CHAPTER 5
Soldier Survivor
Gun powder and blood still filled Jeremy's lungs still, the overwhelming sense of combat still in his veins, pulsing through like
some kind of mutant virus that'd infectted his system. The disgusting, sick feeling of being in a slum mixed with it wasn't
helping any. And Melanie, either. He'd enjoyed it, but a little less loud would've been pleasant after all that loud gunfire and
screaming from his fellow brothers in arms. Their fabrics ripping and tearing with audible ripping noises, the flesh going next.
Blood would soon flow from their wounds, bloodening their skin, staining it later. Then nerves, veins, muscle tissue, sinew,
all the fabrics and makings of the human body would be ripped and torn, jagged claws noisily making scrunchy splattery squirt
noises as it dug through the skin and bodies of Jeremy's comrades, the lungs, throats, and vocal chords screaming out, soon
to be silenced by a swipe to the neck, perhaps. Or the heart being plunged. Or, in the worst case, the hand of one of the
scaley, grizzled-looking lizards going right into the mouth of the soldier, ripping their lungs out, and pulling them up the throat.
Sometimes, the soldier would be alive when this would happen, and they'd see their own ripped lungs bleeding and dissolving
in front of them, before a curled lizard face would smash their skull into the pavement, cracking it internally, causing an
internal form of bleeding and breakage within the head.
Jeremy couldn't stop thinking of the 3 occurances of that he saw. It seemed as if his mind had turned into the factory of some
Italian splatter movie company, creating the things he'd seen as a teenager with those Lucio Fulci and Dario Argento movies.
But, this was real. They weren't movie memories, they were real memories. And that made it bad. Very bad, indeed. Sensing
his mind was probably going to be trapped within this hell unless he did something to take his mind off, he slowly began rising
out of his bed in the corner of the overly crampped room. The bluish walls and the teal light gave it an odd, surreal underwater
feel, and he almost expectted to see a shark or a sea turtle right next to him when he looked over the edge of the bed at his
assault rifle. They'd let him keep it, he didn't seem like a threat, having even grenaded three of those fucking freaks of nature
and saved a good 10 or more of the gangsters.
As Jeremy slowly rose to the floor, his barefeet sticking to the greasy, smelly floor of corroded wood instantly. He shook his
head and rose to his feet, standing up, stretching his arms a bit. He yawned whilst doing so, and scratched at some sweat on
his ribcage, going over to the nightstand to pick up his black t-shirt. The one they'd supplied. He wasn't much a fan of KMFDM,
but, it'd do.
He slid the fabricated T-shaped clothing down his torso and adjusted it to fit, and went to his socks and combat boots. Picking
them up with one hand, he grabbed the calf-holster for his Walter PPK with his other hand, going to the bed again. He sat down,
the biege-colored mattress creaking softly, indented by his weight. With great military organization and speed, Jeremy got his
socks and boots on within almost a new record for him, 30 seconds. He'd mastered the skill of doing this due to the fact he was
always called on spontaneously, and he wanted his reflexes and reliability to be there on time be at maximum capacity.
Quickly sliding both boots on and tying them almost as fast, Jeremy quickly raised his left pant leg and within another 10
seconds flat, he had the calf-holster around his lower leg, the PPK loaded in and tied down. Safetied, as well. With only a shot
in the chamber. Less weight. Again, Jeremy's speed was a major thing to him. He had an extra clip, but mostly he knew that
if he needed the PPK - one shot was all he was probably gonna get to use anyways. Sliding the pant-leg down, the Umbrella
soldier stood to his feet, but in the process of getting up, grabbed his assault rifle (his favorite kind, the Fabrique Nationale
Carabine (FNC)), unfolding the stock and getting it at his side in one movement. Again, speed. :)
Holding the rifle tightly by the foregrip/grip, keeping his right index on the trigger-guard, Jeremy took one final look at this
room where he'd only been in 3 hours before, trying to recover from the fall he'd made from the building while he was being
chased by the group of what he called "Spitters". He'd fallen about a story down and landed on pavement. But, thankfully had
tosed one of his 3 remaining M67 fragmentation grenades at the things, blowing them into bits. Nothing had hit him, which he
was very glad of, since he'd heard this batch of the MA-121s had the T-virus in their claws, so that if they didn't kill you, the
virus would get you in about, oh, 30 minutes. High dosage this time. Those fuckers. Why the hell couldn't they realize you
let nature create living weapons. Not make them yourself....
