyrant... that would be an extreme outlier situation. She could turn at any moment. I'm surprised she hasn't yet. Strong girl. Even if you recover this vaccine, she could be one of them by the time you return. Or even if you administer the dose it might not work... it might be too late. There's no telling how this vaccine might react to the Tyrant's particular strain."
"But there is a chance, isn't there?"
"Hypothetically. It depends on how good a job Bard did. Wouldn't want to put my life in his hands, though. And what about Operation: Bacillus Terminate? You're running out of time down there as well, HUNK. You don't want to be there when that missile comes. And you could just be prolonging her suffering. Is this poor, dying girl, someone in Umbrella already wants dead, really worth taking all these chances? Risking your life and the mission further?"
Like NIGHTHAWK, Doctor Radames spoke cool, logical sentiments, albeit far more sympathetically. A measure of genuine regret in her tone. Logical sentiments he would listen to on any other mission. Maybe sentiments he should have been listening to now. But his eyes looked back down to her fevered face... the sweat trickling down it. He heard her murmurs as she tossed and turned. Enduring nightmares he could imagine... the mansion and her city's downfall. While the virus she had fought coursed through her veins. Slowly reshaping her and her body, everything she was into an abomination. He remembered each time she had saved him... when she could have and should have let him die. He was Umbrella... he was her enemy in the end... but she hadn't let him die. She hadn't killed him in that apartment either. She was... good. And relatively whole as a person... in spite of what the company had done to her. Inflicted on her, her home, and her friends. And she still had a chance. A chance she had more than earned. And one he would attempt.
He knew his answer at once.
"Yes. She is, doctor."
"Aww. You big softy. A romantic deep deep down all along, under all those layers of armor. Who would have thought? Well... I might have had an inkling. I'm not bad at reading others... even men who seem to always be auditioning for the role of a statue. Can we change your moniker to the 'Not So Grim Reaper'?"
"Doctor... that will be quite enough of...-
"Mmm. What on earth am I going to do with you? Don't worry about it getting around. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember? Though QUARTERMASTER and NIGHTHAWK probably have an idea by now. Half the ship's crew, for that matter. Gossip spreads faster than the T-Virus. Are you sure you can pull this off in time? Morning will be there sooner than you think."
"There's enough time. If we fail, we'll deal with her the other way. And proceed to the plant for evacuation immediately." HUNK moved on past the amusement and intrigue in her voice. Mildly uncomfortable with it, but fairly used to it. From all their mostly one sided exchanges during his checkups. "Wouldn't dream of depriving you of your chance for a full medical examination. Know how overdue I am."
"Good boy. Behave when you get back to the Leviathan and I'll throw in a lollipop.", Her smooth voice laughed... taking on a playful, flirtatious aspect he was familiar with. That he tolerated, given her excellent talents and knowledge. He could afford to deal with eccentric sorts... he worked for Umbrella, after all. And hers was better than most. "Just be careful... alright? That hospital cannot be safe... it would be one of the worst places to go in an outbreak scenario. And don't be a stranger for so long this time... I'm on your support staff for a reason. Here to help, any way I can. At least let me earn my keep. Do my small part."
"I understand."
"Good. I thought I lost you, you know. Shouldn't do that to a girl."
"You won't, doctor. Not that easily. Who else would you poke and prod and torment?"
"You love being my favorite specimen. Wouldn't have it any other way. Better me poking and prodding you than someone like Bard and his ilk. At least I have the looks to match the intellect... and pleasant personality, of course."
"Hmm. I will keep you updated on my progress locating the vaccine, then. Call you from the hospital."
"That a promise, handsome?"
"Yeah. Promise, doctor."
"Carla. And I'll hold you to it, then. You're the most interesting person around the U.S.S. Can't have you up and dying on me and leaving me here bored in my lab. Not after all the postings I passed up just for the Leviathan."
"Don't worry. Won't make you regret your career decision."
"Haven't so far. Quite the opposite. Don't let it go to your head."
"Anyways. Mission's going to get more interesting before all is said in done. But I have work to do now. Talk to you later, doctor. Agent HUNK over and out."
HUNK turned off the communications channel abruptly, retreating from the conversation, the relative silence returning to the chapel. Breathing a low breath. He considered what they had spoken of for a time... the good points she had raised. And the one who had raised them. Doctor Carla Courtenay Radames... he remembered what Comtesse Henri had told him about her, when she had first been assigned to him. Her background, scientific and medical credentials. She'd had many offers from many companies and individuals, countless prospects, but had chosen Umbrella for some reason. She might have been young, a bit too much like a casual civilian, but she was well up there in her field, and reliable, loyal and stable. The Comtesse had told him she had completed a doctorate in genetics at the impressive age of fifteen, like Doctor Birkin himself. A feat only surpassed that he knew of by Commander Ashford's late twin sister, Alexia. It was little wonder she was less than impressed by Bard and the company he kept. She was of a new generation of scientist, up and coming.
It made him wonder why she had chosen the Leviathan over any other posting in the world at Umbrella she had probably been given. He'd had far worse virologists and medical staff to put up with as well, unlike them she made an effective member of his support team. Even if there was considerably more... teasing... banter and flirtation. On her part, of course. She seemed to be more confident and outgoing when it was just the two of them or few people she knew around, compared to when most people were around. It was difficult to believe her the same woman when numerous eyes were trained upon her. All the same... she had fit into her U.S.S. advisory posting as well as could be expected. And... it had been welcome to hear her voice again... her concern, after a prolonged absence. It helped restore a sense of normality to all this. Bring him back to the world he knew best. Not that he would ever tell her such a thing. But he was already resolved to his course of action. As he had said to her... it was time to get to work. Not to ponder it further, or to second guess himself. He had already made his decision.
HUNK withdrew from his contemplation and studied Valentine closely for another moment or two... then reluctantly returned his attention back to the pew, stepping over to where his weapons lay. He turned his attention down to the MP5 in particular, grasping the sleek dark submachine gun by the stock and lifting it. He wasted no time, removing the laser sight from Matilda and transferring it, attaching the laser sight to the underside of the MP5's barrel, locking it into place.
The U.S.S. Agent examined it, quite satisfied with the start of his handiwork. Before he could continue upgrading the MP5, from straight ahead at the end of the chapel, the doors opened audibly again. His eyes rose behind the reflective lenses of the mask, and peered in the direction of the approaching, familiar figure's footsteps.
Moving away from the closed chapel doors, and all the various rotting blood soaked bodies, and then passing the large, sleek piano resting against the wall, Carlos reached the door just beyond it. Past the piano room. Boots printing fresh, bloody prints all the way up to it. He grasped the handle, and without hesitation, pushed the door open, stepping through and into the rain of the courtyard. He drew in an immediate breath of cold, fresh air... and he welcomed it into his system, as it cleared his mind in one go... for the most part, and briefly. He was bathed in the immediate downpour at once, and within seconds his hair and uniform was soaked again... but he found himself not minding in the least. He welcomed the temperature out here, compared to the boiling one inside. He rose his SIG Pro pistol up the moment he was through, closing the door behind him and aiming his pistol out into the night, eyes swiveling across the area.
