Rating: M
Warnings: Violence, Language, Drug/Alcohol References/Abuse, Mild/Explicit Sexual Content
Disclaimer: All properties related to the Resident Evil/Biohazard series belong to Capcom. Any other products are the intellectual property of their respective owners.
A/N: Chapter 5 out! And our first glimpse of Leon and Claire! This chapter will mark the start of rotating POVs, though Rae will still be the main mouthpiece for this story. The POV shift will hopefully be easy to pick up on, since I want everything to be as smooth as possible. Let's get this show on the road!
:.:
Rae had developed the terrible habit of biting her nails when she started school. The social anxiety caused her to gnaw them down into nothing over and over again. Her mother had tried nail polish, tape, and hot sauce to keep her from chewing. Rae's mom had the prettiest red nails. It was the only thing the woman was ever vain about. Her mom had never got to see her outgrow the disgusting habit. Rae still kept her nails bright red. For the first time in ten years, she'd bit them to the quick. The zombie apocalypse would do that to you.
Rae Colter sat shivering under her mother's throw blanket. She'd been given a cot to sleep on, though she doubted she'd be using it for a while. Every nerve in her body was alive. She waited impatiently for news of her friend and his companions to pop up. Maybe they'd radio in? Maybe they'd show up, none the worse for wear, with Ben in tow? Maybe they were already dead? She hugged her knees close to her chest, careful not to strain her injured arm too much. Lieutenant Branagh, the only other person she was familiar with, was in the West Hall doing something important. She'd made sure to steer clear of him for a while. At the very least, to avoid the looks of pity he shot at her when she first entered the Main Hall escorted by Officer Tyson. He hadn't said anything, but she could read it clearly in his eyes.
So far, her terrible luck had claimed no less than four victims: Nina Vasquez, Officers Reyes and Talbot, and Kyle Jensen. Her heart ached a bit when his energetic blue eyes and sweet smile crossed her mind. They'd formed a fast friendship in only a few hours, and Rae had developed a wicked crush on the charming young man. Well, it was apparently mutual. Rae remembered their kiss in the basement office and groaned pathetically into her knees. She should've begged him to stay. Then she looked down sadly. No, that wouldn't have done anything. He'd had an unwavering sense of duty. He never would've stayed while somebody was in danger nearby. It would've been selfish of her to ask. Still, she missed him and hoped he'd return miraculously unharmed.
She was selfish, though. Here she was, feeling self-pity over a guy she'd known a little over twelve hours. Other people had lost their entire lives and families, friends and soulmates. Was it okay to grieve somebody you didn't know well? Was it presumptuous to feel like this was real grief? She was probably overthinking it, just like she did everything else. Sighing, she looked up at the massive clock on the wall. Eight. Reyes, Talbot, and Kyle had been gone for over two hours now. It was likely they wouldn't be coming back. She'd waited to cry again, like she always did. There were no tears or sobs. She was completely numb and tired.
In the few hours she'd been gone, the police had done an admirable job of setting up the station as a home. Cots lined the hallways until they could break down the offices. The East that she'd walked through with Tyson had boasted a fair number of people, who's already unpacked their meager belongings and turned the place into something resembling a home. The injured were placed in the main Hall to be monitored. Rae, injured shoulder and all, got her own cot. The burn victim form earlier was sleeping fitfully near the main entrance. Rae had seen the doctor once again, treating some poor fevered man in the East Hall.
Near her own cot, a few children played at the feet of the Goddess Statue. She'd been put on the landing with a large family. Miraculously, both parts of the couple and all their five kids had made it to safety. They were incredibly lucky. Rae was happy that at least one success story had occurred during this terrible disaster. The youngest of the group was a little over two years old with cheeks that hadn't yet shed their baby fat. The oldest was a teenage girl with pretty dark hair who bore a fondness for pink. Despite their closeness in age, Rae didn't have any energy to strike up conversation with the girl. She was tired in a way that words couldn't describe.
At that moment, the youngest fell, landing hard on the marble tile. He was silent for a moment, then began wailing. The mother tutted and picked him up, shushing him. She'd warned him several times to be careful. Toddlers didn't listen, though. They were always off in their own little world. Rae wondered what she'd been like as a little one. Her dad had always commented that Rae was quiet growing up, but quiet and well-behaved weren't necessarily the same thing. Maybe she was a little trouble-maker? She smiled fondly at the thought. She missed her dad.
A good portion of her time had been spent wondering what to do now that she was out of her cell. Obviously she wanted to call her father, since he was probably worried sick. She also was highly aware of the paper burning a hole in her leather pack. Kyle's mom was somebody she wasn't looking forward to calling. How was she supposed to tell the woman that her baby was possibly gone forever? She felt like it'd be a slap in the face coming from her, a woman who she'd never met or heard of. Maybe she should let Lieutenant Branagh call Kyle's mother to notify her; after all, the man had been his brother in blue. Rae also wanted to see if she couldn't reach her friends. Maybe they' managed to take shelter? The phones of the station had gone eerily silent. Still, she didn't want to bother the kindly older officer at the front desk.
She took the paper with Kyle's handwriting out of her pocket and smoothed it over. He'd had sloppy handwriting, barely legible. She smiled. It reflected his chaotic energy perfectly. Her own handwriting was neat. She'd often had to fill out the her dad's paperwork, lest some poor government worker be totally unable to read it. Sighing once more, she stood up. She needed to make a call. Hoping that she could use the phones, she made her way over to Officer Ford at the front desk. The older officer was reviewing some sort of file, circling important bits with his pen. She tried not to be too nosey and stare. She cleared her throat, getting his attention.
"Well, hello, Little Miss. What can I do for you?" The officer smiled kindly at her.
She pointed at the quiet phones on the desk. "I was wondering if those are dead?" Not really a great word choice, Rae. "I mean, I was hoping to use one if not."
The officer seemed conflicted between wanting to honor her request and wanting to keep their lines of communication open. He battled with himself internally a moment before relocating one of the phones to the top of the desk were she could reach. She took a moment to think about what exactly she was going to say. Her father was most likely at the office, so she'd get the answering machine. Good. It was better that way, a little easier on her. She just hoped he stayed away from Raccoon City. Anything that'd make that happen, she'd tell him. Her fingers trembled while turning the rotary wheel and entering the familiar phone numbers. It rang several times before the answering machine picked up.