He'd always hated working for Umbrella, but man, did it pay well. Just out of college, he'd been. Gotten a degree in
computer sciences, trying to become a programmer for some software company. Hopefully get a shot at the job Id Software
was handing out after DooM 3 was announced. He'd also taken business management to help with any business skills he'd
need for clients, bosses, etc. And little did he know he was going to have to use some just as he began walking towards the
door. As he took one step, with that heavy clunk, the door was knocked on, startling Jeremy beyond his expectations. One bad
thing about his speed - expectting the unexpectted in that form wasn't so good. He'd always need backup.
"Jeremy, it's Alvin!" Alvin's now-familiar voice was overheard from behind the door. "C'mon in," Jeremy grunted, aiming the
assault rifle in a safer direction - at the closet. The door clicked and began to swing open slowly, Alvin beginning to walk into
the cramped room. It could fit him and Jeremy fine, but Oliver, who was tailing behind Alvin, wasn't gonna do too well.
With difficulty, Oliver closed the door, and he and Alvin looked at Jeremy, Jeremy looking back, and curiously at Oliver. He
smirked in that kind of smart-ass hotshot way, even though behind that, he was scared shitless. Oliver looked mean. Really
mean. Like in the Agent Smith way. Where you don't really wanna be in the same room as that guy. But, he kinda had to in
this situation. He kept the safety on his assault rifle off, just in case Oliver turned out to not be sucha good fella. Since he'd
heard about the guy in his briefing. That pretty much whoever got in his way would get either yelled at or punched. And his
experience in 2 wars really showed in that semi-fried, hardened look in his face. Especially the eyes. Almost as stone cold as
those creatures out there. While kind of lost in thought, Alvin cleared his throat, the young soldier getting to attention.
"Whadda want?" Jeremy, again, grunted. Alvin smirked at the attitude, but shook it off. "Mr. Johnson, here, wants to speak
with you..." Jeremy raised an eyebrow at Oliver who smirked and grunted back at him. Attitude for attitude. Boy, someone was
gonna have to break out the drain-o for the testosterone in the room. The older man leered at the soldier and grinned madly.
"So, you was in after ME?" That voice. Dark, hoarse, like some Harvey Keitel character from a Quentin Tarantino movie he'd
seen back in the day. Oliver growled softly at Jeremy, making him nearly sweat, but he wasn't gonna let him get to his system
and fuck things up...not now, at least. Unless he had to fake it.
Oliver smirked and chuckled. "I saw your buddies get ripped apart. Sorry to see, I know what it's like to lose fellow soldiers, but
nonetheless, I need your soldier's honorary word that you are NOT gonna kill me." Jeremy saw this coming and chuckled. The
first thing that was more than a grunt to come out of him in front of the two. "Trust me, man, I just want my paycheck so I
can go the fuck home and be with my wife, all right?" This errily began to remind Oliver, himself, of a time on his second tour
during `Nam. He'd gotten married to his high school sweetheart as soon as he'd gotten back from his first, and then on the
second, he just wanted to get back more than anything.
Seeing the two being a bit more friendly towards him, Jeremy safetied his rifle and smirked at the two. "So, why are you
coming to me, asking me for help, huh?" he asked non-chalantly, to the point. Alvin took this one on, trying to sound unafraid
and succeeding not too badly. "We need to get out of the warehouse district. We know there's no cops around here and any
patrolmen who come through here are probably dead by now. So, we need to get our people up to par on tactical strategy
mechanics so we can maybe get the fuck out of this place," he explained simply and quickly. Jeremy chewed the information
for a second and then raised an eyebrow, scratching his growing stubble of facial hair. "Right. Sounds like a plan. How many
we got to train?" Jeremy asked, yawning heavily afterwards.
Alvin scratched his chin as he thought, then responded, "`bout 40. We got 5 who've been studying it like madmen, tho."
Oliver frowned, raising an eyebrow now,then said, "we three go up topside with 2 of them. The other 3, the more experienced,
train as many of the others as we can. Are these guys stable and all right with being tense and being ordered?" Alvin chuckled,
"I work'em like fuckin' DOGS, they gonna be all right."
Oliver smirked. "Right, good. We leave in 20."
