Obscurity:

The Long Dark

I.

Walls

Washington D.C., 2004

The report was clear as day on the desk before him. The man tapped his pen on it, brow furrowed, eyes focused on those two words - Imperfect Eradication.

The damage was done. There were still pieces fused to his sternum and his ribs. The damn laser couldn't get it all. That it had managed to kill the invader without killing him simultaneously was a testament to his good fortune and his iron will.

And the unflapping courage of a woman who'd refused to let him die.

But the evidence was right there in black and white - he'd live with the pieces for the rest of his life. He was a carrier. He was a recovered host.

The plagas he'd battled were now a part of him.

There was no reversing the effects. There was no taking back the outcome. The majority of the scans were as clear as could be expected given the amplification of the rate of infection.

He was lucky to be alive.

And now? He was just a little harder to kill.

The weapon they'd created was nearly perfect.

And he'd never be completely human...ever again.

Alaskan Border, 2004

The roar of the engines permeated the air. Tires tore up snow and ice, throwing it wildly through the sky like frozen confetti.

The trucks chased wild abandon, hunters scenting fresh prey and fresh kill.

Into his ear, the voice commanded, "You can't, Kennedy! You hear me!? You can't do this. Not here. It's too exposed! There are too many goddamn people!"

The engine revved in answer as he whipped it around a curve in the road and caught sight of the box truck racing East over the adjacent road. Into the communicator, he directed, "There! White and red, 2'o'clock!"

"Don't!" The voice came back in a roar, "Kennedy!"

The truck hit the rise; it snarled over the intersection as the white and red box truck tried to flee around another car and keep going, and the front end of his Dodge smashed clean into the back left quarter panel of the box truck as it failed to outmaneuver him.

Crunch.

Crash.

Crumble.

The box truck spun out and hit the fence in the pasture beyond. The truck he commanded crumped around the hood but held on as only American-made could. The brush guard took most of the damage as he jerked the wheel and sent it careening to the side of the road, and he leaped from the driver's seat as the voice in his ear shouted again, "Goddamnit, Leon! DON'T!"

The answering echo of the HK416 was loud in the dawn as he unleashed a barrage of fire on the box truck.

A shout of surprise sent the woman in the red car, scattering as another agent grabbed her to safety.

The box truck driver barely alighted from his side to return fire before he was blown away in a splatter of blood and bullets.

The passenger popped off two shots with his pistol - one got the door of the truck he used for cover, the other hit his vest as Leon advanced, spraying fire like a dragon sent to lay waste to everything it touched.

Before he fell, the passenger smacked the box truck on the side and hit the ground, crawling.

He collapsed after a moment before the back of the truck opened, and three more men leaped free to join the fray. A shout behind him warned, "Get cover!"

Leon used the front end of the box truck as cover as he picked off the first guy around the back end.

The other two wised up. They crouched and tried to control their response—one angled for the other car on the road and the woman there.

Leon shouted, "Kevin!"

And Kevin picked the guy off before he could grab for the woman trying to huddle in her Honda. When the guy was down, Kevin shouted through the window, "Stay down, ma'am! Stay down, ok!?"

She whimpered in response.

The last guy didn't waste time laying cover fire. He just tossed a goddamn grenade.

It rolled, people shouted, and Leon dove down the hill beside him to roll as it went off.

Boom.

The box truck went up, sent into the air by the force of the blast. It squealed with a metallic cry of defeat, and tongues of flame licked the acrid air as it tumbled back down as the man took off across the field.

Leon roared, "Stop!"

But the man just ran for it. He turned as he heard Leon give chase, popped off wild rounds in his direction to discourage him, and kept on running.

Leon tried once more, "I said FREEZE!"

Nope.

The man dove instead down a hill and missed losing his head to the answer fire of Leon's weapon.

He skidded. He rolled. He ran like the hounds of hell were chasing him. When he reached the far rise, Leon stopped chasing him and shot him in the goddamn leg twice for his cowardice.

Blood burped, it sprayed, and the man screamed pitifully as he went down in the snow, scattering red around him like a busted pinata of death.

Leon kicked him to his back when he tried to crawl and commanded, "Where are they!?"

The roar was so loud it terrified the bison in the pasture beyond them. The bison lulled away, looking grumpy and displeased.

The guy tried to keep running, and Leon kicked him again and made him sob pathetically, "Please! Please!?"

"Where...are...they!? I won't ask again."

The man whimpered and lifted his hands, trying to hide his face beyond his sock mask as he begged, "I-I don't...I don't know!"

