Rock992: I definitely wanted the dichotomy of HUNK carrying the T-Virus cure and being the one to decide what to do with it, while also carrying the G-Virus for Umbrella. The pull of good and evil inside him, in the form of both samples. I don't see HUNK ever being a full mentor or having a protege, but that is indeed an aspect to his character, as a professional agent and leader of men. He definitely sees Carlos as the young man he once was on some level, and in a way, deep down, wants him to break free of Umbrella, as HUNK was unable to.
Evolution-500: Much appreciated, I loved the concept of the Pale Heads, one of my favorite things in the remakes. I wanted to expand on them, add them, but use them in my 'less is more' approach to the monsters, adding them to grow the atmosphere and dread, make them more sinister and uneasy, give them weight and presence. Instead of reducing the Pale Head to a standard enemy, I liked the idea of HUNK and Carlos not fighting it in that lab, it's in both of their characters to avoid unnecessary battles anyways. Some things are scarier to the reader and the characters themselves when they are unfought, the unknown is scary. And yes, I had a great deal of fun writing Carla, expanding on her, unlike Capcom. She had the potential to be a great character, but Resident Evil 6 bungled it, naturally, so I'm developing her instead. I like expanding on her via HUNK, the character dynamic and interaction of two contrasting characters really helps flesh them both out, along with their world and the plot. The world of Umbrella especially, which will be delved into more deeply later.
Akira-Hayama: As fun as it would be to bring Marcus back, doing so would undo Billy and Rebecca's biggest feat, and he works better as a posthumous character for the story in relation to HUNK and the role he played in HUNK's life. A cloud/presence hanging over him and the story, especially how it ties into HUNK being partially responsible for the outbreak because of his mission to kill Marcus. I like Billy too, yet another great character Capcom threw away to keep wheeling out the same tired protagonists each game, instead of exploring the potential of other characters. Damn shame. Hopefully he's doing just fine, wherever he is now.
Much appreciated, unlike Capcom I wanted to dive head first into all the lore of the universe and apply it in the story where I felt it worked, make use of existing lore, characters, details I liked. I didn't want anything to feel forced, just put it where it applied best. I wanted to expand upon the preexisting lore I incorporated, expand on the universe, while adding my own ideas. Figured I may as well, it's not like Capcom was doing anything with it all, so someone should lol. Give it its due and let it live up to its potential.
It is a double edged sword for HUNK for sure, his growing respect for Carlos and feelings for Jill have given him a hell of a weakness he didn't have before (which Nikolai exploited of course), even as said feelings are a strength, and he becomes a better person over time from it, rediscovers his humanity or at least remembers it. Sentimentality and care can be exploited and taken advantage of. If HUNK had stayed the cold, ruthless, emotionally distant killing machine of the games without character development he would already be out of Raccoon City, with his mission accomplished. Instead he's still stranded, from going after Jill and meeting her, intervening when the Nemesis attacked her, as well as enduring a mission like no other he has faced. Forced to question himself, his decisions, who and what he is, and why. Things he wasn't prepared for. Pushed to his mental and physical limits. I wanted to make him more vulnerable in this story, though of course still kicking ass and being the best at what he does, as the Leech Man found out, but weakened, not operating at 100 percent. Having to struggle to complete the mission. It wouldn't make for a good story if he just breezed through everything. Since he can't do it all on his own anymore, instead he's learning a lesson War hadn't taught him. To trust and rely on others. That he isn't as alone as he thought he was. *plays 'Lean On Me'* lol. War will definitely have much more presence in the story... as said, I wanted to introduce her over time, more and more details. You won't learn everything about her, but will learn more than enough about her in this story, what you need to know, including who she really is, especially when I get to a particular flashback later on ;). HUNK's world at Umbrella will be delved into... in some regards worse for him than his time in Raccoon City, or on any mission. The down time between missions, the politics and such. You shall see.
Much appreciated, the character dynamics and exploring them was vital to the story and characters, their development over time. How all these different contrasting character personalities would interact in situation like this one. The dynamics between HUNK and Jill and Carlos are the core of the story, but the interactions HUNK has with his fellow Umbrella employees is also central, will become more important later. I really figured them out over time, thankfully, how they interacted, and the changes they would go through throughout the story. Especially the HUNK/Jill ship, how complicated it is. Under any other circumstances than Raccoon City I doubt it ever would have worked out the way it is going to. Hope you continue to enjoy what I have planned for everyone.
Love me the Pale Heads, and wanted to incorporate them in my own unique way. A next step mutation, evolution, adding to the horror and atmosphere of the story, and working to keep them from becoming just another enemy. I like experimenting with the monsters, figuring out how they work best in the circumstances, setting and surroundings. Seeing where they fit best without becoming just another mook for the heroes to kill simply. I have a 'less is more' approach to the monsters in general, apart from the zombie hordes of course, when they do show up lol. I prefer fewer more dangerous creatures to endless waves just getting mowed down.
nliochristou: If there are sequels to this story they will be based on other games and will indeed feature HUNK as the protagonist of them. But this story already takes enough out of me as it is lol so one tale at a time. If I do a sequel to this, the next one will be Code Veronica. No promises though.
Arkham Knight: Much appreciated, had a great deal of fun having them working together and getting to know each other, testing character dynamics. That Sherry idea would be interesting for sure, potential for quite a bit of depth, much better than Sherry and that lame character of Jake Wesker xD.
Terrrry: I'm glad you found and enjoy the story, and I just may post it on other sites at some point after I'm done. Mostly focusing on this one at the moment, has a good sized community with the Resident Evil fandom and such, is the most relevant place for my fan fiction I think. But we'll see what happens afterwards.
Thank you all for the reviews, as ever. But I think it's time our 'heroes' completed their objective, isn't it? Easier said than done, as ever:
September 30th, 1998, 11:05 PM
Park Road, Raccoon General Hospital, Northern Raccoon City
A heavy, dark combat boot splashed down in a puddle of rain across the street outside the hospital. The neon lights of Raccoon General Hospital's sign shone down and reflected like a mirror in the puddle. Cold, hard, calculating blue eyes rose up to the fourth floor of the building, where smoke and fire continued to rage from the explosion that had torn through it. Even the downpour, the storm showing no signs of lifting that evening, was enough to contain it. Somewhere up there, a fire alarm was blaring... had been for some time now, its echo carrying down to his ears faintly... though not enough to overwhelm either the patter of rain around him, nor the moans of the undead hordes beyond Park Street. Nor the eleven chimes of the Saint Michael Clock Tower not long before. He looked back down Park Street, to the tall cast iron fencing surrounding Raccoon Park, then to his left, among all the spent brass and infected corpses lining the street among the crashed cars. None of them had fallen by his hand... though he had more than a good idea who had done the shooting on the way through here to the hospital. His gaze turned dispassionately to the right side of the street, back to the military Humvee doing its part to divide the street and bar access to the undead shambling hordes beyond. Gradually, the eyes drifted on, back to the front of the hospital, studying the entrance, and studying its sign calmly. Mostly, he watched the fires burning on the fourth floor.
It was quite a sight, that much was true... but then most of the city was ablaze. What was one more building going up in flames? And before he departed the area and continued his mission, he would see to it the entirety of the hospital joined with the devastation surrounding it. All it was waiting for was a little push to the foundations. His gaze lowered back to the puddle settling around his boot... to his reflection... he saw the glass shards on the road from where the window blew, but possessed not a cut on his face... and the rain had long ago washed away Tyrell's blood. He felt just fine... the lower rooftop had absorbed most of his fall's impact, and he had moved quickly, before Death could glimpse and gun him down below. Nothing pained or troubled him... nothing broken. He was at his best. Better than that. The same could not be said of his adversary. For all he was capable of, the U.S.S. Agent had been worn down these past days. He remembered the jagged claw mark some creature had ran down the agent's helmet... and wondered what it had been. What he had survived in his absence. But his exhaustion was not the agent's only weakness now... to say nothing of having an interesting, if unexpected string to pull on now... to make him dance to his tune.
The girl... wherever it was that she now cowered with her wounds, slowly dying. This mission only grew more interesting all the time, the more it changed. The circumstances had favored him every time thus far. It was going to be a shame when the time came to leave... but not now. Not yet. Part of him was tempted to track down the girl, finish her off, collect the bounty upon her head... and leave her corpse for the pair of them to find if they made it back to her alive with their stolen vaccine. Yet she could have been hiding anywhere... and had likely been left with weapons. For all he knew she was already dead anyways. And if she wasn't, the Tyrant remained at large, searching for her, killing anything between it and her. He wasn't about to take a pointless risk, waste time playing hide and seek, with other more profitable avenues in front of him. His expression hardened, returning to the hospital, and proceeded. He started forward at last, crossing the street, and ascending the stairs to the entrance. Upon reaching the main doorway, he paused for a moment, glancing up at the sign hanging over the hospital again, and then ahead to his reflection in the Plexiglas.
Sergeant Nikolai Zinoviev slung his modified rifle over one shoulder, adjusted his recovered backpack of supplies, and moved a hand casually to an ear. Activating his radio. The Monitor's low, accented tone spoke into the night, addressing his remaining U.B.C.S. resources within Raccoon City.
"Silver Wolf to team leader. Repeat, Silver Wolf to team leader. Respond."
Nikolai left the channel open, and continued on, speaking as he moved, removing his sidearm from its holster. He opened the doors to the hospital lobby, and stepped inside, closing them behind him, and taking the time to survey the familiar damage to the place... and its conditions, as he had the first time he'd come through here. It was almost as silent as the tomb, save the ever present patter of rain outside, and the distant moans of the dead. And the buzzing of flies among some of the corpses, of course. He'd almost avoided taking the front entrance last time he'd come through, there were alternate routes around the hospital, ways to get in. But ironically with a bit of scouting, it turned out to be the safest route as of yet, and the most direct one. The sewers did not appeal to him especially as an alternative.
He'd spent more than enough time down there as it were, wading through the grime, pursuing his unfortunate quarry, the good Doctor Thomlinson, held up in her warehouse. Had there been more time, he would have taken her up on her offer... her clumsy seduction attempt to get out of what she knew he was going to do to her. She had been an attractive woman... but he was in his element here... and the truth was that he drew far more satisfaction from this mission than he ever would have coupling with Janice. A thrill beyond the mere pleasures of the heated flesh. With that objective accomplished, remaining in the sewers was tantamount to suicide. Even with NEST's self destruction, the worst of the facility's creations had poured out into the sewers already, made their way beyond the detonation radius. Multiplied and mutated. The streets had been cluttered with debris and obstacles, as most were, so avoiding the infected was simple enough, at least, open to multiple routes. The enclosed sewers were another story, where one could end up easily cornered and trapped in a dead end by the abominations. He peered over the mangled bodies of the fallen government troops all around the lobby, who had attempted a last stand here against something. He doubted it had been a main horde, otherwise going through the front door wouldn't have been an option to begin with.
Nikolai stepped slowly into the middle of the lobby, doubting anything was about to jump out at him. Not only had it been clear before of hostiles, the fool Corporal and his puppeteer Death had probably seen to anything else that might be lurking. Had done some work for him already. Taking a step forward, he was proven right. A bullet riddled Hunter that hadn't been there before lay in a pool of blood surrounded by spent brass casings... though to be sure, casings were everywhere. And the stench... he had become used to that rotting stench long ago... had come to appreciate it. It meant the absence of hostiles. At least provided there were no moans and snarls to accompany the scent. He felt no pity for the meddlesome government soldiers who had come here... they had been attempting to steal his data, and the vaccine, before he could do so. Bring it and Bard back to their master no doubt... be it Simmons and his Family, Tester, or many other interested parties in the government. With the Colonel's heads up, he had been prepared for them. Had intervened and denied the thieves each objective they sought.
For all the good it had done him, with the sudden intervention of a certain agent.
Both Nikolai and the government soldiers would fail to acquire the vaccine, Nikolai reluctantly admitted. At least he had procured some valuable documents prior to the meddling interference of the Corporal and agent... even if he wouldn't be able to make it down to the lab, now. The two interlopers were probably tearing it apart at that very moment. Tyrell's information would prove quite valuable as well... and what they had pried out of Bard together. And more importantly, he would survive to complete his other objectives. These soldiers on the other hand were no more than failures. For all the firepower they had brought, it had all been for nothing. Typical Americans, preferring to go in guns blazing, instead of utilizing effective reconnaissance. Undoubtedly there had been other government soldiers sent in around Raccoon City, separate of the ones maintaining the Quarantine Zone. Thus far, they had not managed to catch up to him. He was far ahead of them... and the closer the clock ticked towards the commencement of Operation: Bacillus Terminate, the more likely it was any surviving government soldiers would accept their failure, and get back to the Quarantine Zone. If they were smart enough, at least. At last, a familiar tone responded over the radio, returning his attention.
"Team leader here, sir. Copying you loud and clear, Sergeant."
"Excellent. What is the status of your team?"
"Condition Green. We're on standby here at the outpost, awaiting your orders. The infected don't even know we're here. We're making sure it stays that way."
"You do that. The last thing I require is all of you getting yourselves killed, before we've even seen to our mission."
"How about you, Sergeant? Everything proceeding on your end?"
It almost was. It was too late now to acquire the cure... Death was undoubtedly already seeing to that, and he would accomplish the objective. He always seemed to, against all odds. The sole thing about it that left Nikolai wondering was the motivation for his seeking a cure. Death could have been out of the city by now... and completing his, as of yet, mysterious objective. His reason for being in the city in the first place. The Colonel had not told him, nor had the Monitor asked... whatever it was, it must have went up at least as high as the Inner Circle. Yet here the agent still was, a matter of hours before the thermobaric strike, searching for a cure to the T-Virus. His unexpected sentimentality keeping him at ground zero. Running out of time before his little whore turned into one of the other things shambling around out there. It bewildered him why Death was bending over backwards for her while standing to gain nothing from it. If the agent insisted on handicapping himself with weakness though, who was Nikolai to complain? He had a distraction, now... slowing him, keeping him off Nikolai's trail. And what of the grievously wounded Captain Mikhail? Undoubtedly dead by now, all things considered. He had already almost been at death's door, days prior, when that remarkable shot of his had struck him.
Still, the fate of the officer, and her sizable bounty, remained up in the air as of yet. If there were time, he would have to see about looking into it. It was a mystery... and if there were anything Nikolai hated, it was not knowing what was going on. He had doubted Death would go this far out of his way for anyone, least of all an enemy of Umbrella like Valentine. Death was getting soft, and likely didn't even realize it. Denied it to himself. Told himself lies to justify it... or took advantage of the authority his frog Countess had granted him, abused it. All the better for Nikolai, all the worse for Death. This was the very worst of places for one to crack up and become sentimental... were Death in peak condition, behaving like himself, he probably would have already escaped the city by now. As it were, he remained entombed here with the rest of them. Still in the game. Part of Nikolai was glad for that... that he was still here. It merely made matters that much more interesting... and expanded the possibilities.
