Chapter 5
The pressure was deepening, like a void that clotted in the forest and Hunk was in the middle of it. The gaining horde of zombies that swept at the backside of him and the violent BOW, the one that he has to take down and sedate before completely the mission, just tore his last team member apart leisured in front of him. If he attacked her, the zombies would attack him, if he attacked the zombies, she would kill him. His thoughts were tough and callusing over as they raced. The mission had to be completed.
Hunk takes a lingering step, but halts as a glimpsing shadow flings over him. A zombie hurtles with fumbling movements over the massing crowd. The limp carcass gazers into a burst of tender limbs and flinging buckets of blood as it batters against a tree. Hunk blinks away from 'The Subject' and glints in the direction of the roaming mold of zombies. A heighten outline looms above the heads of the dead beings, before a feinting fist packed through their a web of stomachs.
"It seems like my back up is finally here and it seems to be doing a good job cleaning up."
Raw bullets stream from Hunk's MP-5, his target settled on bring down 'The Subject.' Her torso lathers with bubbling blood from the packing rounds. The being's hobbled legs exercise with running steps as her arms waver over her head. The musing of running legs and catching bullets, hinder Hunk in his spot as he stands his ground, hoping that she will fall soon from the cascade of bullet. Battering hands crack against Hunk's solid helmet, the collision tripping Hunk's feet from under him. His shoulder mends into the dirt as he lines his gun from his lying down position. The roasting slags of metal picking away at the woman's scorned feet. Flakes of sneering skin peel away as heat blade of metal dip into it.
The raw tentacles swarm from the exposed holes on the 'The Subject's' faces, bending through the air until they loop around Hunk's Mp-5, snatching it from his gaping hands. Hunk follows the gun as the weaving appendages reel it away from him. With an open hand, Hunk's grasps the tattered collar of the creature and spools in the stumbling monster, in his other hand, his knife shimmers as it swipes through one of the bases of the knitting tentacles. Like a rotting tree limb, it slips off its housing and festers on the dirt covered ground.
Hunk sweeps up the Mp-5 from the lapsing feeler, handling it with his one arm, he depresses the trigger, branding the ogre with the beat from the thumping gun, but the creature retains its balance and strength.
"Damn, it looks like I have my hands full here."
Fumbling hands imprint around Hunk's neck, elevating his feet off the ground. Struggling for air, Hunk looks down at the craning creature and in the gray shade of loosen skin that hung over its head, Hunk saw a glistening eye, orange and dime shaped that voided in one of the gapping mouths. Through his remaining air, Hunk jams the barrel of the gun into the faces of the monster. A flustering rounds wrestle against 'The Subject's' rigid hide. The propelling shots boil in the face of the being, its eyes smoldered by the blistering flames of metal. Her grip backs from Hunk's neck, to cover and scratch at its swelling face.
"It looks like we are just beginning." Hunk heaved through his catching breaths.
Catching fleshing flung as the Tyrant's fist slides through the heads of the several zombies. A square elbow bends through the chest of stumbling zombies that covering around the backside of the Tyrant. It was a machine that wouldn't stop until the infected were all destroyed.
Blaring red teemed through the forest at a spreading speed, marking the back of the Tyrant. With soaring feet scale the Tyrant's back as strong arms warp around the Tyrant's neck.
"Time to sleep." Wesker whispered into the Tyrant's ear as his hands pulled the Tyrant's taut jaw upward, breaking the giant's neck.
Tumbling muscles faltered the Tyrant to the ground, its body spreading across the flat surface.
"Mass producing Tyrants is easy, but strength is in originality." Wesker chuckled, his eyes captured in the pool of red light. He steps over the massive body of the smeared Tyrant, searching through the crowd of zombies.
Crunching bone rise as they crease around each other as the Tyrant elevates its torso, its head bent to the side.
"It seems that I was wrong." Wesker redeems himself as his body reels around in a flurry, his fist already clenching the air.
Like a waiting catcher's mitt, the Tyrant's open hand seizes Wesker's punching fist in its colossal hand.
"How is this…" His words are squeezed from his mouth as the Tyrant presses down on his clutched hand, crumbling the already tight fingers.
