Chapter Three
Leon shook the images out of his head as he heaved his fists into the heavy bag. The beating motion of his blows thrashing the bag as he brought his knuckles into the faded and cracked leather. He breathed through his nose (always keep your jaw closed, you're jaw gets punched open your jaw gets broken), the heavy panting in a systematic rhythm to keep his stamina up. Low thrust, jab, jab, high blow, jab, high blow. (Keep up your rhythm, never repeat a combination).
Leon increased the power behind his hits, transitioning from speed to power as he slugged a thrusting upper drive into the lower portion of the bag. His blows became slower, but heavier, each hit rattling the chains from which the bag hung. The entire bag shook from the force, his knuckles leaving deep impressions in the leather of the bag. (No weapon is more reliable then your own muscle and bones) The punches increased in power, the bag swinging back and forth as Leon kept on his toes, beating his fists into the callused cover.
A right hook, a jab, reversing the right hook to make an elbow strike, low jab, high thrust. Damn it he couldn't concentrate, he ceased the rain of blows. The images kept returning to haunt him, lingering in his head.
Leon was in the gym in the basement of the police station. It was a large gym, complete with exercise equipment, weights, combat pads and items, and a large matted area to practice hand to hand combat. Leon was next to the mats, using one of three heavy bags that hung from the ceiling. His uncle and older brother had trained him to box when he was a kid, and it was still a preferred cardiovascular workout. He wiped his face with his white towel and sat down on the bench beside his sports bag. He was alone in the large gym, most of the officers were out on night duty, filing papers, or just not on duty. Leon normally enjoyed working out in the evening, at least cardiovascular workouts. The sweat turned cold by the night air felt good. He looked up at the clock on the wall, seven thirty.
The echoing sound of the door at the far end of the gym caught Leon's gaze, and he saw the small figure Of Jill Valentine walking around all of the equipment. He quickly looked back down at his sports bag, pretending not to notice her until she would get closer. Once she was past the tread mills, Leon looked up and said with a quick grin, "Hey Jill."
She smiled brightly and waved with her fingers. Wow, just look at that smile, how her soft pink lips shape. Joseph was not far from the truth at all when he said Jill was the babe of Raccoon City Police Department. She was just so pleasant, so warming to talk to. Her bluish gray eyes, almond brown hair that came down to just above her chin. Her pale complexion, soft creamy skin. She was only a few inches shorter then Leon. It was odd, Jill was harsh to every other man except for him, and he could never understand why.
Leon watched her stroll in with a white t-shirt and tight fitted pants that clung to her long legs. Her build was slender but had apparent muscle that shaped along her gentle curves, and Leon knew from all the times she'd flipped Joseph onto his back in training that she was strong. She walked across the mats over towards him; and to Leon's surprise and quiet joy, she sat beside him. But his joy turned to distress as he searched for something to say. Come on, he had to say something, how pathetic it would be if he kept silent. Thankfully, she spoke first.
"Have you had a chance to look at the files on that case yet?"
Leon shook his head with a gulp of water, "Just a brief overview, I was too shocked to read any further, it was disgusting. I came down here to get it out of my mind."
"Yea. I haven't yet, I don't really want to," she paused and the two allowed a small silence to pass by.
Leon took off the thin gloves to reveal his knuckles red with scrapes and burns, sore from the beating they gave and took. Jill saw them and added with a smile, "It looks like you tried pretty hard to get it out of your head."
Leon let out a breath as a short laugh, "Yea. I don't know, I just feel really terrible when something like that happens. Then I read about it or hear about it and I just feel like…like I want to find whoever's responsible and make them pay. Doing something that horrible to little children, the most innocent image we have here on this earth. And to ruin it like…it just makes me want to punish those that did it, and protect others so that never happens," he said, then added with a sheepish kind of grin, "I suppose that's why I became a cop."