"I am about to tie up remaining loose ends here at the hospital. My mission here has been cut short by unforeseen circumstances, providing us more time to complete our next operation. A head start."
Nikolai's low, accented voice replied at last evenly, returning to the sole reason he had come back to Raccoon General Hospital. He removed his backpack and unzipped it, making his way over to the satisfactorily positioned nearby pillar in the lobby, close to the Card Index Room. Lowering himself to one knee pad, he removed the remaining C4 charge that had been tucked away inside the pack. He would stock up again at the outpost, once he reached it again... the University was going to require a great deal of it. Fortunately Colonel Vladimir had dropped in enough to blow half the city sky high. He would not be running out anytime soon. Setting aside the pack, he holstered his sidearm, and got to work.
"You will likely hear the loose ends being tied even from your current position."
"Looking forward to it. No place better than Raccoon City for more fireworks, about now."
"Quite so, Karl. Have you found any sign of Dowell yet?"
"Negative, Sergeant. Mac has remained radio silent since his last scouting report. We're better off chalking him up as a deserter, to be on the safe side. I sent Dustin out to his last known position, and there was no sign of him, nor of a struggle or bullets fired. We should have expected as much, with his girlfriend living in this city. Ran off to find her, no doubt."
"No matter. Speaking of fireworks, the sterilization shall prove just the show for him. If the creatures or quarantine troops around the city have not already made his acquaintance, of course. He and his precious little lady can die together."
"We can always hope. Shame the Colonel won't be able to execute him. Either way, one less split, come payday."
"Indeed. Only the most cunning, and possessing the will to do whatever it takes shall receive the compensation they deserve. Sentimentality in war is the death of a man. I must concentrate on my work, team leader. I will contact you again when I am ready, with further instructions."
"Affirmative, Sergeant. Team leader over and out."
When the other voice vanished off the line, Nikolai turned it off. Focusing on the C4 charge, he pressed it to the pillar, where it adhered at once, the screen remaining blank. Explosives... among Nikolai's favorite parts of the job. He had already planted enough C4 at the separate sections of the place to bring down the whole hospital, and make it cave in on its self. The moment one went off, it would trigger a perfect chain reaction among the others... nothing inside would survive. The weight would collapse down even on the basement levels and laboratory, more likely than not. If he was unable to uncover the vaccine himself, then nobody was going to benefit from it. A fitting end to the so called legend that was Death. Dying a failure, in the midst of a personal mission that did not benefit Umbrella. This place could be his tomb, and then his tomb, like himself, could be atoms once the thermobaric strike arrived. It felt almost anti climactic. No final showdown, not cliched battle to the death, or battle of wills and skills to find out who was better once and for all.
It was disappointing, quite disappointing... yet seemed grimly necessary. He pondered the timer as he activated it, four zeroes appearing on the display. He studied it for a time, wondering the proper amount to give Death. What was he worth? Death and the Corporal would be dealt with. Their efforts sabotaged, as they had done to his. And yet... yet... it didn't seem entirely proper. Nor right. Too simple... too easy. Regardless of his contempt for the man... it was matched by his respect. Had it just been the Corporal in need of elimination, Nikolai would have no trouble setting the time to thirty seconds... a minute if he was feeling generous. But it wasn't just the Corporal, unfortunately. Deep down, the Sergeant knew he would reap no satisfaction in killing Death in this crude, roundabout manner. It would prove nothing... merely that he had been too afraid to face the man directly. It would grow his legend, not break it apart. He would not be able to claim his title and legend for himself. When the day came where they finally had it out... it had to be definitive... undeniable which of them won. Which was superior. Nikolai could spare exactly seven minutes, so he went ahead and gave the man seven minutes, preparing the clock. His generosity with Death would be his undoing, one day, he mused. His enjoyment of this recurring conflict of theirs.
But not today.
Today, Death would owe him one... whether he knew it or not. Nikolai armed the C4 charge, and with a satisfied nod, putting his backpack on again and rising to his feet, he activated the countdown timer, on both the bomb and his watch simultaneously. The red light on the charge began to glow and blink on and off, beeping audibly as it did so.
6:59... 6:58... 6:57...
"Your move, Death."
His mother tongue carried through the hospital lobby, along with the beeping, each of them unheard. Cold, pitiless eyes narrowed, along with his faint, thin smirk. The Monitor turned on his boot heel and walked away unceremoniously, leaving the lobby behind, the doors closing behind him as the cold night air and the rain greeted him refreshingly. The water flowed down his calm face... and the sensation was rejuvenating. He didn't run, there was no hurry particularly anymore. He moved with calm dignity, down the stairs of the hospital, and back to the road, standing in the middle of it and glancing back at the entrance, satisfied. His attention moved on, to the Humvee blockading access to the road. He studied it thoughtfully, its thick armor plating, roof mounted .50 Caliber Machine Gun, all terrain drive. Strong enough to plow through a horde of bodies bunched together... to push aside or roll over any cars in the way. Looking between it and the other vehicles around the road, it was an easy choice to make. He walked over to it, removing his sidearm all the while. It would serve him well getting to the outpost, picking up his naive subordinates and delivering them all to Raccoon University. And to the Dead Factory, once he had completed the operation, where his chopper out of the city patiently awaited him. When the time came to abandon the vehicle and continue on foot, he would do so.
In the meantime... he would make the most of it. As he approached the door there was a low moan, and clawing at the window, as an infected former soldier peered back at him through it. Gripping the door handle, Nikolai pulled it open and drew back out of its reach. Trying to grab at him, it instead fell out of the driver's seat, landing in the midst of a puddle at Nikolai's boots.
"Left their weakest link behind like a dog in the car... smart. Though they didn't even think to roll your window down a bit."
Nikolai chuckled under his breath at the observation. A telltale bite wound, putrid and infected, with a bloody bandage wrapped tightly around it, stood out at the forefront of his vision. Perhaps they had thought Bard could cure him... but clearly there wouldn't have been enough time, this thing was too far gone. Their weakness leaving a danger behind in their vehicle, instead of executing him. Maybe that accounted for their lack of reconnaissance... their hurry and desperation to cure their ailing comrade. Perhaps they weren't so smart after all, on second thought... but he was grateful that was the case. Their lack of foresight had been easy to exploit, take them all off guard. It moaned again deeply, hungrily, as it rolled over on the spot, peering up vacantly at Nikolai, or more specifically, the barrel of his pistol. The Monitor blew its brains out without hesitation, the single shell casing landing beside it. The puddle turned murky and clouded with blood and floating grey matter, and the Sergeant stepped over its corpse as it twitched in the puddle. Raising his pistol again, he scanned the spacious interior of the Humvee carefully, discerning that the soldier had been the sole occupant of it. Apart from some equipment, weaponry and supplies that might prove useful. He nodded to himself as he inspected the vehicle, quite satisfied with the results.
Perhaps the government team had stolen the vehicle from the convoy Monitor Roger Sasaki and Sergeant Claus had been given to recover Doctor Cameron with. Lord Spencer had specifically asked Colonel Vladimir to recover that strange, creepy little woman... she had been working on something for him, it seemed. The Colonel had told him the name of Cameron's work... the 'Executer Project'... but no details about the exact nature of it. Perhaps Spencer hadn't even told him. He theorized it was most likely a new virus, like Birkin had been designing... or something else of a regenerative nature. It was no mystery that Lord Spencer's health was not what it once was. Most likely he was searching for some way to cheat death for himself. A legacy through his family in England, his successors, not being enough to satisfy his ambitions any longer. Wanting to live to enjoy all his power for all time. Why the Colonel hadn't simply forged a will or forced the old man to write and sign one, smothered Spencer with a pillow one night and seized Umbrella for himself, Nikolai could not begin to fathom.
Quite disappointingly, the Colonel lacked for true ambition, unable to take the final step, and remained a loyal, oversized guard dog to Spencer. Waiting and hoping for the old man to look at him as his true successor... not just that... to look at him as a son. Hoping to fully replace War, fill the void she had left behind. Something the old man would never give him... but certainly would keep pulling on his strings, exploiting to manipulate the Colonel with false hopes. He had to respect the old man's game... the way he manipulated those around him, and had for many years. One didn't reach his position without having been a master of what he was best at. A pity Nikolai had never had the chance to meet the man in person, as Death had, and likely never would. Likely they would have had more in common, at least. Nikolai felt deepening curiosity for what the Cameron woman had been working on... but like the matter of Valentine there were simply too many other far more profitable ventures in this vicinity to apply his attention to. Less risky ones as well. There were no guarantees running off to look for her himself. Likely Roger had already gotten her out of the city anyways, returned her to her previous posting at Spencer's Antarctic facility, DEN, to resume her work on Executer for the old man. Even Nikolai couldn't be everywhere at once, he had to admit, couldn't capitalize on every single opportunity in this city... merely the best of them. Perhaps he would follow up on the matter once he got out as well. Question the Colonel further.
Or perhaps this vehicle was simply the soldiers own. It was clear from the lack of insignia, however, along with the lack of a name tag or dog tags on the soldiers, that it was government property. Black ops property.
Had been. Now his property, like all else he'd rightfully claimed so far in a dead city the crows feasted upon. Wolves feasted better than the crows or vultures anyways.
"You are relieved from your post, soldier."
Nikolai holstered his smoking sidearm again, kicked aside the infected corpse and climbed inside the Humvee, slamming the heavy door shut behind him and taking the time to lock all the doors, buckle up and make sure the reinforced windows were tightly up. Within the inside of the Humvee, the rain bounced noisily off the hood, while at the back of the armored car, the horde kept at bay from the hospital moaned and pressed their cold, dead hands against the metal uselessly. It was all too easy... the keys were still in the ignition, saving him the bother of having to hot wire the damn thing. He removed his backpack and rifle, setting each in the seat next to him, and turned the key, and the powerful engine roared to life at once, the lights inside the vehicle illuminating him. There was plenty of gas in the tank, enough of it to take him wherever he needed to go in the city. He could take various back roads to avoid the main road... he had a map, and there was another inside the Humvee. Getting where he needed to go wouldn't be trouble, and any road blocks could be driven through if need be. There would of course come a time he needed to abandon it... there was nothing stealthy about the machine. Impressive as it was, it was going to attract attention... but until then... he'd make a time of it. Nikolai smiled, revving the motor, he set it in reverse, but activated his communication device one more time before he set out.
"Silver Wolf to Team Leader. Operation: Emperor's Mushroom is a go. Repeat, Operation: Emperor's Mushroom is a go. I have procured transport. I will be returning to our outpost to pick your team up. We shall proceed to Raccoon University with all due haste, and complete our objectives. I am en route now. Be ready by the time I get there."
"Affirmative, Sergeant. I'll ready the men. We'll be prepared to move fast, the vehicle will probably rile up the horde, but it'll get us to the rendezvous point faster. Doctor Mueller will be distracted with his experiments anyways. He won't know what hit him. Over and out."
Nikolai turned off the transmitter again, and studied the hospital thoughtfully through the windshield, as the wiper moved over bulletproof glass, fingers tapping on the wheel. The hospital was little more than a test run, for the University. Regardless of their success or failure with procuring Mueller's experiment, or its DNA at least, he was going to bring down the entire University on top of the deluded old bastard. Which in its self was bigger even than the hospital, and would require more explosives at key locations. He already had a blueprint of the place exposing its structural failings... and Karl's team possessed the remaining C4 required. There was still much to do, come the morning, before the thermobaric strike... but he was almost home free. All the loose ends, and objectives, so very much like weeds had nearly been torn loose altogether.
If nothing else, when it was over he was going to be an extremely wealthy man, from either Umbrella, or come the highest bidder he found. The details would be settled later. Turning on the radio, he found one of the few stations remaining, to hear a religious fellow on the other end babbling and screaming. Ranting madly. He wasn't sure if it was a recorded loop left on, an old show during the outbreak, or if the man was still alive and held up in his station... but regardless, the man on the other end articulated his message clearly enough.
"REPENT! THE END IS EXTREMELY FUCKING NIGH!"
He went on rambling, quoting scripture and speaking of demons, hellfire and brimstone engulfing Raccoon City. He was closer to the mark than most of the news and radio channels had been, at least. Nikolai wondered if the madman would be alive when the thermobaric missile reached the city and proved him right. As amusing as listening to the insane man's rantings and prayers proved, he cared little for being lectured to, switching the station and cutting off his voice mid prayer. He found another station, one still playing music. Whoever had been there had left the studio running some welcome 80's American tunes, at least. "Stepping Into The Twilight Zone" was pouring out of the speakers currently, and he welcomed it. With that, humming along to the song to himself, he reversed the Humvee, backing into and over top of assorted zombies clawing at the armored vehicle with ease. He reversed his way out of the gap the Humvee had been bridging, found a space free enough away from one of the other abandoned cars, and repositioned himself, turning the Humvee around and putting the hospital behind him. Then he peered straight ahead through the rain, and sea of the dead stretching on down Park Street. Hands clutched the metal of the military vehicle and the reinforced Plexiglas windows uselessly, accomplishing little more than amusing Nikolai.
Revving the engine again, he drove down the center of the road, plowing through the creatures in his path with ease. They flew this way and that, hitting pavement in broken heaps, smashing into other cars... they did no more than scatter through the air like bugs. He couldn't repress a smile or a chuckle beneath his breath at the sight. There were some of the emaciated, nude, Pale Ones among the horde, as it had been before... but more of them, mutating each day. He wondered what their next form would have been, if there had been enough time remaining in the city for their next stage to evolve. They didn't attack his vehicle like their far stupider and more numerous cousins... instead standing there, tall and still, watching him without eyes. Like Sergeants themselves of the army surrounding them. Grinning at Nikolai as he passed them by. Drooling their acidic saliva, which landed on the concrete at their feet, hissing and scorching it. He had already collected the genetic material of one of their kind to sell to the highest bidder. It had taken a great deal to put it down and keep it down... he remembered the smoke pouring from its body as it mended its self. Gradually regrowing the arm he had blown off it before his very eyes... before he took out the rest of its limbs, and put it down for good.