Soldier Survivor
Gun powder and blood still filled Jeremy's lungs still, the overwhelming sense of combat still in his veins, pulsing through like
some kind of mutant virus that'd infectted his system. The disgusting, sick feeling of being in a slum mixed with it wasn't
helping any. And Melanie, either. He'd enjoyed it, but a little less loud would've been pleasant after all that loud gunfire and
screaming from his fellow brothers in arms. Their fabrics ripping and tearing with audible ripping noises, the flesh going next.
Blood would soon flow from their wounds, bloodening their skin, staining it later. Then nerves, veins, muscle tissue, sinew,
all the fabrics and makings of the human body would be ripped and torn, jagged claws noisily making scrunchy splattery squirt
noises as it dug through the skin and bodies of Jeremy's comrades, the lungs, throats, and vocal chords screaming out, soon
to be silenced by a swipe to the neck, perhaps. Or the heart being plunged. Or, in the worst case, the hand of one of the
scaley, grizzled-looking lizards going right into the mouth of the soldier, ripping their lungs out, and pulling them up the throat.
Sometimes, the soldier would be alive when this would happen, and they'd see their own ripped lungs bleeding and dissolving
in front of them, before a curled lizard face would smash their skull into the pavement, cracking it internally, causing an
internal form of bleeding and breakage within the head.
Jeremy couldn't stop thinking of the 3 occurances of that he saw. It seemed as if his mind had turned into the factory of some
Italian splatter movie company, creating the things he'd seen as a teenager with those Lucio Fulci and Dario Argento movies.
But, this was real. They weren't movie memories, they were real memories. And that made it bad. Very bad, indeed. Sensing
his mind was probably going to be trapped within this hell unless he did something to take his mind off, he slowly began rising
out of his bed in the corner of the overly crampped room. The bluish walls and the teal light gave it an odd, surreal underwater
feel, and he almost expectted to see a shark or a sea turtle right next to him when he looked over the edge of the bed at his
assault rifle. They'd let him keep it, he didn't seem like a threat, having even grenaded three of those fucking freaks of nature
and saved a good 10 or more of the gangsters.
As Jeremy slowly rose to the floor, his barefeet sticking to the greasy, smelly floor of corroded wood instantly. He shook his
head and rose to his feet, standing up, stretching his arms a bit. He yawned whilst doing so, and scratched at some sweat on
his ribcage, going over to the nightstand to pick up his black t-shirt. The one they'd supplied. He wasn't much a fan of KMFDM,
but, it'd do.
He slid the fabricated T-shaped clothing down his torso and adjusted it to fit, and went to his socks and combat boots. Picking
them up with one hand, he grabbed the calf-holster for his Walter PPK with his other hand, going to the bed again. He sat down,
the biege-colored mattress creaking softly, indented by his weight. With great military organization and speed, Jeremy got his
socks and boots on within almost a new record for him, 30 seconds. He'd mastered the skill of doing this due to the fact he was
always called on spontaneously, and he wanted his reflexes and reliability to be there on time be at maximum capacity.
Quickly sliding both boots on and tying them almost as fast, Jeremy quickly raised his left pant leg and within another 10
seconds flat, he had the calf-holster around his lower leg, the PPK loaded in and tied down. Safetied, as well. With only a shot
in the chamber. Less weight. Again, Jeremy's speed was a major thing to him. He had an extra clip, but mostly he knew that
if he needed the PPK - one shot was all he was probably gonna get to use anyways. Sliding the pant-leg down, the Umbrella
soldier stood to his feet, but in the process of getting up, grabbed his assault rifle (his favorite kind, the Fabrique Nationale
Carabine (FNC)), unfolding the stock and getting it at his side in one movement. Again, speed. :)
Holding the rifle tightly by the foregrip/grip, keeping his right index on the trigger-guard, Jeremy took one final look at this
room where he'd only been in 3 hours before, trying to recover from the fall he'd made from the building while he was being
chased by the group of what he called "Spitters". He'd fallen about a story down and landed on pavement. But, thankfully had
tosed one of his 3 remaining M67 fragmentation grenades at the things, blowing them into bits. Nothing had hit him, which he
was very glad of, since he'd heard this batch of the MA-121s had the T-virus in their claws, so that if they didn't kill you, the
virus would get you in about, oh, 30 minutes. High dosage this time. Those fuckers. Why the hell couldn't they realize you
let nature create living weapons. Not make them yourself....