"Hey, Daddy. It's Chevy. I'm sorry; I know you're probably on patrol. So the… um… riots? They reached Murphysboro this evening. It's gotten hectic. I'm fine, though. Nothing I can't handle." Rae looked down in thought. She felt guilty, lying to her father. "I'm safe with Tiffany. We decided to go ahead and stay at Jake's until everything blows over. I'm at a payphone right now; stopped off to give you an update." She was acutely aware of the police officer's gaze fixed on her. She wondered if he was judging her for fibbing. "You know Jake—crazy conspiracy theorist—he doesn't have a phone, so I won't be able to call you for a while. I'll let you know when I'm able to come home. Don't worry about me; we'll be watching movies until everything calms down! Ugh. I have so many that I need to catch up on!" Her voice wavered as she tried to fake enthusiasm. "Anyway. I love you. Say hi to mom for me. And… um… can you please take her some flowers? I don't want her grave getting lonely. Bye, Daddy."
She set the phone down with a sigh. Rae leaned heavily against the counter. At least that'd reassured her dad enough that the man should stay away. Sure, he didn't trust boys, but he probably recognized that Jake's was the safest place to be at the moment. She'd been honest, too—Jake didn't have a phone because he thought the dial tones were hypnotic suggestions used by the government to suppress free thought. Wow. Her friends were weird. At least Tiffany was normal by comparison, despite the fact that she'd made it her goal to sleep with every member of her year's football players. She even had a checklist and everything. Rae dialed Tiffany's home number, not sure if the young woman would answer.
The phone rang and rang until the call finally cut off. God, Rae hoped everybody was safe! It was probably unrealistic to hope for, but Rae needed something a bit outlandish to hold onto. Guiltily, she looked at the paper in her hand with the number for Kyle's mom. She decided not to call; after all, it wasn't her place. She thanked Officer Ford for allowing her to use police property to make private calls. She was sure that in anything other than the end of the world, it would have been a major 'no-no'. He waved her off, telling her that it wasn't a big deal. Honestly, calling her father had brought a sense of closure that she hadn't known she'd needed. She was grateful to the officer for allowing her that much. very easily could've dismissed her and passed her off without a second thought.
The older man eyed her as she lingered at the front desk. He closed the manila folder he'd been inspecting. "Need an ear?"
Rae shrugged. "I think I'm okay, but thanks." The older man didn't look particularly convinced by her statement. "I'm just… going through the motions, I guess?"
Officer Ford's grey eyes stared right through her. "Does this have anything to do with our flirtatious young errand boy?"
Rae jolted, surprised. How did he know? "Um…?"
"Tyson told me. Old men gossip, too, you know?" Ford smiled at her and gave a low chuckle.
Rae stared at the piece of paper in her hand and sighed. "He gave me this number. Told me to call his mom if he didn't make it back. But…" She fidgeted. "I don't think it's right for me to call her. Maybe one of you is better suited?"
"Miss…?"
"Colter."
"Miss Colter, if Officer Jensen hadn't wanted you to call specifically, he would've told you otherwise. The kid bonded with people fast, was part of his charm. I'm sure he considered you a good friend, even if you'd only known each other for a short time." Ford removed his hat, revealing thinning salt-and-pepper hair. "Still, wait as long as you need. You'll want to be in your right mind before you talk to her."
She still felt a bit unsure, but she placed the number back into her pouch anyway. At the very least, she could keep it safe. Ford eyed her for a moment before motioning her to take up the empty seat beside him. She noticed that he didn't have a radio on his person, though it was probably because he was surrounded by phones. It'd be easy to get ahold of the older man if anybody needed him.
The former college student wiggled uncertainly in the wooden stool. Her new companion checked over some more paperwork before he took a seat as well. The two sat together in amicable silence. Rae took the opportunity to size the man up. He had a few pins above his badge which spoke of his storied history with the force. There was a thirty year gold bar, as well as a special honors pin that looked to be quite old. Her dad had some similar honors, though she wasn't quite sure what all of them meant. Charles Colter had once gone over every bit of his uniform with her, rattling off all the bits and pieces that made it up. She'd been a little over six at the time, and much of it had faded form her memory.
The older man surprised her by speaking up. "Eyeing my uniform?" He turned and pointed at his decorated pocket. "This is a history of my time here. Each of these has a special meaning for the officers of Raccoon City. The military decorates more, but us cops have our awards too."
Rae nodded. "My dad had a twenty year pin from Huntsville. I know what some of them mean, but not all."
Officer Ford seemed surprised. "Your dad an officer? Twenty years. That's a while."
"He's been a cop since before I was born. I was practically raised by the force."
Ford chuckled. "Nice to have one of our kiddos here. Glad you made it safe."
"Well, as safe as I could've been, I guess."
The two laughed softly. Rae turned around to eye the clock again. Eight-thirty. The rescue party had been gone for three hours. She curled in on herself and sighed. Kyle's warm smile flashed in front of her mind again. He'd been a friend in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. And now he was probably gone. She wondered if Reyes and Talbot were alright. She hadn't known them, but they'd been nice to her. Even the jerk in the cell near hers, Ben, was on her mind. Hopefully they'd managed to get him food and clean water at least. Her newly-shortened fingernails dug into her arms. She shifted so that her sling no longer dug into the dip of her shoulder.
Ford leaned back in his wooden chair, forcing the thing to give an ominous creak. For a moment, Rae was worried the old man was going to tip out of it. Despite her fears and the obvious age of the chair nothing happened. The cop rocked on two legs for a moment before dropping the abused furniture back down to four. Behind them, the sounds of children playing were a small comfort. This was the first opportunity she'd gotten to see what was behind the massive oak desk. There were many filing cabinets, as well as a few items she was surprised to see. Curious, she reached down and pulled an old typewriter from beneath the desk. It'd collected a bit of dust, but the letter keys were lovingly timeworn, showing that it'd once been used quite often. Between the typewriters and the rotary style phones, it felt like she was in an old crime noir.
"Typewriters?" She planted the giant mechanical contraption on the desk.
Officer Ford chuckled and moved the thing in front of him. He tapped down a few keys. "Yes, Ma'am. These were what we started with, before computers were ever a thing. Used to punch in my reports on these when I was a rookie."
Rae caught the fondness on his face. "Good days," she guessed.
"Very," he responded kindly. "We were in a different building at the time. Back then the police station was a tiny rundown brick building a few streets away and this place was an art museum."
The former college student looked around them. "It's crazy to think this was a museum once. I mean, it's obviously pretty upscale for a station, but it's hard to imagine anybody in this city wanting to go view art."
"That was part of the reason the place shut down: not enough interest in the arts anymore."
"Were there other reasons as well?" Who'd have known that talking about an art museum would've been a welcome distraction?
Ford leaned back and thought for a moment. "Legal disputes, mostly. Found a few counterfeits in the collection. Made bad investments and got into debt." The old cop hummed in his throat. "A shame, that. I loved the museum as a kid." His eyes took on a distant look, like he was delving into his memories.