Jill smiled as she put on her own gloves and said, "Yea. I know that feeling. But I suppose I joined because…well…you know I don't really remember. I know it wasn't the pay."
The two laughed and Jill stood up, going to one of the bags.
"Well," she said, "I'd better get those thoughts out of my head. Are you coming for drinks, tonight?"
"Uh, yea," he said zipping up his bag.
She looked him up and down with a smile on her face before saying, "Good. See you there."
"All right," he said standing up and making for the door with his bag on his shoulder.
He stopped as he got to the door, hearing the heavy thuds behind him as they were thrown into a bag. They were powerful, but he recognized the wild, uncontrolled blows. Leon let down his bag and turned around to watch Jill for a second. Her back was to him, and she was standing in a basic ready stance on her toes. She threw a light jab followed by a shockingly high kick that was flung over her head.
"Hey Jill," he said, watching her stop and look at him with those dazzling eyes, "Do you mind if I give you some pointers?"
She kind of looked at him strangely, as though no one had ever said that to her. And yet, with the small grin she had on, it seemed she didn't mind.
"Maybe some other time, rookie," she said, "But I'll hold you to it."
"All right."
000
Albert was quiet. No word escaped his mouth, no thought captured his mind, he was completely silent. Only his heart moved, thumping slowly, a steady beat that carried him delicately. The human heart, what a weak machine for a weak system. The methods for its eradication were endless, it's limits were infinitesimal. As a matter of fact the entire human body was a pathetic form of life, the only thing substantial to survival was the mind. The brain was the homo sapiens' one source of security in this world, the only thing that kept them alive. Not just that, but it rose beyond the survival needs and took to the most important thought. The ability to question and explore, that is what gave them the power to manipulate their surroundings, other species, their own home, and each other. The mind was such a powerful thing, it was sad to see it taken for such a useless tool.
Wesker sat at his desk in the S.T.A.R.S. office, staring down at the files that the rookie had left. Leon Kennedy, that was the kid's name. Good man, good cop. Leon was strong and honest, he showed respect, and that's what Wesker liked about him. Enough, what about this mission. Yes, it could not fail, not one part. Everything had to fully connect, there could be no exception. It was apparent Alpha team would be called in to back up Bravo team, Wesker was certain that Enrico and his team members could not handle this alone. It was too immense and complicated, Enrico would most likely radio in when the chance was had.
And then the mission would truly begin.
000
Leon had left Jill alone in the gym to go change in the men's locker room. His first step into the room gave him the wafting scent of deodorant mixed with steam from the boiler room that was just above. The men's locker room was hot as always, and it gave no relief to Leon as he walked along the aisles until he found his own locker. He softly swung it open to reveal his jeans and t-shirt he had earlier. His jacket also hung from a hook. He took these items out, and as he removed the jacket, beneath it was revealed his gun. An MR desert eagle, one of the heaviest and most powerful handguns in America. Not like that gave him much pride, if Leon had his way he wouldn't even have to deal with the dangerous thing. But he needed it, and so it was a present from his Uncle and brother when he had graduated from the academy. Now it hung in the leather shoulder strap that lay suspended from the hook in the locker. Below the hanging weapon, lay Leon's field uniform.
At this he stopped and stared for a moment, the blackish blue pants with extra pockets lining the sides. The royal blue vest that read "S.T.A.R.S." on the back, the gray t-shirt with the S.T.A.R.s insignia upon the sleeves, and the black combat boots that sat in a compartment below all of this. His uniform, it wasn't necessarily as flashy as the standard police uniform, but then again being a S.T.A.R.s. member was an even higher honor. Leon could live with the uniform, besides he only had to wear it out in a serious situation. Anything inner city, and all he needed was his own clothes, his badge, and his gun.
