All The King's Horses
By evolution-500
Genres: Horror/Tragedy
Feedback: Always welcome
WARNING: This story contains violence, mature themes and disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.
*Gyorgy Ligeti - "Requiem"
Disclaimer: Godzilla and "Resident Evil" are properties belonging to Toho Co. Ltd and Capcom respectively. I do not own any of these characters.
"When he has lost all hope, all object in life, man becomes a monster in his misery."- Fyodor Dostoevsky
The fire and infection had consumed everything.
Stepping out from the depleted and rusted down Humvee, Chris Redfield moved cautiously and quietly past the crushed cars as buildings crumbled all around him, glancing slowly around at the ruined outskirts of the city, taking everything in. Huffing into his gas mask, Chris' breath steamed up his visor with each exhalation, his old, worn and filthy BSAA uniform, combat fatigues and gore-encrusted kevlar body armor clinging tightly onto him as if they were a second skin.
It had been five years since that fateful day.
Five years since the endless night rose and cast its gigantic and horrifying shadow across the world. All that was left lay in ruins. In spite of his best efforts, in spite of his hopes, after years of endless fighting, after years of persevering no matter the odds, no matter how many he lost, Chris was reaching his limits.
After years of traversing the hellish wastelands, endlessly searching for something worth saving, something worth living for, he found himself faced with a grim realization.
At first, Chris tried convincing himself that someone was still alive out there somewhere, that he hadn't searched hard enough, or that there were people in hiding, living in shelters, perhaps deep underground, people in desperate need of help, but the more he searched, the more bleak and despairing his views became.
He had searched every town, every city, no matter how badly ruined.
Well, every city and town that hadn't been as badly irradiated, that hadn't been crawling with those things, which was rare enough.
He had searched every radio channel, every frequency, every broadcast.
Every vehicle, every building, house, any piece of shelter that he was fortunate enough to come across.
Nothing could be found - the airways were as dead as the zombies wandering the Earth.
Chris remained still, his form shifting with discomfort.
He tried convincing himself that he just hadn't tried hard enough, that he would find someone eventually...but after a while, he was just too tired.
He was tired of the endless struggle. He was tired of fighting. Even worse...he was tired of lying to himself all the time.
Finally, he was forced to accept the harsh, sobering truth, a truth that he had trouble reconciling with.
He was the only person left. The last surviving human.
Chris remained fixed to the spot as he exhaled through his mask, staring solemnly to the ground.
It was a depressing thought, a realization that made him numb with each passing moment.
As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, Chris knew how hopeless it was to keep living in denial. It had been years since he saw a person.
Well, a living person, anyway.
The last living person he remembered seeing was Jill, just moments before a loose brick struck him in the head, rendering him unconscious for God knew how long.
Chris couldn't even remember the last time he even heard a human voice, let alone any sound that he would have quickly associated with humanity.
The screaming from the living had long ceased to be heard - only the dead and damned cried out and walked in their place, crawled along the war-torn Earth, tormenting the former agent day and night, no matter where he went.
Looked down at the rifle in his hands, Chris stared down at the barrel, quietly contemplating his fate. Part of him wanted to end it right here and now. Another part of him, however, refused to give in. Why he wouldn't, Chris had no idea.
It was a fool's errand in terms of what he was attempting to do, after all.
It wasn't as if he had anything left worth living for.
Staring morosely at his weapon, Chris brushed his finger against the trigger.
'Just end it already,' part of him whispered.
Closing his eyes, Chris allowed the barrel to drop, his broad shoulders sagging.
He couldn't do it.
Lifting his eyes to the horizon, he saw the dimming sun ahead of him, the former agent frowning at the sight of dark clouds that crept toward him.
There was a storm coming - if he's going to be confronting his target, he'll need to do it quickly, otherwise he'll have to find shelter somewhere and wait for it to pass.
Adjusting the straps of his backpack, Chris continued on down the path of ruin and nightmares, his soul troubled and weary.
Everywhere he looked, everywhere he stepped, death greeted Chris, a constant and faithful companion that accompanied him where ever he walked.
Passing by a burnt down school and a charred playground, Chris heard the spectral cries of screaming children, his eyes lingering on the smoldering and blackened swing sets, the chains still swinging and creaking, still smoking.
Further down, he saw a collection of tanks, jeeps, and other abandoned military vehicles amidst a collection of ruined suburban houses. One or two of them had been knocked over on their sides, while some of the houses themselves were just barely standing.
One house seemed to have been in development at the time the incident had occurred, leaving it unfinished, its exposed foundations making it look like a stripped carcass.
"I wonder if the guys working on that had been paid," Chris mused to himself.
He kept walking onward down the street, taking in all of the damage.
He spotted some crushed and blackened bodies, a bloodied twisted hand sticking up from a debris pile as if the owner of it were trying to seek help, but part of Chris couldn't help being reminded of something else altogether.
In some sick way, he was reminded of a disgusting flower.
Taking in the various military vehicles and bodies, Chris saw the scenario play out in his mind's eye as it had occurred - he heard the COs barking out orders, the air ringing with distantly phantasmal cannon and machine gun fire, the sounds of bombs whistling and exploding on impact.
He heard screams of soldiers as their flesh sizzled, their bones snapping and crunching as ungodly feet trampled over them.
Standing up straight, the former agent saluted his fallen brethren, an alien gesture that felt almost unnatural to him, something he hadn't done in a long time.
As he finally dropped his arm back down, Chris turned away to continue in his trek, his heart growing heavier with every step.
In a burned out parking lot, he saw charred bodies, some of them still inside of their vehicles, while infected munched on their remains, none of them giving Chris any notice as he stealthily went by.
Everywhere he looked, Chris saw some form of horror, some moment of everyday life that had been upended and twisted into a gruesome parody, some moment that spoke of tragedy, of despair.
He heard the phantom screams of civilians, the insane ramblings and cackling laughter of the mad and broken, the latter whispering and bubbling up into his ears as he visited these various locales, some of them speaking in his own voice.
Navigating his way around the fissures, craters and bombed out roads, Chris shuddered, avoiding the urge to throw up in his own mask upon noticing the mangled humanoid remains within them, their forms torn apart, some of them scattered everywhere.
Flies buzzed noisily around in the air, with maggots crawling around on some of the pieces.
Despite their condition, they looked relatively fresh.
Part of him wondered how they were able to survive for so long, and if there had been anyone left.
Swatting some flies out of his masked face, Chris scrutinized the remains carefully.
He could see a piece of a femur here, a rib or two there.
Bits of skull.
Brain.
Jawbone.
What looked unmistakably like teeth.
So many other parts, all dark and sticky-looking.
He shook his head slowly.
It was amazing how fear could strip away even the most capable soldier or unit of their ability to perform efficiently.
From the damage, the soldiers had been recklessly shelling in a blind panic.
As a result, a number of buildings and vehicles ended up being reduced to rubble, the people unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire into bits of meat.
If anyone had been lucky- or, perhaps, unlucky- enough to have survived, chances of their continued survival seemed nil.
Turning his gaze away, Chris moved further down the street, taking a right at the corner when he froze.
A number of structures were burning, including one building that seemed to be staring down at him like a horribly lit, oversized jack-o'-lantern that bathed the road orange.
Blinking for several moments, the agent couldn't help musing on the comparison.
In a way it seemed kind of appropriate.
With the exception of him, all that was left of humanity now lied in smoldering ruins, and every day was Halloween.
'Mad world.' he mused to himself.
As the thought crossed his mind, Chris resisted the urge to laugh - not so much out of fear that he would attract unwanted attention, but more so for fear of his being unable to stop.
He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed.
At least, in a way that didn't make him cringe.
All that he knew was that the last time that he tried, he ended up being bothered by the sound.
He couldn't figure out why it was.
Perhaps it was because of how demented he had sounded, how broken he sounded.
Whatever the reason, Chris couldn't deny that mirthful laughter, along with humanity, had no place in this world.
Not anymore.
It was then that a different kind of laughter made Chris seize up, drawing up his weapon and aiming in every direction, searching for the source.
A minute later, the sound stopped, causing him to shakily lower his rifle, his form stiff and on edge.
Jesus, it wasn't enough that the undead would howl with hellishly long wails, voicing their insatiable hunger like a nightmarish choir in the distance, but the fact some of the goddamned things would sometimes cackle, actually laugh themselves...
Chris shuddered.
He didn't know why they would laugh sometimes.
Perhaps there were traces of humanity within them still?
Perhaps it was trace memories from their pre-existing life?
Perhaps it was some new form of communication, even?
Perhaps they were evolving themselves?
Whatever the reason, Chris absolutely hated it.
He had spent so long in this dark world that he learned to recognize the distinctive cries and calls, learned to adapt to deal with these hellish denizens, learned to avoid them whenever he could.
And yet, he remained on alert, his weapon partially raised and ready for action at a moment's notice.
'Sounds like an awful lot of them,' the former BSAA agent thought grimly as he listened to the wailing in the wind.
Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that his Humvee had run out of gas when it did before arriving here.
He gave a dismissive scoff.
Some comfort.
Or, perhaps it wasn't luck at all.
Maybe it was part of the Redfield curse.
The commando stared gravely to the ruined concrete ground, his mood blacker than the charred asphalt on which he stood.
Chris had never been a believer in the supernatural, let alone karma...but...given everything that had happened, however...on some level...part of him wondered if he actually had been cursed, if he had done something wrong in some prior life that he didn't know about to be in the position that he's currently in.