Rae laced her fingers together and stared down at them. "I would've loved to see it."
"Oh, there are still bits and pieces of the building's history scattered about. Take the Goddess and Lion Statues for example; and there are two others like 'em. If you go into the lobby over there and look up into the second floor, you can get a peek at the Unicorn. There was a Lady in what's now the East bullpen, though she had to be moved into storage to make way for more desks."
"Where'd she end up?"
Ford waved the question off. "No idea, Little Miss. Probably under a tarp with The King in the Art Room."
She blinked, confused. "King? Art Room?"
"There's a room in the East Hall that we use to store any leftover pieces of artwork. There's this great big statue holding a scepter and book that we call 'The King', on account of him looking royal. Only been in the room a couple of times, since it's full of pricey stuff: paintings and carvings."
"Why's artwork still loitering around the police station?"
Ford took a moment to write some more in his folder before answering. Right. She was probably taking up his valuable time. "Some millionaire left art to the museum in his will. It technically became the city's after his passing. Unfortunately, his next of kin got greedy and decided to drench us in legal fees and a lawsuit. Since it's disputed property, it can't leave the premises. So, we stored it away.
"We aren't supposed to bother it, but that doesn't stop us from using The King's book as a rite of passage for the newbies. Some of the spry officers will take it and hide it around the station. We even keep a photo of the statue with the book in case they hide it a little too well. A 'send the rookies out on a hunt for it and hope they find it', kind of thing. If they don't on their first day, it's usually paperwork duty for a week."
Rae laughed. "Ouch." She could picture Kyle on his first day, hunting for a silly book and getting saddled with reports when he didn't find it.
Mischief twinkled in the old man's eyes. "Speaking of, I thought I saw our young Jensen hiding the book somewhere in the Library for our newest brother. Can't say it'll be easy to find this time. Kid was a stinker." Rae's heart tugged at the thought. So, her friend had been the station troublemaker.
The two fell into an amicable silence. Rae was a little lighter than she'd been when they first started the conversation. Occasionally they'd dip into a topic regarding history, and Rae even found that Ford was a fan of old noirs—they'd been his reason for becoming a cop. But mostly they sat next to each other, enjoying the company and listening to the children play. Ford went over his paperwork and Rae helped with what little she could. Before they knew, three hours had passed.
They'd been sitting together when the front desk received a call. Branagh wanted to talk to her. She shivered with anticipation, goosebumps rising on her arms. What could he want? Maybe he had an update about the rescue team? Heart heavy with dread, she went to see him in the West Office. She was surprised to find that he didn't have the corner office. Rather, he was seated at a regular old desk in the bullpen. It really made her wonder where everybody else was. Was the Lieutenant the only one who'd made it to the station after all? That meant Chief Irons must've been killed.
Rae noted the banner that'd been strung up over the desks. 'Welcome Leon'. It must've been addressing the new guy they were supposed to be getting in, the so-called 'Golden Boy'. It made her wonder what the young man was like. There were party hats stacked at the counter that looked into the Lobby, she noted. They'd really been planning a party. Rae crept over to where the Lieutenant was sitting. She felt like an intruder in this whole story. It was strange, feeling like a side character in your own life.
Branagh turned at her arrival and welcomed her stiffly, though it wasn't impolite. She could see the stress beginning to develop in his eyes. It was finally starting to get to him, or maybe it had been for a while and he was just excellent at hiding his feelings. The man gestured for her to take a seat next to him. Uncomfortable, she pulled up a chair. She noted with a bit of amusement that he was using a typewriter, like the one she'd found earlier. The rhythmic clicks were nice to listen to. She found herself mesmerized by the way his fingers click-clacked on the keys.
"We keep them in case the power goes out." Branagh broke through her trance.
"Hm?"
"The typewriters. We keep them on hand for emergency situations. Can't say I ever expected the zombie apocalypse to happen, though. I was thinking the worst case scenario was an earthquake or a tornado. I am sad to say that I was wrong." The man hunched over in his seat, sighing. Then he straightened up and turned his chair fully towards hers. "And I've noticed that you always seem to be in the middle of it."
Rae bristled a little at the accusation. "It's not like I can help it."
"No. I guess you can't." Branagh ran a hand over his tired face. Rae noted the bags under his eyes. Had he even gotten any sleep? "None of us would've chosen this outcome. I've received word on the three officers in the basement. Sent another officer to investigate the door to the Parking Garage. The whole place has been locked down."
Rae swallowed thickly. "They're dead?"
"Reyes radioed in a little after you were escorted back up here by Officer Tyson. Both he and Talbot had been bitten. They'd moved to the Firing Range to regroup before we lost contact. Officer Jensen had been separated from them, but had maintained radio clarity. He managed to get food and water to the other living prisoner before making a tough choice. The infected K-9 unit would be too dangerous to allow them to escape. He shut down the basement generator."
That meant what? That he was trapped down there in the dark with two dying officers and a lot of angry, hungry monsters? Or was he dead as well?
Branagh continued. "When I sent Phillips to investigate, she confirmed that the secondary lock for the basement door was initialized and she couldn't get in, even with a key. The door is electronic, meaning that if no power gets to it…" He trailed off and allowed her to fill in the rest.
"Oh." It was completely inaccessible now. To keep the dogs in and the station safe.
"After that, we lost contact with Officer Jensen as well. The entire team was lost." Branagh's jaw was clenched and his nostrils flared as he took breaths to steady himself. "We tried looking at the security cameras, but the whole thing is closed circuit; they can only be viewed at the control center in the Cell Block. The garage shutter is down, and even if it wasn't there's too much danger involved in going around the station and prying it open."
Why was he telling her this? She was a civilian, not to mention that she'd been a security risk no less than a few hours ago. So she asked him why. She was surprised when he chuckled a little at her expense.
"I have no choice, unfortunately. I need all the information I can get on these things, and you're the only one was aware of the true nature of the problem. I need you to start from the beginning and tell me everything that you know about these creatures. We need to be able to fight them properly."
Rae shifted in her seat anxiously. "Surely I'm not the only one that knew. I mean, there have to have been others that recognized this for what it was."
Branagh shook his head. "Everyone that had close contact was bitten and incarcerated, or didn't get a clear look at their attacker. Most of our evacuees didn't even see a zombie until the incident in the Main Hall. We were only made aware that there was a deadly plague going around, not that it reanimated the dead. You not only saw it happen firsthand, but were able to pinpoint exactly what was going on."
Well, most of that was probably true. Rae tugged nervously on the end of her ponytail. Still, that didn't mean she would be of any help. She'd already told him most of what she knew earlier. "I don't know how much I can help you…"
"Anything you can give."