His close examination from his side of the courtyard revealed his fears to be unfounded... he was, at least here, quite alone. He peered up into the inky blackness of the night sky, into the storm clouds obscuring the stars beyond, and he shut his eyes tightly for a moment or two. Simply savoring the cool sensation on his eyelids, before returning to his surroundings. The unrelenting rain wasn't the only thing to greet him. For starters, there was the light beside the courtyard side door he had come from, and all the others around the courtyard illuminating him and the paths... one such stone pathway he walked down through the clock tower gardens, towards the center of the courtyard, before coming to a pause and examining even further the details. By now, all the smoke and fires all around the courtyard had gone out... but the burnt wreckage, both the caved in balcony and the remains of the helicopter in front of the clock tower hadn't gone anywhere. No more than the rain soaked infected bodies and numerous brass shell casings had.
Carlos surveyed the entirety of the damage... it was pretty damn bad... the face of the clock, although still flickering and working, was badly damaged and there were varying sized holes in the main tower where the helicopter had impacted. He couldn't imagine how things were out in the Main Hall, but he had the feeling he'd be finding out soon enough. Slowly, still holding his sidearm at his side, he moved over to the path leading towards what had been the main doors of the clock tower, now obscured in all the rubble. The rain was such that it had not merely put out the fires... but both differing toned blood the Tyrant and Jill had exuded had been washed away as well. His eyes studied the partially bent light pole HUNK had been laying in front of. The ground around the light post was still covered in spent brass casings, and he knelt down and scooped one up, examining it as he rose to his feet. He already knew full well it belonged to the MP5 he'd recovered earlier, but he seized the distraction and pondered the shell casing slightly, making out the details. It was an armor piercing tracer round... not bad.
That he hadn't been expecting, but given the man firing it, he found himself not the least bit surprised at the precaution. Extra stopping power never hurt. The one using the rounds, at least. It certainly would have come in handy against the Tyrant, and had probably done its part in the battle well. He hadn't spent much time personally in his life using an MP5 or other variations of the weapon... when it came to submachine guns, he'd tried them out now and then on a few missions, and saw the distinct advantages of one. But there had always been something about the heft of an automatic rifle, be it an M4A1 or an AK47, that made him feel even more powerful in the battlefield. Both were everywhere in society and pop culture, he saw them all the time in movies, especially the Vietnam ones between Full Metal Jacket and Platoon... and he'd already seen them often growing up outside the United States. It was just the kind of person he was. Sniper rifles didn't particularly appeal to him either... sitting around waiting for a target to show up... camping out and hiding. He was sure he could use them just fine, but it certainly wasn't anything he excelled at, nor wanted to. That had been Murphy's forte, not his own.
No, he was just another grunt, in the end... who loved basic and heavy weapons... and certainly that was all most people wrote him off as. Particularly the company. It was clear his usefulness had been outlived... everyone's had. Their number had been up the moment they'd been assigned the mission, and started working for the U.B.C.S., now that he thought about it. The thought of it, among all the others penetrating his mind had made him panic back in the chapel, and nearly lose it. No, not nearly... he had lost it. He should have been slapped in the head by the U.S.S. Agent doubling as Judge Dredd... if Carlos had been the other man, he certainly would have. And he had the sneaking suspicion that even Jill would have done it in a heartbeat if she had been conscious.
There had been nothing left to distract him from the truth of their situation. Every other time he'd started to ponder it, something came up... another defensive position to brace, more zombies to shoot, sneaking down alleys, retrieving supplies... it all got in the way, and made him operate separate of independent thought. The closest before now he had gotten to considering the weight of his situation had been when the squad was whittled down to himself, Nikolai and Captain Mikhail. Operating on his own... had been a new experience. Scary. He wasn't cut out for the lone wolf shit, hard as he tried. He was used to a team, a squad, working together and carrying out a mission. It was part of why he was so glad HUNK and Jill had turned up in the first place, and supplemented their extremely diminished numbers. Each of them accounting for what felt like ten missing men.
Well... now they comprised the entirety of his team. He was probably the last U.B.C.S. mercenary in the city, by now. Or at least one of few. He didn't want to think about any others, trapped out there in some defensive position like he was. All he could hope was that they had either made it to their own extraction points, or created their own... namely from the subway system beneath the city. It was probably crawling with mutated monsters and infected by now... but maybe, just maybe they and some of the civilians and police had made it out. Driving out of the city was certainly no longer an option with the Quarantine Zone... but he had the feeling that hadn't deterred some desperate and panicked individuals... who had probably ended up shot in front of government barricades for their troubles. He remembered a reporter telling him about some survivors reaching a barricade to the south of Raccoon City, only for them to be ordered back into the city... and when they hadn't gone, shots had been fired until they did. It sounded like the logical thing to do.
Monstrous, and completely logical. What the government was best at, it seemed. Just like Umbrella.
He wished the other survivors the best, each in their own hell... one that was sure not to last much longer. He ignored the impulse to reach into his pocket and remove his brothers in arms tags. They were there... knowing that was enough. He was torturing himself enough as it was. Not that he deserved a respite from the self loathing. But he needed to remain steady, as HUNK wanted him to be. Had commanded him to be. He needed to trust the agent... he was probably all Carlos had left now. Carlos studied the shell casing a little longer, the light of the courtyard reflecting off the surface, glinting like gold... and his fingers began to twitch and shiver of their own accord, in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Blinking slowly, he tightened his hand into a fist around the shell, at least long enough for him to regain control of his hand... and when he had, he threw it over his shoulder with no real effort. Hearing it clatter against the broken, worn down stone pathway, before coming to a stop.
Carlos rose his eyes over the wreckage, pursing his lips, and to the crumbled statue ahead that had been caught in the crash. Stepping past the gardens and bent, yet active light post, he studied what remained of the white stone angel woman that had formerly occupied the spot. Her body had been split in many places, and her limbs were scattered this way and that, broken right off. His eyes found out her head, still connected to part of each shoulder, and to her serene, tranquil and worldly expression, the only thing about the statue unchanged. The moment his eyes touched hers, Jill's image came to mind... the polar opposite of serene.
Agonized, fearful... and lost. For some reason, it didn't make him lose his nerve again... and he hated himself for that, for his utter cowardice, spinelessness and selfishness on the matter. From where he stood, he could not see into the wreckage fully of the helicopter... there was too much debris in the way for that to be possible... but he could imagine the man's charred remains inside, and didn't particularly want to. His eyes rose up the base of the clock tower, and all the way to the top, and he shut his eyes again as his vision met the broken surface of the clock. Hopefully, the crash had killed the crew immediately, and without pain. The alternative was too much to comprehend.
Every moment he remained outside, for quite awhile, he was waiting for the muffled rapport of a single gunshot to violate his solitude. For it to take one more person he cared about from the world with it... but he couldn't hear it, almost certainly due to all the other local noise in his vicinity. The pouring rain and the moans, the banging against the stubborn gates. He looked back down to the ground and studied the angel's peaceful expression one more time, and turned his back on her, and on peace. It was a joke in their environment, even with their temporary survival. Even on the off chance he survived to tell the tale, he would never live to know peace... not after all this, and especially not now, with what was to happen. He'd thought it possible, once upon a time... but that was before this war. That was before the U.B.C.S and Umbrella.
That was before Raccoon City.
He strode slowly back over away from the torn apart helicopter, balcony and statue, and back over to the path situated between the gardens. Pausing where he had found Jill and HUNK's unconscious bodies what seemed so long ago. He stood out there entirely in the rain for what felt an eternity, his eyes moving along the path, and looking among all the dozens of former infected he had combated and managed to overpower during his securing of the courtyard. Jill's blood, and that of the Tyrant, were not the only pools that had been cleaned by the purity of the storm... all the bodies were soaked through. Laying face down, on their sides or face up in varying states of damage and decomposition in the mud, some with their dead eyes peering vacantly back at him.
