Author's Note: 'tis my first RE fanfic, go me!
Okay, so, forgive any mistakes I make between the game continuities and so on and so forth and yadda... I know them but I write before I think and it looks so good I don't change it and... *shrug* Just don't hurt me!
Rating: For right now, PG-13
Continuity: The day after... the, er, night in Raccoon City in RE2.
The Day After... By: Carmen Kara Wayne
Chapter One
Claire was horror stricken at the mutated Licker that had busted into the shabby motel room that she had rented just four hours ago, after escaping the horror of Raccoon City. And just after parting ways with her new friends Leon S. Kennedy and Sherry Birkin. What a grand time for her to decide to go it alone.
She had fled the room, fled the complex—why did everything seem so desolate? Four hours ago, when she got into the small town a few miles away from Raccoon, forest side, there were people bustling about. Not even the wind was moving at this point. All she could hear was the distancing shriek of the Licker... and her own panting, gasping, feet pounding, grinding gravel into pavement by worn boots, her legs slapping and rubbing against one another when she would turn corners, and her heart pounding in her ears...
Go it alone indeed. Her ammo was dry, she was utterly exhausted from her night in Raccoon City—LAST night—she hadn't showered, and she could have sworn she broke a couple of ribs when she lunged out of the gaping hole that was once a window before the Licker burst through.
She gave herself credit though. It was a damn nifty move she used to get out of the room. The Licker had crashed through the window—how it found her, she didn't know—and though she freaked out, she was able to process what to do in her mind within a split second. She charged the Licker, stepped to the side to avoid that tongue, and actually shoulder rolled across it's back, praying it's tongue wouldn't catch her, and pushed into a spring, and went out the window. She pivoted during the sail out the window, and fired her last bullet into the Licker's mouth, gaining a terrible view of its mutation in daylight. And then she remembered there wasn't a pathway or balcony under that window and plummeted two stories into a trash dumpster.
But she couldn't focus on that at this point. Why was that thing after her? Maybe she was the only "food" left for it. And what had happened to it? That hideous, wide mouth now encompassed nearly all of the Licker's head. The exposed brain on its original form was creepy enough, but the upper jaw had grown up and over the lobes to protect them, it seemed. And she could have sworn she saw it unhinge them like a snake would when she fired that bullet as she fell—
Where WERE all the people? She had fallen asleep immediately when she entered the motel room about three and a half hours ago. Could something have hit so fast? Or maybe she didn't hear the call for a city evac.? Or maybe Umbrella—
--no. Not going to think crazy, Claire, what use are you to them? None. Time to get out of here alive and—oh God, is this town fake?
Flights of fancy? Chris always made fun of her for making up the weirdest scenarios in situations and jumping to the most outlandish conclusions about things. It was at this point that she missed him, and Leon. She wasn't one to want to be thought of as needy and weak, but she also wasn't one to deny having a guy around made her feel safe. They were stronger, faster—built moreso for combat. Well, she trusted a few men that way. Chris, and now Leon. She couldn't believe she'd trust someone with her life other than her brother, but Leon certainly proved himself. He saved her life at that diner. After that, he helped her from the zombies in the alley—beyond the alley—all the way to the end, he helped her, and Sherry, out of Raccoon...
Part of her felt so very guilty for leaving them that morning...
A flash of pain struck her right knee when she rounded a corner into an alley, and her body jolted forward. Before she realized what was happening, she had face-planted into concrete.
"Nnnnugh—AAGH—"
She was choking then, as something straight and hard pressed into her neck and tugged her back into an arch, making her head press against a heaving chest. She choked harder, the feeling of needing to puke and needing to breathe one in the same. But Lord she hoped she wasn't leaking spit. Claire knew sometimes that happened when being choked and it was gross as hell. Of course, survival was a priority too. ("Make sure to leave a pretty corpse," came to mind. Captain Albert Wesker, the creepy bastard, told her that.)
"I knew it! Knew the fuckers would get out of RC!" a crude male voice screamed at her.
Claire tried to look up at the man's face, but her eyes were flooding with tears, and her vision was turning random shades, darkening towards inevitable black.
"Mmmnah—"
"That damned Raccoon—brought you assholes here, and—ah? Breathing?" He leaned over, his face completely black in her darkening eyes. He studied the blood that was starting to seep into the whites of each orb. "You're human?"