As he continued to walk deeper into the ruined ghost town, Chris quietly contemplated the nightmare that the world had become.
Street signs were worn and bloodied, making it impossible to tell what they had said. Store glass windows were smashed, their contents in disarray, their shelves barren, some of them even toppled carelessly over. Whether they had been knocked over by people or by the creatures, it didn't matter - all Chris knew from looking at them was that a lot of the buildings had been picked clean.
He shook his head.
Fuckin' looters.
Were he in a pragmatic mood, he would have searched the buildings for supplies such as food, ammunition, maybe even some gas in order to be sure, but Chris wasn't feeling particularly pragmatic at the moment.
Not entirely.
Turning another corner, Chris froze, his attention fixed on the street before him.
The various buildings looked relatively well preserved, albeit with some faded lettering here and there, but they had been abandoned for so long that they ended up completely covered with vines and plant life, including what seemed to be variants of the Plant 42 specimen from the mansion all those years ago.
Curling his mouth in disgust at the sight of the plants, Chris tightened his grip on the handle of his rifle.
If it wasn't for the fact that he wanted to conserve ammunition, he'd have burned the fucking things down, blow them all to kingdom come, along with all the other fucking monsters running through the city.
Unfortunately, he couldn't - every round mattered. He couldn't afford to draw the attention of that godawful horde, not when he's on the hunt for the one responsible.
Every bomb and bullet at his disposal was meant for him - nobody else.
Chris was on a mission, and by God he was going to see it through to the bitter end. He couldn't afford wasting time or bullets, let alone explosives, not when he was so close to his objective.
Hearing a crack, Chris' ears perked up in alert as he suddenly froze like a deer in the headlights.
Drawing up his weapon quickly out of reflex, the former agent felt himself tense as a building collapsed a couple blocks away, filling the street up ahead with smoke and debris, but it was the thunderous though distant booms and that distinctive, bellowing, siren-like roar that had immediately drawn Chris' attention, making his heart rate spike.
The agent narrowed his eyes.
He was here.
Clutching his weapon, Chris proceeded toward the source, moving deeper into the decaying city, into the deep, enveloping fog and debris cloud-covered street.
Glass crunched beneath booted feet as Chris eyed his surroundings, his finger just brushing against the trigger of his rifle with a tender stroke, the former agent eying every corner of his environment with unease.
His eyes studied the dark clouds.
The storm was still coming, but he should have some time still.
Turning his attention away, Chris' eyes settled on the setting sun ahead of him, the skies around it a mixture of red and orangish hues with soft fleshy pink flourishes.
Breaking his gaze away, Chris anxiously checked his ammunition and weaponry, unnerved by the sight before.
To him, it was like staring up at a giant, pitying eye of one who knew that things had no hope of ever getting better, as if the universe, perhaps God himself, knew that the world was going to die, and that it was just watching with baited breath for the inevitable, like a nurse standing over a coma patient, waiting for the order to pull the plug.
Even worse, there was nothing Chris could do to fix it, let alone prevent it from reaching its end.
A feeling of melancholy came over the former agent at the thought as he turned his eyes back to the ruined city.
All of the buildings lay scattered in varying degrees of decay, from the vaguely pristine yet stained with soot, graffiti and ash, to the burned and burning, to the crumbling and outright destroyed.
Billboards and traffic signs were warped into grotesquely burnt and blackened shapes, warped by the intense heat, while snapped electrical wires limply swung in the wind.
As he moved further into the city, the more tense Chris became as he spotted fresh carnage.
Huge portions of asphalt roads were completely cracked and crushed, forming large pits that unmistakably looked like massive, four-clawed footprints.
Chris' hands tightened on the handle and barrel of his assault rifle.
There's no mistaking it. He's been here. He just needs to catch up with the bastard.
Exhaling through his gas mask, Chris continued following the trail, taking in more of the devastation wherever he went.
The smoke was becoming denser the further he traveled inward to the city's heart.
Turning a corner, Chris paused in his steps, the gun wavering in hesitation at the grim sight ahead of him.
Entire rows of streets and buildings were completely charred, blackened, and/or engulfed in huge, sprawling columns and seas of flames, the fire so large and thick that they practically licked the sky.
Chris stared, partially mesmerized.
He had seen this kind of devastation first-hand.
Back in Tokyo, before he had been rendered unconscious.
And yet, despite that, on some level...he still couldn't help but stare in awe at the sheer power this being displayed, the sheer utter carnage it left in its wake.
The first time he experienced it...he had been so utterly shaken, so utterly terrified that he hadn't eaten or slept for days, haunted by what he saw, by the screams. He had felt so utterly sick by what he saw that he had thrown up. Staring at the flames as they flickered and gnawed on the city's remnants like a hungry wolf on a carcass, the only thing Chris felt now, though, was numbness.
Letting his eyes drift, Chris twisted on his feet, doing a full three hundred sixty degree sweep of the area, taking in the rest of the city all around him, then froze at the sight of hundreds of human-sized, statue-like figures in various poses that stood in different parts of the street, many of them recoiling in fear, some curled up in fetal positions with their arms covering their faces.
Exhaling through his nose, Chris' broad shoulders sagged as he approached the closest one and studied its features up-close.
It would be easy to mistake these for sculptures, but he knew that weren't the case. Hell, he had made that mistake years ago, had seen the same thing happen across the world, and to see another one of these always made him feel hollow inside.
Chris stared upon the still, flash-heated figures morosely, his heart and form numb.
Dipping his head low, he respectfully nodded in acknowledgement, slowly and carefully moving past so as to avoid ruining the burnt effigies, all the while listening intently to his surroundings.
So much destruction...
Upon seeing the burnt figure of a woman clutching her baby, her face locked in a perpetual scream, Chris abruptly shifted his attention away, staring straight ahead to avoid looking at them, his hands clenching hard on his assault rifle as if it were a crucifix as he eyed the remnants of civilization.
So many people...
He tried to envision these streets as they had been, and for a moment, part of him caught glimpses or tell-tale signs of that prior life before it had all went to hell.
On one cracked street, he spotted a faded chalk outline of some kid's hopscotch game, but part of it was covered in old encrusted dried blood.
In another section, lying with their backs against a smoldering corner of a building, were the burnt remains of a woman clutching her two children close to her, the last vestige of love to ever be displayed in this horrifying world.
In another, he saw burnt and faded "Missing" posters posted on brick walls, streetlamps and utility poles, each page showing some missing loved one, be it man, woman, pet or child.
Husbands.
Wives.
Lovers.
Sons.
Daughters.
Brothers.
Sisters.
Every page depicted some poor lost soul whose fate remained unknown, who in all likelihood had perished the moment he stepped into the city. As the pages fluttered and scattered in the wind and smoke, Chris looked away with a heavy heart, continuing on in his endless quest.
Everywhere he looked, Chris saw flashes of humanity, some little things that told of some story of its denizens before the subsequent fall.
Scrunching up his brow beneath his gas mask, the BSAA agent licked his dried lips absentmindedly, staring at his surroundings in deep reflection.
He tried to recall the last time he saw a city full of normal people, tried to recall when things used to be so...normal... but it felt as if it were a lifetime ago, like a dream, so illusory and fleeting, that part of him wondered, much to his horror, if it had ever been real in the first place.
Chris felt his blood freeze as horror of it suddenly dawned on him; it was no longer a world built on rationality and reason.
It was a world of nightmares, a world of unending insanity.
A world of dark gods and monsters, and Chris had been unwitting enough to survive it all.
He had walked this madness-filled existence for so long that he had completely forgotten the very novelty of normalcy.
Of humanity.
Horrified by the thought, Chris paused in his steps and lowered his weapon, eagerly fishing around in his pockets.
"Where is it? Where is it?!" he hissed desperately, like a thirsty man trying to find something to drink.
In retrospect, Chris shouldn't be speaking to himself, but he just couldn't help it - it had been years since he had last heard a human voice.
Why he would speak at all given the fact that in all likelihood he was the only human being left in this insane shithole of a world, the commando had no idea.
Perhaps it was some form of comfort?
He had to admit, staying quiet for days on end while the dark things screeched out from the shadows and howled had a way of getting to him.
It was especially worse when there were no sounds at all; the silence alone greatly bothered him, far more than the creatures.
Then again, Chris reflected blackly, perhaps he was losing his mind.
There had been a number of occasions where the former agent would find himself saying something without realizing it. It had been so long since he had seen or heard from someone, anyone, and given the horrible things that he had seen, the horrible things he had to do...
Have I gone crazy?
He searched frantically in his pockets, checking every belt, buckle and pouch on his person until he finally stopped.
Feeling the object in his hand, Chris exhaled, sighing with relief as he took the photograph out of his pockets.
Running a hand over the photograph, the former BSAA agent despondently and quietly stared at the people on it, his trembling hand tracing along their features.
"You were real," he said quietly, his voice full of emotion. "All of you had been real."
Yes, they had been real - he'll never forget that, nor will he ever allow himself to forget, not as long as he lived.
His eyes watered as he stared down into the photo.
Why was he the only one to have survived?
Why couldn't have the others been spared from this cataclysm?
What had the others done wrong to merit such cruel fates?
Why hadn't he been allowed to die?
Swallowing, Chris' shoulders slackened as he allowed himself to quietly weep for the lives that had been lost, the life that had been taken from him.
Sniffing, Redfield tiredly shook his head.
