Resident Nice
"Get in! Quick!" roared John as he sprinted towards the police car. Greg heard, and understood. He grabbed the door and tugged. Mercifully it wasn't locked. He swung himself in and turned. He watched John dash away from the mindless horrors that were limping after him.
"C'mon!" he screamed. John jumped just as he reached the car and landed backwards in the passenger seat. He clutched at the door, but it was just out of reach. The undead were near, about to grab the door, to hold it back and then pour in, their rotting jaws clamping down on his helpless body…
…He reached. The door slammed shut, and Greg flipped a switch and the locking mechanism activated. They were safe, for now.
Greg slammed down the accelerator as John raised his silver magnum, aimed, and fired. The window of the door that he had just dived through shattered. The car roared and drove off down the deserted Crosby Street of Raccoon City. John fired just once more, conscious of his ammo supply. The bullet thudded into and ripped apart a zombies chest. It staggered, began to stumble after the car once more, then dropped without warning to the ground, white as a sheet with its half clotted blood spilling out of the gaping hole in its chest. John watched all this out of the shattered rear window. The car roared down a deserted street, swerved round a corner and drove, more slowly this time, down a street.
"Where?" asked John, simply.
"RPD HQ" replied Greg. On their way to the police station they saw only to more zombies. They were chewing on the body of a young man that was sprawled half on, half off the sidewalk. Greg pulled the car up outside the main entrance to the RPD's headquarters, the last remaining stronghold in Raccoon City against the zombie hordes. They jogged up the stairs. John kept an eye out for the undead and his magnum in his hand. John had no weapon.
They walked through the large doors into the entrance lobby. They were in luck; a rack of powerful-looking shotguns was nailed to the wall behind the reception desk. John made for them. He reached for a shotgun. A rotting hand grasped his arm in a powerful grip for a corpse. "Aaah!?" Greg gave a cry of surprise and fear.
John was already raising his magnum as the zombie stood up, keeping its hold on Greg's arm. It was a fresh kill-it was what looked like a normal human but with small bits of flesh beginning to fall away from its body and it looked thin and gaunt. It was wearing the remains of a tie and an ID badge. It had been the receptionist. Greg was powerless; the zombie separated shotguns from him. Its muscles were still intact, so Greg was struggling to keep it from throwing him to the floor. John aimed at the back of its head as the head went forward, carrying the gaping mouth towards Greg's neck. As he pulled the trigger, however, his magnum seemed to give off a much louder explosion than normal. And, instead of the back of the zombie's head being ripped open by the bullet, the entire head exploded, showering Greg with blood and rotten tissue. The corpse dropped to the floor. Greg stood, stunned and dripping. "Saved your ass, huh?" a voice said from the corridor leading to the main area of the building. A woman carrying a shotgun and with two pistols holstered in her commando belt stepped forward in to the light of the lobby. Her shotgun was smoking.
"Alright there?" she asked Greg in an almost sarcastic tone. "My name's Claire. Claire Redfield. And who, exactly are you?"
"Get in! Quick!" roared John as he sprinted towards the police car. Greg heard, and understood. He grabbed the door and tugged. Mercifully it wasn't locked. He swung himself in and turned. He watched John dash away from the mindless horrors that were limping after him.
"C'mon!" he screamed. John jumped just as he reached the car and landed backwards in the passenger seat. He clutched at the door, but it was just out of reach. The undead were near, about to grab the door, to hold it back and then pour in, their rotting jaws clamping down on his helpless body…
…He reached. The door slammed shut, and Greg flipped a switch and the locking mechanism activated. They were safe, for now.
Greg slammed down the accelerator as John raised his silver magnum, aimed, and fired. The window of the door that he had just dived through shattered. The car roared and drove off down the deserted Crosby Street of Raccoon City. John fired just once more, conscious of his ammo supply. The bullet thudded into and ripped apart a zombies chest. It staggered, began to stumble after the car once more, then dropped without warning to the ground, white as a sheet with its half clotted blood spilling out of the gaping hole in its chest. John watched all this out of the shattered rear window. The car roared down a deserted street, swerved round a corner and drove, more slowly this time, down a street.
"Where?" asked John, simply.
"RPD HQ" replied Greg. On their way to the police station they saw only to more zombies. They were chewing on the body of a young man that was sprawled half on, half off the sidewalk. Greg pulled the car up outside the main entrance to the RPD's headquarters, the last remaining stronghold in Raccoon City against the zombie hordes. They jogged up the stairs. John kept an eye out for the undead and his magnum in his hand. John had no weapon.
They walked through the large doors into the entrance lobby. They were in luck; a rack of powerful-looking shotguns was nailed to the wall behind the reception desk. John made for them. He reached for a shotgun. A rotting hand grasped his arm in a powerful grip for a corpse. "Aaah!?" Greg gave a cry of surprise and fear.
John was already raising his magnum as the zombie stood up, keeping its hold on Greg's arm. It was a fresh kill-it was what looked like a normal human but with small bits of flesh beginning to fall away from its body and it looked thin and gaunt. It was wearing the remains of a tie and an ID badge. It had been the receptionist. Greg was powerless; the zombie separated shotguns from him. Its muscles were still intact, so Greg was struggling to keep it from throwing him to the floor. John aimed at the back of its head as the head went forward, carrying the gaping mouth towards Greg's neck. As he pulled the trigger, however, his magnum seemed to give off a much louder explosion than normal. And, instead of the back of the zombie's head being ripped open by the bullet, the entire head exploded, showering Greg with blood and rotten tissue. The corpse dropped to the floor. Greg stood, stunned and dripping. "Saved your ass, huh?" a voice said from the corridor leading to the main area of the building. A woman carrying a shotgun and with two pistols holstered in her commando belt stepped forward in to the light of the lobby. Her shotgun was smoking.
"Alright there?" she asked Greg in an almost sarcastic tone. "My name's Claire. Claire Redfield. And who, exactly are you?"