The mutations among Raccoon City were impressive... and would make for quite the fine addition to a bioweapons program. An irregular mutation repurposed to be a B.O.W. perhaps. Be it Umbrella, Tricell or the government, someone was going to pay top dollar for the samples he had collected here. Raccoon City the ultimate testing grounds for the world's most devastating weapons. Human weapons like himself or Death, and viral weapons alike. He saw the shining eyes now and again among the horde... glowing like cat's eyes... the mutated infected containing that deadly purple toxic vapor within them, a defense mechanism when slain. An intriguing mutation. He'd gotten some samples of them as well, though it had been of less interest to him that the Pale Ones. As he drove, Nikolai glanced at the blood stained side view mirror next to the driver's side door, and watched the shambling horde trying and failing to catch up to him. Some at the back of it, closer to the hospital, gave up their pursuit, and one after another turned around, lurching back down in the direction he had come from. It was a few at first... and before long, dozens. Making their way slowly but surely up Park Street and towards the entrance of Raccoon General Hospital. Pressing their rotting hands against the doors and Plexiglass, unable to open them... but anything within unlikely to be able to get through them.
He'd given Death a chance, with the timer... but where the horde and unfortunate circumstances of happenstance were concerned, well. He was on his own. That was where the agent excelled best, last time he'd checked. If he could fight his way out of overwhelming odds, like he had before, then he'd earned his right to live, and his short lived victory procuring the cure. For the moment. They could have it. Nikolai was content with leaving the pair of interlopers a ticking vaccination of his own brand. The window wiper ran non stop, cleaning off the mixing water and infected blood trickling down the front of the Humvee. Singing along to the music pouring out of the radio, Nikolai glanced one last time to the side mirror... but specifically, to the ever present text that came with every vehicle's side mirror.
Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.
Icy, amused eyes rose back to the road, and the moaning, decaying sea of bodies surrounding him that refused to part for him willingly.
Too right.
September 30th, 1998, 11:11 PM
Laboratory Elevator, Raccoon General Hospital, Northern Raccoon City
The metal box lurched into motion, rising up gradually from the bowels of the hospital, and bound for ground level. The cheery, upbeat elevator music poured out of the speakers around them, mocking them, indifferent to the horror and carnage surrounding the hospital, within and without. The two armed figures standing within, soaked through and dripping over the leech blood and remains and water stained floor. Standing among dozens of shell casings, they were grim and silent. One floor after another, the elevator beeped merrily, in stark contrast to the atmosphere of the situation. Carlos breathed deeply behind the balaclava, readying his rifle and aiming it squarely on the metal doors, following HUNK's lead. The red laser sight was already aimed there, reflecting partially off the shiny metal. Carlos glanced sideways to the other man... immobile and ready for whatever awaited them. The signs of his exhaustion were visible now and again... but somehow after all he'd been through the man remained combat ready... Carlos was already aching and tired himself. He couldn't imagine what the agent was repressing. It was inspiring, truth be told... even in the middle of this hell... especially in the middle of it. Not that he could ever admit that to the man.
Carlos looked back ahead, at his reflection in the blood stained elevator button panel. The light of the elevator partially obscured his eyes behind the goggles he wore. Part of him preferred being featureless like this, as HUNK was behind his mask and helmet. There was a slight comfort to it, a professional look to it, to be able to look like something else. To separate himself even further from the things lurching out there around Raccoon City. From what he was doing.
Never had he wanted to leave somewhere as badly as he did Raccoon General Hospital. Even the crumbling clock tower was looking good again by comparison... and safe, even with a horde moaning at its gates. Hell, if it came to it he'd have probably risked the sewers just to get clear of this place. He'd seen damn too much here already, and hadn't even explored much of the hospital... had managed to avoid the sealed sections around it, whatever the barricades held back. There was no doubt it was worth it, he recognized, the image of the Medium Base in his pocket coming to mind. If it worked, at least. It couldn't have been all for nothing. They'd risked much coming here, doing this... as the seconds ticked away to the Sterilization Operation. Nuclear hellfire, in all probability. And yet... he didn't think he could go on, and live with himself, not doing this for her. Not trying to save her... or those the vaccine might cure. In the morbid, dark thought of the road thankfully avoided... he knew he hadn't had the will to grant her a merciful death, if the option of a cure hadn't existed.
It would have fallen upon HUNK... who would have had it in him to put her out of her misery. But for whatever his reasons, he'd made the right choice. Regardless of probably having the temptation to choose the expedient one. Even now Carlos felt the nagging guilt of his inaction then... leaving the fate of another in the hands of one stronger. Maybe it had been a test, one he'd failed... just as perhaps this now, recovering the vaccine, was his shot at a redemption. What might have become of him, if his path hadn't crossed with HUNK and Jill? He didn't much care to think about it... but he wouldn't have gotten this far. Never. He was no longer tired, or exhausted... even with the painful bruising spreading over his midsection beneath his body armor, his heart continued to race in his chest. He felt fear, fear he tried keeping tightly in control, holding on. He preferred it, to the exhaustion. Knowing the stakes, what was counting on him, and his brush with death, he felt as alive now as he had defending the train station with his unit. As one after another, his friends, old and new, were slaughtered around him. Felt every second of his life ticking on a clock.
Somehow he had held the line... just like somehow he was still here. He was going to make it. They were going to make it. Somehow, they had to. It couldn't have all been for nothing. He mentally left the laboratory and Pale Head behind, even left the Leech Man behind in the past, for the moment. He knew he had to concentrate, as they ran the gauntlet back to the clock tower. With a final beep, at last the rumbling elevator came to a stop on the first floor, back to ground level. The doors parted, revealing the doctor's lounge once more... and more importantly, what had been waiting for them. Two Hunters of the Beta type had been pacing slowly about the lounge. Up on the ceiling, a vent shaft had been broken open, where the things had come from to begin with, evidently. The noise of the elevator had alerted them instantly, to say nothing of his and HUNK's revealed presence. The pair hissed at once, and made a break for the elevator, claws outstretched to mangle, jaws wide to consume their next meal. It was a testament to their agility and speed they made it as far as they did, with both automatic weapons opening up on them in unison.
Feeding them hot leaden death instead of warm flesh.
Even over the pounding of the rifle, Carlos could hear them screeching, blood splashing all over the carpet around them. Spraying against the wall. Their claws dug into the ground as they crawled forward, making it to gap in the elevator doors. Even as the napalm fire of HUNK's rounds swept over their bodies, burning them, and the concentrated gunfire tore them to pieces, still their jaws snapped hungrily at the mercenary and agent. At least until gradually, their malevolent eyes, along with their malformed bodies, went still, apart from the occasional twitching. The two stopped firing, as smoke filled the elevator shaft. The doors attempted to close, but both bodies and their parts were stuck half way into the elevator. The doors kept shutting, and drawing back, over and over. Carlos took point again, stepping over the smoking B.O.W.'s, his boots nearly slipping the the slick surface of the elevator. In a flash, both himself and HUNK were out, scanning the cluttered doctor's lounge one more time to be sure, shining a light up into the vent shaft. Nothing stirred up there, fortunately... no sounds, no movements. No further surprises. Satisfied, Carlos made his way to the door leading back to the card index room.
Opening the door and leaving it ajar for HUNK, he examined the room again with one sweeping glance, deeming it secure and continuing on, rifle still to his shoulder and ready. Leaving the maddeningly cheery elevator music behind them. He turned his attention to the door back to the corpse, blood and shell casing filled lobby... but before opening it, he paused, and listened. The moaning outside was louder than it had been before... something had riled them up out there. He could hear it all the way from where they were inside. Something had riled up the howling zombies... and he didn't like it. Heart beating faster, he grasped the door handle and pulled it open, making his way back into the lobby, kicking aside the dead Hunter in his way, and scanning the surroundings. The moment he saw them waiting through the main doors of the hospital entrance, he froze. The horde had found a way through the Park Street blockades... and were clutching and moaning at the closed doors, only encouraged as they spotted the two survivors inside. Their next meal. Growing more excited, snarling, rotting hands pressing against the Plexiglas windows and the doors. A wail going up. Carlos's eyes bulged in his skull, more alert than he'd already been before.
"Holy shit!"
There were dozens, maybe hundreds from what he could see, all focusing on him... hungering him. Staining the Plexiglas with water and blood as they pressed against it. And they were not alone... Carlos felt his innards twist when he saw them again... exact copies of the thing they had entombed in the laboratory. The Pale Heads, out there among them, in the back, emaciated, nude bodies sleek with the rain, standing quite still where they were. At least a half a dozen of them among the horde, at least from his position... watching silently as their lesser brethren mobbed the entrance, eyeless white faces grinning back at Carlos malevolently. Waiting for them... having all the time in the world. One of them stood ahead of the others... raising an emaciated, gaunt, bony arm and pointing a long finger in the direction of the hospital door, maw of razor teeth salivating freely. In the brief few seconds of shock, at the idea of their escape route being barred, he had been so focused on the zombies waiting for them that the other oddity of the room had gone unnoticed to him. Something that most certainly hadn't been there before. Slowly, very slowly his eyes turned in the direction of the pillar an all too familiar sound emanated from. Very calmly his eyes examined the beeping device, and its flashing red light. In response to what resided there, combined with the horde cutting them off, his fear held him frozen to the spot, and his knew his role in taking point in the operation was over. And that the horde wasn't going to have to wait long for them after all. Recoiling at the sight of it, the flashing numbers counting down, the response that came to Carlos's lips was the natural one.
"Oh... fuck me..."
The armored agent moved forward then at once, pushing past him and taking the lead, lowering his weapon as he approached the pillar. Paying no heed then to the horde's bloody hands clutching at the doors, nor to the frozen mercenary, he knelt down on one knee and examined the timer counting down. Setting the timer on his watch, he rose back to his feet. Turning his attention back to Carlos, he moved rapidly forward and grabbed him by the collar, forcing the young man's attention away from the C4 charge and the horde clambering around the entrance. His low tone addressed the shell shocked Corporal firmly, who stared vacantly back at himself in the red lenses.
"We have three minutes and twenty one seconds to get out of here, Oliveira. Pull yourself together."
"I really don't think the bomb or zombies out there care what we do. Now would be a perfectly acceptable time to lose our fucking heads. Might not be a good time to say it, but my unit lost its explosives defusing equipment days ago."
"So did mine. We wouldn't have enough time anyways. This was rigged by a professional."
"Lucky us. On the bright side... we're not going to be zombies, or their dinner. If there's anything left, we'll be too burnt even for them."
"Not good enough."
HUNK said nothing more for a long moment. He considered the situation quickly, mind working expertly on formulating the best available tactical course of action. There was always a way out, and the means. Their exit was barred by the enemy, for the moment, and their inevitable death lie inside the lobby with them. Knowing the man who had planted the explosives, the entire hospital was likely rigged, so there was no fleeing back to the elevator... or enough of it in vital areas that running and looking for another route wasn't an option. He considered what options he did have, the equipment he had on hand. The equipment Oliveira had on him... and what lay around them on the floors. Bodies, the fallen military men. And their weaponry. Primarily, there was one weapon in question that caught his attention, strapped to a corpse against the wall.
With the sight of it, looking back at the horde trying to break in, the regenerative Pale Heads watching and waiting beyond them, everything fell together, all the pieces coming together like a puzzle. One of the puzzles from the lessons Bella had given him. It would work, or it wouldn't. But they were going to try. He'd been wise in leaving it there the first time they had come through. Now, the situation and its circumstances had changed. Adaptability was required, and he would meet the demands. HUNK let go of the Corporal's collar, slung his submachine gun over his shoulder, and wasted no time approaching the body and stripping the device off it. The bloodied corpse slumped to the side, head striking the floor as the agent got to work. After checking the fuel gauge with satisfaction, hefting the twin tanks, he slipped them on and around himself like a backpack, then he adjusted the straps securely into place. Heavy or not, it was nothing he hadn't trained with or used on containment missions before. He'd carried bigger, more advanced weapons.
Numbly, Carlos heard the rummaging and forced himself to look away from the Pale Heads and over from the windows to see what the agent was doing... lips parting beneath the balaclava.
"What the hell...-"
"I'm going to open the doors, Oliveira. And when I do...-"
"Are you out of your mind? I was just joking about the goddamn flamethrower before!"
"And I'm not. I am going to open those doors and hose them down with fire. When I do, on my command, you are going to pull the pin on one of the grenades on that belt of yours."
The U.S.S. Agent instructed him calmly, hefting the torch in both hands and turning it on, supplying fuel from the tanks. A blue flame lit up from the end of the barrel, and he test fired it, on the soldier's corpse in the corner he had taken it from. A spurt of flame shot out the end like dragon's breath, lighting up the body in seconds, engulfing it, smoke pouring through the lobby at once, the flames spreading to other bodies. Satisfied, he aimed it directly at the doors, to the dead pounding against it beyond. Eager to taste them, and not knowing what they would taste instead.
"You will throw the entire belt outside as hard as you can into the middle of them out there. Then take cover. They're tightly packed. The moment we punch a hole into them, we are out that door, guns blazing, through the horde and down the street to the alley to take cover. Got all that?"
"You're going to get us killed!"
"And your preferred alternative? Do nothing and come to the same conclusion? One minute, forty two seconds. We're doing it my way."
The simple response clinched the matter. The sheer simplicity of it and scale of their stakes, and HUNK's calm manner in the face of it brought Carlos back around. He drew in what, for all he knew, might have been one of his final breaths, and nodded his agreement. No... it wasn't going to be one of his final breaths. Not here in the middle of a corpse filled madhouse doubling for a hospital. Not if it could be helped. Courage swelled through Carlos, and anger, towards whoever had set the bomb, and the creatures trying to bar their escape.
"...what the hell.", Carlos glanced at the timer ticking away and conceded his point, removing the belt of ten grenades from around his neck. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, stepped around the pillar and past the bomb, behind HUNK, who remained in his position before the doors. He was going to need both hands free for this one, to get it as far out among the horde as possible. "You only live once. Olympic shot put medal, here I come."
"That's the spirit, rookie. On my order. No sooner."
"Don't go keeping me in suspense now."
HUNK, standing in front of the door, paused for one second only, before rushing forward, and pulling open the doors with force and suddenness. The creatures closest to the door, leaning against it, fell through on the floor at once, and those behind them began to trip and fall over one another. It was enough to help buy them some more time, to implement the next step. Raising the torch into the sea of rotting, moaning flesh... HUNK squeezed down on the trigger, a jet of fire more powerful than the earlier display on the corpse washing over them. He aimed the nozzle around, making sure all within reach got plenty of it. Flesh, hair and clothing went up and began spreading through the crowd... they went up like a wailing funeral pyre, the rain of no consequence. Flaming limbs blackened, clutched and clawed... some on the ground tried to crawl into the lobby, still moaning away and they burnt. and fell this way and that. Even writhing as they were, they could sense the living, and that all consuming desire to feed, starting forward. HUNK let them burn for a few moments, waiting for the right second to give the order. The smoke started to grow thick, and as the doors of the hospital grew packed and full of hellfire, the armored agent quickly drew back, leaving Carlos in front, his shout echoing through the lobby.