Wesker's slinking body is lifted up as the Tyrant's raises its height. Wesker dangles against the Tyrant's strength, its bent eyes lingering against Wesker's own and with a cast of its hand, Wesker skids aimlessly through the tone of the forest. His back ranks around the shaft of a cumbersome tree.
Tracking venom held Wesker's body to the earth, his back trekked with pain.
"How could it have this much strength, its just a reproduction of our tyrant. It shouldn't be this strong." Wesker's arms push his face off the soil, pieces of dirt and wood binding to the running blood that seeped from the corner of his lip and down his chin. A slipping shadow wondered under his face, his eyes narrowing with a troubled evil.
The Tyrant loomed overhead, a foot already raised to subdue the strengthen being. Clarity lingered in Wesker's eyes as he grabbed the Tyrant's foot and driven it into the air, sending the Tyrant reeling back to the ground.
"You will be the cause of this company's downfall."
Hunk's heavy back grates against the stock of a tree, squeezing his body behind its mass, concealing him from 'The Subject's' sight as he gathers his thoughts. The drained moans of the mobbing zombies sounded in the background, but they weren't of his concern, the Tyrant was dealing with them now, he just had to stay focus and somehow get the creature on its back. His palms hadn't even started to sweat he was still in control.
He could hear its harsh rasping, deep and held, slinking closer. A cornered eye sneaks a peak at the tip of a flocking purple tentacle. Hunk turns from his hiding position, the butt of his gun batting against the head of 'The Subject,' waning its halted feet. Hunk discharges a score of stinging bullets into the faltering imp, coursing through its body. A wailing shriek assembles in Hunk's ears, battering his head with the sound. A whipping chain twirls in the air as 'The Subject' twists its hands above its head. The assaulting chain blankets against Hunk's padded chest, the shock toppling him off his feet. His back slumps alongside a tree, his head bath in confusion from the jolting strike. Hunk's eyes flare as a blur of purple project in a blaring speed towards him. Splintering metal, plastic and glass ring in piercing chucks as the right side of Hunk's gas mask explodes, tearing half of it away. His right eye glares calmly back at 'the Subject' as the pieces of shattered plastic and metal tatter to the ground. Half of Hunk's face came from under the shadow of his mask, his cropped blonde hair like the fizz of a patch, his eye was dull with rim of darkness around it, his mouth was simple and plain, it was the face of Mr. Death, but it resembled the face of any other man. The remaining goggle beats with reading red as the infra lens scans over her as his uncover eye takes in the information that he missed, something that he missed, the weakness of the creature.
"Umbrella doesn't realize that if they just focus on mass producing that they will lead themselves down into the depths of weakness." Wesker's eyes emerge at the feet of the Tyrant.
Wesker bends down, his hands hooking around the ankles of the Tyrant's boots. Impressive strength lifts the weight mass of the Tyrant and lobs the hurtling giant through a stack of trees, splintering through three trunks. The world shook with the bunching weight that beat against the earth as halo of dust settled over the area.
The wafts of dust seep around Wesker's face as he titters next to the settling dust cloud. The billows of dust sink away behind the trees, the plain vista of trees rising above.
"Where the hell did it go?" A sense of shame and despair jumble through Wesker's words, as he knows that his test of strength isn't finished.
A craving fist smears against Wesker's face, scraping through the charred flesh that husked over his cheek. Wesker's slacking body being hindered powerless as it skips and bounces against the grilling ground.
"I've been underestimating him." His words are choked with spitting blood.
Wesker stabilizes himself as he raises from the ground, his feet grinding in the dirt. His head lowers as his body tenses. With a burning speed, Wesker clasps onto the Tyrant's arm as he darts in front of it. With his left hand gripped on the Tyrant's overly large right wrist, his finger barely able to clench the top of it, his right hand streaks into the Tyrant's chest. Stripping leather mixes with the sound of tearing skin. The gray stone like flesh of the Tyrant's arm wavers in Wesker's hand, the end of it stumped with a bloody mound.
The T-0400 rivets backwards from the lost of its arm, shreds of its green trench coat cover over the empty socket, the ends of the leather greased with its blood. Even with the massive damage that its body has endured, it still wouldn't stop as its feet lumber towards Wesker to finish the job.