Who'd have thought that surviving Spencer Mansion would have lead him down this path?
He had fought this war against Umbrella for years, against Umbrella and their legacy of bioterrorism.
If only he had fought harder. He could have prevented all of this, he was sure of it. He didn't know how, but Chris was sure that he could have stopped this when he had the chance. If only...
He sighed tiredly.
How could it have come to this?
Chris stared down at the photo, then, a moment later, exhaled through his gas mask, the former BSAA agent's mood darkening.
Of course he knew how.
After the destruction of Raccoon City in 1998, a desperate last effort made in order to contain the outbreak there, the Umbrella Corporation's assets had been liquidated by the American government.
By 2003, the company had collapsed...but, rather than being the end of its corruption, as Chris and others had hoped, it turned out to be a new and horrible beginning.
The start of an all-new, and even worse, legacy as various criminal organizations, terrorist groups, corrupt corporations, governments, and countless others laid claim to Umbrella's viruses, resulting in new horrifying forms of bioweaponry that were then distributed over the black market.
Monsters no longer became mere works of fiction or stories told to frighten children; they became as frighteningly real as the atomic bomb itself.
Thus, the BSAA, or Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, had been formed to combat the threat.
One man, however, had made it all possible.
One man had been responsible for the nightmares that plagued Chris' life, had lead him down this road.
One man had his hand in destroying the world.
Chris' hand clenched into a fist.
"Wesker," he spat bitterly, cursing the name.
Albert fucking Wesker.
Umbrella CEO Oswell E. Spencer's wunderkind who, at the age of 18 in the '70s, had been accepted into Umbrella Pharmaceuticals as one of its lead researchers in their Bio-Organic Weapons ("B.O.W.") program.
A man who had founded the elite Special Tactics and Rescue Services, or S.T.A.R.S., unit in the Raccoon City Police Force.
A man who had been Chris' Captain and mentor before ultimately betraying everyone on the team for the sake of greed, leading them all up to that fucking mansion in the mountains to die, just so that he could collect combat data for his precious Tyrant bioweapon and T-Virus.
As the image of Wesker lingered in his mind, Chris repressed the urge to snarl in rage, to lash out in anger.
Seven people lost their lives up there in that mansion, a lot of them his friends and colleagues.
Only he, Jill, Rebecca, Barry and Brad had been the only ones to have made it out.
So many other people lost their lives because of Wesker and Umbrella.
The destruction of Raccoon City resulted in the loss of hundreds of thousands of people...but that hadn't deterred them with what they were doing.
That didn't stop either from ass-fucking the world and humanity into oblivion.
As he stood there fuming, Chris recalled his last encounter with the man.
Several years earlier...
BSAA Headquarters, New York City
Chris watched as Jill stared intently at the latest file.
Over the last few months, ships have been inexplicably disappearing in the Pacific, some even sinking.
At first, government officials had chalked it up as being accidents, but as the disasters became even more numerous, however, with wreckage washing up on shores sporting what seemed to be claw marks, along with dead fish, it didn't take much time for the watchdog group to call in the BSAA.
"Well, what do you think, Jill?" he asked as he thumbed through his copy, studying the photos of ship wrecks. "Think it's a B.O.W. attack?"
Jill frowned. "I don't know, Chris. Nobody has stepped forward to claim responsibility for the disasters." Her fingers traced along the photos. "If it is, then it must be absolutely enormous."
She shivered. "I hate to imagine just how big this thing really is. Part of me just hopes that this is just a coral reef."
As he watched his partner reflect quietly to herself with a trouble expression, Chris heard the phone ring beside him.
"BSAA, Chris Redfield speaking."
Jill turned to the next page in her file.
"Who is it?" she asked curiously.
He shrugged. "Dunno. Apparently it's a long distance call from Tokyo," he said before turning his attention back to the phone, "Yeah, put him through."
Chris waited a minute, then two. Finally, he heard someone on the other end.
"BSAA Headquarters, Chris Redfield speaking. Who am I talking to?" He waited. "Uh huh. Uh huh..."
He continued to listen, then suddenly looked up with a start. "Wait, what?! Are you sure?!"
Upon hearing the startling piece of information, Chris' face darkened, his hand clenching into a fist. "Okay, I'll be right down as soon as possible. Whatever you do, make sure that you have armed guard-"
He paused, his face perplexed by what he just heard. "He is? How bad?"
Jill looked up from her file, watching as Chris' eyes widened in surprise.
"...I see. I'll be there soon. Thank you, Doctor."
As Chris hung up, Jill placed her file away, turning to face him.
"Chris, what's wrong?" she asked concernedly.
He stared at the phone in disbelief, shaking his head.
Chris looked up at her. "I just got a call from a Dr. Eiji Tsuburaya from Tokyo Hospital. A patient of his wants to turn himself over to the BSAA, but he wants to see us specifically. You're not going to believe who it is."
Jill leaned forward, her curiosity peaked.
Chris was quiet for a moment, his mouth tightening.
"Wesker," he said simply.
The news had been startling to say the least.
At first, the two of them had thought that it was some sort of practical joke, but no - according to the doctor, Wesker was in critical condition and had been exposed to extremely lethal levels of radiation.
How that happened, the doctor wasn't sure, nor would Wesker explain; instead, he had been demanding - practically begging - to turn himself in, on the condition that he met with Chris and Jill themselves.
After he had gotten off the phone, he took the earliest flight out to Japan with a fully armed unit.
Chris recalled that day vividly.
When he and Jill got to the hospital in Tokyo, they had been stunned by what greeted them.
Part of him had expected to see Wesker standing smugly at the secretary's desk with a smirk on his face.
Instead, they had been guided over to the isolation ward, dressed from head to toe in protective covering, where they all found a broken, bedridden figure who looked so utterly unrecognizable that both Chris and Jill had to do a double take, the two of them reeling back in shock.
Neither of them had been prepared for what they saw at all!
Wesker had lost a lot of weight; probably a hundred pounds or more, looking as if he had shrunken, wearing nothing but a white hospital gown, his musculature and lean physique had dwindled down to a frighteningly thin frame, his bones held together by a thin wisp of skin, some of it looking like it had been...melting.
His once handsome features had become sickly and pale, his golden blonde hair that he had kept so pristine, so cared for and slicked with gel...it was gone!
He was completely bald, his face partially hidden behind an oxygen mask.
Even more, he looked so...old!
So frail!
Parts of him had been badly burned, horribly blackened even in a couple areas.
His green, cat-like eyes, had looked tired and wrinkly, looking as if he had aged a good fifty years, but what was even more noticeable, however, was the emotion that Chris detected in his eyes.
He saw fear.
Chris had always thought the man to be fearless, but to see such a thing...it was disarming.
What could have possibly scared him so much?
What could have scared even the Devil himself?
Once they had been certain that Wesker and the people that accompanied him - a group of nurses and doctors who all wore thick HAZMAT suits - hadn't been armed and that the building itself had been secure, Chris and Jill had then listened to what the former Umbrella researcher had to tell them.
Memories of Wesker's final moments came flooding back to Chris with remarkable lucidity, as if it had been yesterday.
"Chris," the bed-ridden figure greeted in a croaking voice beneath his oxygen mask. "How nice to see you. You look well...unfortunately. Been feeding on boulders, have you?"
Balling up his fist, Chris took a step forward only to be blocked off by Jill.
"No, Chris!" She said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Not now."
Looking down at her, Chris sighed, then nodded before turning his attention back to Wesker, offering him a heated glare. Turning to a BSAA soldier, not taking his eyes off Wesker for even a moment. "Is the area secure?"
"All of the personnel have been cleared. It's clean, sir," the soldier replied.
"Keep an eye out for trouble."
The bed-ridden figure chuckled in amusement.
"You have nothing to worry about, Chris," he remarked, letting out a hacking cough. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."
"What happened to you?" Jill asked. "You look awful."
Wesker shifted in his bed, groaning.
"Nice to see you too, Jill. Looking as lovely as ever I see." As he settled into a more comfortable position, he looked up with tired, drooping eyes. "I had just completed a successful transaction in China that involved selling the T-Veronica virus to a customer when a contact got in touch with me about some news."
"Tell us more about this 'Organization'," Chris nodded.
Wesker gave an annoyed though weak glare.
"Don't interrupt me," he scolded. "I don't have long, so just listen to what I have to say."
Raising his eyes to the ceiling he continued on.
"As I was saying before the rude interruption," Wesker said as he took his mask off to wipe his mouth, "I got a tip-off about the Organization. Apparently, they had been turning their sights toward a researcher by the name of Goro Maki. A former Japanese zoology professor from Tokyo University who had been expelled from Japan for unknown reasons after his wife died of radiation poisoning, Maki had been employed by an American energy firm, which made me curious.
'I had met Maki in person ages ago, back when I was a young researcher, and from my recollections of him, Maki was as straight as they came, a man who was completely unlikely to be involved with any sort of B.O.W. program. A principled man, by all accounts."
Wesker coughed, hacking loudly, his eyes watery.
"And yet," he continued, "according to my contact, Maki had been requisitioning a lot of high-tech equipment and materials from the Organization lately. What he had been working on, nobody had known; whatever it was, it was enough to draw interest from the Organization itself. Even I myself had been puzzled. What sort of research had Maki been doing?
Why would he be involved with an energy company of all things?