"Now!"
Without a moment's hesitation, the moment of truth came. Pulling the pin on one of the grenades attached to the belt, he heaved it forward with all he had. It flew straight enough and true, over the tops of their heads, landing in the midst of the horde out on the road. At the time he threw it, he didn't know this. All he knew was the overwhelming panic as he dived backwards, further into the lobby and took cover. A deafening explosion tore through the lobby as the grenade belt went up. Every window, including the doors, exploded, showering their contents all over the streets and through the lobby. To say nothing of the horde, the explosion leaving a gaping hole in their midst. Limbs and parts blew all over the street from the force of the explosion, drenching the puddles in gore. The creatures in the midst of the explosion were incinerated, while the force of it knocked down most of the rest. Smoke filled the interior of the lobby, obscuring most everything inside and outside. Dimly, laying among the bodies of the dead soldiers, Carlos felt himself being pulled up to his feet, still dazed from the explosion... realizing he was still alive, and he heard a voice shouting in his ringing ear. A voice that felt dim and distant, in the wake of the devastation.
"Forty four seconds Oliveira! Move it! Go! Go! Go!"
Unslinging his assault rifle, Corporal Carlos Oliveira reacted on instinct, leading the charge out the door, through the smoke and fire and over the pile of writhing corpses and limbs. Even finding himself in the middle of a nightmare, he felt no fear, then... as he hadn't in the middle of the train station, what seemed ages ago. He had a duty. There was no time for fear, just doing what needed to be done. Right now, that meant escape through the sole exit, and working with his partner. He caught images on the way out... more to take to the grave. Flesh melting off zombies before his eyes. Among the bodies, zombies blown in half still dragging themselves across the pavement, or trying to get up the stairs, entrails flowing behind them, painting the concrete. A former little boy with his face burnt black, still clawing out towards their legs as they passed. Switching to single shot mode, Carlos shot every one he could see in their way in the head. The once powerful rapports of the rifle, were little more than echoes in his ears now, as though he were the one with the silencer. He heard their muffled snarling and moans as well, unceasing. Rushing through the billowing smoke, the cold air washed over him as the heat of the war zone's flames did in unison. Water droplets, the downpour of rain, greeted them as they made it out together, sliding down each of their goggles and masks.
The front sign of the Raccoon General Hospital had been blown off as surely as the doors... and it was a miracle the roof hadn't caved in on its self. He looked back only once, to see that for all the damage they had thought to have done to the horde's vanguard, hundreds remained unscathed, marching ever downward towards Park Street. Dealing with them was out of their hands... but another jet stream of fire sprouted from behind Carlos in their direction, keeping them at bay a little bit longer, and lighting up the ones closest. Even in the smoke, fire and death, Carlos saw how the horde had managed to get through. The Humvee he'd seen earlier, parked strategically to form a defensive barrier, was very much absent now, the dead streaming in through the open gap. Carlos ran, he ran so fast and hard he felt as though his lungs would burst... they burned like the flamethrower that was burning everything. His muffled breathing, and a 'Come on', directed as much at himself as it was to HUNK, were the only things he heard clearly. Thanks only to feeling them as well. The rest was all echo's. A couple burning, shambling zombies tried to grab them as they raced past the various crashed cars, boots splashing through the puddles.
Before they could get close enough, Carlos unthinkingly blew their brains out. His body acted on instinct, fight or flight as surging adrenaline carried him all the way down Park Street. He turned back only once from a distance, firing wildly to slow down any that he could, but at this point, it was all inaccurate shooting in his panic. The rest of the horde had rallied, swarming towards the hospital, and reaching the entrance in no time, filling the hole they had punched into it. The survivors of the grenade belt were fast rising, including the Pale Heads... their burnt flesh already knitting its self back together, smoking, turning a sleek white again. Several of them started after the pair, reached their gangling limbs out to seize them, pull them in against their maws... when a sudden torrent of flame rushed through the smoke and rain and overtook them all once more. He saw the flames dancing, reflecting in the burning red lenses of the dark figure's gas mask, encompassed in smoke. The owner providing covering fire for their escape... literally. Carlos shot off one of their outstretched arms at the same time as he navigated among the corpses... then their legs, shooting them out from under them. His magazine went dry, in that instant, the still standing Pale Heads and infected reached out for him, preparing to pull him in. As the emaciated, inhuman bodies he had shot down hit the pavement and started to regenerate, a second great jet of flame overtook them and many of the other Pale Heads and zombies, blue and orange flames dancing over their writhing bodies, the once fresh air choked with burnt flesh. A wall of fire that formed a barrier between them and the rest of the horde, igniting any who tried passing through it, clothes, flesh and hair going up.
The fires illuminated the bright white flesh of the unburnt Pale Heads beyond it, who didn't charge through the fire suicidally like the zombies. Carlos glimpsed their hideous grinning faces illuminated beyond the flames, skeletal hands pointing at the two survivors... heard them hissing into the night, saliva pouring freely from between their jagged maws. The copious saliva dripping down along their sleek, tattered, near translucent bodies. Despite their grins and lack of facial features, there was nothing less than rage imposed on what features they had... gnashing their teeth... bodies twitching, writhing and excited. So close to a meal, yet so far... the torrent of fire keeping them at bay. Nearly tripping over a body as he turned back around to focus on his destination, Carlos passed around the bend in the road towards the clock tower alleyway and upon reaching it, dived front first into it, dropping his spent rifle in a puddle and covering his ears where he lay on the ground. His eyes shut tightly and desperately behind the goggles, as he waited for the explosion that trumped the one from the grenade belt. Within seconds, he wasn't disappointed. A terrible, all consuming explosion lit up Park Street, visible from miles away. One after another, different explosions tore through Raccoon General Hospital, in a primed chain reaction. The once long standing and mighty building went up in flames, detonating, collapsing in on its self, and taking most of Park Street and the neighboring horde with it. The burning rubble overtook much of the road and collapsed upon the mass of bodies that formed the horde's vanguard on the street below.
The night rained fire, brick, concrete, debris and smoke for entire surrounding city blocks.
At some point, Carlos wasn't sure when, the noise of the explosion had stopped, and everything settled. Apart from the ringing in his ears. Reminding him he was still alive. Then he became aware of the cold puddle he lay in, and slowly, painfully turned over, laying on his back and trying to gather his senses. Feeling the steady beating of rain drops falling on his flesh. He heard a beeping sound, over and over like an alarm... and out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the hazy, yet familiar red eyed figure, siting down with his back pressed to the cement wall of the alley. He resided at the corner of the wall, just before it ended and the street began, the metal hose of the flamethrower had fallen to the ground at his side. The figure pressed something on its wrist, and the automated beeping sound ceased. Quite steadily, the dark figure rose to its feet, looking in Carlos's direction, picking up his weapon and and stepping over to him, shadow looming. The masked man seemed to lean in a bit closer, staring for a few moments back into Carlos's glazed over eyes, a blue flame burning close by from a metal device lowered at his side. The ringing in his ears had yet to subside, or at least calm down... but gradually, he wasn't sure how long it took, he began to become conscious of the heavy patter of rain around them. And the echoing voice through the ringing that had begun to address him, pulling his attention partially out of his shock.
"Oliveira, talk to me. Focus. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?"
He saw three... or maybe it was six, everything seemed to be double, and his head hurt like a bitch... but it was still screwed on to his neck. Somehow. He hadn't been caught in any of the explosions. He couldn't find it in himself to give much of a shit about anything in that moment... when he was still trying to collect even his most basic thought pattern. Least of all how many fingers someone was sticking in his face. Groggily, unable to find any words, the Corporal raised a hand at his own distant reflection in the red lenses... and with it, his middle finger in response.
"You're fine."
The same powerful gloved hand came down in his direction and seized his slackening one. He grasped it back gratefully, as he was pulled with ease back up to his feet in one fluent motion. The moment he was back up, he moved over to the edge of the alley wall HUNK had been leaning against, and did some leaning of his own. Dizziness and nausea swept over him... and he pulled down his balaclava to his neck, and rose the rain soaked goggles up on his head. The refreshing air and water swept over his face, and he drew in a series of long, slow breaths. One hand went down to his canteen in one of his waist pockets, and he drew it out, attempting to open the lid... to find his hands shaking near uncontrollably, frustrating him to no end. The masked man, still standing nearby, took the canteen from him and opened it up for him, before handing both it and the lid back.
Carlos nodded appreciatively the other man's way, and drank, tilting his head back. Lukewarm water rarely tasted so sweet. Flashes of the mad dash to the alley returned to his head. Rotting, burning, snarling faces. Faces of the dead. Figures burning and torn apart, crawling, reaching for him. Hungering, even as they burned to ash. Hands still shaking, he put the cap back on, and tucked the bottle away again. Raising his head slowly, still trying to put his head on straight again, he watched HUNK's tall, bulky form, accentuated by the fuel tanks of the flamethrower, step out of the alleyway and into the middle of Park Street. Peering down to survey the damage. Where Raccoon General Hospital had once stood. Carlos watched as he stood in the street, among the settling smoke and rain, peering straight ahead silently. Mustering the energy he could, Carlos lurched forward away from the wall like one of the zombies, stepped out of the alley and moved over to HUNK's side in the street, considering what they had just survived. Freezing next to him when the devastation came into view, lips parting slowly.
"Dear God..."
The street was buried in mass of rubble, a mere matter of meters away from where they stood. The entire building had dropped on top of the horde that had been gathering around the entrance, while the rest of the horde, still moaning out of sight, were trapped behind the new barrier that had formed, high enough to break through the outer layer of Raccoon Park's cast iron fencing down there. He saw some hands and limbs poking out from among the debris, clutching and moving still... but entombed. Buried alive. For lack of a more accurate term. If nothing else, while Park Street was mostly gone, the rest of the northern horde wouldn't be advancing on it or this side of the clock tower anytime soon. While the horde to their south remained cut off by vehicle barricades on the rest of the street they stood on, down past the main gates to the park. By now the smoke around them in the street had mostly, and the worst of it rose up into the night from above the burning rubble, debris, and cars that had all been consumed. Along with the destruction of the gas station Downtown, and the fires around Central Street Station, it was among the largest bonfires he'd ever lay eyes on. He saw the rest of the horde to the north, far beyond the piles of rubble, fires, and fencing of Raccoon Park... tightly packed together... some of them on fire, staggering about. The two of them were silent and still for a time... amidst the distant moaning, the steady drum beat of rain and the crackling fire... and somehow, Carlos began to laugh.
The sound was hollow, and distant, but there was an edge of mirth to it. Almost glee... or maybe it was just the madness of being so goddamn tired. Pretty soon, he was coughing raggedly, as the pain shot and intensified through his midsection the harder he laughed... and his laughter and coughs echoed through the night. Unable to help himself, as the masked man at his side remained silent and still. The pain made him feel alive again... kept reminding him of what he had survived through. That he was still in the game... still had a chance. And... it was a mirth he seized on to gladly, to keep the horrific images from returning. Keep it all at bay.
"I can't believe that worked... holy shit... it actually worked. We're alive...", Carlos's hollow, accented tone breathed, and he shook his head exhaustively. He glanced sideways at the flamethrower wielding commando... agent, whatever the hell he was at his side. The thick smoke and fire was brightly reflected on his red lenses... and with his eyes gradually clearly, it looked more and more like the long crack over the right lens was spreading in other directions. Worsening, as the night went on. "Man... you are one crazy son of a bitch, thinking that great escape up on the fly..."
"When required. You're still a rookie. You'll get there."
"No... I'll never be like that... like you. I'm decent at it... but I hate fighting. You thrive in the middle of all this insanity. A war zone. Don't know much about you... but that much I know. This is your home... not Rockfort Island."
"That hasn't always been so. Was a rookie myself, once. Am what I have to be now. Know this territory well, by now. What it takes to survive. To win."
"I'm starting to understand, myself. Just glad you're on our side, man. I don't know who's crazier, though. You, for that plan... or Nikolai for blowing up the hospital. It was him, wasn't it?"
"Of course it was. One of his specialties. Demolition."
"A double agent and a mad bomber... two for the price of one batshit Russian. I can't tell you how much I'd like to just call it a night..."
"It's not over yet, Oliveira. Take a moment and get ready. We need to keep moving."
Carlos nodded slowly, more to himself than the other, and turned, heading back into the alley. His boots shuffled off through the puddles, until he came to his rifle, still laying in the rain. Sore aching wracked his entire form, as he knelt down and picked it up. He took the time to examine it carefully, and make sure it hadn't been damaged. It was good to focus on something so simple, that he was good at, weapon maintenance. Even if a great deal of his firepower by now had been burned through. He did as he was bidden, drawing in further breaths, and relaxing himself as best he could. They were in the home stretch now, and by no means could he lower his guard. It had been a long night, and for all he knew would only get longer. He felt an apprehension, not for either of them, but for Jill. The worst of ideas came to mind... them returning, and her already a zombie. Them returning, and all of it being for nothing. He didn't think, even if she had become one of them, that he'd have it in himself to pull the trigger. And yet he didn't want to leave it in HUNK's hands, yet again. Either option disturbed him to no end, and he hated to even consider them. Entertain such notions. He'd had enough of it all days ago already... but here he still was. New unpleasant possibilities arising.
"NIGHTHAWK to HUNK, repeat, NIGHTHAWK to HUNK. Come in Alpha Team."
Unheard to Carlos, HUNK's radio blared to life, the familiar tone seeping into the earpiece. The agent at last was drawn from his surveillance of the area, and returned to his duty. He rose a hand up from the torch to his ear, and his low voice was returned to the man on the other end. Carlos couldn't hear the other side of it, and barely even heard HUNK's side of it, distracted by his concerns and trying to shut them out. Wishing for some silence in all this madness. And for the ringing in his ears to recede.
"Affirmative NIGHTHAWK. Take it you picked that up?"
"Who the fuck didn't? Lord Spencer and the White House probably heard it. The satellite thermal imaging relay did, and it was sent my way. The entire hospital has been destroyed. We can see smoke and fire from outside the city, in the Quarantine Zone. What the hell just happened down there?"
"Hospital's out of commission."
"No shit? Got any other insightful details?"