The blacken plastic of the gun glints in what little sunlight filters through the trees as it drops harmlessly to the ground. Hunk knew that guns couldn't bring this creature down; they were just a waste now. He had to relay on his skills and the canister that held the agent that will knock this thing out for transport. And Hunk knew exactly what to do.
Hunk crept with wondering footsteps, as 'The Subject' stood idle, watching his movements. An unstable shriek resounds before molded skin of the devil rushed towards Hunk. Her arms braced over her head, ready to strike. Her chasing feet stamping towards Hunk. With a tender grace, Hunk's feet evade her's, but his hand remains in her path. His quick fingers write across the baggy mask of rigid skin, slipping it from its unfastened roost. The veil of knotting skin hangs wobbly from Hunk's hand. Hunk tosses the mask of tired skin into the dusk of the woods, disappearing into the plane of dry leaves.
"MO…THER." The letters crept though like they are being said from the belly of a cave. The womanly monster stumbles for her hood of skin, her arms shielding her hideous face away from clear sight.
Hunk's uncovered eye spans over her backside, catching a glimpse of something that came through her tattered dress, something the blinked back at him. An eye, giant and out of place, swelled on her back, glistening in the sun. Hunk revolves the canister of navy hued liquid into his hands, pressing a button near the top of it, reveling a housed twelve-inch needle.
As the tortured child bends over to pick up the face of her mother that she tore off herself. Hunk rams the tittering needle into the engorged eye, rupturing the fluid that roved under the lens, the dark blue liquid soon starts to seep in. Muscles and blood crystallizes with freezing ice as the liquid agent travels through its bloodstream. Her body congealed, as she lied stationary on the ground, even the lingering vapor in her mouth soon dissipated. Lisa Trevor's secrets were back in the hands of Umbrella.
"I will make sure that all Tyrants are destroyed. Just to show that mine was perfect." Wesker's head stiffens with anger. "Starting with you."
Wesker's legs shimmer into a haziness of galloping speed before they leap into the air, ascending above the Tyrant's spoiled body. A craning fist cuffs against the T-0400's jaw, tottering the colossal. The Tyrant's head staggers close to the chest of a tree, Wesker lingering in the air, sends another fist into the Tyrant's face that propels its head into the bark of the tree, collapsing the Tyrant's movements for good.
"Pitiful thing you are. " Wesker's words scowled upon the inoperative Tyrant
Hunk's body frowned as he picked up his MP-5. His uncovered eye stumbles around the still form of Lisa.
"Looks like its time to go, honey." Hunk weakly makes out.
Hunk takes a simple step before a clambering fist connects to the back of his head, sending him tumbling over. His limp frame scrapping against the crowded dirt, splattering a gust of scattering leaves.
"I had no clue that Umbrella worked this fast, sending in soldiers already. And now I see why they have. The undying subject, that Birkin and me injected with countless of viruses over the last decade. The one that lead to the all-powerful G-virus. It seems that Umbrella is taking back what they said about her, that she was a failure, too uncontrollable to use as a BOW. But unlike anything else ever made or will be made, she is invincible, the key to immortality. Just a mere girl that lead to the rise in viral weaponry to its outmost peak. Now, Umbrella is whimpering for her to return to them so they can once again try to gain what they have lost." Wesker's words rise into the sky, bellowing over the treetops.
Hunk meekly listens to his screaming words, as his fingers grip around the handle of his MP-5 quietly. Hunk tumbles over on his shoulder, facing Wesker, the barrel of the gun as well. Searing blazes of metal spurt from the MP-5, the carrying bullets daze past Wesker's swift movements, Wesker just stepping out of their way.
"Umbrella doesn't know what they have lost, they don't know the power they could have if their work ethics were anything to be proud of. That they work on biological weapons that lack intelligence and combat skills. We will soon see who is the stronger of the two." Wesker's feet ascend from under him, elevating his nimble weight, before they stooped over Hunk's subsided form.
"You may just be a solider of Umbrella, but you are corrupted by them. Their filth is stained all over you. Someone as impressive as you shouldn't be working as them. You remind me of myself, before I knew there was a better company, one that saw what I saw. We could use some good soldiers, ones that will help us out. Umbrella will sell you out; work you to death trying to fix their mistakes." The bracing words trolled from Wesker's jaws.