Leon had just put on his jeans and a spare white t-shirt when the door opened and closed. It was probably Joseph coming to get him, anxious about getting drinks no doubt. Footsteps, the heavy clunking against the concrete as they broke into a run and stopped, hesitated, and started again. Leon closed his locker, listening closely. The steps suddenly pounded down one of the rows of lockers and back around. Leon's locker was at the last row at opposite wall to the doors. The second door led to a stairway that took its follower either outside the back emergency exit or up to the offices. The sprinting feet stopped, and suddenly the massive noise of lockers being slammed open and shut vibrated throughout the room. What the hell is going on?
"Hello?" asked Leon.
Everything went silent, and Leon abruptly felt he had made a very bad move.
"Who's there?" Leon allowed his voice to range louder, the deep sound echoing throughout the room.
It was then that the rookie had become aware of just how dark the room was. Only one row of lights remained illuminated in the vast locker room, they lit up over the end of each row of lockers, along one of the walls, but that was it. Everything else was dark. Shadows crept along the other ends of the lockers and along the rows themselves. Leon was hesitant, but perhaps it was simply that someone on duty had forgotten something, and were rushing to get it. He was just being paranoid. He reached for his leather jacket and threw it over his shoulders, when suddenly a heavy clanking sound echoed as though something heavy and metal dropped against the floor.
"Who's there?" Leon called again, more abrupt.
His fears had snared the better of him, and he reached for the desert eagle and one of its shining clips. Gently, Leon slid the clip into the handle of the powerful magnum, and loaded the first bullet into the chamber. The weight felt powerful in his hands, but he knew it was a dangerous power. Leon slunk against the wall opposite his row of lockers, and quietly moved away from the lit end of the room, into the shadows. Whoever they are, he was just as strong if not stronger then they were. If they could see him in the dark then he could see them. He came to the ending of his row of lockers, and could barely see into the shadows beyond, looking down the walk that went along the other rows of lockers. Aiming the magnum, he jumped away from the wall and along the passage beside the rows of lockers. He pressed his back against the end of his row of lockers, listening intently. Just around the corner was the passage between the two columns of lockers, and he had no idea where this whoever was. Leon breathed heavily, swiftly pushing the air in and out of his lungs. He inhaled and exhaled faster and faster, pumping energy into his body. Jesus he was scared, the damn files he had read had him completely paranoid.
A faint clicking sound came from around the corner in between the two columns, and Leon felt himself throw his weight around to face it. Nothing. Only the muffled hiss of the boiler room above and the gentle buzzing of the fluorescent lights against the far wall. But now he edged closer and closer into the darkness of the locker room. Sweat beaded from his forehead, streaming from the heat of the locker room and the fear that crept along his skin. Leon lowered the gun, both hands tightly clasped to its handle, and began to travel down past the rows of lockers. He moved to the second passage between the lockers, and again aimed his gun around the shadows. No one. He stood silent for a moment, no muscle moving, no breath escaping his sealed lips. He listened, but could hear nothing foreign to the locker room, was he alone?
Leon took a step backwards and decide to hell with it.
"Who's there?" he said almost in a tone that sounded pissed off if anything
Nothing, and Leon stood in silence.
"Help…"
Leon whipped the gun around to face a figure, his features obscured by the light behind him. It was a man, his shoulders scrunched, his arms in fists at his side. The man was tall and sickeningly thin. He wore a tattered tie about a white collar shirt, his glasses gleamed from the light and revealed a crack in one of the lenses. From first glance, he seemed to be a scrawny man of computers. But he wasn't a police officer, and so Leon rose his gun.
"Who are you?" he demanded, but the question came out like a quivering plea.
The man's narrow head cocked to the side upon his scrawny neck, and he took one step forward.
"That's enough! You are in a restricted area! Only officers are to be here! Hands up!" Leon commanded, holding the heavy gun steadily.
The figure stopped, but did not raise his hands.
"Do it!"
Then he spoke. A thin, trembling voice that was squeaky, twisting with difficulty on every syllable, "Are you…S.T.A.R.S.?"