Rae retraced her steps carefully this time. She spared him no detail and he typed everything from her account on the typewriter. She made sure to give him times as accurately as possible, so he could trace the infection rate. This time, she made certain to be particularly detailed about the behavior of the undead, how they moved and hunted. Branagh was particularly interested when she described their reaction to light and movement, as well as their sensitivity to sound. It was possible that the floodlights outside would attract them, though she hadn't thought of that. He radioed another officer and had them shut down and the front gate secured. For the most part, she was able to talk unimpeded. Every once in a while, she'd be interrupted with a question or observation.
"At the beginning of your encounter, you saw a man mauled and changed in a matter of moments. From Jensen's account of the bitten in the cells, though, we know that changing happens within the span of five-to-eight hours. What do you think is the cause for this discrepancy?"
Rae thought for a moment. She'd been wondering that as well. "I think," Rae began carefully, "that it had to do with the victim's state beforehand. Like, the man in the alleyway was obviously killed by his wounds, same as my female neighbor. Maybe the infection has to kill otherwise healthy people before it can reanimate them? Maybe that's why some times vary so wildly?"
Branagh seemed intrigued by this revelation and typed it all down. "Also, we've seen that bites can transmit the infection. Blood contact. Do we know about other forms of contact? Kissing, sexual intercourse, coughing, sneezing?"
Rae went a little red at that question. That thought was a little embarrassing. "No clue." If the infection could be spread like that, though, it would be impossible to track. Nobody kept tabs on who kissed whom, or if they'd coughed on them lately. It could mean that this thing would be harder to control than she'd originally thought. She stuck her thumb nail into her mouth and chewed it mercilessly. Then she realized what she was doing and quickly removed it. That was a perfect way to actually get infected, idiot, she admonished herself.
"What about the dogs?"
Her face screwed up in thought. "They were fast. Scarily so. And I don't think they had film over their eyes, but I wasn't able to get a good look. They seemed to be pretty easy to down, thought. Officer Jensen was able to incapacitate one in three shots."
Lieutenant Branagh sighed and ran a hand over his tired face. The whole conversation had taken all of his energy, it seemed. Rae felt sympathy for the poor man. One day, you're a cop, the next you're the leader of a post-apocalyptic shelter. She awkwardly patted his shoulder. Beyond that, she had no clue how to comfort him. The man took a moment to collect himself before giving her a tight smile.
"Thank you, Miss Colter. If I have any other questions, I'll call you back in."
Just then, Branagh's radio bussed to life. "Sir, we have a situation."
The man pressed the received to his lips. "Cole, what's going on?"
The woman, Cole responded. "One of the people just went crazy in the East Hall. We need to contain the issue before it spreads."
The two looked at each other. They'd missed one of the infected. Branagh shot up from his desk and Rae was quick to follow him. Whatever was going on, she wanted to see it for herself!
:.:
Leon Scott Kennedy had never wondered where his life would end up. He knew he was going to grow up and become a cop, just like his father before him. His high school sweetheart would be waiting for him at the altar, clad in a white dress. Two little kids would play in their big yard, caged in by a tall privacy fence. Maybe he'd even get a dog? There'd been a plan of some sort. It'd been a goal to move towards, something to pursue with fervor. Unfortunately, things didn't always go according to plan.
The young man restlessly tossed and turned in his bed. The covers were hot and left him feeling uncomfortably sticky despite the cool weather outside. His mobile phone blinked on his bedside table, the only source of light in the room. The little thing seemed to be mocking him, taunting him. He'd had to resist the urge to toss the damn thing in his garbage disposal earlier. It was expensive, he'd reminded himself.
It'd been around three in the afternoon on the twenty-second when Leon had gotten a phone call. He'd been in the middle of his daily workout routine, doing some pushups on the hardwood floor of his apartment. The call had startled him. Somehow, he'd ended up face-first on the floor in a crumpled heap, cursing his luck. Not only that, but he'd lost count. Leon had found it necessary to cool off before answering the call, unless he wanted to sound like a grouchy dick. He'd found that the call was actually from the Murphysboro Precinct in Raccoon City. He was supposed to start that evening, around seven. He'd been given an order to stay away. Apparently there was some sort of crisis happening in the city.
At first, Leon had argued that if there was a crisis in the city, they needed him. Of course, he was a rookie, but he'd graduated at the top of his class. Surely that'd meant something? Despite his pleas, the officer in charge had told him to stay put. Maybe this was their way of telling him that he wasn't good enough, that they weren't sure he'd hold up in a crisis? The thought made him sick and uneasy. Surely he'd already proven himself capable enough time and time again? That had been Tuesday, three days ago. Leon had tried calling again Thursday, worried when no news came from the city. Again, he was told to stay put. It worried him. News outlets from Raccoon City had cited riots as the cause for the order, but Leon knew better. If the whole thing was just riots, they'd have called him in no problem. There was something else going on, something that he wasn't sure about. Then, the news had stopped altogether that morning. The only thing that came from the city was a strange radio talk show that repeated endlessly, talking about the walking dead over and over. Just the kind of stuff you wanted to hear about your workplace, right? It'd made Leon shiver and filled his stomach with dread. He was growing more and more antsy by the day. Not only that, but…
Bleary eyed, he peeked at the bedside alarm clock: midnight. She was late. Again. Amy was his girlfriend of nearly six years. They'd met at the beginning of high school and fallen in love with each other at first sight. Well, he'd fallen head over heels for her. She'd been unsure of a long-term romance, but had come around after he'd taken her to a fancy restaurant in Raccoon City. They'd laughed together all night long, listening to the live band play. It was one of Leon's fondest memories. He could still remember the joy in her green eyes, how her long blonde hair had been styled perfectly, how her best dress fit her snugly.
Amy was one of those girls—the ones who care about their physical appearance more than almost anything else. She was always perfectly primped, perfectly styled. Her parents were wealthy enough to feed her vanity. Despite that, she had a good sense of humor and was never rude. The young woman had a large circle of friends who'd testify that she was spunky and sweet, even at her worst. Given that she'd been a cheerleader and he'd been both on the swim and wrestling teams, they were one of the 'all-star' couples in the school. They were both attractive, talented; it made sense that they should be together. Their status had landed them the monarchy at school dances a few times over the years. He'd made Homecoming King and she, Queen, the second year in a row when they'd decided to drive out to a remote backroad and commemorate the occasion. He'd been nervous, scared to mess up. And she'd been an animal, much to his surprise and pleasure. They'd maintained an intensely physical relationship since then.