Hunk teemed over Wesker with his uncovered eye, "My mission is not complete." With those misting words, Hunk supplies his hand with his combat knife and plunges its deep blade into the scorched flesh of Wesker's left side, gutting into the weaken skin.
The caked, crusted skin splattered apart, dropping to the ground as chucks as Hunk's hand pulls from the gorge of a wound, his blade skewed with a lump of glistening crimson, oblong and round and puffed with air, it was Wesker's lung.
The color that paced through Wesker's face dwindled, brightening to a vivid white. His mouth dried with stale air and his eyes weakened and fainted back to their normal color.
"Everything has a weakness." Hunk spat with a tender hatred, sliding his knife from the deflating organ, and letting Wesker deflate with it.
Hunk titters back to the stability of his heels and grips the remaining canister of freezing agent. He closely kneels down to the battered, strengthen human as a seeping pool of blood clots on Wesker's torso. The needle of the canister digs through Wesker's bare back, sweeping the freezing liquid through his veins, the flowing wound pumping slowly as Wesker's mouth wavers with a clouding mist of vapor.
The ground is punished by pummeling steps, trembling the might of the trees. Hunk's gaze dangled from Wesker's freezing form to the reverberating sound. The harsh green leather was buffed with blood and rips as it flowed around the assaulted figure of the Tyrant – 0400. Hunk puts his eyes back to the creased bulk of Wesker, his mind wondering around the words that he said and how weak he looked now. Hunk stooped down and boosted Wesker's stumbled mass on to his shoulder.
Hunk ladders towards the reason why he was in this forest, the one thing that was going to end this mission as long he got it back to the helicopter. He crouches next to her to shovel her immense weight on his other shoulder, but a lumbering arm swiped under her pulped body, jacketing over its boarding shoulder.
The two of them stride through the forest once again, their jewels branded on their shoulders.
The clearing daunted with the impression of the idling Chinook. Situated next to the ramp, the pilot stood, his face grimed with a tainted smile.
" I've been waiting." The pilot squeaks through his mouth humbly.
Hunk disregards his words as he treads up the ramp.
"Whose the guy? I don't remember him being on the objective list." The pilot squanders at as Hunk roams into the shade of the dark metal.
"Just something that Umbrella will be highly interested in." The words wander back to the pilot's ears.
Hunk lingers towards the two empty capsules that adorn the wall of the modified Chinook. The clasped door unfastens with a white mist; Hunk prods Wesker's crumbled body into the tube, letting the filtering mass of Wesker form into a ball at the bottom. The door closes and the cylinder shuffles with a rush of clear, bluish fluid, rising Wesker's body to the middle of the tube.
"Goddamn, the Tyrant really got messed up. But it retained its mission perimeters. It's really amazing that these things are being mass-produced by the hundreds." The pilot converses as he lets his eyes wonder over the Tyrant as it lays Lisa on the steel of ramp. It takes an easy step towards the orange tube that it was carried, lying next to the ramp. The Tyrant slumbers back into its coffin like transport, as the pilot leisurely stands local to it, shutting the doors over the laying BOW.
Hunk ladles Lisa into the brace of his arms, shipping her into the gloom of the cabin. He lobs her soiled profile into the last tube, the one marked for her. The seeping fluid bubbles over her body, letting it bob in its elegance. Hunk places his hand over the tube and gives her an insolent appearance with his unshielded eye, a look that tells her she is the sole reason that his team members had to die.
A bolt of hydraulic compress hoisted the ramp into the back of the Chinook. Hunk grinds into the stiff bench, his body puzzled with strain and tiredness.
"Only you survive again. I swear Umbrella should send you in alone. It would save on casualties. While, I guess I have to take that back, since you weren't the only one, but the only living one." The pilots words worm through Hunk's ears, he doesn't want to listen to them, he just wants to think about his next mission.
September 25th, 1998, 10:00pm
A slim hand, firm, but touched by a tone of femininity wipes the condensation from a tall tube like container. Her fingers lace around the keypad on the side of the cylinder, draining the curtain of fluid that was in it. She opens the door prematurely, letting a gush of sloshing liquid stretch its form across the cold floor, as well as the bidding body of Wesker, His sluggish eyes glancing on something red.
"You're late."