Leon stuck the barrel of the assault rifle in his face and made the man squeal, "Oh, god! I don't know! Ok!? We...we were just the clean-up team! We were just there to clean up!"

"Wrong answer, ass wipe." He leaned back and eased down on the trigger as a shout split the air around them.

Kevin came barreling over the hill, shouting, "Put it down, Leon! You stupid son of a bitch!"

The man on the ground trembled, "L-Leon? You're Leon!?"

The gun hesitated as Leon answered, "...what do you know?"

The man on the ground breathed, "...I-I...I know one of them mentioned you...I heard them say your name..."

His blood fired as he demanded, "Who!? Which one!?"

"...I don't remember...I don't..." He pleaded desperately as he added, "But they were both alive when they took them! I swear to god!"

Still alive.

The words echoed through the valley. Still alive. The damage was done. His gaze leveled on the burning village they'd left behind. They'd torched the goddamn place like it was nothing. They'd slaughtered people in the street. They'd burnt-out buildings and left people to die like nothing in the snow.

There was no mercy for them now.

He aimed the gun at the weeping face and snarled, "...start talking...and you better pray what you have to say is worth your life."

In the distance, the dull crackle of flames was the only answer.

Three Weeks Prior

Alaska, 2004

The sky stretched pure and perfect, endless and serene. Clouds slid against the ambient blue, offering the eyes a feast for the senses even as they fluttered and nodded beyond the glass. He rocked gently in his seat, listening to the hum of engines and the cast-off conversation of those surrounding him.

The pilot's voice droned into his ear, "-Spain, right? That was you?"

It was him. The stories, the tales, the high excitement that came with kicking asses and taking names - all him. It wasn't nearly as perfect as they made it sound, of course, and he wasn't worthy of the long looks of awe and envy. Most of it was luck laced with good timing and skill.

He grumbled, "Essentially, it was me."

There. That sounded humble, right? A little humility never hurt anyway, after all. He'd damn near choked on his hubris before Spain. Since then, he'd come to face the elementary truth - he was mortal, he was very, very lucky, and it never hurt to have back up.

He thought of his backup in Spain with a residual niggle of regret. Where was she? Was she happy? Did she ever, for a moment, stop and think of him?

Amused at the romanticism, he flapped his lips on a raspberry sound and caught the wide-eyed stare of the woman across from him. His mind rooted around for her name. What was it? Shenmei. If she had a last name, it was skipping his mind at the moment.

She was the newest addition to USSTRATCOM. She'd come to them from the army looking to take on bioterror. Her Chinese heritage was stamped on her pretty face, mixed with a lack of accent that said though she'd had immigrants for parents, she'd grown up in the grand ol' U.S. of A. America was the land of the free and the home of the brave, it seemed, and a melting pot of ethnicity that kept it flourishing and on top of the world for diversity.

Leon came from an Italian immigrant mother who'd married a Senator's son and found herself adjacent to one of the greatest dynasties in American history. Through that advantageous marriage, he was a Kennedy - indirectly looped and connected to the former President himself through a convoluted twist of relationships and blood. His old man had broken tradition and become a cop, to the great disdain of his grandfather - the Senator of the great state of Massachusetts.

When Leon had followed in his footsteps, he'd been all but disowned by the man with aspirations for a legacy made in the White House. Was it surprising to find the old man sniffing around again now that Leon was Graham's most trusted advisor? Not really. The man who shared a name with the former playboy of Camelot only cared about influence and prestige. Leon had plenty now. He was basking in the glow of success found in blood and bioterror.

It brought him acclaim, accolades, and the freedom to pick and choose among the mess for which battle he wanted next. Graham had offered him any post he wanted anywhere in the U.S. when Ashley had been returned to him unharmed. Leon had elected to stand by his side, convinced he could point the eye of the Western World at bioterror until it was all but eradicated on a global scale.

He was the face of the fight now in a way he'd never imagined. Where he walked, the world parted - like the Red Sea opening for the slaves to be free. Could he free the world from the slavery of bioterror? Time would tell.

Shenmei gave him eager eyes as she listened to him brief the small team on what awaited them below.

With the sale of Alaska to the U.S. in 1867, it was the last state to join the union some years after its purchase. Russia had parted ways with the large chunk off its shores to the tune of something like seven million dollars. A cheap price for such a prime piece of real estate.

It was summarily brought into the union and made the final state of fifty, completing the continental United States as it was known today. It was innocuous, cold, and cast off from the rest of the union, tucked into the edge of Canada and isolated in a way. It was populated sparsely by those who enjoyed the wilderness and rough terrain with a more demanding lifestyle.

