Sunrises would never be the same after that night. Brad carried the four remaining STARS members away in the helicopter, the blast of the mansion matching the blaze from the sun peaking over the horizon. They would forever feel like a taste of relief, with the sensation of danger coming the next day.
Chris always appreciated that about Agent Sanchez. Whenever they would schedule a face to face it would be during dawn, and always at a local coffee shop instead of a back alley dive bar that many of the other agents seemed to love so much. He didn't need the added temptation, he drank away enough of his sorrows as was.
Sanchez showed up through the door and nodded when he spotted Chris. He would have nodded back, but unfortunately the circumstances surrounding the meeting put a pause on Chris' polite manners. The agent walked up to the table and took a seat across from him.
"This place always empty or did you set up a deal to keep it that way?" Chris asked.
"They're still closed actually. I made arrangements to have an eye out for you to lock the door behind you." Sanchez replied. "I know that greyed look on your face isn't out of the ordinary but something in my stomach says this is going to be a rough talk."
Did his pains really show through that easily? This wasn't the time for him to dwell on poor aging from stress, it was to confront someone who was hopefully still a friend.
"You always did have a third eye on you. And if it's still working then I need you to explain." Chris said while taking a sip of the steaming cup of black coffee.
"What you saw of your mountain trekking vacation." Sanchez said.
The two of them knew how to easily code key things that needed to be said on the spot in simple to translate phrases. Chris' 'mountain trekking vacation' referred to him and Hound Wolf squads recent mission into Romania, finishing off the mold. At least he hoped it was finished, every one of these bioweapons seemed to not care for giving up.
"Homeboys were on site. They also had raptors wearing clothes going in, so I decided I would ask about that before doing something stupid." Chris said.
The 'homeboys' referred to BSAA members, and the 'raptors wearing clothes' was his way of saying BOWs dressed as BSAA agents. Even if it wasn't the most clear translation, he gambled on the agent possessing knowledge of the incident, meaning he would get the picture.
Sanchez took a deep breath and looked out the window. Unlike Chris, the agent did not have the flavours of facial expression dissolved from him just yet and was easily readable when unsettled. He should be. There was an answer Chris was waiting to hear, one that would sting.
"How many more Chris?" Sanchez asked.
"Probably two more cups." he said, taking another sip.
"We can prevent more from being lost, you know. The next spill, or the next attack, no more have to go down. That brighter tomorrow we always talked about could be closer than we thought, you just need to be ready to accept the methods to get there."
The mug held miraculously against breaking. Every muscle in Chris' body tighten at the audacity the agent showed. The cries and the screams never left him, the hands reaching up in desperation trying to cling to the brittle branches of life. Sanchez knew Chris well enough to get under his skin, and unfortunately for him, mission success.
"I ought to put a bullet in your knee cap right now. What the hell are you trying to accomplish mentioning that? What the hell are you trying to accomplish using BOWs as soldiers?" Chris said, already burnt out from hiding the conversation with their codes.
Joseph. Pearce. Forest.
Too many names flooded into his soul, pressing his heart to near explosion. Sanchez still watched out the window while Chris couldn't take his eyes off of him. It wasn't a good idea for a dog to look away from the snake at its feet.
The waitress came out from the back and set another coffee down in front of Sanchez. A milk or creamer of some kind was already mixed in with it, and the agent further sweetened it with a few pink packets arranged at the end of the table.
"Before you cripple me, which I know you are undeniably capable of doing in many ways, please let me state that I'm not even sure this is one hundred percent right myself. When they brought me into the office and laid that briefing down about what they had in mind I damn near collapsed in shock on that floor." he finally faced Chris again, tears trying to escape his eyelids. "I still don't feel good about it and never will, but when I looked at the numbers they-"
"What...numbers?" Chris asked.
"The numbers for the successful runs."
The mug didn't survive this time. He didn't feel the burn of it, nor the small cut on the part of his palm connecting to his thumb. He didn't feel much at all in that moment, being struck by a bolt of truth that was a struggle to stomach. Successful runs he said. How many have they already done? And more importantly, how many haven't been properly contained.
"This is playing with fire Sanchez, one that will spread and cost more lives than it's worth. I don't know how you can, but you need to convince them to end this in its tracks asap." Chris said.
"I don't expect you to come around to this any time soon, it's like asking someone who has been robbed throughout their life to stand up for a mafia. Just don't go through with any actions on this yet, let the numbers keep showing what-"
Chirs slammed his fist on the table and stood up. Not even the experienced agent could resist the intimidation of Chris Redfields barbaric size, especially when he wore his trench coat, and began quivering in his seat.