'As far as I had been aware, Maki had been anti-nuclear energy, and from all accounts, the company Maki worked for hadn't at all specialized in genetic engineering, nor had they ever been involved with anything illicit. None of it had made any sense. It had been a riddle that had drawn the attention of everyone, including me."
Wesker lay on the bed, then shook his head from side to side.
"Perhaps it would have been better had I not let curiosity get the better of me. If it hadn't been for that, I wouldn't be here groveling to you of all people."
He exhaled. "Well, here we are. As a result, I opted to investigate the matter, if only to satisfy my curiosity. A great deal of time and effort had been spent trying to find Maki, much to my frustration - whatever it was that he had been working on, Maki had left no traces of his work anywhere. Not at his old home, not in his labs.
'The only thing I had found, however, had been a single word written on a scrap of paper in Maki's old office at the university, a strange word that I had been unfamiliar with."
He swallowed, licking his dry lips.
"'Gojira'," Wesker spoke softly. "That was what Maki called it. Admittedly I was puzzled by the word, so I decided to do some checking up and research the matter myself, believing, if not somewhat hoping, that it would be a potential clue, but the results of my efforts only left more questions than answers. According to various sources and linguists, 'Gojira', or 'Godzilla' in the English translation, had a number of meanings.
'One meaning, I had discovered, had left me completely confused, since the actual translation had been 'Gorilla-Whale'."
He let out a weak laugh at Chris and Jill's perplexed expressions.
"I had the same reaction as you two," he nodded, his eyes locked on the ceiling. "At first, I thought that it had been some sort of practical joke, and for a brief moment, I had pondered over the possibility of calling the whole thing off. If it had been, as I had initially suspected, then someone was going to die, painfully, and very slowly."
The bedridden figure exhaled softly.
"However," he continued, "the more I had researched, the more I felt that I had been on the trail of something. Something big.
'According to my sources, the name itself seemed to have had some direct connection with the Bake-kujira yokai, a large, ghostly skeleton whale from Japanese mythology that had been said to be accompanied by strange birds and fish. Those who were said to have witnessed a bake-kujira, according to the myth, ended up infected with its horrible curse, which they would, in turn, bring back to their villages upon returning home, passing it on to others.
'The whale's curse brought famine, plague, fires, and other horrible kinds of disasters."
Chris and Jill exchanged looks, then turned their gazes back to Wesker as he continued to elaborate.
"Upon reading this information, my interest had peaked considerably. That alone was suggestive of some type of B.O.W., but what kind?"
He cleared his voice. "Further research into the name, however, revealed other meanings with far darker and more ominous connotations. 'God's Shadow'. 'God's Wrath'. According to sources from Odo Island, where Maki himself had been born and raised, the word translated to 'God incarnate', or 'Incarnation of God'. It was at this point that I became compelled, even obsessed, with finding what it was that Maki had been involved with.
'Eventually, I was able to track the man down, and when I did, I had confronted him.
'What I had discovered," Wesker admitted, "changed my life. In 1954, the US government had illegally dumped nuclear waste into the Pacific Ocean. Maki, I had learned, had been doing research on mutations caused by this dumping, but somewhere along the way, he came across something...unprecedented.
'He had discovered an ancient species that somehow not only managed to survive the highly irradiated materials in the cold oceanic depths, but to also evolve and feed on said-waste, using it as sustenance!
'Once Maki had captured this creature, he had dissected and studied it thoroughly.
'Somehow, the creature had been able to create new, never-before-seen elements, elements that made this creature a living goldmine of enormous potential.
'Once I had examined this data for myself, I had found himself in awe at the possibilities that it represented.
'As a result, I had offered Maki a chance to continue his research by providing funding and equipment for him, even working alongside Maki himself. Whatever he needed, I saw to it that he had been provided for, just so long as I was involved. From there, the two of us had tampered with the creature's genetics, creating an artificial womb in order to birth a newer version of it that refined the elements in its body."
"The results," Wesker confessed in awe, "were incredible! The first organism to have ever been birthed through an artificial womb, and already possibilities were opening up for me. I saw new ways to revolutionize the field of genetics, new potential areas to explore!
'New possible B.O.W.s to produce!"
Jill shifted in discomfort. "So what happened?"
A frown appeared on Wesker's sick face.
"Before I could capitalize on our success," he spoke, "the creature ended up escaping from captivity and found its way into the ocean.
'How it managed to escape completely puzzled me at the time, but regardless of the cause, Maki and I needed to capture and contain it as quickly as possible. Thus, I ended up utilizing a private military contractor that I worked with, the "Host/Hive Capture Force", HCF for short, to help track it down."
Wesker hadn't gone into specifics, let alone mentioned where or how long he had searched for, but apparently tracking the creature, the former S.T.A.R.S. Captain admitted, had been a major undertaking in and of itself, filled with no shortage of complications, especially when they were trying to maintain a low profile.
However, once they were able to locate the specimen, he had been positive that they would have been able to capture it, if not kill it.
He couldn't have been any more wrong.
Wesker didn't elaborate on what had happened, but regardless of what had occurred, one thing had been certain; it resulted in the entire militia being annihilated.
Whatever he saw happen on that day, it shook him to his very core, scaring him badly, and that fact alone was a major warning sign for Chris, for Jill especially.
Even worse, the incident itself resulted in Wesker becoming exposed.
"I hadn't known at the time that I had been," Wesker wheezed. "Not until I started coughing up blood and slowly losing handfuls of my hair. I tried confronting Maki about what happened, but the man just straight up disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a note."
"What did it say?" Jill asked.
He clenched the bedsheets and his mouth angrily.
"Maki, it seemed, had other plans for 'Gojira'," Wesker said with grit teeth, his eyes glowing dimly. "Apparently, he had no interest in pursuing the black market, nor in money. No. He had grown spiteful towards humanity, so disgusted and embittered with the world and its various so-called "evils", including the likes of me, apparently, that he wanted this dark "god" to be unleashed as humanity's ultimate punishment and test."
Wesker gave a dismissive snort.
"Misanthropy is woefully underrated," he said scathingly. "This is why you never should put your trust in anyone."
"Considering who he was working with and your nature," Chris said with his arms folded, "I'd say he's justified in feeling that way."
Wesker clicked his tongue absentmindedly. "Touché, I suppose. He made no mention of where he had gone, nor what he intended to do next - he merely thanked me for my services that I provided, then wrote, 'I did as I pleased. Now, do as you like.' After I had crumpled up the note, I sought to find Maki with the hopes of delivering very personal and very, very painful retribution on the old wretch."
He coughed violently into his mask.
"I regret not finding and killing him when I had the chance. Believe me, if it hadn't been for the condition that I'm in, his entrails would be splattered across this entire city. Before I was able to begin my hunt, I started becoming weaker. Sicker. None of the medications that I had available were working, thus, I had to force myself into a hospital out of desperation. And now here we are," Wesker wheezed into his oxygen mask upon completion of his accounts, coughing as he glared up at Chris with his feline-like eyes. "I bet you like seeing me like this, don't you?"
Chris shrugged. "...A little." He admitted.
"I'll admit," Jill said slowly, "it gives me some satisfaction, if only for karma's sake."
"Hm." Wesker grunted.
"That said," she continued, "...despite all the pain and suffering you caused..." Jill shook her head slowly, "I wouldn't wish this on you...even if you did deserve it..."
Chris watched as Wesker's distinctive smirk weakly formed on his face as he chuckled lowly.
"Small comfort," he croaked, letting out a cough. "What a position to be in...to be comforted by one of your own enemies...fate really does have a sense of humor..."
"At least you won't be able to hurt anyone anymore," Chris said, his eyes narrowed with anger and hatred. "Once we clean up this mess, you're going to spend a very long time in prison. No more wars, no more B.O.W.s. You will be finished, just like Umbrella."
Even in his weakened state, Wesker let out a dark chuckle.
"Chris, Chris, Chris," he smiled unpleasantly beneath the oxygen mask, "oh how I adore that unfounded optimism of yours. You really don't get it. What Maki unleashed...it is...unlike...anything...the two of you can ever ...possibly imagine!"
Chris scoffed dismissively. "Don't sound so confident. Jill and I beat that Tyrant of yours back at the mansion along with all the various B.O.W.s Umbrella sent our way! We'll beat this thing you and Maki cooked up just the same!"
"...I wouldn't be so sure about that." Wesker enigmatically spoke as he stared darkly up at the ceiling. "Those B.O.W.s are nothing compared to what you will face. This being...this creature...the power it wields..." He shook his head slowly. "...I've never seen anything more...perfect."
A dark smile edged up one corner of his mouth.
"'Incarnation of God', indeed." Wesker said in an admiring tone. Turning his green, feline-like eyes to meet Chris', he regarded the latter for a moment. "...As much as I would like to watch your inevitable failures and deaths...I'm afraid I don't have much time left."
Chris watched as his former commanding officer coughed.
"...How bad is it?" Jill asked, a trace of pity in her eyes and voice.
Taking in a deep breath, Wesker stared up at the ceiling.
"Chances of recovery are nil." He stated in a croaking whisper, sounding sleepy. "My organs are shutting down...and my white blood cell is diminishing quickly. It'll only be a matter of time."
Jill lowered her head. "I'm...sorry to hear about that."
"Hm." Looking over to the two of them, Wesker weakly watched them. "You have my sympathies for what's to come. I don't envy you. Not one bit. Give my regards to other survivors of S.T.A.R.S...to Rebecca..." A look of sorrow filled his eyes. "...Tell Rebecca that...I'm...her..."