He dropped what was pressing against her throat and it clamored—metallic sounding, like a pipe—to the ground. Claire rested her head on the pavement, vision whirring back, throat making her cough as it tried to regain shape.
"Broke—my knee—I—th-think—"she coughed, voice hoarse.
"Oh, I've done WORSE. And to girls FAR cuter than you. You 'n' I are the only humans left. That's the ONLY reason you're not gonna get that proven."
He stood up and grabbed her, hefting Claire to her feet. Claire stumbled around before finding good footing on her left foot.
Claire turned to look at the man, rubbing her throat. He was an absolute mess. His face was covered in stubble, his eyes were small and dark. Graying black hair, long and scraggly, was heavy with grease on his head. He had profane words tattooed to his knuckles and arms, and his clothes were filthy and tattered like a homeless man's.
He was SO not a Leon S. Kennedy. In fact, he reminded her of a time she was taking a midnight jog and a man attacked her in the park. Tackled her to the ground and went for her shirt, but had no idea her big brother wasn't too far behind (he was visiting and they always loved to do midnight jogs) and soon he had a S.T.A.R.S. standard issue 9MM Beretta in his face and words were in his ears informing him he was under arrest by the authority of Officer Redfield from the RPD S.T.A.R.S.
But, this time, she didn't HAVE Chris with her. It was just HER, the LICKER, and the CREEPY man in front of her.
"And how old are you, cutie?" he asked, attempting to be charming but just sickening her instead.
"Excuse me—WHAT?" Claire asked, dumbfounded that THAT was his first question of all the things he could have asked her. Jill Valentine told her once what to do in a situation like this during her last visit to Raccoon. "Twenty-two."
Never give your real age, never say you're twenty-one or eighteen, and never say you're under eighteen.
The man scoffed.
"Too old for me. What's your name?"
What the hell?! she yelled in her mind. Rule two: Never give your real name.
"Angel."
"Like the vampire?"
"Er... sure."
She was thinking in lieu of her vest—the vest she gave to Sherry—but that worked too. Why argue?
"Hell yeah."
He brushed past her, making her wince, and then slapped her on the butt, which made her yelp out in surprise, and made her jerk in ways that made her hurt worse.
"Hey!!"
"C'mon, sugar-baby. Help daddy find us some guns."
Claire went to say something, but then stopped and grinned. Why hadn't she remembered it? She landed on it when he knocked her down.
"I'm already packing, buddy," she snapped.
As she hobbled after him, she pulled the police-issue glock from the front of her shorts waist band. She snapped the safety off and clicked the clip out and in as if checking it. And she did it so the noise would (hopefully) catch his attention. It worked. When the man heard that, he froze... and slowly pivoted on his heel to look at her.
"Are you now?" he asked, not happy with this turn events clearly.
"Yeah, so I suggest you don't try anything, or I'll blast your brains out EVERYWHERE." Her voice was shaking as she realized this could very well be a sexual assailant and maybe even a murderer she was in company with. "What HAPPENED here?"
She clasped the gun in both hands to keep it steady. Claire prayed that she looked convincing enough for the lie about having anything other than an empty clip loaded into the gun to work. The man gave a rotten- toothed grin.
"Works for me." He began to pace around her casually. Claire followed him in place, keeping the sight of the gun trained on his head. "Yesterday, seven freaks hobbled out of the forest from 'coon's direction. I was... ah... playing nice with a honey... when I heard screaming. The freaks were attacking my... honey's family. Biting them, clawing them, eating them—sick shit like that. Most of 'em survived when the police arrived. The seven got shot down, and they rushed the camp people out. Heard later on on the news that the vics were going psycho-shit, biting hospital staff, moanin' and groanin'. The exact same shit those RPD S.T.A.R.S. had been talkin' about what happened to them, and then what happened to the 'coon people. More attacks followed, more zombies, and now THIS. A freakin' ghost town. With zombies instead'a ghosts."
He grinned madly while Claire's heart sank more and more. She hadn't even washed away the gross slime on her from Raccoon City before getting hurled into another nightmare.
"I was just in Raccoon. I know well enough we can't stay in one spot. Any place we can go?"
"Where else? The PD of this place," he said with that same wild grin as before. "Follow me, Angel-baby."
Claire gave a distressed sigh and complied to him. After all, what else could she do?