Dead bodies didn't frighten him, any more than most things... they were apart of his life... and none of them were his loved ones. Nevertheless... he knew full well that they had been loved by others, not long ago... and that brutal fact alone was one he had to hold at bay, for the sake of his own sanity. That they had been mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, grandpas and grandmas... friends, family and lovers. There was nothing he could draw comfort wise from the movies. This wasn't Biohazard, Night, Dawn or Day Of The Dead. This wasn't even that crappy Return Of The Living Dead.
This was reality.
He'd never thought of zombies that way. As anything more than movie pests. Now he didn't quite know what the hell they were. Just that they scared the hell out of him. He was distant for some time in thought and memory, and then he heard it once more, over the pounding of the rain and whistling of the wind. For a moment, he thought it was the gunshot... but looking up in its direction, he saw very much differently. The moaning... it hadn't gone anywhere... he had merely distanced himself emotionally and mentally from it as best he could, raising barriers.
"Sorry, assholes. Private property."
The creatures rattling and pushing on the gate were no less determined now than they had been two days prior. Especially considering they were capable of seeing him now. They didn't know weakness. He was sure if they could follow orders, the company would have weaponized them by now to replace the U.B.C.S. as soldiers... thank God they were so stupid. His eyes wondered over to the main gate, just past the crashed front carriage of the train and the hole in the wall he had filled, and he watched them once more, between the bars. Watching him right back with that insatiable hunger, as riled up as they had been two days prior, and no more capable of breaking down the door holding them back. Both the gates and pile of rubble that filled in the hole in the wall held fast.
They would be like that until the nuke fell, come morning, then there would be nothing. The trouble Carlos had with them was not that he considered them people. They were far from that, living only in their unwillingness to fall down and remain still. No... it was that they had been people. None of the movies had prepared him for it, looking back at an impossible phenomena made possible. He was not looking at them through a television screen... on a video tape... he was looking at them, as surely as they were him. He saw monsters, a sea of the dead... they saw meat. Their moans picked up, and a former cop missing most of his face snarled, gnashing his teeth against the bar and poking his arm through the small slits in the bars... all of it in vain, the sea of arms trying to grab at him. Like the bodies, they were all soaked, those who's clothes weren't rotting and falling off, and tattered beyond recognition. The elements of course had no effect on them.
They didn't feel the cool, refreshing air as he did... they drew no pleasure from it or rejuvenation... nothing could give them that. In a way, he envied them... so capable of removing themselves from emotion... not that they had a choice in that... but he knew his envy was not absolute in the least. For better or worse, he liked feeling... even if that meant feeling something bad... it also meant he was capable of feeling something good, and that he had been happy in his life. Even if that felt so far away, and beyond his grasp. He stood there watching their rotting assortment of faces... and maybe it due to the food he had consumed... but he felt more alive than he had in a long time, even as exhaustion wracked his body and mind... and he liked it. Watching death made him feel alive again.
Everything was scrambled... a part of him wanted to die, as Jill would... and another part wanted to live. He wanted to sleep, and he never wanted to again. He felt no fear watching the living dead writhe... and he felt fear for the unknown of everything. The unknown of death. Had the agent fired yet? Maybe he'd had a silencer among his gear... Carlos hadn't bothered examining it all. Surely there had been little hesitation... it could have been that he had already, and Carlos had missed it. But... he wouldn't miss it entirely... the time would come where he had to push through that chapel door again and face the inevitable results. The blood soaked alter. He would not leave this place, without imprinting that image into his mind... he could not leave her like this. He could draw no comfort from being ordered to leave the chapel... the relief of not having to watch it filled him only with shame, that he had grasped on to such an excuse not to bear witness.
Suppose the situation had been reversed, and he had been infected, not Jill. Would she have walked away, and let someone else handle the problem, to appease her own conscience selfishly? Somehow, he sincerely doubted it. He reached up to his throat and drew out the cross necklace he wore, along with his dog tags, peering down at them, scarcely blinking. He didn't even deserve to wear it... to wear either of them. He was both a poor soldier, and his sins felt like they ran to deep to ever be truly fixed, absolved... no matter how hard he tried. He'd done too much wrong in his life... and standing in the courtyard, as guiltily pleasurable as it felt to enjoy breathing fresh air, to love something so simple... he wished she was standing where he stood instead. In her city. He admired HUNK's resolve, and strength... that he could do things Carlos could not, that he could take charge of a difficult circumstance and do what needed to be done.
That kind of unbreakable individual, man or woman, was what he had long striven, and failed to be. He had tried going against his nature far too often... and it had never worked. He couldn't do it... couldn't kill her, not even a mercy killing... and not in a holy place. HUNK bore no such moral qualms... and it had been he who arrived with her in the first place. He thought back to the restaurant... to himself, waiting upstairs, breathing hard, frightened as the Tyrant trudged around downstairs. Until it had vanished, replaced not long afterwards by boots on the stair case... the door parting, and revealing them... revealing her. It felt like he had been another man then... and right now, he longed for the past... for so many pasts he'd had... anything but this, here and now.
They had all gone through and done so much together, in such a brief amount of time. He found he cared for both of their well being, more than he could have predicted he would when they had come through that doorway. Even now, he could see the inevitable image that would haunt him the rest of his life more than any other... he knew that entering that room, seeing her lifeless body on the alter, the blood pouring from her forehead... he would leave the chapel again as a different man. And at the side of, and hating the U.S.S. Agent for the terrible thing he had been capable of doing. Though no more than Carlos would ever hate himself. He no longer believed there was a way out... and he was starting to think he didn't want to leave.
It'd probably even be painless, the nuclear missile. Evaporation. One instant, something, the next, nothing. Not even ash. There were worse ways to go. He had seen many die horrifically already in this city. Everyone else was dead, gone... why should he live to tell the tale? What, live to defy the company? For revenge? That was the sole motivation possible to live any longer, and it was a flimsy one... he was one person, who made no difference. Revenge would not bring back the dead. Living and dying meant nothing to him, any more than his living made a difference to Umbrella... he was sure of it. He was... a freak, to have survived so long, out here. And nothing more. Bearing the worst kind of luck. The Tyrant would in all probability be back anyways to finish the job... and he no longer believed he had it in him to fight. He'd felt empty shooting the zombies in the piano room. Focused or not. there was nothing left to it anymore. Not really. His friends were gone. If it weren't a sin, he'd probably shot himself right then and there... but not even he could cross that line. He could only wait for death... or march towards it, at Mr Death's side... and hope it came to him quick.
Carlos lost himself in the contours of his thoughts in the courtyard... some time passed before he eventually emerged, as though from a trance. He wanted to throw away his dog tags, and the cross... to give up on both of the lives he had led with each... but he could do that no more than he could cut pieces off his own fractured soul. No, only others could do that to him... but he had never been able to do so himself. Instead, he turned robotically on the spot, away from the ravenous undead horde at the gates, and he looked back across the courtyard, to the path leading back to the piano room door... and he stared at it blankly for a minute or two, before, drawing himself to his fullest height, the exhaustion returning all over again. He recognized he could put off the inevitable no longer. No matter how much he wanted to, and fervently wished he could. The Grim Reaper had passed his sentence and was waiting for him, and probably ready to go... probably had a plan.