The voice of the man showed every sign that he was terribly disturbed. His fists were so tightly clenched that they were quivering under stress, and blood trickled from the knuckles as though the man's fingernails were digging into his skin.
"One of the members, yea," said Leon, not lowering his gun but relaxing his shoulders.
The man was of no trouble. Leon could see the man was hardly dressed, his clothing was once a suit and tie but now nothing more then stained rags. The jacket was gone, and his pants were torn and ragged. Black splotches etched with crimson stained his chest along with brown and a mucus green. His hair, wild and tangled, a black mass atop his thick head. He smelled horrible, a smell like something from an alleyway. Urine and puke, along with a pungent smell that stung Leon's nostrils. It smelled almost like chemicals.
"Have you read of the attacks?" the voice cracked into a high whisper at the end, every word sounded as though it was desperately trying to escape the jaws.
"Yes, we are going to investigate soon," that was a partial lie, Alpha team might not go in at all, "Don't worry we have everything under control. Now please you have to come with me-"
"You have nothing under control! You cannot control them. I've come to warn you…"
The man reached into his pocket.
"Stop! What are you doing!" asked Leon, his attention caught swift.
The man did not reply, but continued to dig around in his shirt pocket until he clutched what he was looking for. Removing his hand from his pocket, he stumbled as he took another step forward.
"That's enough, freeze!" said Leon, but found himself taking a step back.
"Please…" groaned the figure, "Take this."
"Stop!"
"Please…" came the wheezing sound of desperation as the man stumbled forth.
Leon was horrified, but felt his instincts go gentle. There didn't seem a reason to be afraid, but he did not lower his gun. Instead he allowed the man to reach him. The smell flared in Leon's nostrils, it was so thick and repulsive that he found it difficult to breathe. From his chapped, blood-crusted lips the man was whispering something, speaking fast and…urgently. The words were incomprehensible, they seemed not even human. He held out his bony fist to reveal a small silvery object sticking out between his fingers. The fingers themselves were covered with what seemed to be perforations, and dried blood clotted up about them. Leon cautiously rose his hand to meet the man's, and felt something metal and heavy drop into his fingers as the man released. Leon didn't look at it, for his concern now lay with the man.
He was badly injured, and Leon knew he couldn't survive long if he didn't seek medical attention soon.
"Come on, we have to get you to a hospital," said Leon gently touching the huge man's arm.
"NO!" he cried, suddenly ripping his arm free.
The man was taller then Leon, but much skinnier. He obviously had not eaten for days. And as the man broke loose of Leon's grip he turned to face him fully, and Leon saw his eyes. Horrible, white eyes crusted with pus and blood along the pupil. The man turned away and whimpered, crying inexplicable words to himself. He was almost like a child, hunched over in fear as Leon tried to take control. He tucked his arms close to his chest, curling up, his hands twisted and his fingers bent awkwardly, trembling.
"You need medical attention for those wounds," said Leon.
"NO! They can't help me!" screamed the man, frantically shaking his head, "No one can help me!"
"Please, sir! Come with me!"
"NO!"
It was then that Leon realized the man wasn't shaking his head, it was in the midst of a tremor. Twitching furiously, his entire body was beginning to convulse. Leon stepped back, afraid at first. But this man desperately needed help. Leon took a deep breath and again tried to grab him but suddenly the man screamed and grabbed him by the throat. Leon felt a gagging feeling hit his esophagus as he was lifted into the air and thrown back. He slammed into the floor and slid before coming to a stop on the wet locker floor. Leon winced, his eyes clenched shut as his head pulsed with pain. However as he opened his eyes, his hands clutching for his gun which no longer was at his side. Oh shit, he was screwed.
The man breathed wheezed, his shoulders pumping and rolling with each intake of air.
"Please," said the man, his voice quaking and twisted, "Just leave me alone. I only c-came, to help you. Take what I give you, and use it in the mansion."
"What mansion-?"
"Use it in the mansion!"