Okay, so, forgive any mistakes I make between the game continuities and so on and so forth and yadda... I know them but I write before I think and it looks so good I don't change it and... *shrug* Just don't hurt me!
Rating: For right now, PG-13
Continuity: The day after... the, er, night in Raccoon City in RE2.
The Day After... By: Carmen Kara Wayne
Chapter One
Claire was horror stricken at the mutated Licker that had busted into the shabby motel room that she had rented just four hours ago, after escaping the horror of Raccoon City. And just after parting ways with her new friends Leon S. Kennedy and Sherry Birkin. What a grand time for her to decide to go it alone.
She had fled the room, fled the complex—why did everything seem so desolate? Four hours ago, when she got into the small town a few miles away from Raccoon, forest side, there were people bustling about. Not even the wind was moving at this point. All she could hear was the distancing shriek of the Licker... and her own panting, gasping, feet pounding, grinding gravel into pavement by worn boots, her legs slapping and rubbing against one another when she would turn corners, and her heart pounding in her ears...
Go it alone indeed. Her ammo was dry, she was utterly exhausted from her night in Raccoon City—LAST night—she hadn't showered, and she could have sworn she broke a couple of ribs when she lunged out of the gaping hole that was once a window before the Licker burst through.
She gave herself credit though. It was a damn nifty move she used to get out of the room. The Licker had crashed through the window—how it found her, she didn't know—and though she freaked out, she was able to process what to do in her mind within a split second. She charged the Licker, stepped to the side to avoid that tongue, and actually shoulder rolled across it's back, praying it's tongue wouldn't catch her, and pushed into a spring, and went out the window. She pivoted during the sail out the window, and fired her last bullet into the Licker's mouth, gaining a terrible view of its mutation in daylight. And then she remembered there wasn't a pathway or balcony under that window and plummeted two stories into a trash dumpster.
But she couldn't focus on that at this point. Why was that thing after her? Maybe she was the only "food" left for it. And what had happened to it? That hideous, wide mouth now encompassed nearly all of the Licker's head. The exposed brain on its original form was creepy enough, but the upper jaw had grown up and over the lobes to protect them, it seemed. And she could have sworn she saw it unhinge them like a snake would when she fired that bullet as she fell—
Where WERE all the people? She had fallen asleep immediately when she entered the motel room about three and a half hours ago. Could something have hit so fast? Or maybe she didn't hear the call for a city evac.? Or maybe Umbrella—
--no. Not going to think crazy, Claire, what use are you to them? None. Time to get out of here alive and—oh God, is this town fake?
Flights of fancy? Chris always made fun of her for making up the weirdest scenarios in situations and jumping to the most outlandish conclusions about things. It was at this point that she missed him, and Leon. She wasn't one to want to be thought of as needy and weak, but she also wasn't one to deny having a guy around made her feel safe. They were stronger, faster—built moreso for combat. Well, she trusted a few men that way. Chris, and now Leon. She couldn't believe she'd trust someone with her life other than her brother, but Leon certainly proved himself. He saved her life at that diner. After that, he helped her from the zombies in the alley—beyond the alley—all the way to the end, he helped her, and Sherry, out of Raccoon...
Part of her felt so very guilty for leaving them that morning...
A flash of pain struck her right knee when she rounded a corner into an alley, and her body jolted forward. Before she realized what was happening, she had face-planted into concrete.
"Nnnnugh—AAGH—"
She was choking then, as something straight and hard pressed into her neck and tugged her back into an arch, making her head press against a heaving chest. She choked harder, the feeling of needing to puke and needing to breathe one in the same. But Lord she hoped she wasn't leaking spit. Claire knew sometimes that happened when being choked and it was gross as hell. Of course, survival was a priority too. ("Make sure to leave a pretty corpse," came to mind. Captain Albert Wesker, the creepy bastard, told her that.)
"I knew it! Knew the fuckers would get out of RC!" a crude male voice screamed at her.
Claire tried to look up at the man's face, but her eyes were flooding with tears, and her vision was turning random shades, darkening towards inevitable black.
"Mmmnah—"
"That damned Raccoon—brought you assholes here, and—ah? Breathing?" He leaned over, his face completely black in her darkening eyes. He studied the blood that was starting to seep into the whites of each orb. "You're human?"