She... was waiting for him as well.
He started walking across the courtyard, not looking back over his shoulder the horde... not even really hearing them any more. They were nothing... either to him, and to his perceptions now. He simply paced forward, one foot in front of the next, focusing on that simple gesture, stepped on to the path, and in no time reached the door past the gardens, pushing it open, and stepping in out of the cold and rain, the warmth of the interior greeting him as he shut out the wind behind him. The warmth was more welcoming than it had been prior to stepping outside... but it was of no comfort, and offset by all the bodies, inside there too. He slowly, carefully passed through the room, by the piano, and paused in front of the bodies, giving them little more than a glance before stepping through their blood puddles... the main door into the chapel was all he really saw any longer.
Carlos moved closer and closer, until he reached it... and slowly, drawing in warm, shaky breaths, the rain still running down freely over his face and dripping all over the floor, he tucked away his SIG Pro silently, back into its holster, and seized the door handle, his hand tightening a great deal around it. He blinked a single time, and he opened the door, stepping through and into the chapel solidly, as ready as he could possibly be for the sight that was to surely greet him... which amounted to exactly not at all. His expression was distant, sullen, and disturbed, but he struggled with all he had to keep his emotions in check, even as his throat burned with anticipation for what awaited... even as the impulse to weep again came back. He forced it all back with what little he had left, and somehow, at least for the moment, he managed it.
The Corporal doubted it would last... but when the barriers fell again, he would let them. In the meantime... he wore a mask as much as he could... but it was not a rubber one, expanding with his face... it was porcelain, steadily being chipped away with each passing moment. Before he lost his nerve again, and couldn't go through with what needed to be done... as he had every other door, he closed it behind him. As good as sealing himself inside the last place on earth he wished to be, the echo of the door encompassing the formerly sacred place, before fading off into the distance. Leaving only quiet... save the distant muffled rain, and the moans... but even they could be ignored from where he stood. His eyes moved out over the far side of the room, from where he stood on the red carpet up the aisle, and his eyes deliberately avoided the alter as long as he could, instead reaching the left hand side of the carpet, to the row of pews there... and they stopped on the particular pew closest to the alter on that side of the chapel. HUNK's familiar form stood there, holding his MP5 and tinkering with it.
The moment Carlos had entered the room, he had looked slowly up, revealing that he had adorned his full body armor uniform once more along with the familiar dented, scratched helmet, and above all, the gas mask. Evidently he'd fixed it up in the time Carlos was gone. He stared back at Carlos from behind those burning red reflective lenses for a moment, one scratched the other intact, and then got back to work, examining his submachine gun, as though he had not been interrupted, paying Carlos no more heed then he had with a simple glance. Carlos watched him for a few moments, and his eyes fell back down to the blood red carpet... no different than what he'd be seeing further down it.
He drew in a breath to steady himself, feeling goosebumps raise in a way they hadn't outside... and again he willed his legs to work, taking a step, then another and another, moving slowly past the shelf of books near the door on his left side, and the storage container on his right. Not prepared to pay his final respects. One by one he passed pew after pew on either side, as he neared the alter, and HUNK... but all the while he did not look up... and didn't even do so for a time when he stood between the final pews, beside HUNK... and before the alter its self. He shut his eyes tightly, his jaw tightening in unison... all the images rushing and bubbling to the surface of his mind as HUNK worked quite calmly on his weapons, preparing for the inevitable departure, not acknowledging Carlos in the least as he stood there. It didn't matter to Carlos... he felt as good as alone in the chapel anyways... not wanting to look, and confirm beyond doubt what he knew deep down. He breathed again deeply, audibly, feeling his hands begin to twitch and shake of their own accord, and knew he wouldn't be able to get control of them... anymore than he could turn his back on her and walk right out again.
She had done so much for him, for all of them, and this was how he was paying her back? With his continued cowardice? No... he'd done enough wrong in the past few days. This would be the only thing he did right... even if it killed him. With one more low, ragged, pained breath, he forced his eyes open, and forced himself to look unto the alter, and to what he had been expecting to find. And what he had been wrong about finding.
Jill was ok.
No... that wasn't accurate. She was exactly how he had left her... bloody, unconscious and bruised. Yet breathing silently, her midsection rising and falling steadily. Her eye lids twitched as she saw whatever horrors she did... but she could still see them. Still alive.
And she still had a chance, however small.
Relief... pure and overwhelming relief blinded him, washed into each of his senses. A choked sob escaped his throat before he could stifle it, and he dropped instinctively down to his knee pads in front of the alter, gripping it tightly and closing his eyes, uttering a grateful breath. Feeling the tears streaming again, forcing himself to keep them silent. Shaking his head slowly, trying to recollect himself from the intense feelings what almost overtook him. Feeling the tears stinging him over and over. He didn't know what had happened... what had crossed HUNK's mind... and why he hadn't done the most obvious thing for someone like him to do. What he was best at, killing. He didn't know the motivation, nor the alternative he had in mind as a plan... but he didn't care in that instant, and didn't question it. By the grace of God, Death had relented. Stayed his hand. There was still hope after all. HUNK would have come up with something, and had an idea... knowing that alone pulled weight after weight off of his conscience. As one hand rested on the alter, his other moved up to his cross necklace again, and he began to lightly murmur a prayer of thanks, as well as a request to watch over Jill, and save her from what had happened to her. And as he recited it inaudibly under his breath aloud... he felt no shame in doing so.
If HUNK of all people could defy his expectations... prove him wrong and do the last thing he normally would have... then next to anything else was possible. Perhaps it was proof of God working in mysterious ways. He smiled slightly as he spoke to anyone who was listening. Devoted himself in a house of the Lord, as HUNK continued to devote himself to his weapon.
Over at the pew, staring down at his MP5, HUNK reached for his vest pockets and popped a couple of them open, withdrawing a night vision and infrared scope for the submachine gun. QUARTERMASTER's design, capable of switching between the two filters or being a normal scope. He resumed gearing up, started attaching it to the top, doing so in no time, aiming the weapon again and peering through it, switching through the vision modes, ensuring it was properly aligned. As much as he respected the MP5, he would have liked a modified Heckler & Koch G36 Assault Rifle about now... but the simple nature of Operation: NESTWRECKER he felt had made it unnecessary to break out the heavier duty weaponry. He and his team had already brought more than enough weapons to infiltrate NEST, handle the security or potential government forces there and grab Birkin and the samples. Had it gone accordingly, he would have been right. He would make do with what he had, but would not make that mistake again going forward.
When he was satisfied, he lowered the weapon slightly again, and withdrew the next of the components for the MP5, the long dark multi fit silencer, that he attached to and twisted onto the end, securing it into place. This one he didn't test inside, of course, but he had fired enough silencers to know it was attached properly. Not only would it diminish sound a great deal... it also served to reduce kick in the weapon... two advantages he wasn't about to pass up. As he reached for the next modification item in one of the larger pouches, an M203 under-barrel grenade launcher designed specifically to fit to the submachine gun, and withdrew it. Turning it over in the light a bit, nodding with satisfaction. His senses became aware of Oliveira's mumbling at the alter, then. He slowly looked up at last from his handiwork and back to the young man, studying him inquisitively for a moment as he resided in front of Valentine and the alter, holding her hand... as well as a cross necklace he was wearing. The agent paused only for a moment, before his low, muffled tone broke over the quiet voice.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh... uh...", Carlos began slowly, shaking from his prayers momentarily by the unexpected suddenness of the agent's voice. He looked up quickly from the alter, still holding his cross, and made eye contact with the red lenses again. He had to hand it to HUNK, he wasn't very predictable as to when he was or wasn't going to talk. He just did sometimes and he didn't other times. Between it and his sudden mercy for Jill... he was finding nothing about the man was predictable anymore. "I'm praying."