"Numerous explosive charges likely set around the hospital, connected to the fuel and oxygen lines, causing a chain reaction. We ran into the final charge in the lobby of the hospital. Made it out just in time. I don't think we need to speculate who set them up."
"Probably bitter you cut in on his operation. He might be in for a surprise, if he ever finds out the operation he's just tried to end, in this attempt to bury you. I doubt management will be pleased... or that his connections are going to be enough to get him off the hook. Colonel or no Colonel. The mission is Spencer's."
"We'll see what happens to him, come my report. Doesn't matter just now. One problem at a time. Oliveira and I have managed to procure both parts to the T-Virus vaccination. We're headed back to the clock tower."
"Copy that. Get your asses moving. You're making good time so far, for taking a detour. Don't screw it up now of all times."
"Wasn't planning on it, NIGHTHAWK. I'll call back when there's something to report. Agent HUNK over and out."
Lowering his gloved hand back down to the other hefting the torch, HUNK readied the flamethrower again. Carlos watched HUNK turn and make his way back towards him in the alley. Nodding in HUNK's direction, the Corporal drew down his rain soaked goggles again over his eyes, and rose his balaclava from his neck over his mouth and nose, tightening it. HUNK's large form neared as Carlos readied his rifle, ejecting the spent magazine and scrounging for another, slamming it in place and locking it there. The shaking in his hands was gradually subsiding, at least... for how long he couldn't be certain... the night wasn't over yet, and their backs weren't up against a defensive wall. They were still out in the open, here. The moment HUNK reached him, Carlos's muffled, accented tone spoke again.
"If you hadn't told me back there I wasn't allowed to take it with us, I'd be the one with that right now.", He commented gesturing slightly at the torch in the agent's hands, eyeing it a little enviously. "How long were you planning on carrying that thing?"
"As long as it'll be useful for."
"Right. Ask a stupid question... let's go."
"After you, Oliveira."
Taking point once more, Carlos and HUNK moved further down the alleyway, and closed in on the door to the storeroom. Grasping the handle firmly, Carlos pushed it open and moved inside, rifle sweeping the back room. HUNK stepped inside after him, closing the door... and Carlos was about to keep moving, when a noise froze the pair of them where they were. The heavy stone ceiling above began to shake, cracks appearing and bits of stone falling from it freely. For a split second, foolishly, Carlos thought it might be an earthquake... and then with dawning realization as it subsided, it seemed far likelier something extremely heavy was pacing the floor overhead. Heart beating quicker, glancing down from the roof slowly, he locked stares with HUNK at his side, as the pair of them listened to the low rumble carrying away into the distance above and vanishing somewhere. There wasn't anything good about it... nor anything that bore the need of vocalizing between them. Rather, he held the rifle tighter and drew a deeper breath, stepping around the corner, past the tools and into the room of clocks.
In a calm manner, despite how quickly his heart was beating he moved past the rotting, infected corpses on the floor, the zombie women who had been feasting on the other poor woman. More than ever, he saw using the balaclava was a good idea in these enclosed spaces, the room had already been rotten the first time they'd passed through. It was only worse with more time for them to rot and their fluids to spread all over the carpets and floor they lay in a heap on. He looked from the three stone bust statues in front of them, to the bodies as he passed them, to the clocks lining the wall. Whatever the hell had been up with them, one being opened, Carlos had no idea. HUNK had seemed oddly interested in them the last time... now the agent was focused dead ahead, as Carlos was. Pushing the question aside, Carlos soldiered on, moving quickly through the storeroom and back down to the next wooden door leading into the hall they had entered from. Pushing through the door, Carlos immediately aimed down to the right, down the hallway... thankfully, no more creatures had made their way in while they'd been absent.
The cobweb covered hall remained lined with shell casings and body parts and strewn gore of the mutated spiders and their offspring someone had killed earlier. Carlos kicked aside a spider leg against the wall, crunched over some of the baby spider remains, and continued on down the hallway, turning the subsequent bend, brushing aside the irritating thick cobwebs that got in the way. As he prepared to turn the final bend in the hallway, glimpsing the distant wood door to the library, he glanced in the corner to the webbed up, nearly dried up dead man. He had been wondering just who the hell the badass might have been that cleaned this place out, but in hindsight the likeliest answer had been the U.B.C.S. man laying out in the main hallway dead, certainly not this poor webbed up bastard. He'd certainly possessed the firepower, and this guy had either not got a shot off, or hadn't been armed in the first place. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed likely... and God knew what had been happening around the Saint Michael Clock Tower during the early days of Raccoon City's downfall, prior to their arrival. How many men and women trying to survive had come through here already... or the hospital, when it had stood. How many horror stories had taken place in each location for people since the start of this mess? Now the two of them were the last people to come through such places, on their way out.
At least he damn well hoped so. They were cutting it close already, anyone else after them would be no less than suicidal. He hoped, as grim as an assessment as it was, that they were the last survivors in the city... that by now others had found their exit, somehow. As much as he wanted to be out with them the moment he'd first seen the horde moving down Raccoon City's Main Street, he'd rather be here in the place of any civilians... at least he had some training. Kicking aside more pieces of the mutated spiders, he swept past the cocooned near skeleton, and continued on down towards the library door in the distance, rifle at the ready. Reaching it, he grabbed the long brass handle of the door and pulled it open, moving inside as HUNK let it slam shut behind them. Carlos glanced among the book shelves, down at the dead poor old librarian lady in the blue dress that had been infected, and he listened to the horde. Even days later, at least some of them were still trying to get into the clock tower from the route Jill and HUNK had reached the place. Through the main living room. The architecture and design of this place was damn impressive, if they couldn't bypass that door even with all the time and endless persistence and no need of rest on their side. He kept moving, turning on his boot heel from the hall that led down to the living room, and toward the door to the main hall, nearly stumbling over some books laying scattered about the floor in the process.
His exhaustion kept turning on and off frighteningly. Some moments he was clumsy, bumping into things, nearly tripping, the next he was forcing himself to be alert, for as long as he could. His reflexes were shot, right up to the point his fear kicked in with adrenaline. He had the sinking feeling that before long, even that wouldn't be enough. Never in his life had he wanted to sleep more, or been more afraid to. Not knowing what might wake him up. Or keep him sleeping permanently. He nearly bumped into the door to the main hall, and reaching for the door handle was a task in its self... his blurry vision was back, and the ringing in his ears and throbbing headache hadn't even come close to going away. He had little doubt HUNK was picking up on his weaknesses, his exhaustion... hell, it'd taken him to drag Carlos out of the hospital. Yet as much as his own exhaustion was getting to him, he could see more tell tale signs in the Umbrella Agent. Although he mostly seemed his usual sharp and attentive self, there was something in his silent body language that had changed. Moments when he was simply standing, and not giving orders where he didn't fully seem there entirely. It was to be expected, even the most hardcore had their limits, and about now, they were both approaching theirs.
In the home stretch to Jill, to the chapel, Carlos couldn't have been more scared. Dread and sickness tightened in his stomach, compounded by his injuries and the pain wracking him with each breath and step. Drawing another low breath through the balaclava, Carlos seized the door handle, drew it open and moved out quickly into the ruined main hall of the clock tower. Carlos scanned the area with his rifle, constantly on his guard, sweeping the ceiling, even the main doors buried in rubble. It was as run down and silent as they had left it. A tomb. Their boots tapped through the wide open space, echoing around them, and his rifle moved on, down towards the pillars the dead U.B.C.S. man still lay, and door leading into the dining room. Behind him the door slammed shut again after HUNK, echoing even louder through the entirety of the vast hall... and at last, Carlos stopped for a moment in the center of the hall, near the destroyed stairs. He stood near the table resting on top of the odd clock-sun design embroidered into the floor, and turned back in HUNK's direction. The agent, even carrying the bulky flamethrower, and undoubtedly being tired was able to keep pace... damn impressive in its self. He remembered the agent charging through the smoke and devastation of the hospital entrance and street in front of it, firing jets of flame, the infected surrounding them... in his element. He would never understand how a man could grow to be that at ease standing in the middle of hell. What could push someone that far. Yet he was grateful to be accompanied by such a man in this ruin of a city, with monsters lurking around every corner. Carlos nodded HUNK's way, turning back in the direction of the stone pillars and dining room.
He took no more than two steps forward, when another low rumble carried through the clock tower, as though the structure were settling. His attention instantly rose to the roof looking for the source, where the helicopter had crashed... part of him figured it was going to crumble some more, as the structural integrity degraded. Then it occurred to him it was very much like the rumbling they had felt in the storeroom... and that it wasn't coming from the ceiling so high above. It was emanating from the second floor corridor... and slowly Carlos's head turned in that very direction. It grew louder still... and it became even more clear to Carlos, that it wasn't the hall falling apart more on its own from the crash... it was pounding, outright pounding against a wall. A thick concrete wall close to the top of the destroyed stone staircase. At his side, HUNK's attention had moved in the same direction as the furious pounding intensified, echoing through the hall aggressively, methodically. Even from their position below, they could glimpse great fissures and cracks forming all over the second floor wall with each blow against the thick stone.
It began to push inward towards them, the wall gradually crumbling a bit at a time... and when it seemed like the entire wall would cave in or fall apart, the blows stopped. The carrying echoes faded away, replaced by all the silence of a grave. The only sounds emanated from the ever distant moans, the rain... and the ringing in Carlos's ears. The young mercenary didn't even blink, as the dread swirled through him like bile in his stomach. Very slowly, very very slowly, Carlos glanced over to HUNK's red lenses, meeting one another's gaze, and at the same time they looked back up to the second floor corridor's wall. Without another warning, the wall exploded, raining large pieces of broken stone through the air down Carlos and HUNK's way... a piece or two of which Carlos narrowly managed to avoid, cursing and rolling out of the way.
Yet the rocks meant nothing to the great misshapen bulk that leap down from the second floor and landed heavily just past either of them, boots sliding among the debris as it crouched facing away towards the debris blockaded main doorway to the courtyard. Breathing heavily beneath his balaclava, stunned at the near miss, it Carlos a moment to gather his wits and readjust himself from the destroyed wall, and to what lay before them amid the settling dust. Its distorted shape breathed slowly, before rising, in all its terrible glory, even taller and broader than it had been before. It turned slowly on one giant, exposed leg, rose its arms and permanently writhing tentacles, and let out a mighty, familiar bellow that echoed through the entirety of the main hall. That rang in Carlos's ears like a gunshot, making him wince.
"No fucking way..."
The dark, powerful armor that had clung to it before had been scorched away from its broad midsection, revealing the thick, burnt, dead flesh beneath, atop its inhuman musculature. All that remained were the equivalent of its shredded, armored pants and boots that had managed to hold together. Where before the purple throbbing tentacle in its neck had remained there, save when it drew them from its hands, where before there had been the weakest of efforts to pretend the thing was a humanoid being, now there was simply no disguising what it was. Its writhing, living tentacles had grown, become more numerous, and torn loose from its flesh, yet remained interconnected to it. Separate tentacles protruded in a mass from its back, neck and great upper body and arms... especially concentrated on its right side. Its massive right arm was buried beneath the mass of them... so many of them he wasn't even entirely sure if it had a right arm any longer... while its exposed left one remained intact... by the standards of the thing, jagged, long claws jutting from each finger like knives of sharpened bone. A mass of scar tissue coated its throat... thick as many layers of bandages... scars and burns covering every bit of dead flesh that Carlos could see, but no open, bleeding wounds. The Tyrant wasn't dead, or all that terribly inconvenienced by their last encounter with it days before. The Pursuer had mutated... into something bigger, and far less controlled and calculated as before. Although an awareness remained to it, it had grown feral, instinctive. Whether its creator's had intended as much, Carlos couldn't possibly guess... there was the real possibility they hadn't expect it to become as damaged as it had, or to mutate. Maybe the coat had been more than armor, Carlos thought wildly... but some kind of inhibitor to its potential power. In which case, damaging the Tyrant had only made it that much worse, and intent on killing them.
"You were dead! You can't be alive!"
Yet here it stood, contradicting him noisily. Although it had lost most of its body armor and the rocket launcher, it had no physical restrictions... and the mutations had only made it that much more durable to compensate, and the two of them were dead in its sights, one milky yellow eye swiveling between them, tracking its prey. Recognizing them... he was certain of that. It had turned on the heel of its boot back in their direction... and its refrain of the only word it knew did not erupt from its colossal maw of jagged teeth... rather another unrivaled roar of rage. Thundering throughout the clock tower around them. The giant veins along its ruined form pulsated and moved the more angry it became. Carlos snapped his rifle to attention and opened fire in response, the thunderous roar of his rifle matching the thing's own one, the shells streaming about at his boots. He drew back on the spot away from it, backing up as he fired, intent on drawing its attention away from HUNK, and his way. As the bullets struck home, impacting into its upper body and tentacles, all of which flowed its putrid purple ooze in response, the tentacles began to snap angrily in his direction, forcing him to dodge out of the way. It turned solidly on the spot, back to HUNK who had snapped up his flamethrower, and Carlos screamed to the tall masked man over the gunfire and noises of the incensed Tyrant that looked quite ready to bear down on him and rip him to pieces with ease.
"HUNK! BLAST IT! BURN THE FUCKER!"
No response came... neither a torrent of welcome, rushing, incinerating flames to envelop the Tyrant, nor the muffled voice behind the mask. The giant shape of the Tyrant was bearing down on him, drawing its mutated, oversized arm back covered in tentacles, and whipping the bulk in his direction. Only the fact that he fell backwards, saved his life, falling out of reach of the tendrils intent on ripping him apart, and arm intent on crushing him. It moved all too quick for something its size... regardless of how it lumbered his way, when it needed to it could move fast and remain unstoppable. The tendrils whipped around its back, livid as it was. In the chaos Carlos nearly dropped his rifle, but managed to hold on to it and get a good look at HUNK's position, who had moved directly behind the Tyrant. Carlos swore loudly as he watched the nozzle of the flamethrower malfunctioning, jammed, the flame only spurting out faintly, landing on the floor behind the Tyrant, but not in the mighty stream it had before. HUNK's gloved hands were adjusting the nozzle and the parts of the flamethrower and its twin tanks, focused on the task as much as possible. With a guttural grunt, the Tyrant slammed its arm down into the stone floor where Carlos's head had been a second before, sending more pieces of stone and concrete below flying about.