"Wesker?"
As he slumped into his pillow, doctors gathered around.
"Everyone clear the room! Get the defibrillator asap!"
Chris watched and listened as the room came alive with activity, the sound of EKG droning a long, low though loud flatline.
Dead leaves fluttered by Chris' feet, the cold wind striking his form as he pushed relentlessly forward. Overhead, the dark clouds were creeping closer toward him.
Adjusting his clothing and armor, he exhaled softly, looking ahead to the remains of a church that he passed by on the street, its cross fallen and splintered in the middle, as if in surrender.
Wesker's death alone should have comforted the BSAA agents, should have been an encouraging sign, a symbol representing an end to this insanity. It should have been a new and hopeful beginning, the promise of a better tomorrow where bioterrorism and bioorganic weapons would be no more!
Chris grit his teeth underneath his mask. How woefully naïve he had been.
He thought that this being was just a minor annoyance that needed to be dealt with, the final hurdle to be overcome, the end of bioterrorism itself.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
It was the end of an era, alright. How unfortunate that it wasn't the era Chris hoped for.
Wesker had been right - Godzilla wasn't like anything the BSAA had ever prepared for.
It was doom incarnate.
When the creature first made landfall in Tokyo a couple months later, it had been disastrous. The entire city itself looked as if a hurricane or a tsunami had crashed through it, with clusters of ships cluttering and clogging up the streets, crashing into cars and buildings. Hundreds of thousands ended up getting hurt or killed, their bodies floating alongside the debris, staining the water red.
The property damage alone... Chris couldn't remember the financial details resulting from it, but suffice to say, it had been incredibly expensive.
What was even worse was that had the government acted more efficiently and timely in its responses, he was certain that the BSAA would have been able to take care of this damn thing.
"Fucking bureaucrats," Chris muttered.
If there was one thing he hated, it was bureaucratic bullshit. He hated it back in Racoon City, and he hated it now, even when everything was nothing but dust and burning cinders.
Because of government ineptitude, countless people ended up dead.
Even worse, they had allowed the problem to escalate even further.
To evolve.
When it came onto the shore, the creature had a strangely fetal-like appearance, with developed hindlegs, googly fish-like eyes and jaundiced skin, with barely any motor control, just haphazardly flopping about. At the time, Chris and Jill had been in one of the BSAA bases located in Japan, staring up at the TV screens, watching the chaos, but Chris himself couldn't help feeling kind of...unimpressed at the sight of the creature.
Sure, it had been big, faaaar larger than any known animal, whales included, but still, this had been the thing Wesker had been warning him and Jill about? This had been the thing that caused him such fear and worry?
At the time, Chris wondered if it had been a joke.
The creature had been just grinding itself against the ground, looking as if it hadn't known how to move on its newly-formed legs.
Periodically, fountains of blood had sometimes gushed from gills on its neck and spilled onto the road, causing car tires to corrode, but it had been the expression on its face that made it look ridiculous; the damn thing hadn't even seemed aware of the fact that it was moving at all - it was just staring out with blank empty eyes, barely even cognizant of its own surroundings.
It had just flopped and rolled around like a literal fish out of water, and if it hadn't been for the fact that its spasms crushed cars, boats and even people in its wake, resulting in God knew how much death and destruction, Chris would have laughed at the time.
Even as it pushed itself up the side of a building, it had looked absurd, even as the the structure collapsed underneath its immense weight.
Over time, its movements had started to slow down, and for a moment, he and everyone else felt certain that the creature would just die as its movements became more sluggish.
After all, how could something that large live on land?
It had been too big - researchers at the BSAA were swearing up and down that the gravitational forces on its body and the amount of blood flow would be too much for its heart to handle.
It wouldn't be able to have enough oxygen in its liver, some had claimed.
What had happened after completely and utterly defied logic and expectation; once it had stopped moving, it had changed.
The creature's skin had reddened and rippled, as if millions of worms were slithering underneath its flesh as its body started to...reconfigure, with steam rising off of it, as if it were being cooked from the inside.
Tiny little arms had torn their way free from the main body as the creature reared up onto its hind legs, and as it stared up into the sky, it let out an impossibly loud roar that caused windows nearby to shatter.
The first time Chris ever heard the sound, he had actually flinched while Jill herself looked visibly shaken, with trembling legs and paling skin.
The sound struck some deep, primeval cord within them both, a sound unlike anything that they ever heard in their lives. Words couldn't even begin to describe the sheer alien quality that the roar had possessed. Neither Chris nor Jill could fully articulate at the time what the roar truly sounded like, let alone what it had reminded them of.
Over the years, they had heard various comparisons - a smashed guitar, an air siren, a high-pitched foghorn - and while there were some elements of truth in them, the reality was that neither of those descriptors really came close to matching, even if there were slight similarities.
It was only years later, when Chris was walking alone down a street and heard one of the large church bells crash to the floor far behind him that he was finally able to pinpoint an equivalent to the creature's roar.
It was a sound that he could only describe as...demonic, for lack of a better word - an enormous, unholy bell crashing on the floor, long, loud, and terrible.
Skkrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnggggggggggkkkkkkk!
Stirring from his thoughts, Chris stiffened as he heard the roar ahead of him, the sound rumbling through his frame, as if in response to the crashed bell, making him stand on alert, his assault rifle feeling heavy in his hands.
He's close.
Shivering at the thought, the survivor gathered himself, moving in the direction from where that sound came, going deeper into the dark.
The horrors that haunted the streets were vast in number and myriad in shapes and sizes.
Zombies and Crimsonheads were by far the most common, though somewhat easier to handle compared to other B.O.W.s.
Occasionally one or two of them would be infected with a Las Plagas parasite, much to his surprise, making it a little more difficult, but thankfully those weren't as common.
Tyrants were also a problem, a very big one, especially when they were in groups, though by and large they were solitary predators that rarely engaged in pack hunting.
Chris shuddered at his last encounter with one.
He had been startled the first time he came across those aforementioned freaks a few months back.
Just what the hell happened while he had been unconscious? How did those creatures get loose?
It was a mystery that had puzzled the former agent for a long time, and from what little bits of info he collected, he didn't like the answer.
By large, Chris managed to avoid drawing attention to himself, although there were one or two occasions where he had to stealthily kill a couple by stabbing them or breaking their necks.
The really problematic creatures, however, were the Hunters and Lickers.
As he crossed underneath some scaffolding, something skittered nearby, causing Chris' hand to tighten on the handle of his weapon as he remained still.
A loud thump overhead drew his attention. He watched and waited, his form tense as a Licker lazily slunk off from the side of the scaffolding to his level like some sort of fleshless monkey.
Dropping to the floor in front of him, Chris felt his pulse race as it just stood there, seemingly oblivious to his presence.
Come on, just move on. Nothing to see here.
The creature sat in front of him, then leaned forward, stretching itself like a cat.
Turning in his direction, the beast slowly crawled toward him.
Chris carefully aimed his weapon at its exposed brain, eying its every move as he lightly moved out of the way, watching with pulse-pounding terror as it waltzed past him, snorting and growling.
Finally, it slowly climbed up the wall, then hung there for several moments off the side of a wall like a gecko.
As he quietly swallowed, Chris observed the creature as it scratched itself with its hind leg like a dog before scurrying upward, disappearing through the unfinished window.
He waited a minute, then two.
Once he was certain that it was gone, the former BSAA agent relaxed.
Fucking Lickers.
He absolutely hated them.
Not only were they fast and strong, but the fact they came in packs...what a fucking pain in the ass.
Turning a corner, Chris proceeded forward, his heart leaping when he heard loud roars.
Drawing up his weapon out of reflex, he swiftly took cover beside a wall.
What the hell was going on?
Curious, Chris carefully peeked from the corner and peered around, watching as a group of Hunters and Lickers fighting amongst themselves, the two different species biting and clawing at one another.
He didn't know why they were fighting.
Perhaps it was for food?
Perhaps it was territorial behavior and one side made the mistake of crawling into the other's space?
Whatever the reason, Chris took advantage of the distraction and snuck past, making sure not to make any noise.
In another section of the city, infected crows cackled and cawed from the rooftops, feeding on whatever flesh they could find, sometimes each other in a piranha-like frenzy as feathers spilled in all directions.
Chris wearily shook his head.
Fucking crows.
Hated them as well.
Hated them as a kid, hated them back at the Mansion, hated them still.
About twenty minutes later, something white and sticky fluttered into his lens, forcing him to stop.
Wiping it off with a gloved hand, he studied the substance, then looked around, his eyes squinting through the gloom until he found the source.
A section of the street had webbing all over it, hanging from buildings, lampposts, fire hydrants and so on, with various cocoons containing wriggling prey, zombies based on the moans.
The moment Chris saw them and heard the telltale heavy taps of the webbing's owner approaching, the former agent ducked down beside a car, watching as a giant spider crawled past, the oversized arachnid crawling up a wall with a flailing zombie caught in its webbing between its pincers.
As the spider moved away, Chris proceeded on, using his lighter to burn through whatever webbing stood between him and his target.
"You're not getting away," he swore. "It's just you and me now."
Before he could continue any further, the light started to dim.
Blinking for a few seconds, Chris lifted his head to sky, a frown forming on his face as rain drops started to cascade gently down.
The storm was almost upon him.
Uttering a low growl, Chris punched a wall.
"Damn."
Chris fumed as he stared in frustration at the wall ahead of him, his face burning with anger.