"Praying. What for?"
"For her well being... for ours. We're going to need all the help we can get."
Carlos answered the agent after a slight pause, as he considered the man's voice. There was nothing accusatory or derisive about it... he even sounded less cold than usual as he did... it seemed more a question, rather than setting him up to be mocked. In past encounters with the agent, where he had lay down the law, and showed a shadow of his cruelty, it was, he had to admit, after Carlos had set him up to do so with his joking and teasing. There was never not a reason for it. Nevertheless, he gave his answer with a measure of hesitance, part of him expecting the worst... he was used to that at this point.
"I was raised Catholic. Wasn't the best one... especially for stupidly throwing in with Communists. I mean... a lot of people find it silly... especially these days, but in the end who's it really hurting?"
The agent stared down at him for a time, and Carlos held the stare, not looking away as the other scrutinized him... waiting for an answer. But when it came out, it was not entirely one he had thought would emerge. As the agent spoke it, he slowly turned back away from Oliveira, Valentine and the alter, and returned to what he had been doing before he'd paused, attaching the grenade launcher he had been carrying, as though he'd never stopped to begin with. HUNK found he could not entirely fault the Corporal's conclusion on the matter. Prayer, optimism, was more useful than despair or nihilism. Belief in a higher power had its uses, even on a battlefield. Morale purposes. Even if it wasn't a world he had been made for.
"Not an altogether foolish point. Though between your faith and my MP5... I'll take the MP5."
There was a distinct click as he slid the grenade launcher into place and began to fasten it, positioning it so the laser sight was directly beside it. His gloved hand slid on to the foregrip, and he aimed it a few more times, getting the feel of it in his hands, peeking through the scope now and again. Testing the vision modes in it as well as the laser sight, before looking down at it again with satisfaction, inclining his helmeted head. He popped open another side pack, where within lay several grenade shells he'd recovered at NEST, shining back at him in the candle light and electrical lighting. Grasping one firmly, he pulled forward the grenade launcher and slid the shell into place, before gripping the launcher and pumping it hard, securing it properly, and arming the explosive device.
At this time, Carlos finally stopped looking at the agent with curiosity, at least until he finished up with his prayers. When he had finished them, wiping away the tears, again he started watching the agent work quite intently over his masterpiece of a weapon he was putting together. Then he rose from the floor, releasing both his crucifix necklace and Jill's hand slowly. Hesitantly, he spoke up at last on the matter he had been wondering about. Sure that now was as good a time as any to make the attempt, considering the agent had been the first to engage him with talk.
"You... have a plan then, sir? I mean... we'll have to do something... you know, if-
"Yes.", HUNK replied automatically, tone clipped, directly to the point, reaching into another pouch and producing the letter Valentine had recovered, pertaining to the hospital. Without even glancing over to Carlos, he held the folded up letter out for him to take as he examined the submachine gun. "It was your plan, not mine. You were right about the hospital."
Carlos glanced between the letter, and the side of HUNK's helmet before tentatively stepping forward, away from the alter. Taking the folded up piece of paper... unraveling it gradually, until each of the lettered peered up at him... he started to read them, taking his time to comprehend each one. A letter... to the Umbrella Board of Directors. That high up it went. They had a... vaccine. All along, the bastards had their hands on a cure, and rather than distributing it, they'd wasted their time on tests they already knew the answer to. Reading it all, several times, he tucked away every detail into his thoughts and contemplated them. He didn't know if his disgust outweighed his joy, at the confirmation of a cure... and that one more remained at Raccoon General Hospital. The way the Umbrella scientist had slipped into the hospital, working among them for the company... outright repulsed him. Pretending to be one of them, to the point he thought he was.
At least HUNK had the decency not to pretend where his loyalties lay. Despite this... Doctor Bard's apparent care for the well being of patients, and the city... it likely owed less to his personal care, and more to wanting to remain in the position that he was, that the outbreak was threatening. His opportunity to rise higher... to live out his ambitions. It was... surprisingly disturbing a read... and he looked up from the words, not really seeing anything for a few moments as he tried to wrap his head around it. An apocalyptic log... letter, during the beginning of the end. A mere five days after the letter, the U.S. Government had blockaded Raccoon City with the Quarantine Zone... and one day beyond that, he and his friends had been sent in. There was still an air of calm and normality to the letter, in spite of its pressing nature... he'd known the potential of the outbreak, this doctor, but it was a step away yet from becoming a full blown pandemic.
Society had been coming apart at the seams, inside the city... Carlos had been there to see the end, but not the unraveling... and deep down, he was glad he hadn't. He doubted that he could have. Order falling into chaos... it had already been chaos when he dropped, chaos was one thing... but not the slippery slope downward, watching it happen around him and powerless to do anything about it. As Jill must have felt. Then there was the matter of B.O.W.'s... more of them, in the labs of a hospital... they had thought using a public hospital as a research facility for their viruses and weapons to be a good idea. The city had been doomed from the start. No ifs, ands or buts. How had the company ever become as prosperous and renowned as it had been, when there were men and women making suicidal decisions behind the scenes on a daily basis? It defied explanation, and no answer could ever be enough. NEST... Birkin... he'd never heard of either of them, but Umbrella had a facility down under the city... that had probably been involved in the outbreak.
Figures in the sewers... and infected leeches? Hell no. There was no chance in hell he would be caught wandering into a sewer, especially now, and after hearing what stirred down there in the darkness. Whatever was down there could stay there, as far as he was concerned, and he didn't want to know. The idea of creepy crawlies... mutated and infected insects and other organisms... made his skin crawl in a way neither the horde or Tyrant could manage. Leeches especially terrified him... bad personal experience, out swimming when he had been a kid. It was bad enough having to encounter the mutated giant flea things and hairy giant spiders with the putrid green blood... but now it was clear they were not the only things mutated. He'd seen the bodies of some of them, earlier... and soon enough, they would have to see the over sized eight legged freaks again, on the way out.
But... none of that mattered, and was the least of their concerns, he found. All that mattered was that they had a chance... he knew that now. He had been prepared to do anything possible for Jill... even when it had seemed an impossible situation... but the impossible was gone. He could do it... they could do it... no matter what it took. He lowered the letter slowly, unconsciously folding it back up. He didn't know where HUNK had gotten it... and he didn't care how. Never had a simple letter meant so much to Carlos... and to the benefit of someone he knew, and cared about.
It was a miracle... one he'd not been expecting, but then, was there such thing as an expected miracle? He smiled weakly, but honestly, and as he did, his exhaustion seemed a mile away... already he felt his energy returning in a way even the food and cold fresh air couldn't. He felt whole... or at least, on his way to getting there. Sanity returning to an insane world. He passed it back over to HUNK, who took it at once and tucked it away in its original pouch. Carlos didn't say anything, or address the plan... not yet. There was no need to, they both knew damn well what it was. A trip to the emergency room was in order... he didn't want to think about the horrors awaiting them there at the hospital... and he didn't have to. There were more important things to think about right now.
