'been a long time, comrade.'
'Krauser?!'
'I died in the crash two years ago; is that what they told you?'
'you're the one that kidnapped Ashley.'
'you catch on quick.'
'what makes you think doing that would work? you're American; you really think Saddler's gonna trust you? he's using you for his own gain.'
'and I'm using him for mine.' his stare is hard. he keeps his guard up even as his cheek stings with betrayal. Krauser continues to twirl his blade around his fingers, more casual than cautious.
'you were better than this, Krauser. what happened to you?' that gets Krauser to grab the blade by the hilt and dash forward. he barely manages to back out of the way as the blade viciously swings through the air, missing his neck by mere inches. Krauser's scarred lip is curled as they begin to circle each other, eyes ablaze.
'y'know, I'm not really in the mood to be preached to by the presidents lapdog. you should count yourself lucky you even get to be his little assistant. now how's about we make this quick, huh, comrade? for old times sake.' it's his turn to snarl. there's a sudden thump in his chest, a burn in his bones, the push of something foreign in his body that awakens a deep, primal part of him. without warning, he darts forward, aiming for Krauser's chest. Krauser only just manages to block it with his own blade, disguised shock in his posture, unexpecting of such a brutally quick lunge. their teeth are bared as they leer at each other, their entire weights pressed into their weapons. the quiet alarm in Krauser's eyes doesn't do anything to squash the pure, unfiltered anger he suddenly feels churn through his blood.
'do you remember when I told you about Raccoon City? about the nightmare I went through? I don't think I told you about what happened after - and sure, I'll forgive you, because really, how were you to know?' he presses harder against Krauser's knife, teeth grit, eyes a shade darker. the friction causes a horrible noise. he doesn't know if it's his own anger leaking into the field, or the Las Plagas' influence; he does know for a fact that the red veins pulsing within the edges of his vision are the Plagas trying to take control. it's a chore, to keep it in check; a chore, when a small part of him wants to let the Plagas take over; to let the Plagas rip in to Krauser with little mercy in their tears. 'I was rescued. I was picked up by that place. do you know what they told me, after they questioned me for ten hours straight, without letting me do anything else, but sit in that god-awful fucking room?' he suddenly dives to the left, and Krausers momentum causes him to rush forward, the sharp jut of his knife clanging against the metal floor. they bounce up and swivel around, bearing their blades at each other like fangs.
'I'm sure you're gonna tell me.' Krauser spits. the blade glints harshly in the light. his own shines back just as menacingly. he tilts his head, on the verge of hysteria.
'everyone seems to think I wanted this. that I willingly walked in to this life, because I oh so wanted to help people.' he steps forward and slashes wide. Krauser dodges and returns the fire. both slices miss each others skin by a second. 'and I had! that's the whole reason I'd wanted to become a cop in the first place! but those people told me that I either turn myself over to them for the rest of my life, or die with Raccoon City.' the lurch in his chest is painfully strong as the memories of that day resurface. the Plagas is restless for blood. somehow, he continues to fight against it, though not completely, as he advances Krauser. Krauser takes quick steps back, light on his feet, his face hard and calculating.
'and I can take a lot of shit. I can take being black-mailed by a secret government to go in and do the dirty work they don't want to do. I can take the gun fights and the knife fights and all the little scrapes and bruises. I can even take the fucked up shit that comes with fighting zombies and parasites and rich fucking assholes.' Krauser hits the wall, cornered. he's on him in seconds. he aims a low stab, no thought behind the thrust. it kisses Krauser's side, and slams into the wall. his arm is caught by one solid hand, Krausers other fist flashing up to his neck, where the knife is roughly pressed. he doesn't feel its cold bite, nor the steel like grip, as he glares into Krauser, pure hatred fuelled by the Las Plagas thumping his head. 'what I can't take is seeing people I knew come back from the dead. I can't take when those same dead people think I walked into this life on my own terms.'
Krauser does nothing but watch him, keeping his arm locked in place. they're softly panting from their fight. the vex in him does not dampen. he leans in to Krausers knife, almost headbutting Krauser, but stops short, their noses touching instead. it doesn't make Krauser flinch.
'you seem to think that being the "presidents lapdog" is an honour, and not a life's contract, where one rejected mission can end your entire life. you seem to think that this is something I've always wanted. don't you think, there was a reason, I didn't come and see you, after your arm got fucked? you dumb piece of selfish shit? you, of ALL people, should know the cost that comes with working for people higher than you.' Krauser doesn't know what to make of the situation, it having taken a completely different turn than he'd expected. there are no quick snips on his tongue, no rebuttals in his gaze. Krauser simply stands there, holding his arm, looking into eyes that slowly flood with red. 'I wanted to see you, Jack. what happened after wasn't exactly my choice.'
'... I'd known the risks-'
'you didn't even believe that B.O.W's were real until you saw one.' he shoves the knife mindlessly forward. all he cuts is the metal wall. the pressure, both flesh and steel, tightens. he still doesn't feel it. 'I thought you were dead. you were supposed to be dead. what free time I had was spent looking for you, even before I got the news. and what the fuck do I find, when they tell me I've got to go to Spain, and I see not one, but two ghosts? and then that same fucking ghost tells me that I should feel lucky.' he moves to pull his arm away. Krauser lets go, but moves faster, kicking him square in the gut. he snarls as he falls, his knife flying from his hand, but all the fight leaves him the second he hits the floor. the Las Plagas stills within his chest, sapping the energy away with it. the red drains from his sight. when he blinks and see's Krauser stood over him, the knife low at his side, he suddenly doesn't have the strength anymore.
'... no one can undo the past, comrade. ... if it makes you feel better, I'll make your death swift.' Ashley flashes into mind. Claire, Sherry, Ada. what happened in Raccoon City, something so far away, yet so close, the sounds and smells and all the feelings still so fresh and clear. what was to be of his future. everyone he'd lost because of his work; because he hadn't been fast enough, steady enough, good enough, strong enough. he closes his eyes, exhausted from it all. emotions he'd squashed since "agreeing" to join STRATCOM violently resurface, and he's not sure if it's the combination of the Las Plagas, or seeing people he'd mourned and moved on from in such a short time that's making him so sluggish. so defeated.
the tip of Krauser's knife is pushed into his Adam's apple. he opens his eyes to half lids and gazes up at Krauser, who's marked face looks down at him with something twisted. almost like he regrets something. he raises a hand and snaps it around Krauser's wrist, not giving it his all, but holding on with enough strength to make his wants known. he keeps his tone steady, his intentions clear.
'at least I'll die by the hand of a friend.' Krauser hesitates as his arm slumps back down. and then there's a loud BANG and a startlingly close PING as Krauser's blade is shot away.