Once again he'll have to play catch up.
Another goddamned missed opportunity.
As more of the rain started to fall, the former agent pulled away, a sigh escaping from him. He'll need to find some cover and put off the hunt.
At least...for now. Staring up at the dark sky, Chris watched through his soaked gas mask as more started to pour down onto him.
Terrific.
Finding a place to stay around here proved to be a challenge in and of itself, especially with such heavy rainfall coming down.
It was rare to find a location that hadn't been occupied by some mutant fucker or undead bastard, and there were times where Chris really had to struggle in keeping quiet.
One or two times he had to deal with some little shit that took notice, but the former agent was able to manage.
He was thankful that he had found a silencer attachment his pistol early on, and that both the rain and thunder masked the sounds of his shots, otherwise he would have attracted a lot of unwanted attention.
The rain was getting thicker.
Heavier.
So thick that Chris could feel his armor and clothing weighing down on him.
Moving alone was difficult - it felt as if he had a large mattress or couch pressing down on him.
He needed to find shelter soon - if he didn't, he was going to collapse.
He kept searching, and searching, and searching.
Finally, after what seemed to an eternity, he was able to find a suitable location - a small, two-story high house that was in relatively good condition.
Breaking the tight narrow window of the front door, Chris reached inside and undid the lock, letting himself in before closing and locking the door behind him.
He checked around with his silencer at the ready.
The building appeared to be a family home, with five or six rooms consisting of a dining room, a living room, and four bedrooms upstairs...three of which had been for children.
Thankfully, Chris didn't have to worry about any of the rooms being occupied, let alone have to put down any undead kiddies.
Exhaling, Chris studied the rest of the house.
The building was spartan in its furnishings, but at the very least it had a working toilet with unused toilet paper, thankfully.
Once he was certain that it was devoid of hostiles, Chris took off his mask and enjoyed the simple pleasures of being able to breathe without the fucking gas mask, his beard thick and dark.
Fuck, what he would give to have a shave and a bath...
Still, at least the place in good enough shape.
It was better than most places that Chris had lived in when he had been all the road, all things considering.
It was better than that septic tank of a hotel, better than the bombed out homes, cars, carboard boxes and other pieces of shit that he had to use as shelter.
Compared to all of those, this place seemed like the Ritz.
A wry smirk rose to one side of Chris' face.
"Yeah, just living the dream. You made it big, Chris," he said to himself. "You are really going places. Look at me now, Ma."
As he stared at his surroundings, a feeling of tiredness swept over him.
Yawning, the former agent massaged his eyes. Christ, how long had it been since he had a good night's sleep?
Sleep, in this world, was a luxury that Chris rarely ever had the chance to indulge in.
With every surface crawling with a creepy crawly somewhere, there were times where Chris never slept at all.
The longest Chris ever stayed awake was for three days at best.
Chris had moved past the three day mark, however, and he was running on nothing but willpower and fumes.
'I REALLY need to get some sleep,' he winced tiredly.
Letting out an exhausted groan, Chris removed all of his gear, all of his body armor.
"Jesus Christ, this gear," he muttered aloud to no one as he made his way to the bathroom.
Once he finished using it, Chris tiredly placed his clothes and gear on a towel rack to dry, then wandered into a bedroom and collapsed, sinking into a deep sleep.
The storm hadn't let up as he had hoped.
Reaching into his bag to grab an MRE, Chris chomped on it absentmindedly as he peeked out the window, watching the undead as they wavered about in the rain and wind.
Turning away in disgust, he searched the rest of the house, opening up cupboards and shelves for supplies.
Inspecting the refrigerator turned out to be a big mistake as the stink of mold assaulted his olfactory senses, causing him gag and wince.
For three days, Chris found himself waiting impatiently inside. Some of the time was spent doing push-ups and sit-ups.
Sometimes he would check over his supplies, his ammunition especially. Other times he would just sit and go through the house's dusty books, newspapers and magazines, reading some of them out of boredom.
There were a couple of porn magazines, which proved useful, along with one or two National Geographics.
One or two Hardy Boys books and a couple of "Garfield" comics that made him giggle like a child.
Oftentimes, however, Chris would just sit or lie down and stare up at the ceiling or out the window for hours, watching and waiting.
As Chris ate another MRE, he thought longingly of home-cooked meals. Fresh pizzas. Burgers. Chicken. Doughnuts.
Swallowing back a thick pool of saliva along with his "meal", Chris shook his head sadly as he thumbed through the newspapers. So many wonderful things have been lost.
Sighing softly, he wolfed down another bite of his "meal rejected by everyone", wincing at the taste as he broodily considered his position within this new world.
"They've really done a number up here," he said to himself, thumbing through the pages.
Of course, it hadn't been just the creatures that were responsible for the destruction; he had the shitheads in charge to thank for fucking over the planet in the ass as well!
Thanks so much, fellas - really appreciate it!
So many lives...
Chris shook his head, appalled by this turn of events.
From the various newspapers and files he had collected throughout his journey, the world he had known turned batshit crazy the moment he lost consciousness.
He knew that various government and military officials had been becoming desperate, but why, why in God's name did they have to resort to such insane measures?!
They already had known that MOABs, napalm, various biological agents and all the different types of explosives had no effect, but no, they had to go further! They had to use B.O.W.s.
He scoffed. The fuckers actually had passed a Bill to allow for B.O.W.s to be used.
B.O.W.s!
The arrogance of some people, thinking that they could try controlling something like that with Las Plagas or T-Virus!
Fuck, they had even tried using nukes! Several times, in fact, with one notable attempt being at the very crater where Raccoon City had been!
Chris had to do a double take upon reading that.
Why had Maki's beast been there of all places?
None of the articles he had ever explained how or why, but regardless, the fact that that thing had visited that very location...
Chris felt a chill come over him.
As he continued to read about the various failures, the more his mood blackened.
The only thing the world governments had ended up accomplishing were more cities being destroyed, more graveyards being filled!
They had thrown everything at it!
Everything including the kitchen sink!
Whatever they could throw at their giant-sized problem, they had thrown it, regardless of consequences.
Regardless of how many ended up suffering for it.
As he bitterly recalled the various failures, the horrible sacrifices various governments of the world had made in trying to stop the rampaging entity on their doorsteps, Chris sighed.
The desperate measures that people and governments would take, and all of it for fucking nothing.
Not even the Regia SOLIS (Solar Integrated System) Satellite weapon that destroyed Terragrigia in 2004 nor the Shango Satellite Laser had been able to kill the damn thing.
Instead, it just further empowered it.
It had become larger.
Deadlier.
Far, FAR more destructive than originally anticipated.
Chris shuddered.
He'd never forget that particular night for as long as he lived.
The earth rumbled as explosions rocked the city of Tokyo, the laser firing down in a long, column of light, splashing over every surface.
Jill cast a glance over to him. "Come on, Chris! We need to get to the shelters!"
Looking over his shoulder behind him, Chris watched the smoke as it cleared, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" He swore as he saw the looming dark shape. "Why won't it die?!"
"I don't know, but it's heading this way!" Jill said beside him.
The creature stared up to the sky and let out a deafening roar, forcing him and Jill to cover their ears. As it finished, the creature started to glow, causing Chris to pause.
"...What's going on?" he wondered. "Why is it glowing? What is that glow?"
The giant shape was emitting a bright ultraviolet-colored light that shined throughout the city like a beacon.
Before either Chris or Jill could say anything, he heard something loud like a tidal wave crashing through the street.
From the entity's mouth, a darkish cloudy/oil-like substance was spraying out to the ground in thick quantities, spreading down the streets in all directions, covering an enormous segment of the area.
The next thing Chris knew, there came a massive sprawling explosion.
An explosion so large and encompassing that it had obliterated the entire fucking city in a matter of seconds.
"Jesus," Chris gasped.
Entire districts were covered in vast oceans of flames, but towering over it all with his black shape like an avenging angel or Satan himself, belching out torrents of flame like a dragon, was Maki's beast.
"How can we even stop a thing like that?!" Jill cried beside him.
Chris opened his mouth to respond when the flame started to condense, the sound shifting to a high-pitched whine as it turned into a narrow violet beam that cut through entire buildings as if they were nothing more tissue.
Lifting up its head, the creature's purple beam cut through roads and buildings alike as it stared up to the sky, the beam itself shooting straight up into the air.
Chris' mouth dropped as he caught sight of an explosion high up above the Earth.
Did it just-
He wordlessly watched as the remains of the two satellites entered the planet's orbit, the various pieces burning and scattered as they slammed and exploded into various parts of the city and country.
One piece exploded into a building nearby, sending debris and bricks flying in all directions.
The last thing Chris remembered before losing consciousness was the black shape advancing along with the brick slamming into his head.
Chris shot up from the bed with a sharp gasp, his face damp and wet as he looked frantically around.
Finding himself alone, he listened to the droning wind, the rain pattering against the walls outside.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered as he sank back onto the bed, the rain pitter pattering against the windows.
Exhaling softly, Chris stared up at the ceiling, his mind lingering on what had happened.
When he had finally regained consciousness, he had found himself alone in an underground shelter with plenty of supplies.
Where everyone had gone, how long he had been out for, why they had all left and had not taken him with them, Chris had no idea, but he wanted to find Jill and get in contact with his superiors over at the BSAA as soon as possible.
Aside from a mild headache and some disorientation, he hadn't been too bad.
When he finally got outside, though...