He dropped what was pressing against her throat and it clamored—metallic sounding, like a pipe—to the ground. Claire rested her head on the pavement, vision whirring back, throat making her cough as it tried to regain shape.
"Broke—my knee—I—th-think—"she coughed, voice hoarse.
"Oh, I've done WORSE. And to girls FAR cuter than you. You 'n' I are the only humans left. That's the ONLY reason you're not gonna get that proven."
He stood up and grabbed her, hefting Claire to her feet. Claire stumbled around before finding good footing on her left foot.
Claire turned to look at the man, rubbing her throat. He was an absolute mess. His face was covered in stubble, his eyes were small and dark. Graying black hair, long and scraggly, was heavy with grease on his head. He had profane words tattooed to his knuckles and arms, and his clothes were filthy and tattered like a homeless man's.
He was SO not a Leon S. Kennedy. In fact, he reminded her of a time she was taking a midnight jog and a man attacked her in the park. Tackled her to the ground and went for her shirt, but had no idea her big brother wasn't too far behind (he was visiting and they always loved to do midnight jogs) and soon he had a S.T.A.R.S. standard issue 9MM Beretta in his face and words were in his ears informing him he was under arrest by the authority of Officer Redfield from the RPD S.T.A.R.S.
But, this time, she didn't HAVE Chris with her. It was just HER, the LICKER, and the CREEPY man in front of her.
"And how old are you, cutie?" he asked, attempting to be charming but just sickening her instead.
"Excuse me—WHAT?" Claire asked, dumbfounded that THAT was his first question of all the things he could have asked her. Jill Valentine told her once what to do in a situation like this during her last visit to Raccoon. "Twenty-two."
Never give your real age, never say you're twenty-one or eighteen, and never say you're under eighteen.
The man scoffed.
"Too old for me. What's your name?"
What the hell?! she yelled in her mind. Rule two: Never give your real name.
"Angel."
"Like the vampire?"
"Er... sure."
She was thinking in lieu of her vest—the vest she gave to Sherry—but that worked too. Why argue?
"Hell yeah."
He brushed past her, making her wince, and then slapped her on the butt, which made her yelp out in surprise, and made her jerk in ways that made her hurt worse.
"Hey!!"
"C'mon, sugar-baby. Help daddy find us some guns."
Claire went to say something, but then stopped and grinned. Why hadn't she remembered it? She landed on it when he knocked her down.
"I'm already packing, buddy," she snapped.
As she hobbled after him, she pulled the police-issue glock from the front of her shorts waist band. She snapped the safety off and clicked the clip out and in as if checking it. And she did it so the noise would (hopefully) catch his attention. It worked. When the man heard that, he froze... and slowly pivoted on his heel to look at her.
"Are you now?" he asked, not happy with this turn events clearly.
"Yeah, so I suggest you don't try anything, or I'll blast your brains out EVERYWHERE." Her voice was shaking as she realized this could very well be a sexual assailant and maybe even a murderer she was in company with. "What HAPPENED here?"
She clasped the gun in both hands to keep it steady. Claire prayed that she looked convincing enough for the lie about having anything other than an empty clip loaded into the gun to work. The man gave a rotten- toothed grin.
"Works for me." He began to pace around her casually. Claire followed him in place, keeping the sight of the gun trained on his head. "Yesterday, seven freaks hobbled out of the forest from 'coon's direction. I was... ah... playing nice with a honey... when I heard screaming. The freaks were attacking my... honey's family. Biting them, clawing them, eating them—sick shit like that. Most of 'em survived when the police arrived. The seven got shot down, and they rushed the camp people out. Heard later on on the news that the vics were going psycho-shit, biting hospital staff, moanin' and groanin'. The exact same shit those RPD S.T.A.R.S. had been talkin' about what happened to them, and then what happened to the 'coon people. More attacks followed, more zombies, and now THIS. A freakin' ghost town. With zombies instead'a ghosts."
He grinned madly while Claire's heart sank more and more. She hadn't even washed away the gross slime on her from Raccoon City before getting hurled into another nightmare.
"I was just in Raccoon. I know well enough we can't stay in one spot. Any place we can go?"
"Where else? The PD of this place," he said with that same wild grin as before. "Follow me, Angel-baby."
Claire gave a distressed sigh and complied to him. After all, what else could she do?