He returned from his distant contemplation, and moved back over to the alter, kneeling in front of it, and Jill again, standing watch over her until HUNK was ready. From where he was, HUNK checked his pouches and things... he had plenty of assorted ammunition for the MP5, shotgun and for Matilda... so that wouldn't be an issue, ammunition conservation was already a specialty of his. That, and he could procure any other weapons he might encounter. He picked up his modified shotgun off the bench and slung it across his back in one fluent motion. Then he ejected the spent MP5's armor piercing tracer magazine he had emptied into the Tyrant and the Tyrant's rocket launcher, and it dropped, clattering to the marble floor at his feet.
Thankfully, he had more where that came from... and then some. He retrieved a particular magazine from his vest, another QUARTERMASTER special, among the others HUNK had. Then he slid and locked it into place within the MP5, before marveling at the augmented weapon silently. There was no real one weapon type HUNK preferred over another... each had their own advantages depending on the situation, and being a agent meant learning them all, as he had. In the case of the MP5, it was not an unwieldy weapon... it was a workhorse and genius invention... that could handle many modifications. On their own, it had been clear conventional bullets had not done anything against the mutated Birkin... but he could not fault the weapons for that... it had been the unexpected, none of them, even himself had prepared for an insane, desperate possibility, that he would resort to using the virus on himself. He had not foreseen its regenerative capabilities, and durability.
In hindsight, and with experience on his side, he should have directed his men to fire on the massive, mutated eye that had replaced Birkin's shoulder. It had almost worked for GHOST, before HUNK had left him to his death at Birkin's claws. And it had worked for HUNK, during his own run ins later with the mutated Birkin. Had worked for him a hell of a lot better than it had for GHOST. GHOST's blunder had helped cause what happened in the NEST anyways, it was only fitting he should meet his end the way he did. Whether Birkin had drawn a pistol or not... they could have taken him down better... or he could have shot the scientist in the head. None of this would have happened. HUNK made a mental note to have the former agent's codename stripped of him for incompetence... posthumously now, of course... but he would use it as a gesture that incompetence would not be accepted. He would do that along with looking into the rookie agent's time training at Rockfort Island. He would not stand for sudden stupid impulses in Alpha Team... the orders of the leader were to be followed at all times... and that particular impulse, provided it had not been deliberate as he thought it might be... had nearly been the doom of the mission. As it had been for the city.
It clearly wasn't the old days anymore, when only the best were accepted, or experts were trained to be the best. Something was wrong with the trainers on Rockfort Island at the Military Training Facility these days. Haphazard management, most likely, under the eccentric, affable Commander Ashford. He did not know how to be strong, as War had been. Or what actual discipline was. They had forgotten parts of their own training, apparently. He needed to go back, and show them how it was done... remind them, the next time he got an opportunity to do so. He would need to take a bigger charge in his involvement with the U.S.S... if opportunity allowed him. It was the same thing with Delta Team. How in the hell had they been overwhelmed by infected leeches on their mission to secure the Ecliptic Express? They had been among the best... and hadn't even been able to handle leeches. Or the 1st Investigation Unit at the facility, for that matter. The men were one by one becoming less professionals in this generation, and more like grunts... more like the U.B.C.S. They were trained to handle outbreaks... but all these men had failed anyways.
The U.S.S. needed reorganizing, and badly. From staff, to training, to weaponry. Better adapted to situations like Raccoon City and the Arklay Mountains. Someone was screwing up somewhere... and he would not allow the same mistake to carry over to this generation, and the next wave of recruits. Most likely Vladimir was finding ways to sabotage them as well, as he had tried to HUNK's mission. If War wouldn't return and take charge of them again, set right the special forces division she had founded, root out potential problems... perhaps HUNK would have to. It was on the current generation to give the next one the lessons they required... as he had been given them by the one preceding himself. It was probably the only thing humans were capable of doing... and all lives amounted to, passing on knowledge to the next ones up, before it was time to die... no different than procreation, really. But then again... there were fathers who couldn't be fathers. Circumstances preventing it. Or not even truly knowing if they were fathers. Truths kept from them.
HUNK's jaw tightened at the familiar, troubling thought, and he slung the MP5 over himself, so it hung down to his stomach by his shoulder, and he watched the door again silently, imagining the impending battle. The best that could be hoped for was that the bulk of the horde had been lured away from the hospital at some point in all the chaos, in the feeding frenzy... otherwise they'd have to find another way in. Right from the start he didn't like the idea of walking in through the front door... but time was wasting. He could handle it, regardless. His preferences rarely turned out to be the case on a mission anyways. Behind him, he heard an audible, gasping breath... one that belonged no more to Oliveira than the pained groaning that followed it.
He cocked his head slightly and looked back over his shoulder, to find Valentine moving on the alter... conscious once more. A jolt passed through his insides at the sight, that he fought to keep under control. Maintain his calm. Good... she was awake, like himself. They had been out too long. Carlos looked back at HUNK, meeting his eyes again, relief, yet equally great concern filtered into every bit of his expression. He looked back to Jill, his grip on her hand tightening as she woke, and attempted to regain her senses. She woke as though from a nightmare as her eyes slowly opened part ways, filled with exhaustion as sweat poured down her pale features... and the blue eyes gradually gained some comprehension of the room she was in. And perhaps feeling his hand on hers, she looked slowly over to his relieved face... and to his gradually forming smile.
"Hey you. Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. Or do you prefer Dorothy? Though consider me Toto before the Scarecrow or Lion."
"Carlos? I thought you were... you were...", Came her all too quiet tone after a long pause, in which they peered back at one another. Her voice was weak, subdued... more so than ever before... and it only make Carlos's concern multiply... but he held it tightly in check, holding on to the fact, the blessing, that she was still alive, and awake. He watched her relieved eyes move over his shoulder, and focus for a time upon the other in the chapel with them. Carlos did not look back over his shoulder at the agent again as she addressed him. "H-Hunk? You're both... here?"
"Hey, the Tin Man isn't the only immortal one around here. Can't get rid of me that easily... takes more than a helicopter dropped on me to do that. Just don't ask me to do it again.", Carlos smiled, attempting to put some of the old humorous nature back into a voice that didn't want it. Her eyes at last moved from HUNK's, and back over to his, and he continued, attempting to be as soothing and comforting as possible... not wanting her to think about... about it, more than she had to. Any more then she already doubtlessly was. "It looks like our roles have been reversed from when we originally met, huh? Don't worry, Jill... this chapel is safe."
"I've been infected by the virus...", Jill started again slowly, her comprehension very clearly returning, after a brief pause. Carlos wanted to look back at HUNK again, but the weight of her eyes on his held him rooted to the spot where he knelt. He found he could not. He merely peered back at her, fake smile fading altogether as she spoke. "Haven't I?"
"Hey...", Carlos started comfortingly, when she twitched slightly, closing her eyes and looking away from him momentarily. When he spoke, she forced herself to look back over to him, drawing in a low breath. "Just... try to take it easy."
"I'm ok... I don't feel any pain...", Jill tried to assure him, in a manner that informed him that she very much doubted she was. Slowly she began to turn over, away from Carlos... and releasing her hand, the disheveled young man rose gradually to his feet, peering down at her carefully. He watched, feeling quite useless as she wrapped her arms around her midsection, holding herself in that position. "But that's what bothers me... if I can't feel anything... after what it did... then what does that mean?"