School had been easy, but real life was much more difficult. Leon had moved out and planned on starting at the police academy in Raccoon City. He'd found it almost impossible to balance their relationship, a job at the local Sonic, and his training. She wanted attention constantly. They fought a lot—he accused her of being clingy and unsupportive; she accused him of being neglectful. After heated arguments, they would make up the only way they knew how: rough, angry sex on almost every surface in Leon's small apartment. It was the intense sort of thing that left them too exhausted to continue being mad at each other. Pillow talk would be tender, emotional and he'd hold her the rest of the night. They'd be on good terms until something set either one off. Rinse. Repeat.
Eventually, he left his fast food job and committed entirely to his goal of becoming an officer. It'd been a grueling process, getting through the academy with top marks. He trained with his firearm until it was second nature and pushed his body past what he'd done even as a high school athlete. It'd been twenty-five weeks of Hell. He'd spent the time applying at different precincts Raccoon City. He wanted to get out of his boring little town and go somewhere that the real hero work happened. His dad had been happy as a small-town cop, but Leon wasn't quite so easily satisfied.
In that time, Amy herself had gotten a job at the local Wal-Mart as a cart pusher. Her parents wanted to teach her the merit of hard work. She'd been humiliated when it was the only place that would hire her on. Working with the public was beneath her, in her opinion. She wanted to work as a clothing designer for a big clothing outlet in the city. Cart pushing was exhausting work that left her windblown and sunburned for little pay. It left her vanity in shambles. Every day she returned to him sweaty, clothing in disarray. He didn't mind, but she did. It'd been another fight when Leon had told her that the real world wasn't going to be nice to her because she was pretty, not like school had been. Amy had screamed at him, told him that she hated that he was perfect at everything he did. He had yelled at her, told her that if she'd actually work for something in her life she might succeed.
That fight had been the worst of their relationship. It'd devolved into hurling insults at each other, followed by Leon putting his fist through the bathroom door. The whole thing had been a blow to his ego, that he'd lost his temper with her. Amy had called him out on it through the door, that maybe he wasn't so perfect after all. She'd been smug enough that he'd wanted to hit her. The thought made him sick and he'd immediately backed off. Then she'd called him a coward who couldn't finish what he started. He hadn't taken the bait. Shame hadn't left him for days. He was supposed to be a cop, a good guy, and he'd let the anger get the better of him.
They'd only recently patched everything up. The reconciliation had been almost as explosive as the fight itself was. Leon had left hand-shaped bruises over her wrists, ankles and thighs. She'd repaid him by shredding his back with her perfectly-manicured nails. The two had lain in his bed together afterwards, cuddling. Amy had cried into his chest, apologizing for egging him on. He'd cried a little himself, holding her close. Their relationship was falling apart and Leon felt like the whole thing was his fault. They'd talked for hours until the sun had risen, mostly about inane little things. Amy wanted a small dog if they got one. Leon was partial to the big ones, but he'd conceded. Leon wanted to stay in Huntsville, though Amy would've preferred the big city. Amy didn't want kids anymore, not after working with the public and seeing how children behave. Neither found that they agreed on much. It was enough to make him realize that their relationship probably wasn't going to last much longer. So he held her close until they both fell asleep. That'd been the last time he'd seen her in over a week, though she'd promised to visit him that Friday. She'd called to tell him that she'd gotten caught up with friends from work. Friday evening had very quickly turned into early Saturday morning.
It was long after midnight when Amy finally came home. While she didn't formally live with him, he'd given her a key and the top drawer in his dresser for any clothes she left over. She walked shakily to the full bed and shed her clothes. Something was off about her. She seemed to move strangely, jerkily. Leon sat up, covers falling off his bare chest. He turned on the bedside lamp, wincing when it stung his eyes.
"Everything okay, Ames?"
The woman jumped backwards while she was shuffling out of her tight jeans, almost tripping over the fabric bunched at her ankles. "Jeez, Leon! You almost gave me a heart attack!" She hissed at him like a displeased cat and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She was so dramatic.
Leon leaned back against the headboard to watch her remove the rest of her clothes. It was quite the sight. He licked his lips when she removed her bra. His hungry gaze caught her eye and she pressed her knee into the bed, weight dipping it. Then she began to crawl towards him, slowly inching closer. Suddenly, it didn't bother him that she'd been out all night with her mysterious new work friends. Shapely hips perfectly molded to his own. She was using that body of hers to distract him again. She reached up, brushing her hair back before leaning forwards to capture his lips with hers. Smirking in approval, he leaned closer, looking forward to the welcome distraction. Well, until he smelled it.
"Are you drunk?" Firmly, he pushed her back by her arms. She let out a whine of protest. Amy had never touched alcohol in the time that they'd been together. She knew it was a sore spot for him. His mother had practically bathed in the stuff while he was growing up, only kicking the habit after his dad had been killed on the job. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Amy!"
The pretty woman pouted and tilted her head to the side cutely. She wobbled a bit, unsteady. His hands clenched involuntarily around her arms, making her wince. "What's wrong, Baby? I just had a few drinks with my new friends." She pulled his hands away from her and tried to nuzzle under his chin. "Work was hard today."
The smell suffocated him. He was brought back to his childhood, watching a beer bottle shatter against the wall by the television. His parents fought again. Leon was too young, too small to understand at the time. He'd watched from the top of the stairs in confusion. The flashback left a sour taste in his mouth. He had to get away from her.
His jaw clenched. "Get off."
Amy knew better than to keep pushing and stopped straddling him. Throwing off his covers, he made a beeline for the bathroom. Amy followed him, looking a little lost. Leon glared at her before shutting the door behind himself. The bad patch job of the hole he'd made seemed to mock him. He turned on the bathroom tap and splashed water on his face, cooling himself off. He'd need to be cool-headed to not scream and holler at her. They probably couldn't survive another fight. The knob turned and the door opened. She leaned against the doorway, gorgeous body still on full display. He averted his eyes and took a deep breath, clenching the porcelain of the sink.
"Seriously? You had to go get drunk? You know how I feel about that garbage." He looked into Amy's eyes, noting that they were unfocused. There would be no talking to her tonight. Feeling disappointed resentment travel up his throat, he swallowed thickly. "You know what? I don't want to have this conversation. I'm sleeping on the couch tonight."
Amy followed him, growing heated. "What the Hell, Leon?! So I don't get to have a drink and unwind because it makes you grouchy? I made friends today. Why don't you ask me about them, huh? They're nice and I finally found something in that shithole store that I like!"