Chris stared up at the white ceiling of the bedroom, breathing out slowly.
Since then, he had been wandering wherever, gathering up supplies and searching wherever he could.
Chris lied there in the dark, his troubled and weary mind brooding over this miserable existence.
Why?
Why him of all people?
What was so special about him?
What kind of bastard was he in life to be punished like this?
Was he being punished?
Part of him wanted nothing more than to hit something. To shoot something, anything!
To end it all, here and now.
He hated this feeling of being the last log yet to be used up and fed into the burning furnace.
What was the value of one life compared to the loss of billions?
What hope was there?
He wasn't a scientist. Sure, he knew how to mix herbs together - big whoop!
Aside from that, he knew next to nothing about science.
Rebecca would have been a better candidate, would have had a better chance at saving the world than him.
Chris wasn't a hero - in truth, he was a handyman.
A glorified garbage man.
He was the guy people turned to to clean the sheets every time a government, terrorist or corporation shat the bed.
The only problems he could solve, Chris hated to admit, were with his fists, tools and weapons - give him a target, and he can handle the rest, regardless of how ugly the job.
The former agent brooded over his position.
He had skills - that much he had.
Skills that allowed him to survive.
He had plenty of resources at his disposal.
Plenty of ammunition to go around, but there was no way in hell what he had would allow him to take on the world!
What was a thrown fist compared to the might of an ocean, an erupting volcano or hurricane?
Chris felt his frown deepen as thunder rumbled outside, lightning flashing through the window, as if challenging him.
What was his purpose?
What was there to fight for?
Hell, what else was there to live for? As far as he was aware, all of his friends and colleagues were dead and gone.
Leon, Jill, Barry, Parker, Rebecca...Claire...
Chris' eyes drooped as he recalled their faces, feelings of loneliness and sorrow creeping into his troubled heart as he contemplated his fellow comrades, their miserable fates.
Part of him wondered what their final moments had been like.
Had Claire died waiting for a call telling her that her brother had been alright?
Had Leon died fighting or trying to save lives?
And what of Barry and his family?
Horrible possibilities unfolded before Chris.
In one scenario, he saw Barry putting down his wife and three daughters out of desperation with the help of his favorite Magnum.
Three loud blasts before ultimately turning it on himself as Maki's beast crept onto his doorstep.
In another, Chris imagined them packing up and trying to flee, only to be crushed by falling debris as their pursuer loomed hundreds of feet high like an angry devil.
More and more the possibilities and imagery unfolded, each of them painful and terrifying, tormenting the former agent, until finally, something within him broke.
"...I'm-I'm sorry, guys," he said softly to himself. "I'm sorry for letting you all down."
If only he hadn't lost consciousness. Maybe he could have...maybe-
Wiping his eyes, Chris sadly exhaled, stopping himself from sniffling.
He hoped that none of them had suffered.
If they had died...he hoped that it had been quick, that their end had been peaceful.
Merciful.
As Chris thought about his friends, he suddenly had an image of them as zombies, an image that caused a shudder to ripple through him and nearly made him puke.
Shaking his head in disgust, he tried to think of other things, desperately trying to avoid thinking of his friends and loved ones in that way.
Christ, the idea of them out there, somewhere, living as one of the undead or whatever creepy fuck these things mutated into...he couldn't bear the thought of that!
Fuck that!
He hoped to God that wasn't the case, otherwise it would mean going out and finding them, and...and...
Rolling onto his side, Chris stared to the wall, refusing to move from the bed.
Even if they were out there, zombified or mutated...he was certain that he wouldn't have the strength to go through with the horrible action.
Even though he had killed so many.
Outside, the storm raged on as rain softly tapped against the glass. Lightning flickered through the window, highlighting Chris' still form as he lay alone in the room.
Chris stirred from the bed as he heard a noise.
Lifting his head from the pillow, the former agent listened, tilting his head to the side in concentration as he strained his hearing.
There was no mistaking it.
Music.
Somewhere, he could hear horns blaring loudly somewhere far yet distant, as if calling from a distant memory.
Moving to the south window, Chris stared outside through the glass as he heard the unearthly wraithlike voice of Vera Lynn cutting through the din of rain and undead moans.
"We'll Meet Again," the voice promised,
"Don't know where, don't know wheeeeen
But I know We'll Meet Again
Some sunny daaaaaaaaaay!"
Chris felt his heart skip a beat as he heard the song.
Could there be survivors here?
"Keep smiling through
Just like you always do
'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far awaaaaaaay!"
The music seemed to be coming from a building two or three blocks away, what seemed to be a large casino, the building and street lit by moonlight.
Just as Chris was about to get dressed and gather his equipment together, he heard the bloodcurdling cries of the infected.
Looking back to the window, he watched as the entire moonlit road in front of the casino became swarming with creatures.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Millions.
So many creatures of different shapes and sizes coming from all directions, gathering toward the source.
"So will you please say hello
To the folks that I know
Tell them I won't be long
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go
I was singing this song."
Ducking low, Chris helplessly watched as every manner of nightmare made their way toward the sound, his hand brushing against the pistol that he kept holstered on his hip.
He saw infected dogs as they barked and howled.
He saw Lickers leaping toward the noise from building to building like frogs.
He saw Hunters as they clamored and roared, knocking over zombies and other smaller creatures as they charged inside.
"We'll Meet Again
Don't know where, don't know when
But I know we'll meet again
Some sunny day."
As he watched the swarm of nightmarish creatures gather, part of him prayed that there weren't any survivors inside.
He hoped that it had just been a jukebox or radio that played at the inopportune moment.
Regardless of whether there were survivors or not, Chris knew that he was in quite the predicament.
The situation was becoming far too dangerous, and if he stayed here for any longer, it would only be a matter of time before one of those goddamn things made their way over to his position.
Turning away, Chris quickly gathered his things, throwing on his body armor as he checked and readied every available weapon that he had.
From the casino, a ghostly chorus called hauntingly to Chris, almost mockingly as he placed on his gas mask.
"We'll Meet Again,
"Don't know where, don't know when
But I know we'll meet again
Some sunny day
Keep smiling through
Just like you always do
'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.
So will you please say hello
To the folks that I know
Tell them I won't be long
They'll be happy to know
That as you saw me go
I was singing this song
We'll Meet Again,
Don't know where, don't know when
But I know We'll Meet Again
Some sunny day."
Stepping out into the cold rain through through the back door, Chris stared out into the night, its pitch blackness partially tinted and complimented by the silvery light of the moon in the sky as it shined above.
Under other circumstances, he would have called it serene, peaceful, but that only belied the dangerous deceptiveness of it; it looked so calm.
So inviting.
For a moment, Chris could almost imagine the darkness speaking to him with a kindly voice, inviting him to relax and sleep.
For a moment, Chris felt tempted to give into it.
After all, what was there to live for?
Perhaps it had to do with his stubborn nature, or perhaps it had to do with his willingness to hang on no matter how things looked, or perhaps he was just simply a masochist at heart - regardless of why, Chris refused to give in.
If he was going down, then it was not without a fight.
Quietly closing the door behind him, carefully avoiding making any possible noise, the former agent made his way through its barren back garden, his eyes scanning his surroundings.
He couldn't be entirely certain, but so far he didn't see or hear anything nearby.
Softly sighing, he adjusted the straps of his backpack on his shoulders along with his grip on his M-15. Ideally, he would rather not going out in this weather.
Hell, he'd rather it be daylight with clear skies, but unfortunately he had to play with the cards that he's dealt.
Once he finished checking his corners and was certain that he was alone, Chris double-checked his gear and weaponry.
Everything was in order.
Nothing missing.
He had food, he had ammunition, weapons - everything he needed.
He stared out into the blackness ahead of him with loathing.
"This is going to be one hell of a night," he muttered aloud.
He didn't look forward to this.
Not.
One.
Bit.
Exhaling, Chris mentally braced himself.
Well, here goes nothing.
As he was about to get started on his walk, the former agent suddenly heard a noise.
Boom.
Pausing mid-step, he glanced around, watching and listening intently.
Boom.
Tracing his finger along the trigger of his M-15, Chris felt himself tense up as the sound repeated, his hand gripping the barrel as a still puddle in front of him rippled.
Boom.
Chris swallowed.
That wasn't thunder he was hearing.
He knew that sound, and based on the panicking screeches the Lickers and Hunters were making, they knew it too.
Boom.
He felt the ground tremble beneath him, saw the various buildings shake, the rain becoming harder.
Heavier.
He heard the house behind him buckle and creak, as if it were trying to escape, as if it were afraid of what was coming, the wind blowing so hard that the structure was looking ready to give way at any moment.
Gripping his weapon tightly, Chris' eyes narrowed behind his mask in anticipation as car alarms went off.*
He saw the ground darken before him, blotting out the moonlight, causing him to turn.
Running recklessly out to the street at the front of the house, Chris saw nothing at first.
Nothing but thick, black fog that rolled along the street, enveloping everything in its path.
Standing completely still, Chris observed the fluffy, billowing clouds as they drifted throughout the entire street, consuming all of the buildings and vehicles.
He looked around curiously at his surroundings, watching and listening, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.
It was then that he suddenly became aware of an odd smell.
The aroma was both disgusting and sweet, foul and...steaky.
It reminded him of burning charcoal, or like a giant piece of decaying meat that's being cooked over a fire.
Something like thunder crackled.