"Don't give up, Jill! We'll take care of you!", Carlos promised her at once, his grave expression only deepening with worry. Nevertheless, he attempted to cast it aside, to be brave and strong for her, if not for himself, a note of confidence and assurance filtering into his tone and body language as he attempted to encourage her. "Whatever you do, don't let that virus beat you!"
Jill remained where she was a few moments longer, holding herself. But the words seemed to sink in, and slowly she turned back again to her original spot, resting her hands on either side of the alter. Looking at the earnest expression of Carlos, and the lack of expression on HUNK, before speaking again weakly, tiredly.
"You... you're right. I know you are. But... what? What... am I going to do? What... can we do...?"
"We uh... HUNK and I...", Carlos started, looking back at the Umbrella Agent for a second, following the direction of her eyes. Hoping HUNK would take up the reins of explanation for him. Instead he remained looking back at her over his shoulder, as still as a statue, and Carlos looked back down to her as he elaborated on the silent agent's behalf. "...we have a plan. We're headed to Raccoon General Hospital... it's close by, and there's a chance we can... that there's a vaccine there. We'll go get it, and come back right away... and everything will be ok. Right HUNK?"
The agent didn't answer the young man as he asked, a measure of desperation in his tone. Hoping for reassurance from HUNK. The U.S.S. Agent merely met the worried mercenary's eyes, and turned from both Carlos and Jill, examining his weapon all over again and leaving Carlos hanging, and without a clue where to go from there. Not willing to lie to the Corporal and claim that everything would be alright. Unable to determine the future. Fortunately, Jill took up the reins of speech from him after a slight pause, her breathing still labored, but she made the attempt nonetheless, looking between the two men from the alter.
"A... a vaccine? I... didn't know. Didn't know there was one. If it's there... I... no. No. The hospital will be infested... and I'm not going to... let you risk your lives like this, for one person. There are... others who need it more. You... need to make the vaccine, take it... and escape the city with it. The world needs the cure... not me. You have to stop this... from happening again. Don't let... Umbrella get away with this. Just... go, and don't come back for me... please..."
"I don't think you're in much of a condition to be calling the shots, Jill", Carlos found himself smiling slightly, just as weakly as before, a bit touched by her altruism, even with her own life in the balance. They had been the ones to put her in this position, not vice versa... well, Carlos more than HUNK. If he had been there... no, he needed to focus on the goal, not on the self doubt he would carry with him as he went. He had enough to worry about already. Though the suggestion she posed about the vaccine's obvious use troubled him. One vs the world... who the hell could really make a decision like that? "And hey, if it makes you feel any better, you can kick my ass later. In the meantime, leave the decision making to us 'action hero' types, huh? Don't worry, I won't get killed and spoil the evening. We'll have to leave you here for a little while alone... but we will be back as soon as we can... ok?"
Carlos peered down at her more kindly, remaining still, and hoping she got the impression he was trying to convey... the truth, that like it or not, he was going, and he was not going to come back empty handed. They would save her, regardless of what she had to say on the matter. Something in her eyes seemed to recognize it... and she returned his smile, very faintly for a moment or two... then it was gone as fast as it had come. For the moment relenting where the vaccine was concerned. Though the possibility for it she had brought up continued to trouble him. A cure would be priceless, could save the entire world. He hadn't even thought of that as he read the letter, all he had been thinking of was her, how it might save her.
"Yes... just, be careful... both of you. And Carlos... please, pass me my gun... will you? I... need to be ready... no matter what. Something... might try to get in here. While you're gone. I... want it close by. Give it to me. It's part of me."
Carlos nodded back at her slowly, understanding, and glanced over to HUNK again, before looking back to the ground, and kneeling down among her things, his eyes sweeping over them until they found her holster. He pulled the modified Beretta out of its holster, checked the magazine to make sure it was full, and locked it into place, rising again, leaning over her and gently handing it back to her. Standing back a bit as she rose and examined it, with a trace of satisfaction, and familiarity, before slowly rising her eyes back up to him, and speaking, her tone no louder or assured than before.
"Much better.", Jill spoke softly, weakly, drawing in another breath in an attempt to steady herself... quite in vain. She was silent for a time, peering up at the ceiling, upon which the muffled rain continued to pour beyond... the moans of the dead outside reaching the chapel. Before gradually, she drew something else, with difficulty, to the surface of her thoughts. Turning again, and staring, unblinkingly at the two other men. "Just... one more thing. If I turn into... a zombie. Don't hesitate."
"Don't even talk like that, Supercop. Just... save your strength."
"No. I want your word... both of you... that you'll kill me. I'm going to try... not to come back. I don't want to be out there... walking around... like that. Like those pale things... mutating... changing. I don't want to be a monster. Carlos?"
"But...-
"Carlos?"
Carlos was silent for a few moments, considering her repeated request. He knew he'd have to accept it, to put her mind at rest... he simply hated agreeing to such a possibility. It would not be the same as shooting her while she was still alive, and infected... but it was similar enough to make him uncomfortable. Still... he knew it could have been worse... and because of that, and because she wouldn't take her imploring eyes off of him, he knew he had to answer. And... in her position, he knew he would want the same done to him. He couldn't refuse her.
"Yes."
"And Hunk?"
Her eyes moved on past Carlos after giving his assent, and Carlos glanced back at him as well, to find him watching them silently from the sidelines again. The moment Jill's eyes fell on to his mask, he merely stared at her in silence for a long moment, holding each other's gaze. Then he reluctantly inclined his head stiffly to her terms, with no seeming misgivings on the matter as Carlos had. Both responses seemed to satisfy Jill... and she breathed, laying back further on the alter, cradling her sidearm... and she relaxed.
"Good... thank you. I... thank you both. For everything... staying with me... to the end. Just... be careful now... and don't take any more risks than you need to... and survive. Live. Please?"
"That I can do, Supercop.", Carlos smiled again at her gradually. He glanced down to the side of the alter, where the spare grenade launcher he had discovered at the substation lay... he already had one attached for his M4, so he silently opted to leave it with her for the moment, just in case it proved necessary as well. His eyes moved off the grenade launching tube, and back to her eyes again. "Just take it easy yourself... and we'll be back before you even know we're gone."
"Don't... count on that. The vaccine... above all... when you find it... make the right decision... promise me, that you'll...-
"We'll do what must be done. Nothing less."
Behind them, there was a familiar clicking sound of a pistol's hammer being slid back, and Carlos turned on the spot, almost startled, to find HUNK doing exactly that with his unusual modified sidearm, and stepping over into the aisle and up to the alter. Instinctively, Carlos drew back from the agent and stepped off to the side, taking over watching them from the sidelines curiously as the agent took his former spot. HUNK seemed to peer down into Jill's eyes as he kept the gun at his side loosely, and she stared right back at him... it was strange to Carlos how they did it... not a word was said, and yet they seemed to be speaking their own language in front of Carlos as though he was not even there... communicating... and it was then he realized something he probably should have long before. He nodded his head, slowly, a little sadly, but smiled, and meant it, for the first time in a long time. He had been interested in Jill, couldn't deny that, who wouldn't be? But now he fully recognized he stood no chance... and that was perfectly fine. It should have been more obvious sooner, the way they had huddled together through the trip. The exchanged touches and murmurs out of earshot. It was just the way the dice rolled sometimes, and now that he thought about it, the signs should have been more evident to him before then. He just never stopped for a moment and really thought about it, as he was now.