Leon gathered his blankets, ignoring her shrill voice. It was going to be another fight, one that he'd rather have in the morning when he was calmer and she was sober. Honestly, he'd never seen her like this. Even during past fights, he'd never heard her use coarse language. She'd been raised in an incredibly strict home by devout Mormons. Her mom would've been appalled had she heard those words come from Amy's mouth. It was incredibly foreign to hear and shook him. His Amy was buried underneath the booze, somewhere. He didn't want to talk about this with a person who was practically a stranger.
The woman didn't take kindly to his silence. "Ignoring me, huh? That's so like you, avoiding conflict. Like a coward." That word made him stop. He was not a coward. He gritted his teeth and tried to suppress the rising anger. "What, Leon? Are you just going to pretend I don't exist until I'm back to being your perfect little girlfriend? I'm so sick of that bullshit mentality. Like I'm not good enough or something."
So that's what she thought? Leon ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He turned to where the woman had started crying in her tirade. "It's not about that and we both know it. Just…" His look settled somewhere between pity and quiet rebuke. "Just get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning, okay? I don't think either of us is equipped to be having a conversation right now."
"Fuck you!" She refused to back down. She swayed in place, obviously extremely intoxicated. He didn't know how he hadn't recognized the signs immediately.
"Damn, Ames, did they let you drive like this?!" Some good friends. He wanted to tear them apart for putting her in this situation.
"So what? It's not like it matters, does it?" Amy started crying honest tears. She sobbed into her hands. "I'm a failure. I'll be pushing carts forever, just dragging you down. What's the point? I can't do anything other than this shitty job because we live in this shitty small town. So tell me, Leon. What's the point?!"
The young man shifted on his feet uncertainly. He knew she was feeling badly about herself, but when had it gotten so terrible that she needed alcohol to cope? Brushing his light brown hair back again, he sighed and gathered her up in his arms. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, feeling her soft hair tickle his nose. Closing his eyes, he rocked her gently. The smell of alcohol was so strong that it made his insides twist and shake. God, he was a terrible boyfriend. She'd been struggling and he hadn't noticed. What happened to him being perfect?
Amy sniffled and held him close. "I just don't want to let you down."
The rookie cop was at a loss. He wasn't ready to deal with this kind of stuff. When had life gotten so screwy? He made the decision to talk with her in the morning, have a serious conversation with her. Maybe it was time that he set some ground rules with her. Maybe it was time that they sat down and honestly talked about the future. They'd both been putting it off for quite some time now. He gritted his teeth. Judging from her soft breaths, she was beginning to doze, even standing up.
Leon sighed and lifted her easily into his arms. She was much lighter than she used to be. He frowned when he noticed that her ribs were showing a bit. He'd been so caught up with becoming a cop that he'd let her slip. The man growled at himself and placed her on the bed without any protests. She was tucked in and out like a light in a matter of moments. He brushed away some of the stray hairs that'd fallen onto her face. She snored softly, already deeply asleep.
The young man watched her for a few moments, analyzing her face. She'd gotten a terrible sunburn at work. The sunscreen did little to protect her pale complexion, since she sweated it all off in the first hour. He sat next to her on the bed, careful not to jostle her. Sleep was the only time she looked happy anymore. Face cradled in his hands, he let out a low groan. He wished he could go back to the days that they were genuinely happy, when they went to dances together and enjoyed movies at the local theater. The last year had taken its toll on them. It'd been rough ever since her parents had forced her to get a job. She'd come to him that night, ranting and raving about how unfair they were being. It'd led to their first real argument. Leon missed the Amy that laughed at his corny jokes, surprised him with homemade trinkets on his birthday, and seemed to be able to predict the end to every movie they watched together. She'd changed so much. Leon turned the bedside lamp off.
The rookie cop pressed his hands into his eyes to stave off the pressure behind them. He had a headache. Dreading the morning after, he got up and made his bed on the couch. He fell into a restless, fitful sleep. He rocketed awake, twice, with nightmares about Amy. The first one had faded from his memory as soon as he was awake, but the second one stuck in his head with a terrible vengeance. He'd been at the RPD, wearing his new uniform. Amy had burst in, wobbling and drunk with a knife. He'd had to put her down. The thought had rolled his stomach every possible direction. It was an image he'd rather forget.
Covered in sweat and uncomfortable on the short couch, Leon rolled over with a groan. It' been a long time since he'd slept on it and he forgot how lumpy it was. He glared into the darkness of his apartment. His mobile phone was taunting him from the coffee table. Right. He'd forgotten about the phone call, with everything that'd happened. Jesus, had that really been yesterday? Well, technically the day before. He wondered again why they'd told him not to come in. It made his fingers twitch, like he wanted to dial their number and call again. He frowned into the darkness of the night and rolled over, taking his eyes off his phone. It was a reminder that everything was slowly falling apart. Trying to clear his head, he laid in complete silence. It was exhausting. The morning couldn't come soon enough.
:.:
Claire Redfield wasn't quite sure when she'd realized that her brother was the favored child between them. Maybe it'd been during Sophmore year that she'd finally pieced it together, when her parents had all but disowned her. To be fair, she had landed herself in a juvenile detention facility for blackening Mackenzie Stern's face—but she'd be lying if she said the bitch hadn't deserved it at the time. Claire had fallen in with a tough crowd during school; they'd been the type to wear all black, listen to heavy music, and smoke pot. A lot of pot was smoked during high school. It hadn't sat well with the Redfields, who were considered upstanding, God-fearing members of the community. They hadn't been too impressed when Claire had brought home her first girlfriend, either. She'd been the black sheep of the family. If asked Claire would answer that her happiest memories of her teenage years were sneaking out of the house to attend concerts and hang with her crew.
Chris, on the other hand, had always been a well-behaved and mild-mannered young man. While the first few years of his high school career had flown by with little happening, Junior year was when he'd finally come out of his shell. He'd started a rather successful sports career and made a group of friends that was both incredibly large and incredibly diverse. After that, he'd gained a sort of confidence that attracted people to him like a magnet. He made new friends easily. The sort of charisma he had, Claire would kill for. After school, he'd started on the path to becoming a police officer. He'd been lauded as a hero in their town, especially after he'd been accepted into a special niche within the RPD. A golden star for the S.T.A.R.S. agent.
Claire left home at sixteen. Her parents had been concerned about her wellbeing, but she could also see the relief in their eyes when she'd confronted them. It'd been a bittersweet moment, realizing that they still cared about her but that they were still unable to accept or handle her. They'd done their best while she was growing up to steer her towards the 'right' path and they considered her their own personal failure. It wasn't something that sat well with Claire. Despite everything, her parents called every week to check on her. They still told her they loved her, and for the most part she believed them. They were just stuck in their ways.