The exhausted and wounded U.B.C.S. Corporal rolled out of reach on the ground, gasping for breath, scrambling to get back up and avoid the thing's next blow. He tried to keep it moving, avoiding getting trapped in a corner as best he could. Each dodge of one of its blows was a brush with death that he was only narrowly avoiding... but doing what he was was taking up what little remained of his stamina.. and the thing was tireless. Where the thing could take damn near anything they threw at it, all it would take was one hit from it, and his life would be over. He had to keep moving, ignoring the pain, the aches, the mental and physical exhaustion... he had to buy HUNK some time. Had to buy Jill time, by keeping its attention solely on himself. He was so exhausted he gradually was unable to buy himself the time to even shoot it again, everything he had left focused on simply avoiding its titanic strikes. It was reducing the floor even further to rubble, and smashing walls and columns, pillars. Every time it missed him, the angrier it got, and the harder the hits became with each strike, and the louder its roars became. While Carlos's screams met it in turn.
"HUNK! IT'S NOW OR NEVER! BURN IT!"
Still no response from the figure out of his sight now... and by now Carlos was stumbling around like a drunkard, backing away, and fired off a burst into its tentacle enveloped right arm. Although the things squirmed and writhed each time they were hit, they were bulkier than the sole one that had been on its neck before, and although spewing its grotesque purple fluid... the thing was healing even faster than it had been before, the shots of his rifle not even slowing it. Each shot slowing Carlos more than the thing. Carlos burned through his magazine, and avoiding another hit from the Tyrant, he tripped and fell to the foot of the destroyed main stairwell, still exhaustedly trying to crawl away from it. Rifle fallen to his side, he grabbed his sidearm and drew it instinctively, firing up into its midsection, aiming what rounds he could at its head. A few struck dead on, but was about as effective as pushing a statue. The purple blood ran down its grinning face, and visibly the wounds began knitting themselves up again. He crawled backwards, up what little remained of the stairs. It closed in, surely and methodically, raising its arm for the killing blow... a blow Carlos intended to roll away from again... but at this point, doubted he could. Sweat streamed down his terrified face beneath the balaclava. Its own grinning, unblinking face drew closer, more rage lining its granite features than before. It looked at him exactly how he was, cornered and helpless, the rounds of his pistol making no difference.
It was the end.
Yet before it could envelope him in writhing purple tentacles, it burst into dancing orange and blue flames, which washed over in a torrent of its entire massive form. The heat pouring against Carlos's sweat soaked flesh. That was enough at last to break its focus off him, and back towards the other man. As it turned his way, tendrils flailing around it, Carlos kept firing at it with his pistol, shooting it in the back of the head and tentacles, going through a magazine, reaching for another and sliding it home. It ignored the rounds like they were bee stings, at best, compared to the fire erupting over its form, clinging to it, and the burning of flesh. It was so rancid and putrid that by now even the balaclava wasn't helping Carlos, who coughed raggedly where he lay in front of the stairs. The Tyrant struck out at HUNK's armored form... and like the creature, in spite of his size he moved fast out of its path dodging, and spraying it in the face with another stream of fuel. Its roars were muffled momentarily by the streaming of fuel and fire that greeted it, raising its arm over its head in an attempt to divert the stream. Carlos, over his coughing and laying among the debris, cheered on the U.S.S. Agent's efforts that had come just in the nick of time. His arm instinctively found his rifle again and popped the magazine, reloading it as he had done the pistol. HUNK was returning the favor, buying him the time he needed to get things done. The fire, although visibly hurting the mutated Tyrant, was like everything else, only angering it further.
It did not scream or panic or flee as the Leech Man had. He could live with that, as long as the fucking thing burnt to ashes and died angry. He'd love to see how even it could regenerate from that.
It showed no signs of slowing or backing down as it lunged at the agent, swinging its tentacles clumsily in his direction, who continued narrowly avoiding them. Smoke was filling even the vast open environment of the clock tower's main floor, the battle taking its toll not only on those involved fighting the monster, but the density of the air. Carlos staggered back to his feet, tucking away the pistol and struggling to line up the shots of his rifle properly and aim... when looking down the sights, the flame enveloped Tyrant miraculously froze, mid rage, on the spot. Even while it burned, its head rose, snapping in the direction of the dining room, beyond HUNK. The fire and smoke covered Tyrant tilted its giant, misshapen head to the side slightly, and seemed to smell the air... and sensed something even over the smoke, the grotesque, burnt rictus of a face twisting. It smelled fresh blood, and the familiar scent of its true quarry, not the hindrance that had just gotten in its way. Regardless of its increased feral ferocity in the wake of its mutation, to Carlos's dawning horror, quite evidently its primary programming remained intact, and kicked in the moment it sensed its target.
Sensed her, still alive.
"S.T.A.R.S.!"
Lurching forward with another mighty roar, it passed by HUNK, its tendrils whipping about like the flames along its midsection, and it broke into a thunderous stomping run past the pillars of the main hall, bound inexorably for the dining room. Or rather, Carlos comprehended, the one they had risked visiting the hospital for. Moving over to HUNK's side, the agent still gripping the flamethrower tightly, they watched as the Tyrant billowing smoke ran right through the heavy wooden door like an unstoppable force of nature, and kept right on going, smashing into the dining table and everything else in its way. The door blew to splinters the moment the juggernaut's momentum passed through, as though nothing had been standing in front of it. The sounds of it trashing the room and roaring echoed back to the pair, who snapped into pursuit almost at once, HUNK's muffled tone loudly making its self present.
"Oliveira! After it!"
Heart pounding in his ears, adrenaline coursing all over again, seemingly kicking the mercenary back to life, regardless of being dead on his feet, Carlos sprinted through the broken doorway ahead of HUNK. He paused only once inside to take account for the state of the dining room. The Tyrant remained inside it, and had flipped over the massive table with its tendrils, slamming it back against the far wall and breaking a few windows, knocking over some cabinets in the process. Although powerful as it was, and clearly intent on pursuing its quarry, its feral ferocity came out at everything that was in its path, and that had included the table. Furthermore, all the noise had roused a previously thought dead body in the dining room... among the others Carlos had been sure he'd taken care of earlier. His round must have missed its brain, in spite of being shot in the head.
It was none other than a rotting former U.B.C.S. mercenary like himself, from one of the other platoons... and although it ignored the burning Tyrant and the ruckus it was making, the moment it spotted Carlos and HUNK behind the Tyrant, it made the grave error of getting too close to the tentacle covered behemoth as it tried to get at them. Roaring again, with ungodly strength the burning Tyrant seized the zombie with its bulky clawed hand and writhing tentacles by the midsection, and scooped it up like a rag doll into the air, throttling and smashing it against the wall and ground, like a neanderthal swinging a club. Its rage poured out in inhuman quantity's, where it was again distracted from its primary goal, at least long enough to deal with the other creature in its way, minor inconvenience it proved. Stepping on and crushing the other infected bodies in the process, as well as the mutated fleas from their earlier passing through of the dining room, the Tyrant painted the walls, floor, and much of the dining room with the zombies blood and brains. Breaking off limbs and utterly pulverizing it to shreds, tendrils tearing it apart as well, opening its gaping maw and biting down on its head, tearing a good section of it off and feasting, before throwing it aside against the wall, where it landed as a wet, pulpy, still twitching mess. It accomplished all this with near lightning speed for a thing its titanic size, devastating the dining room, and as quickly as it had done as much, it calmed for a moment when its attention returned to the next door, leading back to the dance hall... and beyond it, the chapel.
"S.T.A.R.S.!"
The moment the fire coated Tyrant burst into motion again towards the next door, Carlos got a bead on it and opened fire, full automatic, the roar of his rifle pounding away. The rounds slammed into the Tyrant's legs, a few shots missing, before he redirected his fire to its back. Although they struck home, they did so just as it ripped the door off its hinges from the sheer weight of the bulk of its tendrils and arm driving into it. The door slammed heavily into the floor, and once more Carlos and HUNK gave pursuit, entering the dance hall lined with the bloodied bodies of the dead. The Tyrant burst into speed, stomping across the floor of the dance hall, past the piano, slowed partially by the bodies slumped and piled in its way, at last reaching the closed heavy metal doors of the chapel. Its titanic boots tracked prints through the blood, and stepped on the corpses. Taking a position next to the piano, close to the door that led out into the courtyard, Carlos knelt to one knee on the carpet, raised his rifle again to his shoulder and fired several bursts into the Tyrant's back and head, drawing only a moment of its attention back to him... but not enough to get it away from the doors it was prepared to breach. It looked back at him with a bestial growl once, but beyond that pretended him and his shots didn't exist, looking back ahead at its work.
It slammed a heavy, clawed fist into the metal door, denting it inwardly. From its position, for all its strength it was unable to get good leverage to rip the doors apart, and even with the strength it could slam into the entrance, the door had been very well made and reinforced. Carlos's heart slammed even louder in his ears, and he barely heard the shots of the rifle anymore, as he tried desperately to draw its attention away from the door and back on the pair of them. It punched the door again, which creaked on its hinges but held fast in place... but from the way it was going, it was clear it would only take a few hits to break it down and murder the already dying woman inside. Regardless of what it had already done to her, even if it knew that the infection it had given her would claim her life soon without their intervention, it wasn't enough for the Tyrant. It had to see her dead. And then what? How many other S.T.A.R.S. remained in the city by now? Would it matter? Would it turn on them once again? Would Umbrella try to recover their valuable asset, or having mutated was it now out of control and expendable beyond its task? In his minds eye, he saw the Tyrant slamming around the zombie in the dining room all over again, this time replaced by Jill in its claw and tendril grip... doing everything to her that it had just done to the zombie. Face stained with fresh blood, flesh and brain matter. He heard the triumphant roar again in his head, as after all this time, all the blood and sweat and effort expended against it, it won.
Like hell it would. Not on his watch. No possible goddamn way.
As Carlos's bullets pumped into the writhing sentient tendrils, they flailed angrily, leaking their fluids about all over the place. Between how trashed the dance hall already was, the fire raging outside the smashed great windows, the gunfire, roars of the enraged flaming monster and the blood and bodies already soaking the room, it was a scene of madness. One that was to reach its climax, at long last. Standing next to Carlos's position, as he knelt, Carlos glanced up as HUNK, confused at the lack if action on the other man's part. This was no game, and if they didn't stop the thing now, it was all over. HUNK had begun to unstrap his flamethrower and the twin tanks of fuel, much to the Corporal's astonishment, and bewilderment. At the same time he accomplished this, the burning Tyrant had stuck its jagged claws into the metal door, and was starting to pull downward, ripping through layers of steel and weakening its integrity gradually, closer and closer to breaching it entirely. Its purple and burnt tendrils rubbing against the doors, longing to slip within, eagerness encompassing the Tyrant. While one hand clawed the door, the other, including its writhing tentacles slammed into it, the echo filling the room as surely as the rifle shots. A mighty crashing like thunder once more. The door creaked and moaned as it came closer to giving way altogether. And again, over all the noise, he heard its dead breath escape on the air.
"S.T.A.R.S.!"
"Take cover, Oliveira."
The deep, calm voice at his side spoke. As his magazine went dry, Carlos reached for another, but froze as he comprehended and watched the agent carry out the idea that had come to his mind. Hefting the tanks and flamethrower torch in both hands, the armored man took a few steps forward and heaved them at the Tyrant's back, the weight of which slamming into the titanic monster and at last briefly drawing its attention, the tanks falling back to the floor amid the bodies and its boots. It turned back their way, retracting its claws from the badly battered door in the process... it turned just in time to glimpse HUNK stepping back slowly away from it, moving back to Carlos's position. He didn't take position behind the piano where Carlos now watched from, nor knelt, rather he stood tall and at a distance from his opponent, every bit the statue the Tyrant was. All the while the agent coolly unstrapped the modified MP5 from where it hung over his shoulder, and aimed the laser sight to the center of the burning Tyrant's head. If the Tyrant was capable of it, Carlos could have sworn it was amused by the comparatively small figure peering back at it... but one thing Carlos almost believed he saw, was some measure of recognition of the armored man. Given its sinister intelligence, he had no doubt left in its mind that the thing was capable of remembering them... and that it hated them as much as it did its target. Remembered whatever Jill and HUNK had done to it in the courtyard while he was out cold.
The Tyrant's jagged, blood stained teeth clenched together ravenously, and it started to take a step away from the door and towards them, perhaps at long last incensed enough to kill them, and ensure there would be no further interruptions to eliminating its true target. The great leviathan-like tentacles protruding from its form whipped back and forth, as though enraged themselves... but for all its might, it was all for nothing then. Lowering the laser sight, HUNK pulled not the trigger to spit out some silenced armor piercing incendiary rounds, but the one on the grenade launcher fastened to it. There was a low thump as the grenade flew straight and true, into the center of the bodies the massive Tyrant stood among. Detonating the twin fuel tanks at its boots the moment it struck dead on. A powerful explosion, yet another in the course of the long night, tore through Carlos's ear drums, the momentum of the blast lifting the flaming Tyrant off its feet and slamming it into the ceiling above, crashing through the chandelier overhead and spraying glass shards and stone all over the room. Around them, it rained body parts and blood as well. It was the last image he saw before shutting his eyes tightly and keeping his head down and low to the ground where he was.
Eventually, dazed and temple throbbing worse than before, he opened his eyes behind the goggles and rose back to his knee pads from behind the piano, to survey the damage. He wiped off some of the blood stains blurring his vision on the outside of the goggles, removing what he could. Flames rippled along the walls, courtesy of the fuel in the tanks... but evidently, despite how powerful the blast had been, the tanks hand not been full, nor were there many flammable objects in the room. Nevertheless, the carnage and devastation of the room was palpable, and consistent with the damage the helicopter crash had caused. The force of the explosion had not only blown apart all the lights on the far side of the room, that had been illuminating the door to the chapel, and the chandeliers, but the bodies of the infected he had killed earlier had been blown to pieces, limbs and torsos and heads spread out around them, most of them burning. Thick blood pools splashed everywhere along the stone floor by now, running like streams filled with shell casings and glass shards. It was difficult to glimpse all the details, with the smoke filling the room. As if sensing his troubles, the solitary armored figure that remained standing tall, and had not sought cover as he had, moved over to the door leading out to the courtyard and opened it up, cool air rushing inside, and smoke pouring out. It took a few minutes for most of it to dissipate, and for him to be able to focus and glimpse past the literal and figurative fog of war as it gradually settled.