Turning his attention straight ahead, staring straight into the fog itself, he saw ripples of lightning flash within it, but through those flashes, he noticed a shape, a distinctive silhouette, being illuminated.
It would have been easy to have mistaken it as an even larger, darker cloud, for it had appeared so naturally with the storm itself that it almost seemed as if it were a living part of it, a living extension of it.
More and more electricity danced and flickered, the light reflecting off its burnt scales, its impossibly large feet creating loud, thunderous booms and craters with every step, grey ash fluttering off its body like snowflakes, painting the world around it grey as it passed, buildings and vehicles crumbling everywhere it moved, its pale white eyes glowing like a pair of spotlights hundreds of feet high up in the air.
Chris kept watching, his breathing quickening as the being appeared before him in all of its horrible glory.
It would have been easy to mistake the creature for a dinosaur given its basic shape, for it did in some slight ways bore a passing resemblance to a Tyrannosaurus Rex, but in truth, it was far, far larger than one.
Standing upright on two massive legs, with four toes on each foot, was a being that seemed to be more mountain than animal - a four hundred foot tall, black cloud of scaly, charred flesh, exposed muscle and bone.
Craning up his neck as the creature appeared two or three blocks away, Chris saw a robust, barrel-like chest with an oddly protruding sternum, its skin blackened and horribly marked with keloid scars and deep fissures with exposed muscle, while some reddish orange highlights on parts of its body ominously glowed like a furnace, mainly on its neck, back and parts of its legs.
An impossibly large serpentine tail that seemed disproportionately longer than the rest of its body swished lazily around behind, each sweep of its mighty tail causing gusts of cold wind that blew back smoke, at times nearly knocking Chris off-balance.
A lot of the time, however, the tail would consistently hang around and above the beast's head, moving around as if it had a mind of its own.
Pausing, Chris squinted at it.
Dorsal plates spiraled unnaturally along its tip, but that wasn't the unusual thing about it - every time the tail moved, he kept noticing something...odd about it. At first, Chris had trouble pinpointing what had bothered him so much about it, until finally he got a really good look at it.
...Was that...a mouth...with...teeth...?
Looking to its back, Chris could make out a number of raised scutes, exposed, jagged, maple leaf-like dorsal plates, a series of eyes, mouths, tendrils and spider-like appendages of varying sizes that twitched and clawed at the dark sky, looking as if its own strange skin were alive and trying to crawl right off, causing the agent to shiver in revulsion.
Turning his attention back to the creature's torso, he saw a pair of tiny, shriveled arms with exposed musculature, the four-fingered clawed hands gnarled, folded up close to its body.
Raising his eyes, Chris saw a massive, lizard-like head with a face like a demon, with a pronounced nose that had large, round nostrils, and a jawline that extended widely to the sides of its head.
Possessing neither cheeks nor lips, the former agent saw its exposed gums and mouth, with multiple rows of massive, jagged, gnarled teeth like a shark's.
The most disturbing feature of the beast, however, were its beady eyes - white and seemingly-lidless, they glowed unnaturally above him, the creature's expression blank and lifeless despite it moving.
Palming his weapon, Chris steadied his breathing, his eyes narrowed with grim intent.
"I got you now, you bastard."
With that declaration, Chris raised his M-15 assault rifle and popped a few grenades in its direction, the tiny explosives detonating harmlessly against its legs.
Pausing mid-step, the creature turned in his direction as Chris swapped weapons from his backpack, taking out a rocket launcher.
Once it was ready, he aimed, then fired, watching as it exploded against its chest, the blast not affecting the creature at all.
It was now walking toward him.
Swapping for a grenade launcher, Chris raised its barrel and fired, watching as a tiny, smoking arch curled in the air, the blast catching it by the knees.
"COME ON!" He roared as he fired another and another.
Explosions rocked every surface of its skin, catching it in the chest, its arms, its neck.
No matter how hard he tried, no matter the angle, his efforts proved fruitless.
Chris defiantly stood his ground, resisting the urge to flee as he unleashed every bit of ammunition and explosive he had.
He fired every rocket, every explosive in his arsenal.
Once those were used up, Chris then swapped weapons, using every single weapon at his disposal, from sniper rifles, machine guns to shotguns and rifles.
Whatever he threw, the creature kept advancing toward him, completely oblivious to his efforts.
Slapping in the final magazine of his Magnum, Chris fired at its head and eyes, the pitiful shots ringing out, not deterring his monstrous opponent for even a moment.
Once the creature appeared to be in throwing distance, Chris lobbed every grenade that he had.
Incendiary grenades, flash bangs, fragmentation - nothing left a mark on it. It never stopped coming.
"That's right, you fucker!" Chris said between shots from his pistol. "Come this way!"
It kept a steady pace, its steps slow, almost methodical.
As the last of Chris' ammunition was spent, the former agent took out a flamethrower, carefully aiming.
Once the creature was close enough, he unleashed, watching as a long jet of flame flicked against its burning skin.
"Come on! COME ON!"
Chris' finger remained pressed on the trigger, watching as the creature pushed forward in resistance.
How was it possible for something to be so goddamn strong?! How was it possible for something to survive such impossible odds?!
Chris' finger never left the trigger - he kept it locked on, using up every last ounce of fuel that he had.
By the time it had depleted, Godzilla was already upon him, stopping just a few feet away, staring directly down at him.
Tossing the useless weapon aside, Chris stared fearlessly and challengingly back, his fists clenched by his side.
Two opposing forces stood before one another like warriors on a battlefield, the war-torn, bloodied ash-filled street their arena, their gazes unflinching, unwavering, their wills strong and unconquerable.
Two scarred, battle-weary souls, two hardened survivors that have been shaped by years of pain and conflict and unquenched rage, finally meet face to face for the first time under the veil of night, rain, and fog - the last knight, the last dragon slayer in existence, in a world full of monsters, standing in direct opposition to the towering titan before him in a decisive confrontation.
For several moments, all was still, until finally the air became filled with the cries of the dead and the damned, a horrible orison dedicated to this dark god king and his newly established sovereignty, the ruined city, with its crumbling castle towers, smashed cathedrals and empty, black eye-like windows, watching on with baited breath the outcome of this fateful meeting.
Taking out his knife, the only weapon he had left, Chris risked taking his eyes off his target, studying the item in his hand quietly for a few minutes.
As he stared at the tiny blade, something within Chris painfully broke as he let out an exhausted sobbing, despondent, and undoubtedly insane laugh, the weight of it all finally breaking the camel's back, crashing down upon him as he finally gave in to madness.
Nothing could control the sheer amount of emotion pouring out of him as he laughed and cried simultaneously in a despairing voice, nor did he try to restrain the floodgate of memories that ate at him.
In his broken mind's eye, he saw everything flash before him, everything leading up to this moment, the ghosts of his past coming back to haunt him with a startling vengeance.
He saw his various failures flash before him, the faces of Claire, Jill, Rebecca, Barry, Leon, and Parker, along with all of the other countless lives that he had lost throughout the years, had been forced put down throughout the years, his weary, traumatized mind at its limit.
A pitifully, and woefully, tiny sword, indeed.
Once he had finished, Chris looked back up to his opponent and tiredly took off his gas mask, accepting his fate as he awaited judgment, the dark, towering and still form of Godzilla silently regarding him.
"So," Chris spoke with dead eyes, speaking as if he were addressing an old friend, "...what now?"
Author's Note: So, right now I bet people are probably scratching their heads at this fic. As is apparent, I am a HUGE Godzilla fan, and for a long time now I've been wanting do a story based on the big G. Part of the problem with writing a story for him, though, was coming up with something that wasn't just a rehash of his movies, which is something that happens a lot, especially in monster movies in general. The idea of crossing over with "Resident Evil" didn't come about until I was replaying RE6, a game that I unashamedly admit to enjoying and liking (at least, much more than the godawful 5), when the thought occurred to me - why not do an RE story with Godzilla? It's interesting comparing the two series. Both are immensely popular, but the original 1954 "Gojira", along with "Godzilla 1984" and its more recent entry "Shin Godzilla", were very much horror movies that had very dark themes and strong horror elements that made them utterly terrifying, the first one especially. Godzilla as a character was the embodiment of war and nuclear annihilation, a figure who was poetically and evocatively described as a living nuclear weapon that was destined to walk the Earth forever, so it kind of made sense that he could appear in the context of RE, especially given the various creatures, parasites and viruses being irresponsibly released on a frequent basis. And since "Godzilla vs Kong" was coming out, I thought why not give this a go.
In writing this story, I didn't want to have any shared continuity with prior Godzilla films, be it the Showa, Heisei, Millennium or the Legendary Era films, the first one especially, just because they didn't really fit with the RE series' timeline, nor did a lot of them fit thematically with the games themselves. "Biollante" had slight elements of RE with its themes of genetic engineering, but again, same problem. A lot of influence was taken from "Shin Godzilla" as well as the original 1954 film (both of which I highly recommend to anyone, kaiju fan or not - they're absolutely phenomenal films), although the basic premise was somewhat inspired by Herman Melville's "Moby Dick" with touches of Richard Matheson's "I Am Legend". In terms of Godzilla's appearance, again, "Shin Godzilla" and the original '54 film were big influences, but I also looked at real-life mutations from Chernobyl for reference. Needless to say, there is some downright terrifying stuff out there! *shudders
I'm not sure if the end result is good or not, but I hope you all enjoyed reading this. If not, then I only have myself to blame and apologize.
Take care, everyone, and stay safe and healthy! :)