A good purchase for Uncle Sam - seemingly.

A few weeks prior, some ice anglers off the coast of Spencer Glacier in the Chugach National Forest had found more than they bargained for in the chilly waters. Blackfish and rainbow smelt weren't the only thing waiting below. One of them had pulled up a hideous, very gross blob they'd assumed was some kind of dead worm with barbs. They'd put it in a cooler and bring it back to camp.

Freeing it from the water had been all it needed to revive, apparently. While they slept, the very not-dead plagas they'd found had managed to wiggle its way out of the cooler and into the mouth of one of the sleeping men. Panicked, his partners had done little more than watch as he gagged, as he turned, and as he came for them. He'd killed two of the other three men, and the third had run for the hills.

He'd made it back to town through luck or sheer survival. He'd hidden. He'd run. He'd waited out his pursuer. When he'd hit the town, he'd gone for the handful of clueless cops there and pleaded his case. They'd put him in jail, figuring he'd lost his freaking marbles to the cold, and gone off to see what was left of his partners.

They lost one of the two cops to what waited at that campsite. The remaining cop - a woman with less than a year on the job- had shot the crazy Ganado in the head and radioed for backup. When they'd interviewed her, she'd told them she read somewhere that zombies had to be shot in the head. Amused, they'd dismissed her as being dramatic.

But the second the coroner had opened up the man she'd killed, they'd seen she wasn't any crazier than the fisherman in jail. Four days later, Leon sat across from her and listened to every word she'd said. The fisherman with her was calmer now but still shocky - telling tales about rage and strength he'd never seen in his life. His turned friend had ripped off arms, ripped out throats, and snapped spines like a monster.

The American government was thrilled at the idea of plagas in Alaska. Thrilled. The amount of excitement from the scientific community was daunting. They'd assumed everything had been lost to the fallen caves of Rojo Las Muertes in Spain. Ada had absconded with the sample and left Leon with nothing but his report, Ashley's witness account, and Jill's summary evaluation.

To find out the possibility of such unbridled power on their shores? The U.S. saw money in the madness. If they could control the plagas in Alaska, they could potentially thwart any future use. It was rapidly becoming clear why Russia had been happy to part with the icy stretch of land off their Eastern Shore for a nominal price.

Leon wasn't sure they'd be thrilled to know their plans for the plagas wouldn't ever be realized. He was going to locate the source and destroy it. He wasn't here to salvage a damn thing. Of course, there was no reason to reveal that to anyone higher up the echelon. He'd simply make it look like an inevitable end to a mess and walk away.

It was unfortunate they'd attached a team to him this time, so he'd have to be careful to leave them somewhere during the destruction of the source, but that was easy enough. He could send them scouting or something stupid to get them out of his hair. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Plausible deniability, after all.

The helicopter touched down, tossing snow in a white wash. Shenmei alighted first, scanning the terrain as Leon joined her in the cold. The sock hat on his head was ruffled in the wind like the furry hood of his olive drab parka. Shenmei wore black, the brown fur on her hood shivering in the whoosh of blades coming to a stop.

The pilot, Kevin Ryman, joined them after shutting down the chopper. He was a burly, big guy outfitted in a black and brown - parka, hood, and boots. He was chattering about the nomenclature of bioterror and the history of the area where they stood. His full dark beard bobbled as he spoke, keeping his face warm in the frigid air.

Leon sported as much of a beard as he could ever grow- more of a slap of five o'clock shadow on his tired face. The idea that he'd ever be ZZ Top was long gone, reminding him that the root of his ancestry didn't give him much for facial hair to ward off the chill. He turned as he looked, eyeing the caves and the mountains that jutted prettily into the morning sky.

Kevin and Shenmei unloaded geological equipment, talking happily behind him as Leon crossed toward the mouth of the waiting cave. His boot slid, and he glanced down, realizing they would have to cross the frozen lake to reach their destination. Mouth pursed, he turned back to find the other two watching him.

Leon cocked his head, and Kevin called, "We should wait for the scientist, right? She should be here soon."

Right. There was some hotshot scientist on her way with an escort. Great, he mused, more people he had to worry about getting rid of when the time came. Leon shrugged a shoulder and turned to check the weapons they'd brought.

Beneath his parka, his heavy vest was laden with enough shit to keep him alive. His time in Spain had indicated that he was never going in under-armed again. He'd brought grenades of various varieties and enough firepower to kill a thousand angry Ganados in a shitty village.