To her surprise, Chris visited her regularly. While he'd never been judgmental of her lifestyle, he'd never been particularly close to her. When she moved in with her friends, though, he'd made it a point to see her regularly. He'd taught her how to shoot a gun, had helped her get a sweet custom leather jacket, and had even gotten her a great deal on a used Harley. They'd fixed the beat up old thing together, laughing and bonding the whole time. Claire herself had mellowed after moving out. It was almost like she had nothing left to prove. Most of her crew had lost contact with her, either because they'd wound up in the slammer or because she wasn't cool anymore. Her days of being mindlessly angry at everything were over.
So Claire travelled. So got on her motorcycle and never looked back, only stopping to eat and sleep or take in the sights. She'd made a few circuits of the USA and had even befriended a few like-minded ladies along the way. Even a few handsome guys had wormed their way into her heart. None of them had been long relationships, since she was always on the move. Despite that, she was content to have it just be her motorcycle and her on the road. Another person would bog down the whole experience. Or, at least, she thought so. There was nothing quite as satisfying as having a whole stretch of road to yourself.
Claire frequently used payphones along the way, mostly to update her parents and Chris about her journey. Her parents worried constantly, afraid that maybe she'd end up on the wrong side of the law or in an accident. Claire took their worrying with a grain of salt, understanding that that's just how they were. She assured them constantly that if push came to shove, she'd make it out okay. Her revolver was an added comfort on her hip. Chris, on the other hand, was less vocal about his concerns. She knew he'd still worry about his baby sister until the day he died, but at least he wasn't trying to shove it down her throat. He was much more interested in the bits of the country that she saw, if anything. Clare could talk to him endlessly about the numerous national and state parks that had crossed her path. Currently, her favorite was Zion. The gorgeous red rock structures had a special place in her heart.
Then one day, Chris told her he had a S.T.A.R.S. mission and that he could be gone for a while. She hadn't heard from him since. And apparently, neither had her parents. They'd only received a strange voicemail on their answering machine, letting them know that he wouldn't be able to talk to them for a while, but that they shouldn't worry. Claire had joked that it was an impossible task, them not worrying. They hadn't found it quite as funny.
A month had passed with no contact before Claire found herself truly worried about her brother. He was the good son, never leaving their parents in the dark for more than a few days at a time. If anybody would pull a disappearing act, it would've been Claire. The whole thing was completely out of character for her older brother, though. Her mom had expressed concern to her multiple times, while her father had attempted to file Chris as a missing person. While her parents were worrywarts, the biker had found herself in the rare position of agreeing with them. Something was wrong. He didn't answer his mobile phone, nor was he reachable at the police station. In fact, the news coming from the City was nothing but bad. Riots were apparently breaking out.
Claire had been in California when she made the decision to check up on her brother. There'd been a strange radio broadcast coming from the city, apparently. Something about monsters or something. It'd sent them over the edge. Neither of the Redfield parents had found any success when visiting the police station a week prior. They'd been turned away by the officer at the front desk with little explanation. After all, Chris was a grown man and his work was extremely sensitive. But Claire was much more willing to snoop than them.
She'd gotten on her bike and turned her sights on Raccoon City, not knowing what horrors awaited her there.
:.:
Rae had only ever been exposed to gore in movies—until just recently, that is. The sight that greeted her and Lieutenant Branagh in the East Hall was enough to give a horror movie a run for its money. A middle-aged man had turned, launching at several nearby people. Among the victims were Tyson, who'd had his throat bitten into. Rae hid her face in her hands when she saw the kindly old man's face contorted in pain and terror. He was still alive but slowly bleeding out. She could see blood spilling from between his fingers with every beat of his heart. A young officer replaced his fingers with a towel, though it wouldn't do much to stem the bleeding. A woman had been entirely disemboweled and was clearly dead already. Rae couldn't make out her features because her face was turned away. Another young man sported a bite on his arm. He'd gotten off lucky by comparison, but was no less dead. He'd turn eventually.
She recognized the bitten young man as the father to the kids in the Main Hall. Damn. Rae ducked behind the corner of the East Office, not wanting to see any more. She could hear Branagh barking orders at his officers. The corpses were to be disposed of, same as the ones from the Main Hall the day before. The officers milled about Tyson, trying to make him comfortable, but there was no saving him. Rae couldn't bear to watch when it happened. She slid down the wall and hid her face in her knees. People kept dying, left and right. Of course, that was to be expected. Still…
The numb feeling was creeping back in, even as she tried to get her thoughts straight. She welcomed it. It was easier than feeling anything. Her hands and arms shook, her legs locked up, and her breath hitched. Black spots danced across her vision. Was she having a panic attack? Tiffany had one during class one time, so Rae was aware of the symptoms. The young woman rocked in place, feeling simultaneously distant and freaking the hell out.
A cup of coffee crossed her vision. The young officer who'd treated Tyson held out a paper cup to her. Well, looking at him, she couldn't say he was that young. He had lines around his eyes and mouth, though they were incredibly faint. Rae took the coffee from his hand with a thanks and downed it in a few gulps. Typical office coffee; bland and burned. Still, it made her feel better, having something to comfort her.
"Elliot Edwards." The man offered his hand, whether to shake hers or help her up she wasn't sure. She stared at it for a second, unsure of what to do. The officer cleared his throat awkwardly and retracted the offered limb. "You're the zombie girl, right? The one form the Main Hall?"
Rae nodded. "Y-yeah… I guess that's me."
Officer Edwards snorted. "We all thought you were off your rocker." He looked back at the scene around the corner, eyes growing sad for a moment. "Wish that'd been true," he murmured softly. "This whole thing is fucked."
"Completely," she agreed easily. The coffee hadn't helped with the jitters, but she was feeling a bit better.
"Well, I have to write a report about this. Care to join me? Everybody else is going to be busy."
Rae shrugged and the man helped her to her feet. It was better than staying at the scene. It made the young woman wonder. How had the man who'd attacked them been infected? Had he come in infected and just taken a while to change? Or did he contract the illness somewhere in the station? She looked down at her feet, even as she followed Officer Edwards. Rae caught the sad eyes of Ford as they passed by him. He must've been made aware of what happened to his friend. She felt for the kindly old man.
They ended up in the West Offices again, with Edwards at his desk and Rae loitering a few feet away, unsure of what to do. She hadn't talked to the man before, didn't know him. What topics were safe? Where was the line? She shifted anxiously from foot to foot. Maybe she should be more worried about the infected man, but honestly there was only so long somebody could be stressed about something. She'd long since reached her threshold.
"So," she began, catching his attention, "do you know how the infection got in the building?"