He'd always hated working for Umbrella, but man, did it pay well. Just out of college, he'd been. Gotten a degree in
computer sciences, trying to become a programmer for some software company. Hopefully get a shot at the job Id Software
was handing out after DooM 3 was announced. He'd also taken business management to help with any business skills he'd
need for clients, bosses, etc. And little did he know he was going to have to use some just as he began walking towards the
door. As he took one step, with that heavy clunk, the door was knocked on, startling Jeremy beyond his expectations. One bad
thing about his speed - expectting the unexpectted in that form wasn't so good. He'd always need backup.
"Jeremy, it's Alvin!" Alvin's now-familiar voice was overheard from behind the door. "C'mon in," Jeremy grunted, aiming the
assault rifle in a safer direction - at the closet. The door clicked and began to swing open slowly, Alvin beginning to walk into
the cramped room. It could fit him and Jeremy fine, but Oliver, who was tailing behind Alvin, wasn't gonna do too well.
With difficulty, Oliver closed the door, and he and Alvin looked at Jeremy, Jeremy looking back, and curiously at Oliver. He
smirked in that kind of smart-ass hotshot way, even though behind that, he was scared shitless. Oliver looked mean. Really
mean. Like in the Agent Smith way. Where you don't really wanna be in the same room as that guy. But, he kinda had to in
this situation. He kept the safety on his assault rifle off, just in case Oliver turned out to not be sucha good fella. Since he'd
heard about the guy in his briefing. That pretty much whoever got in his way would get either yelled at or punched. And his
experience in 2 wars really showed in that semi-fried, hardened look in his face. Especially the eyes. Almost as stone cold as
those creatures out there. While kind of lost in thought, Alvin cleared his throat, the young soldier getting to attention.
"Whadda want?" Jeremy, again, grunted. Alvin smirked at the attitude, but shook it off. "Mr. Johnson, here, wants to speak
with you..." Jeremy raised an eyebrow at Oliver who smirked and grunted back at him. Attitude for attitude. Boy, someone was
gonna have to break out the drain-o for the testosterone in the room. The older man leered at the soldier and grinned madly.
"So, you was in after ME?" That voice. Dark, hoarse, like some Harvey Keitel character from a Quentin Tarantino movie he'd
seen back in the day. Oliver growled softly at Jeremy, making him nearly sweat, but he wasn't gonna let him get to his system
and fuck things up...not now, at least. Unless he had to fake it.
Oliver smirked and chuckled. "I saw your buddies get ripped apart. Sorry to see, I know what it's like to lose fellow soldiers, but
nonetheless, I need your soldier's honorary word that you are NOT gonna kill me." Jeremy saw this coming and chuckled. The
first thing that was more than a grunt to come out of him in front of the two. "Trust me, man, I just want my paycheck so I
can go the fuck home and be with my wife, all right?" This errily began to remind Oliver, himself, of a time on his second tour
during `Nam. He'd gotten married to his high school sweetheart as soon as he'd gotten back from his first, and then on the
second, he just wanted to get back more than anything.
Seeing the two being a bit more friendly towards him, Jeremy safetied his rifle and smirked at the two. "So, why are you
coming to me, asking me for help, huh?" he asked non-chalantly, to the point. Alvin took this one on, trying to sound unafraid
and succeeding not too badly. "We need to get out of the warehouse district. We know there's no cops around here and any
patrolmen who come through here are probably dead by now. So, we need to get our people up to par on tactical strategy
mechanics so we can maybe get the fuck out of this place," he explained simply and quickly. Jeremy chewed the information
for a second and then raised an eyebrow, scratching his growing stubble of facial hair. "Right. Sounds like a plan. How many
we got to train?" Jeremy asked, yawning heavily afterwards.
Alvin scratched his chin as he thought, then responded, "`bout 40. We got 5 who've been studying it like madmen, tho."
Oliver frowned, raising an eyebrow now,then said, "we three go up topside with 2 of them. The other 3, the more experienced,
train as many of the others as we can. Are these guys stable and all right with being tense and being ordered?" Alvin chuckled,
"I work'em like fuckin' DOGS, they gonna be all right."
Oliver smirked. "Right, good. We leave in 20."