He cleared and checked the M4 Carbine while Shenmei and Kevin handled smaller arms. The close quarters battle receiver made the barrel shorter and more functional in close combat and confined spaces. If they ended up ass deep in bad guys in a cave, he wouldn't be looking for distance. He'd be looking for blasting apart bad guys at face value.

The helmets included were equipped with thermal imaging devices. After dealing with the damn regenerators in Spain, he'd be damned if he got caught face to face with something with hot spots or invisible goddamn bugs again. This way, he could quickly pinpoint his aggressors and dispose of them without risking spikes or acid in the damn face.

There was a rush of noise in the distance, and two Arctic Cats came over the rise, twinkling like jewels in the rising sun. One was green, and the other blood-red as they roared across the white and skidded gracefully to a stop. The green one jerked, the little form on the back nearly lost control, and Kevin grabbed the handles to hold it still as the form laughed happily, "Whoopsie! Fast little bugger, ya know?"

She lowered the little mouth part of the fall face-covering she wore and removed her goggles. Kevin kept a hand on her arm as the woman remarked, "Aren't you sweet? I'm ok. I promise."

She threw her leg over and slid to the ground, slipping a little and proving she wasn't quite ready to dismount on her own. Kevin caught her again, and the woman giggled, "Lord! I'm a mess today. How are you? I'm Rebecca Chambers on attachment and loan, I guess, from the B.S.A.A."

She offered her hand to shake. Kevin shook, Shenmei followed, and Leon greeted, "Dr. Chambers - things must be bad if the White House is willing to work with the B.S.A.A. on this mess."

Rebecca chuckled. "They wanted the best -I'm the best." She didn't say it with arrogance, just like it was a fact. It was. She'd spent years since Raccoon City getting a doctoral degree in virology to round out her already impressive resume of education.

She primarily worked as an adjunct to the B.S.A.A. but was often parted out to other entities requiring her vast knowledge of bioterror. Last he'd heard, she was ass deep in researching plagas based on the little she could acquire from reports and his medical evaluations. It wasn't a secret that though the laser had done its job and stopped the plagas he'd harbored, Leon had emerged from that fight with pieces of it still bonded to his bones.

Its ramifications were still speculated, but it seemed whatever good he'd gotten from the parasite remained. He hadn't had so much as a sniffle since Spain. He hadn't broken a bone or scarred from anything since that night. He took damage but healed it so fast it was a medical marvel. No one could quite explain to him the residual emptiness that cropped up from time to time.

The training? The plagas? It was hard to know. He just knew when he went into the white where he killed; sometimes, he couldn't quite pull himself out like he'd been able to before. Upon his return, they'd poked and prodded him in every hole and vein available. The ferret face of Derek Simmons had seemed especially interested in his situation. Leon knew that little bastard was the one holding Sherry since Raccoon City. Under the umbrella of Benford, who currently sat at the left hand of President Graham as the director of the C.I.A., Simmons had control of Sherry.

Leon had been granted access to see her only twice since her incarceration. He knew Claire was given access to her, likely courtesy of Chris Redfield and his golden boy status among those in the trenches of what they did. As far as Leon knew, no one knew about Claire's connection to Sherry via Raccoon. That was still buried. Benford had kept the lid on his promise to protect those secrets. Under the guise of TerraSave humanitarian outreach, Claire was given access to Sherry to help the girl stay grounded.

In a heavy pink parka, Chambers started to instruct Kevin and Shenmei in unloading her gear from her Arctic Cat. What she had was limited, the majority of her machines aboard the chopper they'd arrived in.

On the back of the other Cat, her escort slid free. No stumbling. No bumbling. The red parka she wore was graced with a fox gray fur hood. The long tail of her dark hair snaked free from a slouchy black hat to slide against the looping gray scarf tucked around her neck.

When she tugged down her face covering and slid up her goggles, the sun caught her face.

And the emptiness looping around his guts abated. It shivered and turned the frown on his face to a smile. Hoisting the M4, he crossed the snow and held her eyes - the same shocking blue of the sky behind her - as her cheeks flushed from cold or happiness, and her smile turned to a grin.

"Leon Kennedy." Her voice was filled with pleasure and amusement.

He laughed. He just laughed. Shenmei and Kevin shared a look like he'd farted on one of them. Kevin muttered, "You know he could laugh?"

Shenmei returned quietly, "I'd heard rumors."

He stopped and held that blue gaze as he returned, "Jill Valentine - where ya been all my life?"

Like she was the best thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

At that moment, looking at him, she felt exactly the same.