Laying in a massive bulk, about midway up the floor towards HUNK and Carlos, the Tyrant, still covered in fire, burning form motionless and still. The putrid purple liquid was forming in a puddle beneath it, standing out even with all the red blood of the other corpses scattered about. Its tentacle covered, mutated arm lay outstretched, pointing in their direction. For all its steadily increasing strength and might, the explosion had, thus far, been sufficient against it. He hoped the flames consuming it would be enough, but even then he had his doubts, having seen enough of what it could take. He didn't want to approach it, or go anywhere near the body... but considering it was in front of the door, surprisingly about the only thing that had remained standing after the explosion at that end of the room, their options were limited. Carlos swallowed hard and took the time to slide another magazine into his rifle. He didn't have much ammunition left for it... unless he found some more soon, or somewhere in his backpack, there was going to be hell to pay for him. Arming it, he raised and leveled it at the Tyrant's head and fired a few times, intent on making sure it wouldn't rise, or wasn't playing dead.
In either event, neither it or its elongated tentacles moved, even as more of its gore splattered as fresh wounds were opened. He kept the rifle trained on it... but at last looked back to HUNK, who inclined his head, and gestured him forward. Taking the hint, forcing the Tyrant's smoldering bulk from his mind and replacing it with Jill beyond the door, he did as he was bid. As much as he hoped and prayed the son of a bitch responsible for their current situation was dead... he'd given up on expecting it to remain so. The best, he figured, was that they had bought time... that's all it ever was, buying time against the unstoppable. Buying time against the inevitability of death. Carlos moved away from the piano, stepping through the fire occupying different sections of the floor, his boots almost sliding in all the blood and shell casings, crunching over glass of the destroyed big windows off to their right, to say nothing of the shattered chandeliers. He went slowly and carefully, keeping as far from the flaming Tyrant's prone form as possible, expecting it to rise at any time, or lash out its tentacle enveloped arm, keeping his rifle aimed at its head. At last, kicking aside some blown off limbs of the zombies, Carlos stepped past the Tyrant's giant legs and reached the heavily damaged doors. He examined the claw marks that had nearly shredded the doors apart, along with the heavy dents in them from the series of hits taken. One more blow and they probably would have fallen off its hinges, but somehow the chapel doors stood, protecting its lone occupant.
If that wasn't a miracle in the face of everything that had just happened, all they had been through, as well as the fact they were still alive... he didn't know what was.
Grasping the door handle, he opened it carefully, stepping back inside the chapel, and striding hurriedly at once up the aisle towards the alter, as behind him the door snapped shut, and a pair of boots silently followed suit. Peering down to the silent, pale and still blue, bandaged figure laying on the alter, Carlos knelt at her side once more, fear clenching and gripping his insides at the possibility of her stillness. Both of the pistols she had been left with were still in either hand spread out at her sides, her own modified Beretta, and the unusual modified sidearm HUNK had given her... its make he couldn't quite place, but it was larger than hers, and probably higher caliber. The grenade launcher he'd left along with its rounds lay at the ground next to the alter as well. He rose the blood smeared goggles up to the top of his head at last, and lowered his stained balaclava away from his mouth, drawing in a low breath, and he examined her carefully. His heart raced thunderously, like the roaring of his rifle in his ringing ears. What he found only momentarily abated his worst fears.
"She's unconscious again. She's still breathing... but her pulse is weak... shit."
"It's time to mix the vaccine."
"I'll take care of it", Carlos nodded slowly in agreement, coming back to the present, and remembering his duty. One he had yet to carry out, and had risked his life to do so. Reaching into the proper pocket on the front of his armored vest, Carlos produced the reinforced Plexiglas vial with the metal top, examining the red liquid of the Vaccine Medium that lay within. He studied it, satisfied nothing had happened to it, and that it remained intact. Looking back over his shoulder to the other man, he drew another low breath, ignoring the pain each one gave him. "Pass over your part, and I'll take care of the mixing. I... need something to do. Something to focus on."
The U.S.S. Agent stared at him for a long moment. Carlos was certain for a moment the agent might disagree, and raise some logical contrarian point like he always seemed to. Refuse him, and do it himself instead. But silently, HUNK surprised him again that night, produced the Vaccine Base, and held it out, offering it in an open gloved hand. Carlos looked between its blue contents and his red lenses, then took it carefully from the man... and paused, examining the contents of each... before coming to an alarming conclusion that widened his eyes slowly. Fear and trepidation returned to him... it always remained, but it came back combined and powerfully, biting him, and he began to panic as he realized his grave mistake that would cost her her life. It had all been for nothing.
"I don't have a syringe.", Carlos moaned with horror, gritting his teeth with frustration, anger, fear and sorrow swirling together in the pit of his stomach. He cursed loudly and sent an angry kick in the direction of the nearest pew, overturning it. He turned his head from Jill, unable to look at her pale visage in his shame and rage. "We were in a fucking hospital all that time, making a vaccine, and I didn't think to bring back a goddamn syringe with all that hospital equipment laying around! Oh God... we're...-"
Glancing up in HUNK's direction as he spoke, Carlos faltered, still breathing deeply. His eyes moved from the red reflective lenses reflecting both himself and the alter Jill lay on. Then slowly, his eyes moved back to his still, extended hand, where before the Vaccine Base had resided, now lay a syringe in a packet he had produced from seemingly nowhere. At least one of them had been thinking at the hospital. As quickly as the terror and self loathing had risen, cool relief washed over him like water on flame. He shut his eyes tightly, and did his damnedest to balance out his racing heart, taking a few moments to breath. Gather his head.
He found he couldn't say anything, both from his mental and physical exhaustion, and how stupid he felt. His face burned with embarrassment. He'd almost lost it altogether, without even asking if HUNK had taken care of it first. Of course he had. One of them had to do the thinking, and he was gradually becoming less in any condition to do so. He consigned himself to nodding slowly, taking the syringe packet from the agent and tearing off the wrapper, getting to work preparing it. For his part, the agent didn't speak, offering Carlos no judgement or addition to his embarrassment. For that much, he was grateful. As Carlos did as much, the agent turned back in the direction of the battered chapel door, leveling his modified submachine gun at it, covering them and standing watch over him and Jill as he did what was needed. Unscrewing the top of the vaccine medium, Carlos placed the end of the Vaccine Base, and carefully poured the deep blue contents carefully inside, the two combining and swirling together, turning the combined and completed vaccine... uncomfortably purple, little different from the blood that flowed from the Tyrant laying outside. He inserted the long needle inside, drawing up the mixed contents into the barrel, taking every drop of the precious liquid that he could. Accomplishing this, he set aside the near empty vial, screwing its top back on, and examining the contents now residing in the needle.
He leaned over Jill with it, raising the hypodermic needle... but as he did so, he hesitated, looking to his frozen hand holding the vaccine. It betrayed him. It had begun to shake and twitch, as his nerves started to give out, the fear and confusion of everything he'd just lived through hitting him like a pile of bricks raining steadily. He cursed himself as he lost his courage, and froze up, the memories all returning and swirling. Why now? Why the hell did he have to freeze at the most crucial part, and doubt himself? He tried gathering his breath, calming himself, but he couldn't. Couldn't relax anymore. What if he missed the right vein, and it was all for nothing? What if he messed up and killed her? He'd made enough mistakes tonight, blunders... what if he ended up making the most fatal of them all? The choice of what to do with the vaccine... Jill or the world... it wasn't a call he could make. He remembered her request... what she had pleaded them to do with the vaccine.
He couldn't even save his own unit... how could he be counted on to do this? Maybe if he had been alone, and things had been different, without HUNK's imposing presence, he could do it. Without HUNK around to depend on, there would be no choice but for him to make a decision, everything they had gone through would be on him and him alone. And yet... it hadn't been that way. He knew he could count on someone to get it right definitely. He wasn't about to play games with anyone's life... it couldn't be afforded, and he couldn't in all honesty trust himself any longer. His nerves and senses, beyond the pain and shaking, were shot. He'd seen men on the battlefield get shell shock, seen the effects, and the consequences... and he knew stepping back now was the only option, and delegating the task to someone still in control. And then there was her request regarding the vaccine... before she had fallen unconscious again. Too much was at stake. Too many lives. A decision was needed... but was this the right one? Heart pounding in rhythm with his throbbing temple and ringing ears, Carlos tiredly, sorely looked back to the agent watching the door, and his hoarse, accented voice addressed him, sought his attention.
"HUNK... I don't think I... I don't want to screw this up, man. I can't. She wanted... didn't want... can you... I..."
The masked man looked back between the shaking hand offering him the needle, Jill, and the Corporal's hollow, red rimmed eyes. Seeing the conflict in them, he nodded slowly, understanding. For all he'd just accomplished, HUNK recognized, the unshaven, disheveled Corporal had just reached his limits that night, and needed to get his head together. Didn't have it in him to make a decision on this scale. HUNK had seen the varying effects of war, reflected in the Corporal's thousand yard stare, and it was taking its toll on the boy. He was no good to either Jill, or their efforts to escape if he didn't recover his wits, and as soon as possible. HUNK, also acknowledging that he had been pushed to his own limits... still had enough concentration left to do what needed to be done.
He found he held neither contempt nor disapproval towards the mercenary any longer, in that moment. He'd come further than any other in his entire platoon had, and stared in the face of death more than once without freezing up altogether. He'd worked through his emotions, his limitations, and followed orders, regardless of needing to be reminded of them sometimes. He wasn't a U.S.S. Agent, obviously... wasn't cut out for what he did... but he'd still done what was required of him. For the first time around the young man, he found he couldn't pass judgement on the other. He was giving his all, but at the end of the day was a human being, with all the baggage that included. And he had saved their lives already... that much couldn't be denied. HUNK activated the safety, slung his submachine gun over his shoulder again, and stepped closer to Carlos's position in the aisle, extending a gloved hand, and taking the completed vaccine from him gently.
Carlos gave it up at once, and edged out of his way gratefully, standing up dazedly and switching positions with HUNK, raising his assault rifle and aiming it down at the door, as HUNK had been doing. HUNK turned away from him, and focused his own attention where Carlos's had failed him. He raised the needle and studied it in the dimmed lights. It occurred to him at once just how much the completed purple fluid of the vaccine resembled the G-Virus sample tucked away securely in its pocket. He doubted it a coincidence. He was not a scientist, but knew Umbrella's Europe and North America divisions, and Birkin for that matter, had traded notes, as they already had with the early Tyrants. The B.O.W.'s. Cooperation and competition alike.
Cold, logical minds like theirs, interested only in completing the task successfully, regardless of the consequences to others, tended to work well together. Unless their petty political feuds stood in the way. But then... he'd know something about that, wouldn't he? He didn't like the idea of having anything in common with such men... but he couldn't deny there was merit to the comparison. He was as much apart of their world. More than most at Umbrella, at this point. His eyes behind the red lenses returned to Jill's bruised, pale features as she remained unconscious, her chest rising and falling very slowly. She was quite simply a mess, a living patchwork of bandages, stitches, cuts, burns, bruises... and yet she continued to fight and struggle against all odds to live. She still clung to life more tightly and greedily than most others HUNK had ever known and watched die. She fought against the inevitable... she fought against death.
The fact the virus hadn't yet overtaken her, was in its self impressive. Given its potency, and the manner she'd been infected. There was a willpower inside her that burned bright... the same one that had dragged him out of the fiery wreckage of that train, and away from the hordes of the dead, when she could have left him there to burn for his mistake on the train. And his belonging to the corporation she rightly despised above all else. She had saved him instead... for reasons he still couldn't quite fathom. Just as he could scarcely fathom what he felt in that moment, looking at her. All the same... he already knew what he had to do.
What he was going to do.
HUNK turned his attention to her arm, which lay slumped in front of him... and leaning forward he grasped it, raising the needle and drawing it closer to her shoulder. He knew vaccines were best administered to the deltoid, spreading through the intramuscular route, injecting them in veins was a common bit of misinformation. First aid was no problem for him, with his through training... Bella had seen to that. He'd already administered morphine and aid on battlefields far away, in missions past. Even if he administered death far more often than he ever had life. But before he could do anything, Carlos' hollow, uncertain voice spoke up again from behind him.
"HUNK... wait... man... are you sure about this?"
"What?"
"I want to save her too... but she... she said she wanted us to get this vaccine back to the world. Remember? So this never happens again. She... didn't want this. The virus... she's had it awhile. There's no knowing... if this will even work. What strain that thing infected her with. We could... stop this from ever happening again. Like she said. We can prevent another Raccoon City. Save the world. Are you... sure we should... be doing this?"
HUNK looked slowly back in the direction of the disheveled, exhausted young man. The conflict, guilt and uncertainty in his stubble lined features. Both of them still and silent as they watched the other. And as the agent considered what the boy was saying. Understanding why he had hesitated before. One life in the balance, vs the world. One woman in front of them, against an endless sea of faces who may or may not be infected in the future. HUNK did not know the future, any more than Carlos did... any more than Jill or anyone else. But looking at Jill, the pronounced veins in her deathly pale face... the sweat running from it... the pain and suffering infused in her features... there was something he did know. HUNK's jaw tightened within the mask, and spoke at last with resolve, returning his gaze to the Corporal.
"As the commanding officer of this operation, it is my decision to make, Corporal. My responsibility and consequences to carry. Not yours. I already made up my mind about two hours ago."
Carlos's lips parted... but he did not argue, didn't say a damn word, eyes widening as he watched, equal parts grateful and horrified by the decision. He merely nodded. Relieved to have it out of his hands. Disturbed and impressed to watch someone make a decision for the entire human race... right in front of him. HUNK looked way from the conflicted, troubled Corporal, himself devoid of such hesitation. Glove holding her arm tightly, keeping it still, he carefully stuck the sharp tip of the syringe into the pale flesh of her shoulder. At last, he slowly pushed down the plunger, watching as the vaccine seeped freely from the barrel and into her muscle tissue, leaving it mostly empty before long. Withdrawing the needle from her pale flesh, his resolved voice filtered through the mask again steadily, explaining further.
"She tried to save the city, before all this. Keep an outbreak from happening. Warned everyone. About the T-Virus. About Umbrella. Nobody listened. This is the least an ungrateful world owes her."
HUNK imagined the purple fluid of the vaccination and its anti mutagen contents swirling through her bloodstream, seeking out and attacking the cells infected with the Pursuer's T-Virus. Destroying a part of Marcus's legacy delivered by one of the Colonel's sons in a torrent. Reversing the damage the virus had done. Maybe it would work... maybe it had been administered too late. Or the strength of the Pursuer's strain was more potent than other samples, and the vaccine was all for nothing. Either way, the objective was completed now... and whatever would happen next, there would be a solution. There always was. She'd deserved at least the chance, for what she'd done, all she'd been through. She deserved the shot at life she had clung to so vigorously. A sea of shadowed faces in some possible unknown future meant nothing compared to her illuminated one. His part in this was over. Her life remained in his hands, in choosing to spare her and let her try to live. He would take responsibility for her if she lived, with the company. He would not let anything else happen to her. He studied her face for a time, for any sign of stirring and drew in a low, muffled breath.