Leon watched the man turn and leave, disappearing into the shadows of the locker room. Small drops of blood lay where he once stood, and Leon heard the slam of the heavy door. He sat up, wincing in agony from the throbbing that came from his head. His gun lay upon the concrete floor not far from him, but he still felt something in his hand. It was whatever the man had given him. Leon brought his hand close to his face and opened it, revealing an old fashioned looking skull key. It was made of silver, and the teeth at the end were shaped in an odd fashion. The other end had a diamond in the center, and several sapphire stones around that, all of it wrapped in the silver metal. He decided it was best if he didn't tell anyone about this, if Wesker found out he let the man go like that he'd be off the S.T.A.R.s. team for sure.
000
The drinks didn't last long. Joseph had sipped down his first mug of beer in only a minute or so. He wasn't a drinker, but he wasn't much for savoring the taste either. Barry was very subtle about his drinking, just a mug of imported beer and he was good for the night. Jill assumed it was because of his children, he had no intention of harboring a bad example. They sat at a table in the corner of Ben's Tavern, the pub was always somewhat full because with workers just off duty. As usual Chris knew the bartender and so he had gotten them a good seat. Normally going out for drinks was a fun thing, but not tonight. Everyone was quiet, talking seldom and only in a serious tone.
Jill wasn't much of a drinker either, she had never been fond of alcohol but a good beverage once in awhile didn't bother her. She stirred the little straw around in her margarita, her gaze occasionally raising to one of the others. She caught a look at Leon and noticed he hadn't even ordered a drink yet. He looked up at her for a moment and she smiled at him, and it cheered her to see that he smiled back. It wasn't one of those half grins or nervous smiles, he smiled.
Yet with the exception of that brief moment, everything remained unsteady. Jill knew that they had all at some time seen the files describing their disquieting case; and here it was several hours later, and still they could find no way to calm their racing minds. Even Joseph looked as though the few words of the files he was lazy enough to read had him choking down his beer. It was Chris who spoke first.
"This doesn't make any sense to me," he said, "Why Irons let something this big be handled by only the bravo team. They would need back up."
"They're strong enough," replied Barry, "You know Marini takes care of his people."
"I know," said Chris, "I just can't seem to help myself. Nothing feels right about this case, everything feels as though it shouldn't belong. It feels like, like I should be troubled about something."
"I don't see why. We'll get it under control, Chris. Umbrella corporation will be there to ensure we all are safe."
"Umbrella corporation," replied Chris, annoyed by the very name, "That faceless organization is a phony, unrealistic machine that feeds people the idea they are sick, and they need their goddamn medicines and serums to cure them. Not to mention how phony their control on technology is."
"Chris," cut in Jill, "I wouldn't be too angry with Umbrella. They brought this city up from the ground. They have given us the money we need and the security this city needs. We have the most advanced police force in America."
"That's not what I'm worried about, that all seems decent to me. But what bothers me is that we have no real idea about what to expect. We don't know where the attackers are hiding, how many of them there are, what's their strength, what's their weakness, Jesus we don't even know If they're human."
At this everyone lost attention on Chris' words. Joseph groaned and Jill sighed. Chris was extremely superstitious, never afraid to admit he believed in spirits, aliens, and all other sorts of imaginary beings. Now Jill actually couldn't say for herself whether or not they were real, but she would remain skeptical until proof was set before her.
"Chris," said Joseph as he finished another beer, "what the hell are you talking about? The identification of the teeth markings was fuckin' human, all of them. And even if it was some extra terres-uh…"
"Terrestrial-"
"Extra terrestrial piece of shit. Why would they come all the way to our shitty little planet, and eat a few people in one of the most boring, least heard of cities? Does that sound like a well thought out plan, to you?"
Chris even had to laugh a little. It remained incomprehensible how Joseph could take the most horrible event ever to occur in Raccoon City and slice it up to feed to humor.