"Fuck your numbers!" Chris said, the staff of the shop skittering to the back. "By using these things to fight, I don't care what, you become the exact customers something like Umbrella thrived on. It will start with you, then we'll start seeing-"
Sanchez tossed a folder of documents and pictures out onto the table, many of them soaking in the coffee Chris spilled. It seemed to be an attempt to halt the raging man from screaming anymore sensitive material, and it worked. How could he not freeze at a picture of a new Hunter protecting little kids from Cerberi? This could easily be a trick of forgery, but it was worth exploring whatever the agent had to offer. He put his hands on the table while he looked over the other pictures, most similar to the first picture though that was the one that would definitely stick with him.
"What are these?" Chris asked.
"Exactly what they look like, evidence. The exact evidence that thrust me into giving this operation a chance, though not without hesitations. I'm pretty sure you are looking at the same picture that changed my mind. That modified Hunter unit is the BSAAs ace, with supreme physical capability and solidly tested intelligence already being deployed. They call it the Defender." Sanchez said.
"That intelligence is only good until it gets hungry."
The agent shifted nervously, taking panicked sips of his overly sweetened coffee. His nerves must not have recovered from Chris' bout of anger. He set the cup down and took a deep breath before sharpening his stare at Chris and continuing his failing attempt at persuasion.
"Look, if you have a problem with it then go ahead and take on the BSAA. Take on the partners that made it possible for you and so many others to fight bio terrorism and outbreaks. Go ahead. But before we part here, let me tell you this. BOWs are getting worse, and they are greatly more accessible now more than ever. We can't keep using the living to fight the dead." Sanchez said.
With Chris still imposing over the table, the agent sweeped the now wet pictures and documents back into the folder then into his briefcase. Taking one last sip, he stood up, nearly tripping at the corner of the table, then started on his way out.
"It's funny that you're trying to convince me that this is the truth of how things need to be when you can't even drink reality straight." Chris said, looking at the agents mug sitting on the table. "At least tell me this."
Sanchez paused at the door to hear Chris out, a certain sadness seeping out of him.
"Tell me where the facility is that these things are held at. I'll swear to you that my visit will be purely observational and not a finger will be lifted against it. Yet."
Sanchez let out a breath. "It will take a few days for me to grant any kind of clearance for you, especially since you aren't BSAA anymore. But if there is a chance to ease your worries on this, or for you to show me something that I am missing, then I will get you in." He looked out through the door windows to the bright morning street. "And promise me this. If you change your mind, retire. This has cost you a life that you may still live some of, and I don't want to see it destroy you any further."
The agent walked out the door, disappearing into the sunlight down the small town slouched back down into the booth, pulling out a twenty dollar bill on the table.
"I'll retire when I stop getting the work." he whispered.
Four days later.
It rubbed Chris wrong that the facility where they bred and trained the new BOWs was just on the outskirts of that small town Sanchez and he met at. The whole thing was too reminiscent of Racoon city and the mansion. Hopefully the circumstances would be different enough. He drove as close as he could until coming across the trespassing signs he was told about, then parked and started walking with his hands up.
Chris had to fight the hankering he felt to keep a hand on the beretta holstered on his thigh. The instructions said no weapons, but that was simply unacceptable at this point. When he got to the facility he would be fine with them holding on to it, they wouldn't make too much of a fuss unless they wanted unnecessary trouble.
At twenty meters past the sign the sensors or cameras in the woods would have picked him up now, so it was just continuing the walk until personnel came up to him. He wore boots with cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt covered by a light jacket on this visit. Nothing should go wrong but he liked being ready.
Fifty meters now. Still no one to greet him. Was he really going to have to keep his eyes peeled for the hidden facility? It was getting dark soon, and while he did bring a small rechargeable flashlight with him for emergencies, he didn't intend to need it so quickly.
One hundred meters. The chill was worse now, and not because it got colder. BSAA was always on top of formalities and protocol like this, there should have been someone to get him by now. Even if it wasn't them, anyone who managed a facility like this would do everything they could to be sure it was secure, hopefully.
Chris dropped his hands and pulled the beretta out in half a second when he saw it. The camouflage fence to the facility was open, and was only visible to him from the blood and intestines strewn about the top of it. It was as clear a warning one could ever ask for.
He huffed a breath and switched on the flashlight. "You can't fight the dead with the living. How about me?"