Then he looked down along the arm that he had injected the syringe in... and down to her gloved hand, in which she clutched Matilda. He contemplated retrieving it from her... but decided against it. If she survived, she would need Matilda more than he, for what was to come. He could get her back later. HUNK took the time to gather up the empty vial and syringe... or rather almost empty. There remained some droplets of the vaccine within each, visible and trickling along the Plexiglas. He turned his attention to her side packs, still laying where he had left them, among the rest of the medical equipment and food rations Carlos had lain out in front of her at the alter. He opened one of the pouches and placed the syringe with the vaccine's remnants inside it, then reached into another pocket on the front of his body armor, tucking away the vial. Leaning forward, he moved his mask's mouth to the side of her head, and whispered solemn, assured words to her that only he heard.
"It's not over yet, Valentine. Not until I say it is. Get up and keep fighting. You aren't going to die here. I promised that... remember?"
At last, drawing back, he retrieved it, the letter that had sent them out to the hospital to retrieve Doctor Bard's vaccine. He silently reread the letter before folding it back up, and tucking it away again in the same pocket as the syringe with the vaccine remnants in her side packs. The remnants in the vial he would take back would be enough to fulfill Doctor Radames request. He had no use for the rest of it. If she was strong enough, and pulled through... she just might. To say nothing of the rest of the information she'd gathered so far. Remembering, he also withdrew Bard's banquet invitation and the accompanying note from Senator Tester, tucking it away with the rest of her collected documents. Nothing in his orders involved the suppression of information relating to the T-Virus, the existence of its vaccine or the corruption of politicians from getting out. Heads were already set to roll once the missile flew, and Umbrella and its partners would face the scrutiny of the United States. His orders were clear: recover the G-Virus, and make it out of the city to deliver it to Director Henri awaiting him at Loire Village. He was seeing to the second half of his orders now. The rest of Umbrella's dirty laundry, and any damage from it getting out into the open was none of his personal responsibility. Besides, the Senator Tester note could redirect even more scrutiny on to the U.S. Government instead of Umbrella.
The damage was already done. It was the responsibility of those with a stake in the company. Those that had been stupid and destructive enough to cause this mess in the first place. And make things go from bad to worse. They would reap the reward, one day. Whatever his orders were next when he was done with all this, gave the company what it wanted from him, he would carry them out. Be it assassinations, cover ups, kidnappings, executions and more biohazard clean ups. There would be no shortage of work for him, in the near future when this was done. But that would be then, and not now. In the meantime, there was no treason in this. And there was nothing more he could do here. HUNK rose at last back to his feet, peering down at her silently, and finally his low, muffled tone broke the silence between him and Carlos, emanating through the chapel.
"Now we wait."
"Is it done?", Carlos's exhausted tone asked, turning back in his direction, looking hesitantly with concern between HUNK and Jill's form on the alter. With that as his cue, HUNK turned on the spot away from her, unslinging his submachine gun instinctively and moving past Carlos, starting down the length of the aisle. "Of course it is... is she... where are you going?"
"The courtyard. Watching the perimeter. I'll drag that thing out there and finish burning it, if it's still there.", HUNK informed him not unkindly as he passed, continuing on beyond the pews, and heading down towards the beaten door. He wanted to be away from it all, away from them for a time. He gestured back in Carlos's direction absently as he passed. Feeling the young man's eyes watching him speculatively. "Not holding my breath on that. You stay put, with her. We have some time to spare. If she doesn't get better, if she turns anyways... she's yours to deal with. I... cannot do it. So you will have to. Do you understand?"
"I understand, sir...", Carlos swallowed, visibly uneasy at being volunteered for the potential prospect, looking back to Jill's pale form. Hoping it was not to be. If HUNK couldn't do it... what hope would he have of pulling the trigger? All the same... he promised the agent, who had already done more than enough for them. "I'll do it... if I have to..."
"Good."
HUNK paused on the spot as he passed the typewriter and storage container off to the side, reaching the door. Slowly he looked back in Carlos's direction, watching silently as the young man took HUNK's place, kneeling beside the alter, watching over Jill with grave concern and attentiveness. HUNK already knew he didn't have it in him to shoot her, even if she turned. He was tired of it all... but knew he could trust Carlos to do the job. The young man was stronger than he likely believed he was. Had endured much. Earned the benefit of the doubt. HUNK almost said nothing further before he left the chapel... but words formed on their own accord instead, and made themselves known.
"Corporal."
The exhausted, disheveled young man, no longer altogether entirely there turned his head back down the aisle to HUNK. Even being a young man, seeing everything he had, living through it all, HUNK couldn't deny he looked older than his years. Shell shocked. If he made it out of all this, HUNK wouldn't be surprised if he turned into another man than the one he'd been forced by circumstance to work beside. A good soldier. He had the traits, and talent... maybe now he'd been given the experience he'd needed to make the next step. The young man looked a little startled to be addressed by his rank again, as opposed to what HUNK usually saw fit to call him. HUNK inclined his head respectfully to the mercenary, voice calm, steady.
"Keep it together. You did fine."
"Thank you, sir... there's one more thing though. Something I have, for you. Almost forgot."
HUNK remained where he was, watching the Corporal rise and pass down the aisle towards him. Joining him at the door while rummaging into a vest pocket. Withdrawing something from it... like a necklace. It took him a moment to realize what it was. Rosary beads, with a crucifix upon them. His eyes under the lenses rose back to the disheveled young man, who spoke again shakily, but with resolve. The strength and conviction of faith the agent had never had.
"I... found this here at the chapel, when you were both out. Prayed for you both. They're for you. I think you'll need it. The decisions you have to make. What it costs. I could never shoulder such burdens. Not alone. I don't know what you believe, what you believe in... what you've done for Umbrella... but what you did here for Jill... I hope you see its not too late to redeem one's self. To be forgiven of sins. To forgive yourself. It's never too late. The only unpardonable sin... is to believe God cannot forgive you."
The Umbrella Agent studied the rosary beads silently for a moment... pondering his words... not knowing what to make of them. Looking between the crucifix, the young mercenary, and Jill lying upon the alter. Feeling a growing, strange discomfort... wishing to be alone with his thoughts. He watched his hand rise and take them from the Corporal's hand, slipping them away out of sight into one of his pockets, closing it up again. Without a word, turning his head back to the closest damaged door, he grasped the handle and drew it open, stepping back out into the hall and leaving Carlos behind, closing it back behind him. Sealing away all that had occurred in the chapel, from sight and thought in an instant. Back into the smoke and fire, and mess of the dance hall greeted him... but he ignored it. His long shadow danced in the flames along the walls. The first thing he did once out in the dance hall was look ahead to the floor, where the Tyrant had lain still and burning from the explosion. Had lain, being the operative words. All that remained were the body parts of the other charred infected corpses, and a thick pool of the purple fluid that comprised its blood. There was a great smear, along the floor, along with boot prints, trailing to the door out into the courtyard he'd left open earlier to ventilate much of the smoke. He imagined it crawling towards the door, burnt tendrils slithering... rising back to its feet, and vanishing beyond into the night.
Their burning Pursuer, against all odds had escaped with what could be considered its life again, eluding them, slithering away. It was somewhere out there once more, biding its time, recovering from the damage. It had mutated, drawn free from the binding influence of the inhibiting coat it had been outfitted with by Umbrella Europe. By now, it was probably beyond even their efforts to control or restrain. It was stronger, faster than before, and had nearly killed himself and the Corporal, who had just managed to avoid it with great firepower... and its overriding need to kill Officer Valentine. That programming alone within it remained intact... he'd watched it detect her, all the way from the main hall it had sensed her laying in the chapel. It had breathed in the scent of her blood on the air, like a hound ravenous for its prey.
He remembered passing out earlier, after destroying its rocket launcher... and waking once more after Valentine had fought it off. He hadn't been around to see what damage she had done to it, or the full extent of his own hand in the battle... but there had been its blood everywhere, and it had been gone for days, recovering from its injuries. Whatever injuries Valentine had inflicted upon it before passing out from her own wounds. More than that... it was mutating. It explained why it had taken so long to return, at least. Where it had gone dormant to recover, he could only imagine. He had serious doubts a slow recovery would be the case this time around. Even the explosion of the fuel tanks combined with one of his grenades hadn't blown it in half, as it would near anything else. The mutation had only made it that much more durable and unstable, to say nothing of persistence and ferocity. Where it had been a juggernaut before, somehow it had become something much worse, beyond all imagination.
Its tentacle growths only made the risk of infection in getting too close to it more dangerous, if one of them managed to draw a wound. Perhaps this had been what its creators had feared enough to outfit it with a limitation device like its coat. The mutation capability in ordinary beings exposed to the T-Virus was bad enough... the Pale Heads demonstrated that... but given enough time, what might the Colonel's Tyrant sons become? Something that could make even the mutated giant worm insignificant in comparison? From what he'd seen the G-Virus do to Birkin, he was in no position to be skeptical towards the idea. Or underestimate what Umbrella's viruses and scientists were capable of. Capable of setting loose on the world. The best he could hope for in sacrificing the flamethrower, was that he had bought them some more time, and even it would need awhile to recover. To feast and heal. It had been a spur of the moment improvisation of him... and in truth, he didn't regret using it as he had. It had malfunctioned before after he'd dropped it in that alley, and he couldn't afford as much happening again in the midst of battle. A flamethrower was as dangerous to the one wielding it, as the one it was used against. He'd seen it blow up on its own user before. Only the changed circumstances that worked against their favor had forced his hand into taking a gamble to get them out. This time, the gamble had worked. Like any other sudden threat, he had done what he did best.
Improvised.
Next time... the gamble might not pay off. If Nikolai hadn't forced his hand... were it not for the C4 charge, he'd have still left the flamethrower where it was. But the mission had changed with the other man's presence. As it had changed meeting Valentine, the Pursuer and Oliveira. He could not afford to underestimate their opponent again. He'd wired much of the hospital with charges... one alone couldn't have toppled the mighty structure as it had. To recover the vaccine, the Corporal and him had walked right into a trap... one the trapper hadn't even known would be one. If there was one thing he was sure of, Nikolai had not been expecting them at the hospital. He'd slipped up, underestimating them, and like HUNK would not make the mistake again. While contending with the looming threat of the Pursuer, a battle of strategy had begun between himself and the Monitor once more. A recurring game. The outcome of which was not going to end well for one of or both of them. That much would be assured, come Raccoon City's incineration.
Nikolai was out there, somewhere, moving freely through the shadows of the city. Gathering more data for his master, before finding his way out again. And he wasn't going anywhere until then. And that was assuming he didn't cross paths with them again, come after them to try and tie of loose ends. Either way, it was going to get much worse before things got better. Blinking slowly behind the mask, HUNK didn't bother surveying the rest of the room. He'd seen enough of the destruction, more of it lay in store for him outside anyways. Shaking his helmeted head slowly, raising his weapon, his boots passed through the strewn remains, bullet casings, blood and fire. Although his boots followed the path of the Pursuer's fluids to the door, he rather found himself following the welcome sound of the downpour of rain outside. Ignoring the moans that lay ever beyond the steady, rhythmic patter that beckoned to him. Switching on the swivel headed flashlight connected to his body armor, the beam of light shone out into the night, and he followed it.
In moments, he stood on the battlefield once more... stood beneath the night's open, stormy skies once more. He saw signs of giant boot marks trailing away deeper into the courtyard... before they came to a stop in mud, amid the corpses of the fallen infected rotting out there. He looked around the courtyard... knowing it had jumped away or snared the outer wall or the crashed front end of the train with a tendril, making its escape for the time being. HUNK stood where the boot marks had stopped... right in the midst of the courtyard. Where the battle had taken place before... all the blood washed away by the rain, the fires as well. He looked to the light post he had slammed against before... where they had both collapsed on the broken path. He saw its claws swiping out at him again, scratching his helmet in a spray of sparks. He saw every gunshot and explosion again as if it had just happened. Saw himself rending its throat open with his combat knife... for all the good that had done... the damage healed over by now. He saw her, a fighter on the ropes, bleeding out from where it had struck her, but still battling it with a shotgun and her fury. Fighting... not to protect herself, but him. Pleading him to flee. He still had difficulty understanding why she had been prepared to sacrifice herself for him in a no win scenario... but she had done it without hesitation. As a real cop would. As he wouldn't ordinarily. That had been her... was her, through and through. Protecting those who didn't deserve it. Sacrificing for them. For the ungrateful. There was enough ingratitude in the world, cold lack of appreciation for anything done for others. He would not be among them, those who had done so to her.
Drawing another low breath from the mask, he stood beneath the rushing of rain that greeted and soaked over his form at once, droplets running down his lenses, bouncing off his helmet. He stood among shell casings and corpses... alone with his thoughts. Moans greeted him, excitement from the wet, rotting horde beyond the gates, seeing him alive. A Pale Head moved among them out there, holding what looked like a modified M4 with a drum magazine and grenade launcher in both hands, studying it without eyes, before vanishing into the horde of its lesser cousins. He looked at their sea of dead, glazed over eyes all staring back at him hungrily, flashlight illuminating their gazes, some of their eyes glowing like cat's eyes even without the light. Their many decaying hands clutching at the reinforced gates in vain... the gates holding fast. As well as the pile of rubble covering the hole in the wall from the Tyrant's rocket launcher... a breach that Oliveira had patched up. The current defenses remained unbreached... and when he was certain it was secure, at last he looked away from the implacable enemy. Marcus's baying, excited, mutated children. He looked up to the flickering white light on the face of the clock, getting the time, then looking above it to the skies and simply breathed. Somehow in that moment, in spite of everything that had happened... what must come next... he now found he thought of nothing.
He felt a rare peace inside him that he hadn't before... at least not since Bella. He felt... fine with himself. Separate of the pain and exhaustion of the physical and of memory. And in spite of himself... part of himself uneasy with the idea... he dared to feel... something that felt like hope. And was at least content in the knowledge he had done all that he or anyone else could. Even if he didn't know if he would hear a gunshot ring out... or glimpse her walking through those doors and out to the courtyard. To him. He would make peace with either outcome. He had balanced things out properly... had done all he could for her, as she had for him.
Standing guard, watching over the Saint Michael Clock Tower courtyard carefully and all he could survey, HUNK gripped the submachine gun tightly and waited for whatever would come next to happen.