Edwards stopped typing on his typewriter. He looked uncertain as to whether or not it was something her should share. Ultimately, he decided to be vague. "Can't say for sure until all of the information is in." He knew something. Rae frowned, though she understood. She was a civilian. They weren't going to open up to her about everything.
"What'd going to happen to the man who was infected?"
"He'll be moved to a secure room where we can observe him."
"It's dangerous to keep him inside with us."
Edwards sighed. "What would you recommend we do?"
Rae honestly wasn't sure. The man was going to change; that was certain. If they left him in the building, he could possibly break down the door and injure somebody else. Unless they had another cell block that Rae wasn't aware of. But the alternative was to send him outside, where he'd have to battle hordes of infected until he ultimately succumbed. Both choices were bad. Well, there was a third option: put him down. She shook her head, horrified at herself for even thinking it. Then again, in a survival situation did morals really matter? If a man was dying anyway, would killing him count? Rae shook at the dark turn her own thoughts had taken. Debating morals and philosophy would get them nowhere.
Rae spoke, voice shaking. "It would be best to get rid of the small problem before it grows." They had to survive, by any means necessary.
"Just what are you suggesting?"
"Remove him from the station. Permanently. Humanely." The young woman looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She'd regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They left the foulest flavor on her tongue: guilt. Who was she to decide the fate of a man, especially when he had a family waiting for him? Who was she to decide anyway? She couldn't even bring herself to hit an actual zombie, let alone a person who still hadn't turned. She couldn't even imagine shooting a person, not when they were still living, breathing, thinking.
Edwards shook his head. "We can't… We can't do that. We're the good guys. We don't shoot people because they may be infected."
Rae nibbled on her lip. "I know. I'm sorry that slipped out." It would be too much to ask for. It'd just been one of those passing thoughts. Something that maybe she didn't really mean. Fear was a powerful motivator in a crisis. Or maybe she meant it whole-heartedly. Maybe she'd be okay with killing somebody else if it meant she'd make it out. She wasn't so sure anymore.
Edwards gave her a cross look, but didn't comment on it. Rae wondered why he'd invited her along. Maybe it was to get rid of her so the other officers could do an investigation of the scene. That'd make sense. Couldn't really get in-depth when there's a civvie taking up your floorspace. She'd recognized most of the people involved: Officer Tyson, the father, another man who she'd seen in the Main Hall. She wondered who the woman was, though. The victim's face had been turned away and even then Rae had only caught a glimpse of the body before she'd hidden herself.
"The woman who was killed… who was she?"
"Doctor Tsu," Edwards answered grimly.
Their only doctor. Dread chased the numbness away. Their only freaking doctor. Rae remembered the pretty woman who'd treated her arm. Her shoulder throbbed, as though to remind her it was still injured. Their only doctor was dead and they were in the middle of the plague to put all other plagues to shame. Rae fisted her good hand tightly, knuckles going white. The whole situation was spiraling out of control. Like gasoline poured onto a fire, it was all burning down.
Just when Rae thought it couldn't get any worse, the mother from the Main Hall entered the room. How were they going to break the news to her? Did she know her husband was gone? She was near-hysterical as she began to talk to Officer Edwards.
"Please, help me find her. I can't find her anywhere! I looked away, just for a moment and she was gone!"
Her? The woman wasn't talking about her husband, clearly. Rae jumped when the mother placed her hands on both of the young woman's shoulders and shook her. The abrupt motion jostled her injured shoulder making Rae hiss through her teeth. She wanted to push the older woman away, but was stopped by the frantic look in her grey eyes.
"Please, you're close to her age. Have you seen her? My Paige? Edgar is looking for her right now, but now I've lost him too." The woman noted Rae's confusion and seemed to realize that she had no idea what was being said. So, the woman turned to the officer in the room. "My daughter's gone missing! You have to help me find her!"
The police radio turned on, then. Branagh's voice was highly recognizable, even through the static. "The man injured in the East Hall is reporting a missing child. Paige Fitzgerald. 16. Dark hair and pink cardigan. All non-essential personal, please be on the lookout."
An attack in the East hall and now a missing girl? Had she maybe turned as well? Rae shared a look with Officer Edwards, both feeling helpless. The older man began talking into his own radio, updating Branagh on their situation. Meanwhile, the mother had collapsed into a sobbing heap in Rae's arms. Maybe the Lieutenant was right. She seemed to be at the center of everything. What was going in in the station?
:.:
To Be Continued…
:.:
A/N: So this chapter was hard in a way I honestly didn't expect. Wow. To be honest, I'm still not satisfied with any part of it. It's slow, it drags, it's awkward. Unfortunately, I'm trying to stick to some sort of schedule so my beta can keep up. I'm probably going to do a total redux of the story after I get the idea up and running, so I'm resisting the urge to delete the whole chapter and start from scratch. If this story ever feels like it's a heavy WIP or like the chapters are weirdly paced, I'm sorry. It is a WIP. I usually write entire stories in one document, edit them, then post them. This allows the writing to stay uniform and for me to go back and change things as I like. Since I'm going chapter-by-chapter here and don't have that luxury, I'm having to edit the previous chapters as I go. While this entire story is outlined, that still doesn't always translate neatly to writing. New ideas pop up, you guys suggest juicy goods that just have to make it in the story, and characters evolve. So please be patient with me if I change some bits now and then. I'll try to hold off for a bit, but sometimes the urge strikes.
So, Leon and Claire have been introduced! You may have noticed that Leon's character is getting a revamp. Yep. That's a thing that happened. We see him go pretty jarringly from 'Golden Boy' rookie cop in the 2 Remake to a loveable asshole from 4 onwards. Wanted to give him a temper to make it a little more realistic. I'm posting a character study on my bio to give you guys an idea of what to expect from the established characters. That way you can see if you wanna stick with me. It's going to get dark, folks. This is, first and foremost, an in-depth study of the characters and events of the game.
In this chapter we explained the book puzzle with the statue, the typewriters, and the art room.
Reviewers:
White Alchemist Taya: Damn Umbrella hard. I understand the sentiment. The Chief will be in this story, as per Clair's path. Whether or not Rae runs into him is a surprise. As always, thank you for your feedback!
Scottusa1: Already got the barricade outlined. Done. Thank you for the tidbit. The goal is to shed some light on as many forgotten characters in the station as possible. I want to make you think about everything a little differently. If I can change your gaming experience even a little, I want to be able to. As always, thank you for your feedback!
psychxdelix: Please don't die! I'd be sad if I killed somebody with my writing. Also, yeah… I cried while killing Jensen. I liked him better than Rae, to be honest. Real, honest tears. Glad to see you're still enjoying it, though! As always, thank you for your feedback!
Thank you to all who've put me and this story on Alert or Favorite. Love you guys!