He wasn't sure how or if 'Mr Death' felt... but he had spared her when all logic would have told him not to, and it was pretty obvious how she did. He had set aside his mission for her too, whatever the hell it was. Still... even with what HUNK had done for her, and was prepared to do... he worried about her feelings for him, a man like him. A leopard didn't entirely change its spots overnight. If ever. He had surprised Carlos... but for how long would it last? Would it remain if... when... they all got out of the city? This was Death he was talking about... War's protege, the legendary agent of Umbrella. The Grim Reaper. What reason was there to believe he would throw all that away... even for a lady like Jill? He didn't want her being set up with disappointment and sorrow, her spirits and heart crushed further... she'd been through enough suffering already. But... that was another matter and worry altogether. She wasn't even out of the woods with her infection, yet. It was there he forced himself to focus. And to trust the U.S.S. Agent... it was the only hope either of them had, working together, counting on one another.
Instead, Carlos watched as HUNK turned the unusual pistol around, holding it by the barrel. Kneeling down beside her, he handed it off to her, along with a couple extended magazines of ammunition for it, which he lay on the alter beside her. She took the extra sidearm by the grip firmly, studying it and him with those blue eyes of hers for a moment, and drew it back from him, holding each pistol as she lay back. His firm, assured voice murmuring again for her alone to hear. A hushed tone she returned, while Carlos averted his eyes and attention, giving what privacy he could to the pair.
"We will return, Valentine."
"Promise?"
"Count on it. You will only use those weapons on the enemy if required. Not on yourself. Don't even think about it."
"I... understand."
"It is not your understanding I require. It is your word."
"I... I promise, Hunk. I won't go... not yet. I... want to see you again. So much... I need to say... to you. To tell you... show you..."
"You'll get that chance. For now, just rest. Don't be afraid."
"But... no... the vaccine... you need to... the world needs it... more than...-
"That is for me to decide. You've fought hard. Have the wounds to show for it. You've done enough. It's my turn, now."
Jill met his gaze silently for a time, looking as though she was ready to argue and wanted to... but she relented instead. Trusting him to do the right thing. Make the right decision. Trusting herself with him, in a way she hadn't before. Nodding slowly. HUNK watched, feeling his pulse quicken further, as she set aside her Beretta on the alter, and her hand rose... taking his gloved one into hers... gripping it... fingers intertwining together. Very slowly, she smiled, a little stronger than before, bruised face content in that moment. Not pained or afraid, looking back at his lenses. They continued to study one another for a moment longer, before the agent squeezed her hand a final time and reluctantly withdrew his own from hers.
Carlos looked back again as the agent rose sharply and turned suddenly without warning around on his heel, away from her and the alter quite simply, and began marching down the aisle back towards the door, passing pew after pew away from Carlos, his boots echoing through the entire chapel. Back in his Terminator mode. There was no exhaustion or sluggishness in HUNK's steps from his unconsciousness earlier, or the risk of a concussion... he was back to being the well oiled and maintained machine that he often behaved like. Any emotional exchange in that moment between them gone from him, while she watched him silently, expression forlorn again. The start of his departure was followed by his distinct, low and cool muffled tone of authority as he passed Carlos.
"Oliveira. We are leaving."
Carlos started to say something back, but stopped, stepping forward and looking between the two, to the alter and down the aisle... before settling on Jill for a second, and smiling and nodding encouragingly. She returned it weakly, but clearly as best she could, and with reluctance he turned away from her and slowly followed the Umbrella agent back down towards the door where his brisk pace had already carried him... where he waited. When he gradually reached HUNK, the agent had already unslung his heavily modified MP5, red laser sight flashing, and stood entirely upright... reaching the door, he paused, turning his eyes to the storage container, and remembering.
"One second, sir...", Carlos started, stepping over to the corner where the storage container was located. He popped it open by the lid and it hissed slightly as air escaped, and the lid rose. Within, at once, he spotted his bulky backpack, and he grabbed it by the straps turning around and putting it back on. When he had done so, strapping it into place securely and adjusting his rifle, he closed the storage container, and looked back to the agent, smirking a bit, and gesturing to both the storage container and an occupied surface of a table close by. "I figured, why not, they're all over the city, like these typewriters... about time somebody put them to use."
HUNK made no comment at this wry tone of his, just as Carlos expected him not to, and the agent turned back to the door. Submachine gun not aimed, but quite at the ready, hanging from its sling over him, and with each of his hands on it. Carlos glanced at the MP5, and followed suit, unslinging his rifle and gripping it tightly, prepared for anything... unless the city had any more surprises in store for him... and as of late, that was far more likely than unlikely. He didn't want to think about any other possible mutations... he simply squared away his mind, and prepared for zombies, the sure thing they would encounter. Anything else, he'd just have to make it up as he went along. When he was done unslinging his rifle, he dug into the appropriate pouch on his body armor and retrieved the scope for it. Fixing it on the the assault rifle rapidly. When he was done, satisfied, he spoke up again to HUNK, his voice low and quiet, but clear enough for the other man.
"There's a side door that most likely leads out the back of the building, and to the road between the park, and the hospital.", Carlos started to explain, sure that HUNK at least had that idea already... but he elaborated anyways. "It's just beyond the library, you probably saw it yourself when you were in there. I checked it earlier when I was investigating the place... at least, part of it... the hall past the door. There shouldn't be any more creatures there. Somebody went through there already, and from the looks of it, cleared the place out... well, other than the remains. It shouldn't take long to get to the hospital from there... I'll take point, sir, if it's all the same to you."
HUNK merely inclined his head agreeably after a moment, and stepped back, watching the mercenary... Carlos could feel his eyes under the mask scrutinizing him, and he took HUNK's place at the door. Grasping the handle, he only looked back a single, final time to Jill, watching them from the alter down the far end of the chapel... and he smiled again weakly, before looking back to the door, and pushing it open, raising his rifle to his shoulder and stepping through into the piano room surveying it and deeming it still secure, before stepping over the pile of bodies close to the door, his boots tracking through the thick, sticky blood pooling around the marble floor... and he abandoned the safety of the chapel, as ready as he was ever going to be. HUNK followed him directly after, and unlike Carlos did not look back at Jill, closing the door behind them as they left.
Carlos drew a deep breath and murmured something to himself that struck him, in that moment. Unable to help himself. The warm mirth and relief he felt. Rejuvenation in spirit and mind, if not in body. Ready for what lie ahead, with Death at his side. On their side. On the side of life.
"Don't fear the Reaper..."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing, man."
The U.S.S. Agent stared at the Corporal's genuine, warm smile for a long moment, before looking on silently, shaking his head. He glanced down at the motionless infected bodies, as his own boot soles were stained in blood. His eyes swiveled behind the gas mask's red lenses from body to body, among the spent brass shell casings. And then moved up after the young man and studied the surroundings of the next room they had entered. Returning to the world he knew best... a mission, an objective, a structure. Though it wasn't one of Umbrella, this time... somehow he didn't feel discontent with that fact.
Look up and read the lyrics for the song and try to tell me it isn't the HUNK/Jill official theme song. Until next time ;), a return to the fight.